Summary: A moment in the gym, before the shift, where an idiot decides to say something about Brendon's wife.
Warning: Body shaming, verbal harassment. Possessive and protective behavior (Brendon Park himself). Explicit language, dirty talk.
Words: 1034 (short one)
Taglist: @my-whole-brain-is-crying @leksi-rae @chelle-1515 @minienix @mythologicallyversed @mxtokko @tears-of-acid-and-sluts @susp3ndedindusk @helenaellie @rei-scorpio @ivy-stuffs @dutch3-10 @catharticdesire @sidneysidney123 @fics-from-the-dead @eddiemunsonguitar @thedragonsrose @mynameisbaby9 @simply-lovley44 @dr3obsessed @mayabbot @bbblackmamba @harryswizzle @alphafemale-15 @rabbotseatcarrots @b38596012 @lipsunsmokedcigarette @pastlecow @kingtitus @stevieharrington71 @asfaraslifegets @noyaisasimp @loki-trickst3r @miahelen @xoxoloverb @brown-eyes-cello-and-books @seitmai @boricuas-fic-recs @outpostsworld @ohheyitssj @thedragonsrose @justanothersadperson93 @hcrm @vastscoutweapon @multifandom301 @travelingmypassion @carson1gg @mintoblobo @redhooduwu @twdhtgawm @annabethboleyn @ichibella @ramenblutte @happyendingarentreal @gardeniarose13 @jgoose13 @ilocuras24 @noxytopy
The gym—absurdly expensive, yet unfortunately worth every penny of the annual membership Brendon paid for—was unusually crowded for such an early hour. You both had gone before your shift to make up for the days you’d missed.
You were finishing a set on the leg press, "focused" on the effort—or rather, the effort of not drooling at the sight of your husband. A few yards away, Brendon was loading a barbell with a weight that drew every eye in the room. With bulging biceps, a shirt soaked in sweat, and a presence that would make any man think twice before crossing him, he looked like a Greek god.
You paused to rest and drink some water, wiping the sweat from your neck with a towel, when you felt a presence beside you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Brendon drop his barbell, alert and ready to intervene but allowing you to handle the situation for the moment. It was a younger guy with a smirk of pure smugness and an overconfidence that screamed "trouble"—clearly a facade to compensate for a lack of character.
"You know..." the idiot began, his eyes scanning your body in a way that made you feel instantly dirty—nothing like your husband’s always appreciative gaze. "Your technique is good. Though with those curves, if I were you, I’d hit the cardio harder. You’re a bit... 'filled out' to be wearing those leggings, don't you think? Don't get me wrong, I just think you'd be much hotter with a few less pounds."
You froze, water bottle halfway to your lips. The air around you seemed to drop ten degrees; over the stranger’s shoulder, you caught Brendon’s gaze. He was waiting for your signal to step in.
"Hey, don't take it the wrong way, gorgeous. Just some advice from someone who knows about aesthetics," he added, reaching out a hand to touch your shoulder. "If you join my routine, I guarantee in a month we’ll have dropped those..."
Your patience, already hanging by a very fine thread, snapped. The condescension of this fucking prick and his attempt to invade your personal space were the final straw. You let out a dry chuckle, a dismissive sound that stopped him cold. You lowered the water bottle, letting your gaze sweep over his body with evident disdain.
"Aesthetic advice? From you?" you asked, your voice laced with venom. "You’ve got to be kidding. First of all: don't dare to touch me. And second: I don't need you to train me."
The stranger blinked, confused. His smug smile wavered. You took a step forward, invading his space with the absolute confidence of knowing Brendon had your back.
"Tell me something..." you raised your voice so everyone could hear. "Is this whole arrogant facade to compensate for an obvious lack of inches in your dick, or are you just born an asshole? Because honestly, for me to notice someone like you, when I have something infinitely better..."
You slowly raised your hand and, with your index finger, signaled over his shoulder for him to turn around.
"...you’d have to be born again. Only a real man can handle a woman like me."
The guy froze. His face went from a pale red to a deathly white. Before he could process your words, instinctive fear forced him to turn toward where you were pointing.
The sight that met him was that of a predator protecting his mate.
Brendon was less than two feet away, practically breathing down his neck. The moment you dropped the "dick" comment, your husband had decided to join the game. His massive chest looked like a brick wall, and his blue eyes were fixed on the stranger with such murderous intent that the guy jumped, trapped between the machines and your husband.
"She’s right about one thing," Brendon’s voice was a low, lethal whisper. "There is nothing you can offer her that I don't give her ten times better. Now, you have two options, little man: you apologize and vanish from our sight, or you force me to show you what happens when someone messes with my wife. You won't like how I handle people who talk about MY perfection personified. Every ounce of her body belongs to me, and there isn't a single millimeter I don't adore."
The guy didn't even reply; he bolted for the exit the second Brendon gave him an opening. Your husband let out a sound of pure contempt and turned to you. His gaze softened with a mix of love, adoration, and possessiveness. His hands moved to your neck, forcing you to look at him.
"Lack of inches in his dick," he repeated with an amused smirk. "I love it when you get aggressive like that, Doll. It makes me fucking hard. It almost makes me want to skip work just to show you how much I like you."
"Don't forget the rest," you teased, though your pulse was racing under his gaze—it felt like he could strip you and fuck you right then and there. "I have something infinitely better."
"That’s my favorite part," he leaned in for a quick but possessive kiss. "That waste of oxygen wouldn't know how to appreciate perfection even if it hit him in the face. I love how your breasts fill my hands and the softness of your belly. Those curves are what keep me awake after a shift, dying to get home to sink into them."
He pulled back just an inch, keeping a firm hand on your hip while checking his watch.
"If we didn't have to go to work, I’d take you home right now to give you a lesson," he confessed with a tight jaw. "We’ll have to save it for tonight. When we get home today, you won't even have the strength to remember that prick's words."
He gave you one last deep, dirty kiss, marking his territory.
"Come on, Doll. We’ve got lives to save." He gave your ass a playful smack that made you instantly wet. "But keep that mouth ready. You’re going to repeat that I’m 'infinitely better' while I fuck you against the headboard."
Dr Brendon Park x Curvy Wife!Reader, The Pitt x Reader
Find My Pitt Masterlist here
Based off of an idea from @libbyqypu which you can check out here found on @abbotafterhours
As Brendon Park's wife you grew accustomed to early mornings in the gym before starting work. Feeling supported by your husband every step of the way.
The one problem is the jerks who think they have a right to demean you. And Brendon is not ok with anyone who thinks it's ok to mess with you. Unfortunately that very same jerk lands himself in the ER with a damaged leg.
Though you don't know if it's worse for you, or worse for the patient.
If one things for sure. Now everyone in the Pitt knows who your husband is.
Warnings: strong language, secret wife!reader, elements of body shaming, a guy being a jerk towards reader, Park being a Shark defending his wife. Probable medical inaccuracies.
Word Count: ~3.4k
As the sun begins to rise.
People stir awake. Movement starts to flow. Rushing through the city as a new day begins.
The steady start of the everyday routine begins anew.
As does your routine.
With early mornings spent in your local gym. As you and Brendon start the day with a workout.
Warming up your muscles.
And just perhaps spending a little time simply staring as Brendon works out.
Watching as his muscles ripple beneath his skin. Taught and strong.
Sending you a wink each time he catches your lingering gaze.
Before being with Brendon you had struggled with feeling comfortable enough to even enter a place like this.
Feeling pressured to lose weight, to change yourself to suit society’s view on what you should look like, feeling like shit every time you ever thought about the gym.
But he had helped change your view.
Shifting the way you see exercise.
Not as a means to lose weight.
But instead as a way to build strength. To build confidence.
Ever so considerate of you he leaves you for just a moment as he goes to refill your water bottles.
“Be back soon”
You nod with a wave of your hand from your spot on the rowing machine.
Taking a moment to breathe, as you sigh. Rolling your shoulders.
But your peace is broken as you hear a snide comment.
“Its going to take a lot more than a rowing machine”
Shaking it off, you try to continue.
“Do you even know how to use that?”
The snickers continue, the small sniping remarks become cruder and louder.
“As if anyone would want to be with that?”
“Should just at home”
“Why even fucking try”
You breathe heavily, anger beginning to course through your veins. Lips pulled tight.
While Brendon was more than accepting of you.
More than encouraging.
Unfortunately there were still fucking assholes in the world.
Grinding your teeth
You snap back, “Shut the fuck up” Whipping your head around to face the prick snickering at you.
He raises his brow, as his hands go up in mock defence. “Oh looky here, the bitch has a bark”
He stalks closer. Trying to intimidate you. Words drip from his mouth like venom.
And from your spot low to the ground.
You can’t help but feel a twist in your gut.
Those niggling thoughts of insecurities worming its way back into your thoughts.
It wasn’t your first time dealing with this shit. But it never fucking made it any easier to deal with.
Anger at the man before you who thought he had the right to make you feel this way.
Before he could take it any further.
Brendon steps back into the room. At the sight of you, his feet move quickly. Hearing the insults hurled at you. Seeing your body shake with anger. Quaking from the confrontation.
Glancing around noticing how no one else had chosen to intervene.
No one had stood up for you.
Eyes darting back to the man being horrid towards you.
Brendon now stands beside you as he hands you the very water bottle he had left to go fill.
Jaw clenched. Mouth set rigidly. Brows furrowed at the sight of this fucking weak man choosing to belittle his wife.
Slowly closing in on him as he walks towards him. Shoulders pushed back, chest puffed up.
Appearing far larger than the man before him.
Who visibly shrinks beneath the glowering eyes of Brendon.
There was a reason he was known as a Shark.
And it definitely wasn’t because he was all warm and fuzzy. No, it was because he was known to be ruthless.
“What the fuck did you say asshole?”
You send a raised brow towards the man, with a look seeming to convey a sense of, ‘Now you’ve fucking done it.’
But fuck it, you had no remorse for this idiot.
Watching as Brendon rips him a new one, getting in his face. Snarling, eyes flared with anger towards the man for even daring to look your way.
For ever thinking it would be acceptable to speak about someone in such a way. Let alone to speak that way to you. His wife.
The delivery was brutal.
And the man looked as though he was shitting himself.
Melting into a puddle of fear beneath Brendon’s biting remarks.
“Is that clear?”
Teeth grinding, but too afraid to lash out once more, afraid of what Brendon might do to him if he chose to fight against him.
“Crystal”
Brendon gives a curt nod, “Now fuck off”
He scampers away.
His tail between his legs.
All those muscles he was working on. All simply for show.
Unlike the muscles that are carved across Brendon’s body. Whose weren’t just there for the aesthetic. But as a symbol of his strength and his protective nature over you.
It just happened to be an added bonus to feel the gentle tracing of your hands move along the ridges and groves of his body. As you press against the tight skin, easing away the tension within his body, melting beneath your touch.
Much like he had made you feel strong.
You had allowed him to be soft.
And he loved you for that.
“Now everyone else here, grow a fucking spine.” He announced, the sternness in his voice resonated deep from within, “That was shit behaviour you watched happen. Do better”
Everyone’s gazes avert with a small nod of their heads.
Sheepish and feeling small beneath the weight of his eyes.
The tautness in his shoulders weakens as he feels the softness of your hand place against his shoulders. Allowing a restful sigh to escape his lips. Turning to look at you. As your hands slip down his arms to intertwine with his hands.
His fingers gingerly swipe across the knuckles of your hands.
“Thank you Brendon” you whispered softly, smiling as he lifted your hands up to his lips, pressing sweet kisses against them.
“Of course, anything for you sweetheart. He was a fucking arrogant jerk, don’t listen to him. You’re fucking perfect to me”
Smiling up at him as you let out a soft sigh.
Reaching up to kiss him softly on the cheek, letting out a slight squeal as he pulls you in for a kiss. Hands holding you closely, strong and warm as they dig slightly into you.
Letting out a small hum in delight at the intensity.
He had never once shied away from showing you how much he adored you.
Who would’ve thought that when you had met Brendon all those years ago. That it would lead you to now.
Right here in his arms.
Soaking beneath his endless unconditional love for you.
It was difficult at first.
Having come out of a tough relationship before meeting Brendon.
A relationship that had laid heavy expectations upon you. An unhealthy amount of blame was placed on you.
Made to feel like you should be grateful he even gave you the time of day.
Made to feel worthless.
Ashamed.
…It was sickening the way you were treated.
But you had put up with it for a long time. Because it was what you thought you deserved.
But then you met Brendon.
Brendon who convinced you that you were worthy of love.
That he loved you.
And slowly, but steadily, your view of yourself began to shift. You became kinder to yourself.
Holding a little more grace to how you felt towards yourself.
Thinking that if this man, this good man, could love you. Could make you feel undeniably loved.
Then you should love yourself too.
The way he would practically worship you and your body.
His strong hands, so soft and gentle as they caressed you.
Mapping out with his touch, from every curve and dip of your body.
To each stretch and fold of your skin.
He would press sweet kisses, possessive and adoring all at once, trailing along the patterns of stretch marks across your skin.
Marks you had once tried to hide from him. Ashamed and embarrassed.
Now you shivered and reveled in the exhilaration of his touch. How the warmth of his breath would feel across your skin.
He made you feel beautiful.
He made you believe you were beautiful.
And he had vowed to do that for the rest of your lives.
Sighing you parted from his hold, stepping back as you tilted your head.
“Come on, we’re going to be late for work if we don’t leave now,” you insisted.
While he only groaned. Nodding as he follows you out. Into the early morning rays while you set about getting ready for the day ahead.
The gym bro asshole long forgotten as you are reminded of your worth with just the way Brendon looks at you.
So full of love and sincerity.
….
Heading into work.
The entrance was already crowded, you had separated from Brendon just outside with a fleeting kiss on the lips.
While he left to go upstairs.
Walking through the doors you waved happily to your coworkers, passing through with friendly greetings and quick good mornings.
Waving good byes to the night shift as they started to filter out.
All of whom were unaware of the very sweet husband who had gone upstairs, with a reputation known to strike fear into the hearts of many.
You honestly hadn’t meant to keep your relationship secret.
It just sort of started that way.
Until eventually it all felt too late to announce it.
It was easy to see how no one had noticed. You and Brendon worked in different departments.
Crossing paths rarely if ever.
He was the head of orthopedics.
And you were mainly in the Pitt. Working as an emergency radiologist.
Far enough from the chaos to stay sane. But close enough to be involved in the gossip.
And in some ways, it was easier to keep your relationship with Brendon under wraps.
Giving you a chance to get a scoop on all the rumours surrounding him. Making you laugh and tuck those away in your memories to tease him with at a later time.
And if ever conversations drifted your way, with peering eyes and curious gazes.
Questions of your own love life seeping into the chat.
You’d simply wave them off.
Though this had only resulted in a few of your colleagues trying to set you up.
Even going as far as to try to push you and a paramedic into a relationship.
That was a particularly slow day.
Causing you to finally relent to their curiosities.
“I’m married! Stop trying to set me up” you had laughed, waving away at Princess and Perlah.
Their eyes had widened alongside a few of the others.
“To who?” Princess had questioned in shock.
Shrugging cheekily you had retorted, “Wouldn’t you like to know”
Followed by an onslaught of questions thrown your way. Only for you to weave through them all.
Leaving them to be none the wiser on who your mystery husband was….
At least until today.
As you were being paged into trauma 1 to perform a few scans.
You can hear the patient long before you see him.
Hearing his shouts and writhing screechings in pain, loud cries echo around the room.
You slip into the T1 standing beside Robby, “What are we looking at here?”
He proceeds to inform you of the situation.
And from the looks of it.
The man’s foot and leg were not looking too good.
But then you feel yourself deflate just slightly as you see just who the injured leg belongs to.
To the very same gym bro guy who decided to make your morning hell.
Fucking hell….
Just as you were beginning to conduct your imaging. The guy, Chris, who you had learnt the name of began to recognise you.
“Get that fucking bitch away from me!” he had cried out. Flailing and pointing towards you.
As all your colleagues’ eyes darted to you, brows raised with concern.
Robby steps between holding his hands up, “Woah, hey. Calm down”
This only fuels Chris’ rage further, “No fucking way! I want someone else”
Robby looks at you arching his brow with a small raise of his shoulders in question.
Sighing you set your lips in a thin line, before muttering, “I met the guy this morning at the gym. He just as delightful then”
He continues to spit words of venom towards you, snarling and angry.
Even the others around you do their best to intervene, to try and get him to shut up he just won’t stop.
Sniping words that dig under your skin. You do your best to stay professional but even you can’t help but feel a little shaken.
“You know that guy you were with this morning–”
That catches your attention.
And he noticed.
Grinning with a vileness seeping into his eyes, “-he’s just with you cause he pities you”
“What the fuck did you say about me?”
The words slice through the room like a knife.
A heavy blanket of tension settles upon the room.
Chris’ breath hitches at the familiar voice.
Eyes narrowed as Brendon glared upon the man. The very man he was paged down to consult.
Brendon steps into the room, as though circling the man.
Like a shark.
Steady and intimidating.
Before standing beside you as you show him the scans.
But he’s far more focused on you. Watching every little micro detail of your expression.
He looks to you with a silent question, a small dip of his head in concern, are you okay?
Nodding just slightly, you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself.
You continue with your assessment, while Brendon listens to you.
Before moving back towards Chris’ leg.
His jaw set clenched.
Grinding his teeth.
“So. You decided to be a fucking jerk again”
Brendon clicks his tongue, “Not the right fucking move”
Pressing down against his leg ever so slightly during his assessment he causes Chris to groan in pain.
And you notice just the smallest quirk of Brendon’s lip. Ever so slightly. Barely noticeable. But there.
“Now I’m going to fix your leg. But not until you apologise to my wife for the shit you said”
He pauses for a moment waiting for the guy. Who only groans in pain.
Your colleagues’ eyes, those of Robby, Santos, Garcia and Whitaker all fixated upon him. Confusion flashing across their features at the revelation.
“Think you can do that? Or is that too far out of your capabilities as an idiot?” Eyes laser focused upon him.
Demanding.
Chris simply mutters out a sorry in defeat.
Only for you to lean in slightly cupping your ear in faux unawareness, “What was that?”
“I said I’m fucking sorry! Now can you fix my leg or not”
“Prep him for surgery, he’s headed up” Brendon states, before stalking out of the room.
You’re left feeling just a little smug.
A small grin slipping onto your face at your husband’s defensiveness.
Following after Brendon.
Yelping slightly as you feel him tug you into him, pulling you into his hold. Enveloping you completely.
Burying his head into the top of yours, breathing you in.
You, his comfort.
His peace.
“I wanted to punch his fucking lights out” he grumbled.
“I could tell,” Laughing softly, muffled as you lean your head against his chest, “I think everyone could.”
Softly breathing in the fresh scent of his cologne a tinge of musk and an underlaying of sea spray.
“Do you think they noticed I’m your wife?” you asked with a small smile.
Not really upset by the news breaking out.
Just simply amused.
He chuckles at your words, murmuring softly words of love and adoration between firm kisses as he presses them along the curve of your neck.
Words meant for your ears, and your ears only.
But soon he slips from your grasp, not before pressing one deep final kiss upon your lips. Hungry for the taste of you.
“Good luck dealing with that,” he states before slipping away with a sharkish grin stretched across his face.
“I’ve got an OR to get too”
Calling out to him with a small smile, “You coward”
He only replies with a tease, “You know you love me”
As you simply roll your eyes at his teasing remark.
Waving him off, as you watch him disappear through the elevator.
Soon your feet lead you back through to the hub, to tie up some loose ends.
But you’re intervened by Mohan, “Are you ok?”
As she places a gentle hand on your shoulders, checking in with you.
Passing glances from Mel and Victoria who also check to see how you were coping.
Soon Robby and Dana walk up to you.
“I promise I’m fine,” you announce, smiling from their concern over you.
Dana offers a sympathetic smile, “Sorry that you had to go through that shitshow”
Robby nodded in agreement with her sentiment.
You only reassure them all, “It’s ok. I’m ok. Thank you all for checking on me. Now I’m pretty sure we’ve all got work to do–”
But before you’re off the hook. Santos slides into the conversation, leaning upon the desk looking at you with a furrowed brow.
“Not so fast”
Biting your lip. So close to freedom.
“So you’re Mrs Shark?” she asks with a grin. Intrigue settling into her features.
And that question alerts everyone around you.
As they slowly creep in closer to hear you better.
“Maybe…What’s the big deal?” trying to shrug off the weight of the conversation.
And then.
The onslaught of questions began.
“How long have you been married?”
“How’d it happen?”
“What the fuck!”
“When did you get together?”
“How long have you been together?”
“How’d you keep it a secret?”
“Better yet why?”
All these questions and more overlap and crossover. You do your best to keep up but even then the questions never cease.
You cut through their curiosity,
“It just sort of happened”
“Just happened? Really that’s all you have?” Princess asks you unimpressed by your answer.
You shrug, with a smile, “Time just passed, and eventually it all felt a little too late to reveal. Besides it’s not like we were really keeping it a secret. You all knew I was married”
“We didn’t know you were married to Shark!”
Whitaker adds, “He’s so intimidating and you’re so–”
“Not scary,” Javadi finishes in agreement.
Shaking your head with a laugh.
“He’s not that bad. I wouldn’t have married him if he was” you try to explain.
Finding their shock all too amusing.
“Not bad! I swear I’ve seen him make Huckleberry freeze on the spot with just a look,” Santos states.
Only making Whitaker let out a small whine in complaint. “It was just one time”
“I don’t know what to tell you guys. He’s pretty sweet to me,” and with a final tease you add, “maybe you’re all just annoying”
You walk away with a small laugh.
As Santos calls out finally as the others grin, "Well then congrats to Mr and Mrs Shark!"
Leaving them all completely dumbfounded.
You, their incredibly sweet radiologist. Who had described your husband to be kind, loving and so thoughtful.
Had forgotten to mention one detail in all those conversations.
That your husband and love of your life was the very Shark of Orthopedics.
Known to be ruthless and curt.
And perhaps to others he may have been as intimidating as a Shark.
As cold and calculated.
But he was your Shark.
Soft for only you.
There to make sure you knew how loved you were every moment of every day.
Jerks would come and go through your life.
But you knew you would always have him beside you.
There to support you.
To shower you with love.
And you fucking loved him for it.
And just perhaps that night, he spent his time devoting his time showing you just how much he loved you.
Taking his sweet time.
Strong hands, caressing you gently along your skin.
Nipping at you with kisses.
Grasping onto you like a life line.
Cherishing you.
Loving you.
And all that you are.
If ever you doubted that. He was there to reassure you once more.
Loving every inch that there was of you.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. I love the idea of Brendon being super intimidating, but just so soft for the reader (Also what a great idea from @libbyqypu I really loved the concept!) I didn't want to be too specific about her body image, just implied that she's curvy/bigger (as someone who is a little on the curvier, softer side, it felt nice to explore this). Hope I did the idea justice (No second part planned for this one) let me know what you think! ✨
*Also I totally imagine Park wearing a cologne that was described as smelling like the sea, driftwood musk and a salty sea spray. (either his wife bought it as a joke or he simply leaned into his nickname)
Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕
Feel free to find my Dr Robby x Wayne!Reader Rinse & Repeat Series Masterlist here 🩺
Or check out my overall Masterlist here
summary: you and your boyfriend haven;t had sex yet, and he doesn't understadn why. but one thing is for sure, steve is going to use a very hands on approach to make sure those insecurities never stop you two from being intimate...
wc: 5.9k
tw: explicit smut, p in v protected, oral (f and m receiving), titty fucking, lots of breast play, pet names, intimate dirty talk from our man, sex toy mention, beautiful loving sex with the most perfect guy ever, body insecurities
a/n: hey babes! i got such a beautiful response on the last curvy!reader and steve fic i did. it means so much to me that you guys like this, as a curvy girl myself. i hope this brings you as much happiness as i got writing it <3 -lovey
steve masterlist
"Baby, please."
Your boyfriend is caressing your breasts through your sweatshirt as you make out in your bed. His voice is almost a whine as he kisses down the slope of your neck, hot breath sending tingles through your body.
"S'been like, three months, how long are you gonna make me wait?" His words are muffled by the wet kisses he's pressing into your skin, the question teasing and sweet.
His fingers are brushing against the undersides of your breasts through the fabric, and you can feel goosebumps prickling your arms. This part of your relationship was still new, moving from friendship to romance. Steve's always been respectful, never pushing you further than you wanted to go, but it was clear he was a single minded man when it came to your body.
You, on the other hand, are still struggling with letting him fully see it. Your curves have always been a source of insecurity, something you've tried to hide with baggy clothes or cinching silhouettes. And while you know Steve is clearly attracted to you, you're terrified of seeing a flicker of disappointment in his eyes when he finally sees all of you.
It's not like you haven't had sex before, just that you haven't had sex with anyone who looked like Steve. Who is perfect. And gorgeous. And has had, you are sure, plenty of sex with plenty of perfect and gorgeous girls.
But also, it's Steve. Who always says just the right thing, who is sweet to you. You've always felt safe with him, protected. The worry volleying around your brain since you started dating is enough to make you want to take your hair out lately. The logical side says you trust him and know he won't hurt you. The insecure side screams that you're going to be a let down.
"Please," he whines again. "Maybe just the sweatshirt? Lemme see you?"
His tone is so gentle, so pleading.
"I just..." Your brain tries to come up with some excuse this time.
I'm not ready. Lie.
I'm tired. Another lie.
I'm not into it. Biggest lie of them all.
Steve's mouth has found that spot behind your ear, and a soft sigh escapes your lips instead of anything from your dwindling list of excuses.
"Tell me." He whispers against your skin. His hands are on your hips now, tracing their shape, thumb rubbing circles against the fabric of your jeans. "Tell me what you need."
You're silent for a beat, the only sound in the room the soft hum of the radio and your ragged breathing.
"Okay." He seems to take your silence as an answer of its own. "New plan. Less making out, more talking." He pulls back slightly, propping himself up on an elbow to look at you properly.
"I like the making out part."
"Well, I like the 'not creaming in my Levi's' part and you're making that damn hard if we keep going just like this." His lopsided little smirk is softer than usual, free hand fidgeting with your sweatshirt hem, always looking for a way to be touching you.
He looks concerned at the sad smile you give him, clearing his throat a little.
"What's going on in that pretty head of yours?"
"You're so..." You start, and trail off waving your handly vaguely at him. How can you explain your complicated feelings without sounding completely insane?
Steve waits patiently, still tracing the hem of your top with his thumb, but the crease between his brows grows deeper as you struggle to find the right words.
Part of you hopes that the way you're gesturing at him clears things up. Unfortunately, it does the opposite, because the most batshit insane question leaves his pouted lips.
"Are you not like, attracted to me or something?" He looks so genuinely distressed by this question that your heart clenches, the game of insecurity volleyball going on in your head is temporarily pushed to a time out by the sheer absurdity of it.
If your eyes could spontaneously pop out of your head at any moment? Yeah, this would have been the one.
"I'm sorry, what?" You ask, with an incredulous laugh you can't hold back.
He shrugs, a little bashful, and god, it should be illegal for a grown man to look that cute. "I mean... you're always stopping us. And I don't wanna be that guy, but, y'know. My ego is taking a bit of a hit, babe."
You still couldn't say anything, shocked that he'd ever think it was him that was the issue here.
"Look," he continued "If you're realizing we're better off as friends, that's fine. I'll be bummed, like really, really bummed. But I'll understand. Just tell me. Don't leave me hangin' here."
"Steve," Your voice is barely above a whisper as you struggle to find the right words. "I promise you, it's not that. God, you're the most attractive man I've ever seen."
That earned a small, relieved smile from him, his big hazel eyes looking more puppy like than usual. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
His relief is short-lived when he hears the sadness in your confirmation. "Okay, so then why do you sound like you're about to tell me my grandma died?"
You sigh. "You're not listening. I said you're the most attractive man I've ever seen. And I'm... well, I'm me."
Steve's brow furrows again as he leans in, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "What?"
And suddenly, you can't hold it in anymore. The insecurities you've been hiding for months come pouring out. "It's just... I'm not... I'm not like the other girls you've been with, you know? I'm not... skinny. I'm curvy. I have rolls... and... and my boobs are too big..."
The words feel sticky and uncomfortable leaving your throat, and you can feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.
But it's nothing compared to seeing his face fall. A real, actual sadness. Not the polite, 'I'm sorry you feel that way' kind of sad, but a genuine, heartbroken sort of sad.
"You think I'm not going to like you because you have... rolls? And big boobies?" He looks so confused.
You give a weak little shrug, feeling incredibly small and pathetic all of a sudden. Even his genuine use of the word 'boobies' doesn't make you crack a smile.
And then, to your complete and utter shock, he laughs. Not a mean laugh, but an actual belly laugh. He rolls onto his back, clutching his stomach as he practically howls.
"You're... you're laughing." You can't keep the hurt out of your voice.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He gasps, rolling back towards you and pulling you into a tight hug. "I'm not laughing at you, I promise."
"It sure feels like you're laughing at me."
"No! No no no. I swear I'm not. I just..." He pulls back, looking at you with such adoration that it takes your breath away. "Baby, I have been dreaming about these curves. I've been thinking about these 'rolls'," he makes little air quotes around the word, "since the day I met you. And don't even get me started on your boobies."
You narrow your eyes a little, unsure if you believe him.
"Seriously." His hands are back on your waist, sliding up under your sweatshirt. His touch is gentle, almost reverent. "I love how soft you are. I love the way you feel under my hands. I love your curves. I love everything about you."
You two hadn't said the L word yet. You'd been friends for years, so three months in didn't feel too soon, but it still took you by surprise to hear it. He said it so casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Your brain is still trying to process it when he leans in and kisses you again. This kiss is different from the ones before. It's softer, more deliberate, less of a frantic race to an unknown finish line and more of a slow, sweet exploration.
"I've been pawing at you like a freakin' teenager this whole time because I'm obsessed with them." He says, breaking the kiss for a second to meet your eyes. His thumbs brush against your nipples through your bra, and you arch your back a little despite yourself. "Did you think I was doing it ironically?"
You can't help but laugh, the tension in your chest finally starting to loosen. "I guess I just thought... I don't know. I thought you were just being nice."
"Oh, I'm gonna be real nice, alright." He's got a glint in his eye.
You look at the way his hair falls into his eyes, at the little smattering of moles across his cheek, at the earnest, open expression on his face.
He slowly starts to help you out of your sweatshirt, leaving you in your jeans and bra. He's looking at you like you're a work of art, not a flaw in sight.
"God, you're so beautiful." His hands trace the curve of your stomach, the swell of your hips through the denim. "And so soft."
Your breath catches in your throat as he reaches for your bra, unclasping it with a practiced ease that surprises you.
"Gonna make sure you know how much I think about these." He murmurs, as your breasts spill free.
He takes a moment, just looking. His gaze is so full of adoration that it makes you feel dizzy.
"How are you not just staring at these all day? How do you get anything done? I would just hold them all day." It's so goofy and sweet that it makes you laugh again.
Steve doesn't waste any more time. He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth. He's gentle at first, teasing, but then he gets a little rougher, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. His tongue swirls around the sensitive bud to sooth it, and you gasp, your hands flying to his hair.
His hands are eager but gentle, kneading the soft flesh of your other breast. The pleasure is overwhelming, and you can feel a familiar heat building between your legs.
"Steve..." You moan, your head falling back against the pillows.
He looks up at you, a smirk playing on his lips as he switches to your other breast, giving it the same attention.
"God, they're so big." He groans, as if he's talking to himself more than you. "Can't get enough of 'em."
He continues to lavish attention on your breasts, his mouth and hands working in tandem to drive you wild. You're writhing beneath him, your body begging for more. He moans like it's the best thing that's ever grazed his lips.
Every kiss, every touch feels like a revelation. He's worshipping your body in a way that's both reverent and deeply carnal. And with every passing second, your insecurities melt away, replaced by a burning need for more.
You try to gently pull him off, to move to other spots, but he's got one thing on his mind, swatting your hand away as he continues to lavish them with attention.
"'M not done." He says, muffled by one of your now spit soaked nipples. "Been waiting too long for this. Let me have my fun."
You can't help but laugh again. "You have a one track mind, Harrington."
"Two." He breathes, moving his head back to watch as he squeezes them together. " Two tracks. This one, and this one."
He keeps your breasts squished together with his big hands and licks a stripe between them, looking up at you like he's drunk on it.
"God, you're such an idiot." You say, but it's fond, and your fingers tighten in his hair.
"A hot idiot." He retorts, moving back to a nipple and giving it a gentle bite. “You basically said so.”
You gasp, the pleasure-pain shooting straight to your core.
"Would you, uh, ever let me... y'know..." His words come out distracted as he soothes the bite with his tongue.
"Let you what?"
A tiny trail of saliva links your swollen peak to his perfect pout when he pulls off to speak again.
"Let me... god there's no romantic way to say this..." he mutters the last part before spitting it out. "Put my dick here?"
Your brain short circuits for a moment. He wants to...?
"I mean, I've always wanted to try that." He says, continuing to knead your breasts. "But I didn't want to make you feel weird, or objectify you or whatever."
The fact that he's been thinking about this, that he's been holding back out of respect for you, makes your heart swell.
"Would that feel good...for you?"
"I don't know, I've never tried it."
It was a little jarring to hear there was something he had never tried.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" He laughs a little nervously.
"There's something Steve Harrington has never done?" You tease gently.
"There's a lot of things Steve Harrington has never done." He says, looking up at you with an earnest expression. "Do you think I'm some kind of sex god?"
"I mean, kind of?"
A genuine laugh escapes him. "Oh, babe. I'm just a guy. I've had my fair share of sex, but it's been... pretty standard. Missionary, doggy, maybe some lazy morning sideways stuff if I'm feeling frisky--"
"I don't really want to hear about the other girls you've had lazy morning sideways stuff with." You look away, the slight mention of them making your stomach clench.
"Hey," he says, moving up to kiss your lips. "None of them were you. It was just... stuff to do. This? With you? This means something. It would be very loving morning sideways stuff."
That L word again. The sincerity in his eyes makes your heart ache.
"Okay," you whisper, your resolve finally crumbling.
"Okay?" He asks, his eyes lighting up. "Okay, as in 'okay, I'm ready for you to see my entire naked body' or 'okay, as in I'm going to punch you in the face for asking to put your dick between my boobs'?"
You bite your lip, considering the idea again. The thought of him, slicked up between your breasts, is surprisingly arousing.
"I have lube..." You ask shyly.
His face brightens up like you just told him he won the lottery. "You have... you want to try it now? R-right now?"
You nod, a shy smile playing on your lips.
"Okay. Okay, yes. Absolutely." He's practically vibrating with excitement as he looks around the room, as if he could pinpoint the lube like a bloodhound.
"Nightstand." You whisper to him. "Top drawer."
He scrambles off the bed, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. You can't help but laugh at his eagerness as he rummages through your drawer, meandering through the other things in there.
"Oh...you have one of these..." he pulls your Hitachi massager wand from the drawer and looks at it with wide, curious eyes. "Cool."
The tips of your ears burn at the sight of him holding it. "The cord doesn't reach the bed... so I don't use it that much..."
He pulls an extension cord out of the draw next and raises an eyebrow at you. Busted. You try to hide your face in the blankets, but he just chuckles as he puts it away and finally finds the little pink bottle of lube.
"Hey, whatever gets you there is cool with me. Just wanna see sometime."
He's back on the bed in an instant, shedding his own shirt as he climbs over you.
"Alright," he says, a newfound confidence in his movements. "Let's get this show on the road." He wiggles his eyebrows at you, a goofy grin on his face that makes you laugh.
He helps you out of your jeans, his eyes never leaving your body.
"Its like you're poured into these jeans, baby." He grins against your tummy as he unbuttons your pants. His hands are steady as he tugs the denim down, revealing the lacy black panties you'd chosen this morning on a whim.
"Got all dressed up for me? Or just yourself?" He asks, eyes crinkling at the corners. He sounds so genuinely appreciative it's almost overwhelming.
"Both." You stop him as he pulls you to sit up, putting a hand on his shoulder. "I just... It's a little uneven right now."
"Oh. Right." He looks down at himself as if just realizing he's still in his jeans. He stands up, and you get to watch him strip more. And it's quite a show. He's all lean muscle and gorgeous skin, a dusting of dark hair on his chest that narrows down to a happy trail leading into his boxers.
He wiggles out of his jeans, getting stuck at the ankles and you giggle when he looks up at you, smiling excitedly through the hair that falls in his face.
Once he's just in his boxers, he's back over you in an instant, kissing your lips and grabbing at your breasts.
"I think we need to um... switch positions. For this to work..." Your brows furrow between wet kisses as you work the logistics out in your mind. "You should... sit."
Steve sits against the headboard and pulls you into his lap. He pushes your panties aside and slides a finger through your folds.
"You're so wet," he says, looking a little stunned. "This is... you're really into this idea?"
The casualness of his touch elicits a small 'oh' from your lips. "I… I think that's just...whenever you're around. But yes. This."
"You're so wet, baby." He echoes, a little less steady this time. He slips another finger inside you, curling them just so.
"Steve," you gasp, your hips bucking against his hand. You can't even help it. "I thought you wanted to..."
Your eyes trail down to the bulge in his boxers, then to the lube bottle he'd set next to him on the bed.
"Patience, honey. We'll get there. I just want to..." He trails off, kissing you as he continues to work you with his fingers. He's making you feel so good, and it's not long before you're panting, on the edge of release. "Baby, you made me wait so long when she's been drippin' for me like this? When she's been begging for it?"
"M'sorry..." You can't think straight with how his long thick fingers are learning just how you like to be touched. "I...I..."
"Shhh, I know." He says, soothing you with gentle rubs over your arm as you ride his digits. "Got nothing to be insecure about, pussy feels like a dream. S'like she was made for me."
Your head falls to the crook of his neck as you whine at his praise, arms wrapping around his neck to hold on to him as he gives you whatever you need.
"Gonna keep me nice and warm between these thighs when I'm done here? Huh? Let me stuff you full?" He mutters it into your hair, so dirty and so sweet, free hand carding through your hair as if he isn't saying the dirtiest things you've ever heard from him. "Can't keep all this softness to yourself anymore. No, baby, that's all for Steve now."
His words send a jolt straight to your core, and you can feel your orgasm building, a tight coil in your stomach. He picks up on it, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight, little circles. You pull back to look in those big doe eyes of his, while you shudder and soak his fingers.
His lips are just barely against yours as you cum, whispering sweet everythings into your mouth. "That's it, sweet girl. There she is. Felt so good, didn't it? Yeah..."
You collapse against him, boneless and breathless, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through you. He holds you for a moment, stroking your hair and kissing your temple.
"You're so fuckin' pretty when you cum," he says, stilling his fingers and letting you ride out the aftershocks. He kisses your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose, leaving a trail of sweet, lingering kisses across your skin. "You gonna be okay to keep going?"
You pop your head up then to look at him better. "I think so." You say, with a tired, happy little laugh. "If you think you can handle it."
"Oh, I can handle it." He says, pulling his fingers out and holding them up to your face. They're glistening with your arousal as he lightly presses them to your bottom lip, pulling it down a little, before moving them to smear your own cum between your breasts.
He reaches for the lube, but you take it from his hands. "Let me?"
He nods, shimmying his briefs down, freeing his cock to lay heavy against his happy trail. You lips part, but no words come out as you take in the sight of him for the first time. He's perfect. Long and thick, with a generous head already beading with precum. You can't help but reach out, wrapping your hand around him. He's so warm, so hard, and he lets out a low groan as you give him a slow, deliberate stroke.
"You like it? Big enough for you?" There's a little bit of that classic Steve Harrington bravado, but it's softer, more genuine. He's not asking out of arrogance, but genuine curiosity, wanting to know if he pleases you.
"God, yeah," you breathe, your thumb swirling over the tip making him stutter out a whine. "Sensitive, too."
"He just really likes you. A lot." He says, trying to keep it together under your touch as he watches your hands on him. "So fucking much..."
You pop the cap on the lube, drizzling a generous amount over his length, making it glisten in the soft light of your room.
"How should I..."
You lift your breasts in your own hands and his head leans back against the headboard, groaning at the sight. "Jesus Christ, you're beautiful."
You press your breasts together around him, creating a warm, slick channel for him to slide into. The sensation is strange for you but not unpleasant, the lube making it easy for him to glide between your soft flesh.
His eyes flutter closed for a second as he lets out a shaky breath as you start to move . Your hands keep your breasts pressed together, creating a perfect, tight fit for him. His hands come up to cover yours, lacing your fingers together as you work together to create a rhythm.
"They're so soft, baby..." His eyes are glazed over as he watches the thick head of his cock peek out from between your breasts with each thrust. "They're...god..."
It's a heady feeling, this power you have over him. You'd never imagined it could be like this, that your body, the source of so much insecurity for you, could bring him so much pleasure. The sight of him this undone does wonders for your confidence in the moment and your tongue swipes against his tip on teh next thrust up, eyes trained on him to see if he likes it.
Steve is a mess of a man now, a whine leaving his lips as he arches into the sensation. "Do that again. Please? God, do that again..."
You're more than happy to oblige, leaning down to kitten lick at his slit. His movements slow, his hands replacing yours completely as you hold on to his thighs, sucking his pretty flushed tip between your lips. The taste of him makes you hum, sending vibrations up his length.
"Oh, fuck. That feels..." He's panting, hips canting up slightly. He's squeezing your tits tighter around him and pushing more of himself into your warm, willing mouth.
"Okay, okay," He says after a minute, "We need to stop."
Your eyes fly open in protest as you have his dick in your mouth. You pull off with a wet 'pop' to ask him what's wrong. "Don't you like it?"
"I like it too much, baby." He says, chest heaving. "Way too fucking much." He has a smile on his face, though, so you know he's not upset.
"I was trying to get you to cum." You say, a little pout in your voice.
"I know, I know. And it's very sweet. And another time we can explore your very... very talented mouth. But tonight..."
He carefully moves his hands from your breasts and shimmies his briefs off fully.
"I have been thinking about what it would feel like inside you for months. I'm not going to cum between your boobs the very first chance I get."
"But you do want to cum on them?" You ask, a little teasingly.
He laughs, a big, hearty, beautiful sound that fills the entire room as he lays you back down gently, covering your body with his. The weight of him on top of you is comforting, grounding.
"Yeah. On your boobs." His hands are sliding down underneath to your ass and squeezing. "And your ass. And your hips. And your stomach. And your thighs. Got a whole list of places to check off."
His hands are everywhere, and you're lost in a sea of sensation.
When he finally hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, you're ready. He starts to pull them down, the lace practically sticking to your core with the evidence of your previous orgasm.
His thumbs stroke your lips, parting them gently to reveal the slick, swollen flesh beneath.
"But right now... right now, I'm going to fill this perfect little pussy up until she can't take it anymore. Spread these thighs for me, pretty girl."
You do, without hesitation.
"Steve," you moan as he finally touches you where you need him most. His fingers circle your clit again and your hips buck up to meet his touch, a desperate plea for more.
"Thats it... gonna let me have a taste? Please?" His begs for permission are doing all sorts of things to your head, making you feel like you have all the power in the world. "Gotta get you ready f'me."
"Yes," You breathe, the word barely a whisper. "Please, Steve."
He needs no further encouragement. He lowers his head, and the first touch of his tongue against your clit is electric. He laps at you, a slow, steady rhythm that has you seeing stars.
His hands are on your thighs, holding them open, his thumbs stroking the soft skin there.
"Could live between these legs," he says, the words muffled by your flesh. "Seriously. Just say the word."
You're lost in a haze of pleasure, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a response.
He pushes two fingers inside you, crooking them to find that spot that makes you see stars. The double stimulation of his tongue on your clit and his fingers inside you is almost too much to bear.
"Steve," you gasp, your hands fisting in the sheets. "Please...I want you..."
"Baby..." He smirks against your folds, flicking his tongue a little. "You have me right now.."
"I want all of you," you plead. "Inside me."
"Is my pretty girl beggin' for my dick?"
"Please," You whine, pushing your hips back down onto his fingers.
"Okay, baby, okay," he says, pulling away from your core with one last, lingering kiss to your clit.
He's traveling up your body again, kissing his way up to your mouth, before he captures your needy whimpers with his lips.
"Think you're ready enough?" He whispers, moving your hand to stroke where he's aching. "You feel that?"
"Want you." You nod.
"Gotta get a rubber." He groans. "I don't have... I didn't think I'd get this lucky."
"Nightstand." You whisper again. "Same drawer." You smile a little.
He fumbles for a moment before he finds the strip of condoms and rips one off, the foil crinkling in the quiet room. He tears it open with his teeth, a move so practiced it sends a pang of something through you. But it's fleeting, replaced by the sight of him rolling the latex down his length, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he concentrates.
"You're so gorgeous..." It slips out, a soft whisper as you look at him in this moment. He's so vulnerable here, so open, you can't help but be completely captivated.
A pretty pink flush creeps up his neck at your praise. "Stop, you're gonna make me nervous." He jokes, but he's already lining himself up with your entrance.
He settles between your legs, and for a moment, he just looks at you. His eyes are soft, full of an emotion so deep it takes your breath away. He pushes in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size, the sheer thickness of him.
Your eyes squeeze shut and he cradles your face in one hand. "You can take it all baby, I know you can."
You can feel every inch of him, every ridge, every vein, as he fills you completely. He bottoms out and stills for a moment, giving you a chance to catch your breath.
"Okay?" He asks, his forehead resting against yours, your soft breasts flush against the hair on his chest.
You nod, unable to speak, your body humming with pleasure. "S'big."
"Gotta make room for me." He coos into your ear, thrusting in and out of you slowly at first. And it feels... like everything. He's moving slow, gentle strokes as he continues to praise your body and all the space it's making for his cock inside you. "She loves it though, doesn't she? Gripping me so tight... wants me so close..."
"Steve..." You can feel another orgasm building already, the sheer pleasure of being so completely filled, of being cherished so thoroughly.
"You're everything," he says, kissing your neck, your collarbones, the swell of your breasts. "Everything I've ever wanted."
His pace quickens, his thrusts becoming more purposeful, and he's hitting that spot deep inside you that sends sparks flying behind your eyelids. One of your hands is around his neck, tangled in the hair at the nape, he has the other one pinned just by your head, finger interlaced with his on the pillow.
It feels all consuming. You're completely surrounded by him, his smell, his taste, the feel of him inside you, moving with you. All your doubts, all your fears about your body have vanished, replaced by a bone deep certainty that he adores every single inch of you.
"Like having me like this? Yeah?" He smiles at your whine of 'yes'. "Gonna keep you nice and full?"
You don't even realize the noises you're making as your orgasm washes over you, but he groans at the sight. "Look so pretty, all fucked out by me..."
It is, without a doubt, the best sex you've ever had.
His thrusts slow and he's pulling out, the pout on your face making him chuckle. "Turn over for me, baby."
You do, moving onto your hands and knees. He takes a moment, just looking at you, his hands running over the curve of your ass, the roundness of your hips.
"Flat on your tummy, sweet girl, gimme a nice arch... that's it... and hike this thigh up..." He's so gentle, moving your body how he wants. One of your thighs is curled up, giving him a better angle to take you from behind.
"Mmm," The purr he lets out at this new view is absolutely sinful, "That's it, this perfect peach."
He slides back into you, this new angle allowing him to go even deeper. He's pressing kisses along your spine as he starts to move again, one of hands resting on the small of your back like some sort of grounding anchor, the other squeezing at the soft fat of your ass.
His balls graze against you with every thrust, hitting the little button of your clit in the most delicious way.
"Perfect," he grunts, burying himself deep again and again, "You feel perfect."
"You're so deep... oh my god, Steve..." Your hands have a deathgrip on your sheets now, the side of your face pressed into your pillows when he leans over you again to kiss your back and shoulders.
"Look at me, look at how much I love your body, honey. S'the best I've ever had, s'best I'll ever get." He whispers against your skin, the words being molded into your DNA with every thrust. "Tell me how good it feels to have your tummy pressing into the bed while I fill you up like this..."
His praise is what pushes you over the edge again.
This orgasm is even more intense than the last, and you're not sure you'll be able to walk after this. You're putty for him, and he can feel it, so he pushes a little harder. Deeper. The sounds he's making as he chases his own release only heighten yours. He's lost completely in the pleasure you're giving him and it's an incredibly heady feeling.
His hips stutter, and you can feel him start to pulse. One, two, three deep, final thrusts, and he's crying out the sweetest sounds a man can make, his body collapsing on top of yours, hot and heavy and perfect.
He nuzzles into the crook of your neck for a long moment before carefully pulling out and disposing of the condom. Your body is cold without his warm weight pressing down on you, but then he's back. Pulling you into his arms. You'd usually be a little self conscious about your size in a post sex cuddle, but he's just... so all encompassing, kissing your face all over and letting you tuck yourself into him
You end up with his head on your chest, the steady rhythm of your heart a comforting sound. His fingers are tracing lazy patterns over your arms, your back, your hips, mapping out every curve and valley as if committing them to memory.
You card your fingers through his hair, your other hand tracing the line of his jaw. His lips are having their way with your chest. He's not even looking for round two, just needs to be touching you however he can.
"Thank you." You whisper into the quiet room.
"For what?" He doesn't look up, too busy licking and sucking at your nipple.
"I don't think I've ever felt this... pretty before. As when I'm with you."
He stills, pulling back to look at you.
"You know I love you right?" He says, the words leaving no room for doubt. "I mean, I'm in love with you. And I want you to know that."
Your heart feels like it's going to burst out of your chest. "I love you too." The words feel right and natural on your tongue.
"Good." He says, a huge, dopey grin spreading across his face. "Cause I'm not letting you go."
He goes back to what he was doing, but now it's different. Now it's a declaration, a promise.
"Love touchin' you." He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your breastbone."Could do this forever."
"Eventually you'd have to go to work." You remind him.
"I'll quit." He says, dead serious. "I'll just stay here with you."
"I can't pay you to play with my boobs all day." You laugh. "Much as I'd like to."
"I have savings."
"Steve!"
You're both laughing now, tangled in each other, a mess of limbs and giggles. When the laughter dies down, he's just looking at you, a soft smile on his face.
"What?" You ask, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing. Just... happy." He says, and it's the simplest, most honest thing he could have said.
"Me too." You say, and you mean it.
steve taglist: @keer-y @aecd27 @snoopyharrington @mutual-future-repeat @djosfools @subtlesposts @cpnsteverogers @britt-mf @alimoiii @remorsefuul @bing72
ask to be part of any of my character taglists
plus size my ass. you’re talking about a girl with a big ass and giant boobs with a a small belly. no one talks about chubby girls with little tits and a flat ass.
yall also always do the fucking same thing in EVERY “plus size!reader” fics. she’s insecure, the love interest reassures them by having sex with them where he gropes her body.
so anyway i will always be a hater of the “plus soze!reader” fics. (except if they’re ACTUALLY accurate and not just about the objectification of a curvy woman.)
Jason wants you to meet his brother (Dick) and his best friend (Roy). As if that wasn't enough of a bomb, doubt starts to creep into your mind at the realization that your curves would make you stand out like a sore thumb in the Wayne family. Jason proves you wrong by taking you to a bar and letting Dick and Roy walk right into a trap.
"Hey, it's not that big of a deal-... yeah, no, it's... it's a big deal." Jason winced, brows furrowing while he flexed his hands around his mug.
Coffee- of course it was, though it was far too late in the day for even more caffeine, or so you'd scolded him once again.
You were staring at him, slack jawed, eyes widened just slightly as a brief huff of disbelief left your lips.
"Jay, you just told me you want me to meet your family. In what world is that not a big deal?!" You exclaimed, your tone a little more screeching than you'd liked.
He sighed, shoulders dropping ever so slightly, his eyes turned away as a frown etched itself onto his features.
"It's just Roy and Dick, s'not really meeting my family." He mumbled, toying with the handle of his cup, scratching his nails against the ceramic.
"Look, you don't have to, alright? I just thought-... I guess I don't really know what I thought."
Your heart ached. You've never seen him so defeated. So utterly downtrodden. His back slouched, head hung low while his gaze was focused on anything but you.
That heartbreaking glimmer in his eyes that never failed to make your own water.
Gently, you pried the mug from his grip and set it aside, taking his hands in yours.
The action made Jason avert his attention back to you, looking like a kicked puppy.
"I do want to meet them. I really, really do. Because they are your family, whether you want to admit it or not." You smiled softly, watching as he lit up immediately, a huff of relief making his chest feel lighter.
"I'm just nervous. And worried, I suppose? What they'll think, you know. I'm sure that I'm not exactly what they imagine when they think of your girlfriend." You chuckled nervously.
Jason, on the other hand, looked confused. Eyes narrowed, You-can-see-the-gears-turning-but-nothing-is-happening confused.
"What in the fuck is that supposed to mean?"
You cackled at the expression on his face and the goofy tone of his voice.
"Okay, let me put it like this. You're family is a bunch of buff, unfairly jacked and lean super geniuses. Not to mention how good the girls look. And Kori? She's a literal space princess! I just feel like I don't quite fit in. Can you imagine someone like me at one of those Galas? They would lose their minds-"
"'Someone like you? You mean a gorgeous, beautiful, stunning plump lady with a brain so big I sometimes wonder how your neck is still intact? You mean someone like that? Because we could use more of that, trust me." He chuckled dryly.
"Also, you're hot as fuck." He deadpanned, blankly staring at you.
You playfully rolled your eyes, tracing the space between his knuckles.
"A. I know, B. you're biased. I mean, they all probably expect you to date some super model." You explained, sighing.
You knew your worth. You knew that you were beautiful and perfect just they way you are, even beginning to love yourself.
But when challenged with a family full of hotties like the Wayne's plus Gotham's elite, it was hard not to feel just a little out of place with all your curves, bumps and pudge.
Jason's lips were pressed together in a thin line before he inhaled sharply and pinned you down with his gaze.
"Alright, first of all, they have no expectation of who I'd date because I was fuckin' dead, and when I came back my only interest was revenge and smashing peoples heads in. If anything they thought I would die alone."
The bluntness of his words and the expecting raise in his brows had you shell shocked, and pleasantly surprised.
"You're making problems for yourself that don't exist, ladybird." His tone turned soft as did his eyes, enveloping your heart in a blanket of warmth.
"So, respectfully, you don't have a point." He concluded for you, leaning back against the couch with a satisfied noise.
"Huh, I guess I don't." You breathed out, a smile spreading on your face while Jason already sported a wicked grin.
"There ya go. Now, can I brag about my hot, smart and curvaceous girlfriend to my dickhead brother and loser best friend? Because, sweetheart, you're one hell of a woman." He smirked, leaning in to get you all hot and bothered by his proximity.
You bit your lip, trying to act unaffected by his antics.
"Okay, fine," You groaned, feigning annoyance, "But only because I love you." You finished, failing to hide the smile on your face.
In one swift motion, Jason grabbed you and pulled you into his lap, your back pressed firmly to his chest. You let out a startled noise that morphed into a laugh.
"See? Just had to butter you up a bit, pretty girl." He nosed at your neck, a grin showing off his pearly whites while his arms were snaked around your middle.
"What can I say? You have a way with words." You smirked, looking back at him over your shoulder.
Jason chuckled and turned you in his lap, making you face him.
"I do have a very skilled tongue, as you know." He winked at you, kneading the fat of your hips in his hands.
You groaned and rolled your eyes before grinning and pinching his cheek.
"So, you up for tomorrow? It'll just be at a shitty bar somewhere. They won't judge you, I promise. And if they do, they can take it up with Fuck-" Jason raised one arm and flexed his bicep, "and You." With a wide smile, he lifted his other arm, and you watched as his muscles practically inflated.
You giggled, squeezing his arm with an approving nod of your head.
"I'll be there. I just have some errands to run, so I'll meet you at the place, yeah?" You replied sweetly, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose.
Jason's face scrunched up at your kiss, making him look like an adorable little bunny.
"Sounds good, ladybird." He replied, smiling.
There was something hiding beneath that smile, though. Something sinister. Mischievous. You squinted your eyes at him.
"... What are you up to?" You asked suspiciously, crossing your arms over your chest.
"Who? Me? I'm not up to anything." He replied sweetly, batting his lashes at you.
"Mhm." You hummed, searching for a hint in his teal eyes.
You could see his resolve cracking, his gaze breaking from your for just a split second. You continued to stare at him. Jason cleared his throat and gave you a tight smile before striking.
Quickly, he pushed you off his lap, making you stumble to the floor of your living room on shaky legs before he lowered himself to the ground, hooking one arm around your knees and hoisting you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
You screeched, digging your hands into his hoodie so you wouldn't fall.
"What the fuck! What are you doing?!" You screamed, cracking into a smile when you heard Jason cackle mischievously.
He moved quickly, rounding the couch and any obstacles with ease.
"Well, you see, I've been stumblin' over my words all day. Care to help me loosen up my tongue at bit, doll?" He grinned, hurrying to your bedroom.
"Jason!-"
Your voice burst with a laugh before you were interrupted by a loud crack when his hand met the back of your thigh.
You gasped, quickly followed by a slap against his clothed back.
"Remember that name, angel. I have a feeling you'll be using it a lot tonight."
.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.
"So, she coming?" Roy asked curiously, settling back into the deep-set lounge with his drink.
The redhead was seated in the middle, between the brothers, earning a shove and an annoyed eyeroll from Jason.
Dick snickered, taking a sip of his beverage.
"Why are you so obsessed with my girl, dude?"
"We just wanna make sure she's real. I'd hate to break you out of Arkham again, little wing." Dick grinned from behind the rim of his glass.
"Wow." Roy clicked his tongue, nodding along to the diabolical comment.
Jason only stared at his brother blankly, blinking once, then twice.
"Too far?" Dick asked, wincing slightly.
"Whaddya think, dickhead?" Roy sighed sharply.
"You should be so glad that I'm in therapy. Otherwise I woulda wiped the floor with you right now." Jason mumbled, taking a swig of his drink.
"It's the Piña Coladas talking." His brother chuckled awkwardly.
Jason just snorted, leaning against the soft cushions.
"To answer your question, yes, she's coming." Roy lit up, excitedly setting his beer down on the table.
"Really? So we get to meet the fabled ladybird, huh?" The redhead grinned, bumping his shoulder with Jason's.
He only shook his head and playfully rolled his eyes at Roy.
"Why didn't she come with you, then?" Dick asked, brows furrowed.
"Had to stop by the craft store." Jason replied simply, finishing his drink.
"Oh, so it's like that? You really did get yourself a pretty little thing, didn't you?" Dick smirked, watching as Jason chuckled in response.
"Dickhead's right. They not only make pieces of art, they are ones." Roy agreed.
Dick scoffed at the nickname.
"She's pretty alright. Looks like she belongs in the Louvre." Jason responded with a smile, then immediately regretting that decision when Roy and Dick began to look like the cheshire cat.
"Ooooo, Jay's in looooove." Roy teased with a chuckle.
"Did little wing find an even littler wing? That's adorable." Duck sniffled, wiping a faux tear from his lashline.
Jason grumbled in response, flipping them off.
"At least I didn't cheat on my girl." He mumbled sharply, hiding behind his second -or third?- glass of the night.
Dick's smile fell and he was reduced to a muttering mess, pouting like a child.
"God, you guys are actual children. Can I have one night-"
they both glanced at Roy when he stopped speaking, his lips parted as he stared at the entrance of the bar.
"You're lettin' flies in, carrot top." Jason said blankly.
Roy let out a low whistle, loosely gesturing to the bar before a smirk cracked on his face.
"Look at that piece of Eye Candy over there."
Dick followed his line of sight.
"Fuck me." He cursed, eyes wide.
"Look at those hips, jesus-"
"Now that's a woman."
Jason was mid sip, uninterested in this mystery woman ordering a drink at the bar. But, he glanced up anyway, only to choke on his drink when his eyes landed on you.
He sputtered, coughing as he felt the alcohol go up his nose.
"Woah, she got you good, didn't she?" Roy teased with a laugh, patting his back.
"Yep.." Jason croaked out, holding back a laugh.
"I'm telling ladybird." Dick said quickly.
Snitch.
"When will she be here anyway? It's been a while." He questioned, pulling up his sleeve to take a look at his watch.
"Soon, soon.." Jason replied, clearing his throat.
"Man, she could sit on me, and I'd thank her. And that rack-"
Roy continued letting his eyes trail over your body.
As amusing as Jason found this little misunderstanding, he couldn't help but grind his teeth and clench his fists.
Meanwhile, Dick delivered a slap to the back of Roy's head.
"Pervert! You don't talk about women like that." He scolded the redhead.
"Says you! As if you don't wanna be suffocated by those thighs or-or knock out on that tummy, I know you do!" Roy said sharply, pointing an accusing finger at Dick.
"Of course I do, but I didn't say it out loud, now did I?" He replied in a condescending tone.
"You fucking-"
"Oh, look, she's approaching us." Jason said nonchalantly, leaning back into the cushions with a grin, watching as the petty bickering between his brother and best friend stopped immediately.
"I call dibs! I saw her first." Roy said quickly, straightening his posture and trying to look unbothered while you approached.
"God fucking dammit." Dick cursed, being left to grumble with his Piña Colada.
He looked at Jason, who was comfortably leaned back with a smirk.
"How are you so chill about this?!" Dick asked irritated.
"You'll see." Jason grinned.
You walked towards them with a smile, the drink you'd just ordered at the bar in your hand. Roy put up his most charming face and quickly cleared his throat.
"Hello there, sweethea-"
his entire face dropped when you placed a hand on Jason's shoulder and pressed a kiss to his lips. His hands instinctively went to rest on your hips, giving them a gentle squeeze.
"Hi, baby." You greeted sweetly.
"Hey there, ladybird." Jason grinned, glancing at Roy and Dick.
The redheads jaw was on the floor, speechless while his gaze flitted between you and his best friend. Dick was just as shocked, but quickly broke out of it.
"THAT’S LADYBIRD?!" He yelled, earning harsh stares from other guests.
Dick quieted down with an apologetic smile and leaned closer to Jason.
"You fucking asshole! Why didn't you do anything? You let us say all those things-" at the realization Dick went pale.
"He's gonna beat our asses." Roy mumbled, still staring at you and Jason.
"... Fuck."
You just stood there dumbfounded while Jason had a grin on his face that made a shiver run down Roy's spine.
"What things?" You asked, you brows furrowed in confusion.
Jason pulled you into his lap, resting one of his hands on your thigh.
"Don't worry about it, angel." He said softly, pecking your cheek.
"How the hell did you end with such a charity case as Jason?" Roy asked bluntly, slumped in his seat, defeated.
"Excuse me?" You sputtered with a scoff.
"That's a lot of nerve coming from someone looking like an affair baby." You shot back.
Dick burst out laughing, Jason cackling along side him while Roy only stared at you.
"And she's feisty? Fuuuuuuck.." He whined.
"Nice to meet you, ladybird." Dick gave you a friendly smile and nod, still wiping the tears from his eyes.
You returned the smile before leaning in to whisper into Jason's ear.
"Is the rest of your family also like this?"
"Like what?"
"Loudmouth assholes." You replied, staring straight at Roy who looked like you just slapped his mother.
Jason laughed, throwing his head back when he saw Roy's face.
"Ah, no. Some of them are quiet assholes."
Dick scoffed, immediately defending himself and his siblings with big hand gestures.
You chuckled as you watched.
"Don't be sad, carrot top," Jason began, giving Roy's shoulder a squeeze, "You couldn't handle her if you tried."
18+ smut!! oral (fem receiving), face sitting, curvy!reader
if you asked steve one more time if you were “sure”, he was going to lose it.
"baby," steve murmurs, his large hands cupping the plump flesh of your thighs and squeezing as he looks up at you in awe. "you're not going to hurt me. i swear."
you swallow, looking down at your boyfriend as you straddle his chest. your hands raking through the coarse hair there, mostly for comfort but the actions makes steve shudder beneath you. he was already painfully hard, having you naked and on top of him meant it was impossible for him not to be. not when the heady scent of your arousal was filling his senses.
"but what if i—"
steve says your name as sternly as he could, given the circumstances. one of his hands lifts to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him.
"you won't hurt me," he repeats firmly, the hand that was still on your thigh squeezing once again. "now, sit on my face baby, please."
it was a demand, not a request, but you were hesitant and for good reason. the last time you had sat on a guy’s face, he had tapped out. said he had been unable to breathe. that your thighs were just too ‘big’. too thick. those words had lived beneath your skin for years.
but steve wanted you to sit on his face. really, really bad. he told you as much. and unlike your previous partners, steve was very vocal about how much he loved your body. loved your curves, loved every inch of your skin.
and so, as you looked down at steve you couldn't deny any longer and you find yourself wordlessly nodding before you shift your body up the bed. your knees came down onto either side of his face, resting just above his shoulders.
he could see your pussy clear as day now—the soft, warm light from the lamp on his bedside table showing him how fucking wet you were from making out for the past half an hour. how you grinding yourself against his hardened bulge now meant you were glistening under his gaze.
his lips part, his tongue pokes out to wet them as he stares at your soaked cunt. at your swollen, puffy clit that was calling his name.
his eyes flicker up to yours and you can see the trust in them. can see the want in them. can see how much he wants to devour you. and so, you lower yourself a little more so that your pussy was a mere inch or two away from his face.
steve groans, both hands messaging your thighs as he inhales the sweet scent of you.
"this is my favourite place in the world," he murmurs, looking up at you with such reverence that it makes your heart pound.
"shut up," you whisper back, face warm and hands fisting the sheets beneath him.
steve smirks at that. "make me."
and so, you do.
you lower yourself down until you feel his hot breath against you and steve? well, he's had enough of waiting.
he lets out a sound—some kind of moan that was both desperate and animalistic as his tongue traces over your soaked folds.
"stevie," you gasp. his mouth was so hot and you were so wet that just that little dip of his tongue between your folds made pleasure spread through your body.
steve just moans in reply, his tongue dragging through your folds as though he was more than happy to take his time to torture you with his mouth. his hands on your thighs were gripping the fat of your flesh tightly, tugging you down even more. you hesitated for a briefest of moments but it was his lips wrapping around your puffy clit that made you sink fully down onto his face.
and then—steve harrington was in heaven.
your thighs either side of his face, how they felt beneath his hands, the moans he could hear you letting out as he sucked lovingly on your clit. steve was relentless, his mouth alternating the pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves just to watch you squirm. his hands move to grip the globes of your ass, encouraging you to move as he dips down to your cunt, tongue flicking inside of you for a brief moment so that you cry out his name.
you forget every fear you had of hurting him. the only thing you could focus on was steve and the way his tongue was fucking you relentlessly. how his nose felt nuzzling your clit. how he moaned against your cunt. how his hips were bucking up against nothing.
you couldn't help yourself, your hips began to move. grinding yourself down onto his face, hands finding his mop of hair and gripping it tightly as his noses kept bumping against your clit at a rhythm that had you throwing your head back in pleasure.
he's moaning something against you—it could be your name, some praise, some comment on how he wanted to die between your legs. you never heard it. too busy riding his face as you orgasm drew ever nearer.
steve could tell you were close too—your thighs squeezing his face almost painfully. but it just egged him on even more, eyes on you as one of his hands moved along your skin until two of his long, thick fingers found your entrance. the wanton moan you let out as they sunk inside of you would piss the neighbours off but you weren't thinking of that as steve's fingers began to pump in and out of you, his lips back on your clit.
"stevie, i'm—i'm gonna—"
but steve's sucking at your clit as his fingers curl and find that spongey spot inside of you makes your orgasm ripe through you quite suddenly.
it was loud, it was intense and steve harrington couldn't have been happier. his mouth full of your sweet essence, barely able to hear anything due to the way your thighs were squeezing his face. he moans against you, fingers slowing down as he eases you through your release.
you're gasping for breath, collapsing onto the bed beside him as steve finally withdraws his fingers from you—not wasting a drop of your sweet nectar as he licks them clean. his lips were swollen and glistening from you and fuck—he was still so hard. but he couldn't give a fuck about himself right now. just you. only ever you.
"was that good?" he asks you, his voice gentle as he leans in to kiss your cheek gently.
"good?" you laugh softly, looking up at him and smiling. "steve, that was—holy shit."
steve smiles, leaning in to press another kiss to your cheek. "thought so," he murmurs, one hand reaching down to gently brush his fingers along your thigh inner. "we'll definitely be doing that again."
your lips twitch as you fail to fight back a smile.
"if you're lucky," you say, glancing down at the large tent in his boxers. at the damp patch obvious through the material. "can i take care of you now?"
steve smiles and squeezes your thigh. "anything you want baby." he tells you. "i'm all yours."
dividers by the lovely @zclhs
💋 this was a selfish one for me as a thick thigh girly so i hope you guys love 🫶🫶
Themes: angry sex, feral simon, he completely loses his mind, post-battle adrenaline, fear of loss, mutual pinning, size difference, curvy reader, 150lbs reader x 250lbs ghost, praise kink, desk sex, wall sex, rough handling
Warnings: explicit erotica, canon-typical violence, loud screaming matches turning into desperate skin-on-skin aggression, bruising grips, biting, scratching/clawing, clothing tearing, unprotected sex, creampie, heavy spit/drool sharing + a very expensive scotch bottle belonging to Captain Price destroyed in the process.
Synopsis: For ten minutes, Simon thought you were dead under the rubble. When you walk back into base alive and defiant, he completely loses his mind. Armor gets ripped apart, the mask comes off, and he uses all his strength to pin you to Price’s desk and fuck you stupid.
Words Count: 4.8k
The rain is a deafening roar against the corrugated metal of the staging area, but inside the cold plastic of Simon’s earpiece, the static is a thousand times worse. At the tree line, a massive shadow stands in full tactical gear. Behind the skull mask, his breath comes slow and steady. The Ghost. Methodical. Detached.
Then the comms line clicks open, and the world dies.
"Ghost, be advised." Price's voice slices through the white noise, but the familiar command is missing, replaced by a jagged, frantic edge. In the far distance, a heavy boom vibrates right through the mud beneath Simon's combat boots. "Sector Four just took a direct hit. Mortar shell. Total structural collapse. We're tracking her beacon but... it's gone dark. Ghost, she's gone. We can't find her."
Silence rushes into Simon's ears, suffocating. Behind the mask, his eyes blow wide as his chest locks violently against the heavy ballistic plates. For months, he has starved himself of you. For months, he has watched you, a legendary powerhouse of a woman, fierce, brilliant, breathtakingly competent, while keeping his distance, terrified of his own monstrous yearning.
And now, you are under the dirt.
A catastrophic panic detonates in his chest. Thick fingers slam into his tactical radio with enough force to crack the casing. The disciplined veneer shatters completely as a feral roar rips from his throat, his Manchester accent bleeding through.
"What d'you mean she's gone?!" he screams into the net, abandoning his post. Heavy boots tear through the mud as he launches his massive frame into a dead sprint toward the smoking ruins of Sector Four. "Say again, Bravo 0-6! Where the fuck is she?!"
"Ghost, stand down and maintain your sector!"
"Fuck the sector!" Simon's raw bellow tears through the night as he abandons all protocol. Enemy lines blur into nothingness, gunfire clicking past his shoulders like distant rain, his heart hammering against his ribs. "I'm going in! If she's under that rubble, I'll dig her out with my bare fucking hands! You don't leave her behind! You don't leave her!"
A man possessed, he shoves through debris, gloved hands bleeding as he rips at chunks of concrete and twisted metal. Price's furious orders and Gaz's desperate pleas merge into meaningless static through his comms. The roaring in his ears drowns everything but one image: your body, broken and still.
Then a blur of motion cuts through the dust. Your tactical gear emerges from a collapsed alleyway, rifle slung, face smudged with grime, but eyes sharp and alive. He skids to a halt so abruptly his knees almost buckle, staring as if witnessing a resurrection. You're alive. Whole. Here.
For a split second, relief nearly breaks him. Then it incinerates beneath a tidal wave of rage. He storms toward you with barely contained fury.
"You!" The word cracks like a whip in the dusty air. "You stupid, reckless, bloody woman! What in God's name were you thinking?! I thought you were dead! Do you have any idea..."
"I was clearing a tunnel, Ghost," you snap back, your own voice tight with adrenaline, refusing to be intimidated by his stature. "It was the tactically sound move. The comms were jammed by the blast. I couldn't raise anyone."
"I don't give a fuck about tactically sound!" He's in your face now, his eyes blazing with a wild, possessive fire you've never seen before. He grabs your shoulders, his gloved hands firm but not painful, shaking you slightly. "You nearly got yourself fucking killed! I'm pulling you off the op. You're done."
"You won't do shit!" you spit, shoving his chest. It's like pushing a brick wall, but he stumbles back a step, shocked by the defiance. "You don't get to make that call, Simon! I'm a soldier, same as you! I did my job!"
"Your job is to stay alive!" he bellows. "Do you understand what it did to me? Hearing you were gone? Feeling it in my fucking gut that I'd lost you before I ever..." He chokes on the words, the confession clawing its way up his throat.
The helicopter ride back to base is a blur of rotor blades and the sting of antiseptic. Your comrades are celebrating another victory, slapping each other on the back, their voices a dull hum. You're huddled under a foil blanket, your body trembling, but not from the cold. The adrenaline is a toxic fire, and as it finally starts to ebb, it leaves behind a terrifying emptiness. You were dead. For a few long, horrifying minutes, you were buried under a world of crushing stone and silence.
Across from you, Simon is a statue of granite. His balaclava is on, but his posture is wrong. He's not leaning back, he's coiled tight, his gloved hands clenched into white-knuckled fists on his knees. He hasn't spoken a word since he found you. Soap and Gaz are ribbing him, calling him a gloomy bastard and asking if he lost his voice, but their jokes fall flat, dissipating against the aura of simmering rage. Or is it perhaps fear that radiates from him?
His gaze, when it flickers to you, is so intense, so heavy, it feels physical. You see the flash of the man who screamed your name, who was ready to raze a battlefield to find you, and it sends a confusing jolt through your bruised body.
An hour later, still feeling the phantom crush of concrete, you're summoned to the Captain's office. Only, it's not Price waiting for you. It's Simon. He stands behind the heavy oak desk. His eyes are stormy seas behind the mask, his jaw tight enough to shatter.
"Shut the door," he commands, his voice a low, dangerous growl.
You slam it behind you, your own anger sparking to life. "What the hell was that, Simon? Out there? You embarrassed me in front of the whole bloody unit!"
"I could ask you the same fuckin' question, couldn't I?" he bites back, rounding the desk. He's in your space instantly, a towering wall of muscle and fury, the scent of sweat, cordite, and adrenaline rolling off him. "You disobeyed a direct order. You went comms-dark. You let me think that you were dead!"
"I did what the mission required!" you yell, poking a finger into his chest. "I'm not your damsel in distress, Ghost! I'm your damn equal! I made a tactical call!"
"A tactical call?!" Simon roars, his face turning a dark, dangerous flush as his accent cracks, raw and thick with the northern grit he usually hides. "You’re off your fuckin' head, mate! You think you're my equal when I have to watch you blow yourself to bloody bits?! You think I'm just gonna stand there and watch you get wiped out because you’ve got some right daft hero complex?”
"Get your hands off me, Simon!" you scream right back, your own voice cracking with the same toxic cocktail.
His thick, gloved fingers crush your knuckles against the plate of his vest with enough bruising force to make you gasp. "Don't you dare give me that 'equal' bollocks! You had me proper bricking it! I was listening to static, you absolute maniac! Static!"
"Let! Me! Go!" You shove your free elbow directly into his throat, slamming him backward.
Simon stumbles, but his hands clamp onto the collar of your combat shirt. He's too heavy, too wrapped up in you, and as he goes down, he takes you with him.
You both crash violently against Captain Price's desk. His green shaded lamp explodes into glass shards, official mission dossiers scatter into the air like white ash, and a bottle of expensive scotch falls, pooling alcohol across the dark wood. He rolls you instantly into the damp mess of paper and liquor. His armored chest crushes the breath straight out of your lungs, pinning your wrists above your head with terrifying ease. He is hovering inches above you, his eyes bloodshot and wide with madness as he screams directly into your face, his lips catching the flying spray of your own furious panting until you are literally spitting right onto each other's lips.
"I should court-martial you myself!" he spits, his jaw trembling so hard his teeth click against yours. "I should lock you in a cell so you can never bloody leave my sight! Keep you tucked away where you can't mither me, where you can't force me to watch you die!"
"Then do it, you fucking monster!" you shriek, your head thrashing against the ruined desk, your nails tearing free from his grip just enough to claw mercilessly at the skin of his neck, drawing blood above his collar. "Do it! Lock me up! Because I find you so fucking hot it drives me crazy, Simon! Stop screaming at me and use this goddamn brute strength to fuck me stupid or get the hell off me!"
Simon freezes.
The unhinged, screaming match dies instantly in his throat. His jaw drops completely slack as your raw confession hits him. For a single, suffocating second, the great, unkillable Ghost is entirely taken aback, staring down at you through the haze as his brain completely short-circuits. The silence between you is deafening, filled only by the ragged, heavy sound of your contrasting breathing and the slow drip-drip of scotch hitting the linoleum floor. His chest rises and falls against yours, his pupils dilated so large the blue of his eyes is almost entirely swallowed by black.
"What did you just say?" he whispers. The anger isn't gone; it's mutating into something much more dangerous, something darker. "You think this is a bloody game? You think you can just say that to me after giving me a proper fright?"
"I mean it," you pant, staring right back into his madness, your own heart hammering so hard it hurts. "I'm sick of the fighting, Simon. I'm sick of the shifting glances. Do something about it or get off me."
He stares at you, his gaze dropping to your mouth, then tracking the blood your nails drew on his neck. A shudder runs through his massive frame. He realizes you aren't joking. He realizes exactly how much power you hold over him. A raw, guttural whimper tears out of his chest, a sound completely unbefitting of the Ghost, a sound meant only for Simon.
"Right, that's it. No more bloody talking. I'm sorting you out once and for all."
Before you can even blink, his massive hands dive ruthlessly beneath the plush curve of your hips. His frame surges upward as he effortlessly hoists your entire weight off the desk in one seamless motion.
"Simon, put me down, you're going to drop me!" you gasp out, the sudden loss of gravity making your breath hitch.
Being a curvy girl, you aren't used to being handled like a ragdoll. You have weight to you, soft hips and full thighs that usually command space, but in his grip, you feel utterly weightless. A fierce, blistering blush explodes across your cheeks and floods down your neck, the embarrassment and arousal of being manhandled like a feather making your head spin. Your thighs lock instinctively around his waist just to keep from falling, your fingers digging into the tactical nylon of his shoulders.
Simon doesn’t even stumble. He just catches you against his heavy ballistic chest plate, his massive arms wrapping around the undersides of your thighs like bands of iron. He hoists you higher, adjusting your weight against his hip as if you weigh nothing at all. He lets out a low, breathless laugh, his hot, alcohol-laced breath fanning over your burning face.
"Drop you?" he rumbles, a dark, wicked smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His chest is heaving, pumping hard against yours. "You think I'm gonna drop you, love? What do you weigh, then? Go on. Tell me."
"Simon, don't," you squeak, the blush deepening until your ears are hot.
"Tell me," he growls, tightening his grip, his thick fingers digging into the meat of your thighs, squeezing firmly. "Let's hear it."
"One-fifty," you choke out, your voice small, mortified by the stark contrast between your soft frame and his absolute brick-house of a body. "I'm a hundred and fifty pounds, Simon, I'm too heavy for this."
"One-fifty?" Simon scoffs, his chest vibrating with a deep, breathless chuckle. He gives a sudden, deliberate upward jerk of his hips, tossing your weight up slightly just to catch you effortlessly again, proving his dominance. "Bloody hell, love. I carry kit heavier than you on a light Tuesday. You're just a sweet, soft little handful."
The praise is filthy, dripping with Manchester swagger, and it leaves you completely breathless, panting openly into the narrow space between your faces.
"Yeah?" Simon murmurs, his gaze dropping to your trembling lips. He stalks forward, his heavy combat boots crunching on the shattered glass, carrying you across the room without an ounce of strain until he slams you back-first against the reinforced concrete wall.
The impact makes the remaining frames on the wall rattle, but his hands are an unyielding vise beneath your thighs, pinning you there. He presses his weight completely into you, trapping your soft curves between the hard wall and his chest, exactly like you asked.
"This what you wanted, then?" he pants, his voice dropping to a visceral whisper, his chest heaving violently against your breasts as he breathes you in. "You wanted me to use this brute strength on you? Wanted to see what bloody happens when I stop holding back?"
You can only nod.
Hungering for him, completely feral from the adrenaline, your fingers fly to his head. You twist your hands directly into his short blonde hair, your nails scraping against his scalp as you violently tug his head back. With your other hand, you claw frantically at the hem of his dark mask, tearing the fabric upward with a brutal, impatient wrench until it bunches over his nose, completely freeing his mouth. You dive down, slamming your mouth directly against his exposed lips.
Simon Riley has the absolute best lips you’ve ever tasted in your life, unbelievably thick, plump, and beautifully fleshy, completely contrasting the hard, scarred violence of the rest of his body. The moment your mouths clash, the kiss turns messy and bruisingly deep. His heavy lips part with a wet, breathless gasp as he greedily drinks you in. You suck his lower lip with possessive hunger, your soft mouth completely smothering his. It makes him jerk and shudder against you. His hands, still locked beneath your ass, grip so hard you swear you hear the heavy-duty nylon of your pants tear. You take control of the kiss, licking sloppily into his open mouth, tasting his hot, slick tongue.
His reaction is immediate and completely devastating. Simon lets out a muffled groan against your mouth, his teeth catching your tongue with delicious friction as you deepen the kiss. His jaw quakes as his head instinctively tilts for better access, his lips moving against yours in a needy rhythm. You feel his massive muscles flex and tremble beneath the rough canvas of his gear as you grind your hips down into his stomach, moaning into his open mouth.
"That's it, big boy," you pant against his swollen lips, pulling back just enough to see his eyes, completely unfocused, pupils blown wide with shock and lust. "Yeah? You like that?"
"Yeah," he chokes out, his breath a ragged, hot hitch against your mouth. "Bloody hell, yeah... more..."
You swallow Simon's whimper with another bruising kiss, clawing at his vest until the velcro tears open with a satisfying rip. But Simon is done waiting, done being restrained.
With a feral grunt, he drops you back onto your feet just long enough to handle the tactical logistics of your gear. His large hands move with practiced, brutal efficiency, ripping the straps of your plate carrier loose and casting it to the floor. Your tactical shirt gives way with a brutal tear, and he doesn't bother with clasps, his big hands just shoving your bra cups down to immediately fill with the heavy weight of your breasts.
"Christ almighty," he groans, rolling your nipples between his fingers, pinching just hard enough to make you arch your back and cry out. "Look at these. Fucking perfect."
You twist in his arms, desperate, your hands flying to his belt. "Shut up and let me," you pant, snapping the tactical buckle loose and dragging his zipper down.
He shoves his pants and boxers away in one rough motion, his cock springing free. It is huge, thick, with a fat, swollen head already leaking pre-cum. You quickly unbutton your combats, kicking them and your panties aside until you're bare in your boots.
Instead of diving right in, Simon hoists you back up against the concrete wall, your powerful thighs locking around his armored waist again. But before he drives himself inside, he stops. His eyes are dark and wide with a manic, obsessive satisfaction. He looks down at your split, trembling thighs, then looks you dead in the eye and spits directly onto your soaking pussy.
"Simon," you whimper, your thighs shaking uncontrollably, completely overwhelmed by the raw, degrading intimacy of it. "What are you... ahhh!"
He uses two heavy fingers to ruthlessly spread the wetness around, coating your swollen lips and throbbing clit with the slick, messy mixture of his saliva and your overflowing arousal.
"Look at me," he demands, his Manchester accent completely unhinged. "Look at my bloody face. You want this weight? You want me to fuck you stupid? Tell me right now. Yeah? Do you want it?"
"Yes! Fuck, yes, Simon, please!" you scream, your hips rolling helplessly against him, begging for the friction. "I want your whole fucking weight inside me!"
"Fucking hell," Simon roars.
He doesn't bloody ask. He just slams forward, burying his thick length balls-deep in one brutal, unyielding thrust.
A high, wrecked scream tears out of your throat, your body violently stretching to accommodate his size. The initial, blinding burn mixes instantly with the most intense pleasure you've ever felt. He is so deep, filling your soft curves out from the inside in a way that makes your hips shudder and your vision blur. It's almost too much, but it's exactly what you asked for.
"Mmph... fuck," Simon grits out, a harsh, guttural hiss vibrating deep in his chest. His heavy jaw tightens, veins bulging in his neck as his hips pull back to the very tip before slamming forward again, embedding himself to the hilt. "Fuck, you're so tight, love... proper crushing me. So fucking perfect. Made just for me, yeah? Tell me. Yeah?"
"Yes, ah! Yes, Simon!" you sob out, your hands clawing frantically at the rough fabric of his shoulders.
His thick, gloved hands grip the meat of your ass, effortlessly holding your weight airborne against the concrete as he pounds ruthlessly into you. The heavy, visceral slap of his pelvis against your wet skin echoes obscenely in the quiet office with every single, devastating thrust. The angle against the wall is brutal, his cock relentlessly battering your sweetest spot, making you see stars. You can only cling to him like a lifeline, the slick, loud friction completely consuming the room.
"Simon, yes… oh god, more, please, big boy," you chant, your head falling back against the wall, your chest heaving as you pant openly into the space between you.
"Yeah? You want more of this weight, do you?" he pants, his accent dripping with a manic, possessive emotion as he adjusts his grip, shoving your thighs even wider until your hips are completely split for him. His fingers dig brutally into your skin, leaving deep indents. "Never again, you hear me? Never fucking scare me like that again! Can't lose you, love. Say it. Yeah? Say it!"
"Never! I promise, Simon, fuck!" you shriek, completely undone by the carnal authority in his voice.
You pull his head down, capturing his mouth in another bruising kiss. Your tongues tangle messily, your frantic breaths and drool mixing in the most filthy, raw way possible. He lets out a muffled, desperate moan straight into your mouth, his hips never slowing for a second, his cock driving into you with relentless, military precision.
His hand snakes down between your bodies, his fingers finding your swollen clit. He circles the sensitive, dripping nub with a rough, demanding friction that makes you cry out, your spine bowing completely off the hard wall.
"That's it, love, come on," he growls, his hot, heavy breath fanning against your ear. "I want to feel you clamping down. Wrap this tight little cunt right around my cock and squeeze me, yeah? Let me feel it."
The filthy, gravelly dirty talk, combined with the punishing stimulation of his fingers, pushes you straight over the edge. You scream his name into the rafters as your orgasm crashes over you in violent, pulsing waves, your pussy clenching and rippling frantically around his thick length. Simon lets out a loud, wrecked groan, his heavy hips stuttering and shaking as your tight walls clamp onto him, his own release barreling down on him like a freight train.
But he forces himself to hold back, his brain entirely short-circuiting from the overwhelming sensation of you.
The friction is completely visceral now. Simon isn't shaved down there, and the coarse, rough patch of his dark pubic hair scrapes mercilessly against your swollen outer lips with every single thrust. The abrasive, prickly texture stings your skin in the most agonizingly hot, primal way, sending a wild flush down your inner thighs. Your overflowing wetness makes an absolute, frothy mess of his pubes, gluing the coarse hair to your skin and creating a loud, squelching, horribly obscene squish that echoes with every relentless punch of his hips.
"Si... Simon... please, it's too much," you gasp, your head thrashing against the cold concrete, trying to catch your breath. "I can't... it hurts so good, it's too much. Please!"
But he doesn't let up. He can't. He has completely lost his mind. Simon reaches up, his hands framing your face, fingers tangling in your hair to pin your head firmly against the wall. He holds you still, forcing you to look straight into his dilated blue eyes as his hips roll in a slow, agonizingly deep, grinding rhythm.
"Look at me," he whispers, his voice breaking, as he stares down at your flushed face. "Look at what you've done to me, love. I can't fucking take it anymore. I can't. Every bloody day, watching you, wanting to put my cock into you like this... it's been killing me. Bloody killin me."
"I know," you sob out, your own tears and sweat mixing on your cheeks as you look into his raw, exposed face. "I can't take it either, Simon... I've wanted you so bad it hurts... please, don't stop..."
"Never," he rasps, a heavy drop of his sweat falling from his forehead onto your collarbone. "Never stopping. You're stuck with me now, you hear? We're both proper fucked."
He leans down, his mouth devouring yours again, and you kiss him with all the pent-up, agonizing emotion of the past few months. You pour your fear, your relief, and your desperate, starving need into him, and he meets you stroke for agonizing stroke. Your drool mixes heavily, sliding down your chins in a wet, messy, unhinged trail between your faces.
"Simon... oh god... Si... too much... you're fucking me stupid... I can't think..."
"Don't think, pet," he growls directly into your open mouth, his teeth grazing your lower lip. "Just take me. Let me fill you so bloody full you can't think of anything but my name. You're mine. Every gorgeous, thick inch of you belongs to me. I’m never letting you out of this office."
He drives that promise home with a sudden, violent change in pace. The slow, deep grinding completely fractures. Simon goes entirely feral, his heavy hips hammering into your plush thighs with a terrifying, rapid-fire, military velocity that leaves you completely breathless and conquered beneath him.
The wet, frantic slapping of his pelvis against your soft hips echoes loudly over the roar of the rain outside. He works his calloused fingers against your hyper-sensitive clit with an unrelenting, demanding pressure, intentionally timing the friction with the brutal thrusts of his cock. It is completely overwhelming. Your head thrashes wildly against the stone, a high, broken cry tearing from your throat. Your fingers desperately claw at his massive shoulders, tearing into the fabric of his shirt just to hold on as the room spins.
"Simon... fuck... I’m going to..."
"Come for me," he screeches against your mouth, his Manchester accent completely breaking as he drinks down your shattered cry. He tilts his head violently, his thick, swollen lips smothering yours in a bruising, sloppy lock. Your drool mixes instantly, a slick, hot mess smearing across your lips and dripping down your chins as you both pant directly into each other’s throats, exchanging ragged, wet moans against each other's teeth.
The sheer, raw intimacy of it is suffocating. You wrap your legs even tighter around his waist, burying your heels into his back, locking his heavy chest down against yours. It’s a primal, desperate claim, with neither of you letting the other breathe, proving with every bruising impact and wet, desperate gasp that you both survived the mortar blast.
Suddenly, the desperate need to see all of him hits you like a tidal wave. Blinded by the impending release, your hands fly from his shoulders to his face. You grip the bunched-up fabric of his dark mask and yank it completely up and over his head, casting it aside onto the floor.
Simon doesn't fight you. He lets you do it, completely exposing his raw, unmasked face to you in the dim light. His jaw is locked, his cheeks flushed a deep, dangerous crimson, and his blue eyes are blown wide, glazed over with a beautiful vulnerability.
"Simon... let me see you, please," you sob out, your fingers immediately tangling into his short blonde hair, pulling his head down. With your other hand, you blindly reach down, interlocking your fingers with his large, gloved hand, gripping it with a bruising intensity that matches the frantic, squelching rhythm of his hips. You need to touch him everywhere, your free hand mapping the sweat-slicked, scarred skin of his neck, feeling the heavy pulse jumping beneath his jaw.
"Fucking hell, love..." Simon groans, a deep, chest-vibrating rumble tearing from his lungs. His chest heaves violently against yours as he looks down at you, his features twisting with an agonizing amount of love and pure, unadulterated ruin. His fingers squeeze yours so hard your bones ache. "Look at me. Yeah? Look at what you've done to me. I'm right here. I've got you."
"Fill me, Simon! Take everything I have, please, right now!" you shriek, your voice cracking as you beg for the end, your hips tilting upward to swallow every last millimeter of his length with a wet, heavy clap.
Your pussy suddenly hitches, the walls of your cunt clamping down around his thick, pulsing shaft in a violent, cascading orgasm. You scream his real name into his open mouth, "Simon! Oh god, Simon!" Your body bows completely against him as the contractions rip through you.
But instead of letting you down, Simon’s thumb aggressively mashes against your dripping clit again, his hips continuing to slam into you without a single second of mercy. He refuses to let you catch your breath, keeping your body at a breaking point.
"Again," he rasps, letting out a manic, breathless gasp against your lips as he pounds into your melting core. "Come again for me, love. Right now. Again and again and again... I want you ruined. I want you completely spent."
The relentless, punishing pace drives you completely over the edge. You begin to tremble under him like you're possessed, your limbs shaking uncontrollably, your eyes rolling back as a second, even more violent orgasm triggers right on top of the first. You are completely helpless beneath his bulk, sobbing and thrashing, letting out small, breathless cries as your pussy grips his shaft in a vice-like, suffocating stranglehold.
The tight, rhythmic squeezing of your walls completely shatters whatever restraint Simon has left. He can't resist it for another second. He lets out a guttural, animalistic roar, a loud, roaring "Fuck, yes!" that rattles your chest, his entire body locking up into steel cables. He drives his hips forward one last, agonizingly deep time, burying his cock to the absolute root, and unloads.
The heat of his sperm pulsing thick and deep inside your swollen depth makes your vision go entirely white. Simon shudders violently over you, letting out a trembling groan as his head drops into the crook of your neck.
He pants heavily, completely spent, his massive weight flattening your plush body against the concrete while the storm rages on outside.
⊱ Nat kissing your tummy during sex any chance she gets because you’re beautiful and she loves every part of you, but particularly how squirmy you get with her lips lingering on places that you’ve never felt comfortable with.
⊱ Whenever you’re doing something, cooking, reading, or working, Wanda will never stop herself from coming up behind you, wrapping her arms around your middle, and gently squishing your belly and always whimpering, “My beautiful girl.” In your ear, before she kisses your cheek and walks away, leaving you flustered.
⊱ When you can’t sleep, Nat will start gently tracing lines with the tip of her finger over your nose, your cheek, and your neck, but then she stays with your tummy and thighs the longest; her gentle touch is enough to send you back to sleep in her arms.
⊱ When they see you naked for the first time, after they slowly undress you, taking their time, they notice you automatically hugging your stomach to hide yourself away, but Nat's is the one who pulls your hands to the side before kneeling and kissing your curves, while Wanda hugs you from behind, squishing your belly between her fingers and whispering how beautiful you are as she kisses your neck.
⊱ Wanda senses your bad body image days before they even happen; she knows you better than you know yourself. Annoyingly so. On these days, though, she stays extra close to you. Giving you more touches, more kisses and more "Stay with me, sweetheart."
⊱ Anyone who makes any kind of comments, Nat will literally start a fight, with no thought or question behind it.
⊱ On the days that you avoid food because you're worried about your body, Wanda, being the foodie that she is, will sit you down, soft and gentle, and if you still won't eat, she will have no qualms about feeding you herself, and then Nat would do the same, but more forcefully with a "Sit. Food. Now."
⊱ Nat loves picking you up. Often bridal style, or over the shoulder, or whatever. She acts as if you weigh nothing at all, and she just wants to watch and hear you squeak.
⊱ Wanda traces little hearts or shapes on your tummy while you talk. She doesn’t even realise she’s doing it. It's just something that comes naturally and calms your own nervous system as she does.
⊱ Nat gets genuinely so offended when you talk bad about yourself.
She's never actually mad at you. Just mad at the world for making you feel like that.
⊱ They both hype you up when you wear or try on new outfits, or even just everyday outfits. Nat will be leaning against the doorframe. arms folded, and giving you a wolf whistle. Whereas Wanda stands in the room, speechless, breathless, eyes wide and fingers glowing red from feeling everything as she looks at you. The compliments continue on all day.
⊱ Wanda and Nat absolutely adore when you sit in their laps. Not in a horny, spicy way, just casual. A soft domestic way. Reading books or reports, watching TV, scrolling your phone, even eating. Nat will tug you down like "Come 'ere," and Wanda will pull you onto her lap with a hand to your hip and a kiss to the cheek, "Perfect."
