Trouble (he in a they way) | late 20s | MDNI
Dark fic enthusiast who will wax nasty horny poetry about Captain Price if you're not careful
Anti-AI art and writing, including c.ai
i just really need park to be so so mean to me and use and abuse all of my holes because he’s entitled to them 😭
leaves you tied to his bed when your days off overlap so he can have you whenever—and however—he wants. and even though all of your holes are his for the taking, you've never had a single discussion of free use once—it's just a given the moment you climbed into his bed and spread your legs. he also makes a huge mess of you, and then sneers at it, even though he's the one who likes to spread your thighs apart, and push his hand against your lower belly.
(and speaking of messes, he also likes to grab you by the scruff of your neck when you beg for a time out and rub your face against his pillows—smearing a gross mix of cum, drool, snot, spit (because he's a meannnnnn spitter, too; spits in your mouth, on your pussy, on your face, your ass, your belly—and you better say thank you, sir afterwards), and tears all over his very expensive silk.)
Bruh the chokehold Park has on me and the CoD gang!! WILD!!! But also i just know he’s NASTY with anal 😮💨
omgggggggg the way i perked up so fast when i read this is a lil embarassing 😭 like this must be what a dog feels when they hear the word walk
but he's definitely the type to use his entire weight against someone when he doesn't too. like you don't have arms like that if you're not locking them around someone's neck so you can pin them down, pronebone, and bully your too big, too thick cock into their ass while they whimper and cry and gnaw on your forearm because it hurts so much, park. but jokes on them because you like the way they sound and look when your cock makes them ache, when you get to break in that pretty lil ass they had the nerve, the audacity, to sway at you at work like you weren't gonna drag them home, spank them numb, spit on their hole, make them stretch themselves for your cock, and then fuck the attitude (aka a regular person with a regular walk 🥲) right outta them.
and when he's finished, you knowwww he's spreading your cheeks just so he see the hole he ruined and tell you, in explicit detail, how pretty it looks all used and sore and leaking his cum.
i know i’m pitt posting again but i can’t stop thinking about dr. park the shark and his stupidly huge arms.
like sure he needs them for ortho surgery when he’s hammering and pulling and sawing, but surely they’d look so much nicer wrapped around the neck of a pretty med student like you.
in a headlock, firm and unmoving. he’d squeeze his bicep around your throat and drape his entire body over your back. doesn’t care how much you whine about the weight, or the heat, or the sweat that sticks between you. tells you to keep that pretty mouth shut unless you’re crying out his name.
and god you know he’d fuck you like that too. stupidly big arm pinning you against him, his weight bearing down on you, his cock a thick stretch as he ruts into you. groaning and grunting and just not letting you go at all. smelling like sandalwood and amber and the musk of his sweat.
your vision will blur at the edges and you’ll sob out his name with tears rolling down your cheeks. of course he’s sucking them from your skin and groaning against you, cooing so mockingly about how pretty you are when you cry and how good you are taking him like this.
hold my hand when i say chubby alpha!robby (f!reader)
For alphas, size is a big part of identity. It's a leftover biological urge to be large, be able to protect an omega from possible threats, specifically other alphas. It's their biological imperative to put on as much muscle mass as they can.
Omegas also tend to have an underlying bias towards larger, muscular alphas.
Enter Robby, an alpha who was never very good at putting on muscle in his younger days, which lands him here: a middle aged, chubby man. Sure, he's tall and has a decent amount of muscle, but most of it is buried under fat. When people look at him, they don't think he's buff, they think he's chunky.
As if that's not bad enough, Robby has his sights set on an omega. The same omega that Jack is pining after.
Day after day, Robby has to watch as Jack hits on you, pulls out all the stops. Robby doesn't stand a chance. He doesn't even try because, the thing is, you seem to like Jack. You laugh at his jokes, accept the coffee and pastries he brings you every morning before he goes home. If there was any alpha in this department that you'd go after, it's Jack.
Or so Robby thought.
His shift has barely started when Robby finds Jack shuffling awkwardly away from you with his proverbial tail tucked between his legs. Robby doesn't even need to ask what happened before Jack spills.
"I asked her out," Jack says like it's the only explanation needed.
Robby blinks. If Jack asked you out, then why does he look so upset?
Unless...
"She said no?"
Jack nods, "Didn't even think about it."
Apparently, Robby is a glutton for punishment, because he pats Jack on the shoulder and says, "Don't worry, brother. I'll go talk to her."
"Good luck," Jack grumbles, already retreating to the lockers.
Robby doesn't need to do much looking. Your scent alone, strong even despite the scent patches you wear, is easy enough to follow. Robby finds you charting, typing away and looking too nonchalant for someone who just turned down a perfectly fine alpha.
"Hey there," Robby says, pretending to read over your chart. "How's it going?"
"If he sent you here to change my mind, it won't work."
Robby bites back a smile. You're a strong-headed omega, always have been. "I offered to."
"What a mensch."
He chuckles, “Dr. Abbot’s a good guy. You should give him a chance."
"I know." You shrug, not even pausing as you type up the chart, "But I'm not interested."
“Really?”
“Yeah. He’s too… uh,” you clear your throat, shaking your head. “Not my type.”
Robby snorts, “What, too muscular for you?” His words are sharp and mean, an unfair projection of his insecurities onto you.
“Actually,” you chuckle nervously. “Yeah.”
Robby doesn't remember much of the rest of the day, his mind is too busy turning your conversation over in his head.
What omega doesn't like a muscular alpha? Maybe you prefer someone skinnier, someone like Mohan. Or maybe Garcia, still muscular, but much leaner than Jack. That must be it, Robby decides. Surely you just prefer a leaner alpha.
Robby accepts that as the truth. Just like before, he resigns himself to keeping his distance, telling himself there's no world in which you'd go for him.
How wrong he is.
You're frustrated, to say the least. You've been working at PTMC for the last three years, and each and every day you've been here, it's been a struggle not to throw yourself at your attending and beg him to claim you.
You drop every hint. You push your scent when you see him outside of work. You always pour him a coffee when you're in the staff lounge (with two cubes of sugar, even though he's a stubborn alpha who lies to everyone and says he prefers it black). Hell, you told him that you don't prefer musclar, cut alphas and still this man doesn't understand that you want him.
For fuck's sake, you've stolen a sweatshirt from him for your nest. That was last fall, and while the scent faded quickly (thanks to the fact that you spend every single heat with your face buried in it, imagining that it's him), the idea of returning it has on multiple occasions made you cry.
Finally, you decide to confront him. It's two days before your heat and you're sick and tired of dropping every goddamn hint that Robby is your walking wet dream. If he's not going to court you, then you just have to take matters into your own hands.
You corner him by the lockers. You've already taken your scent patches off for the day. Typically, you wait to do it until you're finally home, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
"Robinavitch," you bite. You're caging him against the lockers, "Put in for PTO starting Tuesday."
Robby gulps. His pupils are blown, the brown of his eyes almost entirely disappeared thanks to the scent of pre-heat flooding his senses. He stutters, "W-Why?"
"My heat."
"I don't see why I need to–"
"You're spending it with me," you say like it's law. Frankly, it might as well be. You know that with this option on the table, Robby would be remiss to pass it up. "Unless you have a problem with that," you add, just to see him panic.
"No! No! I–" Robby blinks. What'd you give to know what he's thinking right now... "I haven't courted you."
You scoff, "Yeah, believe me, I know. This is your chance to make it up."
"Are you sure?"
"One hundred percent. I'm sick and fucking tired of waiting for you to wake up and make a move."
"But I'm..." Robby clears his throat. Quietly, he finishes his thought, "I'm fat."
"Good," you say quickly, because the thought of making him feel bad for his body makes you ill. In no word will you allow him to be insecure about one of the hottest parts of him. "I look forward to seeing your fat self in my nest."
Robby's jaw drops. You smile.
"I'll text you my address." Ignoring the obvious tent in his pants, you wink, "See you soon."
Ghost is the exact kind of guy to somehow get stranded in the Florida wilderness...
No, he has no rational explanation for how this happened, only that he's been out here for five days and he's shockingly skilled at navigating the wildlife. Maybe it's because they can sense how mentally unstable he is, who knows.
He does, however, accidentally step on the tail of a giant fuck-off gator.
Which is how you, a hiker just trying to enjoy nature and grab some nice videos, end up recording this 6ft something man wrestle with an alligator easily twice his size. You stare, horrified, as he straddles the animal and tanks a death roll without so much as a yell.
In fact, the crazy bastard manages to escape with a thoroughly chewed arm and a crazed look into your camera.
You upload the video while sitting in the waiting room of the ER.
People call him the final boss of "Florida men" and he thinks it's hilarious, wheezing about it over his cup of shitty tea.
“Hey, Dana? Got a sec?” Robby asked in a low voice, leaning over the counter.
“Why?” She took off her glasses and looked at him.
“I got a patient in Trauma 2 and she’s… jittery. I need an ortho consult for her arm and hip but she doesn’t want to. She keeps asking to be transferred to Westboro or any other hospital.” He explained, “And she’s got bruises that aren’t from the accident.”
Dana looked over at Trauma 2, where you were sitting, leaning back, staring at the ceiling. You were cradling your arm to yourself, the team had wrapped it but it still needed to be looked at once the X-rays came down.
You smiled and nodded as someone administered medication and it was obvious that you wanted to leave even though you were being as polite as possible.
“I’ll check it out.” Dana patted Robby’s shoulder and moved towards the room you were in.
Meanwhile, you were sitting and hoping that someone would come with the good news that you were getting transferred.
“Hey- I’m Dana.” She entered, closing the door behind her and drawing the curtain. “You got a minute to talk?”
You smiled and sat up a little, then winced in pain. “Sorry- Just really sore. Am I getting the transfer?”
“Uh- Not yet.” She looked over her shoulder then pulled a stool to sit next to the bedside. “Is there a reason you don’t wanna be here? At this hospital?”
“Yeah, I usually go to Westboro or Sacred Heart. I was just near here so they brought me here and I wasn’t very lucid to advocate for myself.” You gave a nervous laugh.
“And there’s no other reason?” She asked, eyeing you carefully.
“No, ma’am.” You swallowed but she noticed you stiffening up a little.
“Okay… okay. Is there someone we can call or-” She started but you shook your head.
“No! I mean- I- No. I’m fine. I just wanna get out of your hair-” You said immediately.
“Okay.” She nodded, watching you fidget with your wedding ring. “You married?” She asked softly.
“I- Yeah-” You smiled, looking at your hand. “Three years now.”
“He’s a good guy?” She asked.
“He looks mean but he’s-” You pause then sigh deeply. “Are you here to ask if I’m being abused?”
“Dr Robby saw bruises that weren’t related to the crash. We have to do our duediligence.” She explained with a gentle smile.
“I’m not- It’s not abuse-” You flushed deeply. “We’re just very passionate and he’s stronger and gets very-” You cleared your throat as you shied away from explaining that your husband was an animal in bed.
“Robby called for an ortho consu-” Park entered and stared at you, saw Dana, then turned and walked away.
“That was new.” Dana mumbled then looked at you. You laughed nervously, trying to not show anything. “So, I’m gonna ask again, can I call someone for you?”
“I- My husband is my emergency contact but I don’t wanna bother him.” You said quietly.
“Honey, you might have a broken arm and a fractured hip. You’re gonna need to call someone.” She said softly, reaching to hold your hand and give it a squeeze. “Maybe a sibling? Or a parent?”
You shook your head again. “No. They’d all call him immediately so-” You sighed. “I’m fine… Really.” You gave a small smile.
A few minutes later, Garcia walked in, confused. “Shark refused the consult.” She whispered to Dana and gave you a smile to start your consultation as Robby came back again.
Broken radius, and fractured ilium with a lot of bruising on your ribcage.
You nodded through the diagnosis and then the explanation of how you may need surgery for the arm but everything else can be wrapped and heal on its own. And then once again, someone emphasised that you needed to call someone.
The room was full of interns, student doctors and Robby, explaining your condition when Park walked back in. He was no longer in scrubs but the same jeans and shirt he’d been wearing when he’d left home in the morning.
Robby raised a brow as he entered. No one had ever seen him on the floor in casuals.
“We good?” He asked slowly.
“Good. Continue.” Park nodded and pulled a stool to sit next to your bedside, taking your hand in his.
It took Robby a good thirty seconds to finally realise why you wanted to be transferred to another hospital. You were saving them from the Shark, not trying to run away.
“Brendon- I was just-” You looked at Robby worriedly.
“I know.” He nodded, eyes still locked on Robby.
The room that had been buzzing was now very, very silent. One intern was now focused on the IV pump, another found the curtains very fascinating. The student doctors were transfixed on the floor.
“Okay.” Robby clapped his hands, “Learning moment’s over. How about everyone go so I can have a moment with our patient and… spouse?” He added carefully and Park nodded once. “Right…”
Once the room was empty and only the three of you remained, Robby turned to you both again.
“How bad?” Park asked. His voice was unwavering but he was obviously worried with how hard he was holding your hand.
Robby silently pulled up the Xrays to show him. Park sighed deeply then looked at you.
“You should’ve called me.” He spoke gently which made Robby’s brows meet his hairline.
“I didn’t wanna pull you from your shift.” You whispered back.
“My shift?” Park hissed and Robby cleared his throat. “We’ll talk about this later.” He pouted and turned to Robby, shoulders dropping a little. “Garcia will do the surgery since I can’t.”
Robby nodded in agreement, looking over his shoulder, a small crowd was just walking past, constantly sneaking peeks of Shark and you, and whispering.
“As soon as we’ve got an OR, we’ll move you up.” Robby explained. “And uh-” He paused. “Dana might wanna talk to you-”
“Dana? Why?” Park’s brows furrowed.
“The bruises-” You whispered to him and he glares at Robby.
“I am not explaining how I love my wife.” He was appalled at even the notion.
“Right! Of course! But you know! Hospital policy.” Robby backed away with a smile and exited the room quickly.
You turned to Park with a smile. “You really have a reputation, huh?” You laughed softly. “They have no idea how gooey you are at home.”
“Stop… I’m a tough guy.” He smiled a little.
“The doctor before- The woman. She called you Shark. I never thought they seriously called you that.” You giggled some more and he rolled his eyes, leaning to kiss your forehead.
“I told you I’m a scary guy at work.” He said softly.
“Sure thing, fish boy.” You mused.
Outside the room, Robby was explaining the situation to Dana, whilst Whitker and Santos were eavesdropping.
“What… is happening right now?” Mel asked Dennis as she too stared at the scene unfolding in Trauma 2.
“Shark might actually be human.” Dennis whispered back.
“Who would’ve thought.” Trinity nodded in surprise.
park is Not a communicator, and that absolutely extends to making his wants clear. you've become his favorite student, but he can't say that. so he just gets even meaner than usual to any other students they send to him, but he's mean as a default, so you're not exactly picking up on the fact that he likes you. plus he's hard on the ones he picks for himself - pressure makes a diamond, or whatever the saying is.
you go to a bar after work one day - a long, hard day, and god you just need a drink. there's a couple other doctors, but you notice park in the corner on his own. you're a little tipsy, a few drinks in, and god he looks so sad in the dark lighting, bags under his eyes and big hand around a glass of amber liquid. you're not really thinking when you slide up beside him and just start talking - all about your day, all about your coworkers. he doesn't even look at you at first, so you're not sure he's hearing you. but eventually, when you're complaining about a coworker, he mutters what a bitch. you giggle and lean a little closer, all but draped over his shoulders, and he slides you his glass. by the end of the night you're being guided out of the house by an arm around the waist and not much more. when you wake up the next morning in a decidedly unfamiliar bed you're mortified, scampering out before he can wake up and say any manner of horrible things, you're sure
you avoid him all day at work, ducking away any time you catch a glance of him. your coworkers have an ongoing joke - holding up a hand as a fin on their head whenever they know park's on the way, and every time you see it you dart off to another assignment. but eventually you're stuck on a case with him, and park says... nothing. absolutely nothing. he's so indifferent that you're actually a little embarrassed. i mean, you fucked this guy, right?? he's almost paying less attention to you now.
it isn't until a few weeks later, when you're back at that same bar after another terrible day. you don't go over to park this time - christ, even looking at him makes your face flush, you can't even think of the last time you were here. so you turn your back, talk to literally anyone else (even the bartender for a while). you're a few margaritas in when an arm wraps around your waist and there's a heat at your back. you're done avoiding me. finish your drink, he rumbles, and wow the voice alone makes you arch in your seat. it shouldn't be that surprising to you when just minutes later you're being led out the door, letting park carry nearly all of your weight
what does surprise you is waking up the next morning to your wrists tied to the headboard and a scowling, naked park above you. not letting you run away this time, he says. made me waste my cum for fuckin' weeks, putting it down the damn drain instead of in your cunt. you're not moving until you learn your lesson. i don't like waiting.
respectfully bo, what are your dirtiest nastiest park headcanons? i’m in a chokehold 😭
stealing from the indomitable lev yeyinde but SPIT SPIT SPIT spit spit spit all over you, spit on your face, on your cunt, in your ass, he missed and spits in your eye but doesn’t stop fucking you when you squeal because he likes those sounds. pushes your head down on his cock and complains when your mouth isn’t wet enough, growls and pins you with your knees by your ears and slobbers all over your cunt, tells you this is how it’s fucking done, gives you a head rush when he pulls you up and says try again
marks you up like crazy but doesn’t usually use his mouth, it’s all fingerprint bruises covering you. leaves you a pretty necklace of mottled yellow and purple, holds your wrists and presses down with his thumb on your pressure point, doesn’t react in any way no matter how much you whimper and squirm, keeps his hold until he’s sure there’ll be a mark. when you finally ask him if he can at least bite, c’mon, people are asking if someone’s hurting me at home, he’s distinctly unimpressed. he bites alright - bites until you’re sure you’re bleeding, bites until the imprint of his teeth is distinct in the bruising. you paw and push at his face but that only makes him latch on harder, and when he finally spits you out he’ll say you asked for it, stop bitching
turnnoffyourmind
gummygunk
blakekathryn
jacobvanloon
