Imagine joining an online chatroom because you struggle meeting people in real life, but god do you want to lose your virginity, right?
Most of the men you meet aren't all that interesting, but there's this one guy...fucking hilarious, witty, a bit dry. His chat name might be "deadmeat" but by the pictures he sends it's anything but.
Deadmeat: thought of you again, bloody mess. Can't wait to have you.
The picture attached is his usual, hard cock covered in at least two previous loads, tip flushed pink and wanting. The calloused, tattooed hand it's cradled in is what drew you in initially. Most folk in the chat room were...well...gifted in size, and as fun as it is to imagine you can hardly manage two fingers on a good long day.
But this man? Perfect fit. About the width of his palm, fingers easily wrapping around. Not small by any means, but definitely not heart-stopping in a bad way.
You: just a few more days. Got the motel booked?
You make sure it's safe, of course you do. Swapping photos together in anticipation for the day.
Deadmeat, or ghost as he requested you call him now, is...a little different than you expected. Tall, for one, nearly brushing his head on the top of the doorframe when you nervously unlock the motel room.
You don't quite realize the breath of your mistake until you and ghost are half undressed in bed and you slip a hand under his waistband. You slide you hand along the soft hair at his base, wrap your hand over it and—
...no. no way.
The amusement on ghosts face as you frantically shove his pants down and pull out his dick is palpable. Holy shit, he's massive. You're a few centimeters shy of wrapping your hand around him, not to mention the length.
You swallow thickly, glance up at him.
The fucker has the audacity to chuckle, reaching down to wrap his impossibly large hands around his dick, give himself a few pumps "well? Everything you were expecting? Don't worry, i can make it fit."
I’m in my hurt no comfort era and so I’m toying with the idea that soap goes too far and he does hurt Simon? Or maybe like you mentioned Gaz targets Simon just to get a rise out of soap?
I’m feeling like hurt no comfort will cure me ;)
oh god my heart 😫😫 maybe it comes after soap being put in isolation, days if not weeks of being wrapped up in a straight jacket in a padded room. he can’t move, can’t get any energy out, can’t fight the voices in his head telling him to rage. no one understands that this just makes him worse and if they’re being honest, they don’t really care; not if it means he keeps attacking orderlies and they have to pay out their medical leave. soap’s a drain on their resources and the break is as much for them as it is for soap to “calm down”
but he just winds up tighter and tighter and they know that which is why they don’t take the straight jacket off until he’s been marched back into his and ghost’s room, the door closed as much as it can be as they unbuckle him so they can slip out before he can turn and launch himself at them. he feels so out of control, so stripped of his humanity, but for once instead of going for the pillows or the walls, he can’t move; so trapped in his anger, he can’t take a single step, can barely breathe through the white hot rage that’s feeling more and more like pain
ghost doesn’t know how long has passed with soap frozen in the doorway, looking off into nothing like he’s mimicking one of his episodes instead of his own cataclysmic meltdowns. talking to him does nothing; it’s like he can’t here him, his attention buried so internally deep, he might as well not even be here. distant worry starts to swell against the wall of his apathy bc he knows the doctors won’t come back in here if there is something wrong, they won’t risk themselves if soap has somehow become even more volatile
he gets to his feet and slowly walks towards him, uselessly talking the whole time; he tries to joke that he sounds like soap but it comes out croaked, stilted, proof that this whole thing is wrong. ghost stops in front of him but it’s still like he’s not even there. he just stares straight through him
so he raises his hand and puts it on soap’s bicep
ghost doesn’t even see soap move. the next thing he knows, he’s on the floor, his nose aching and wet with his blood, and soap is above him, arm reared back for another punch. he doesn’t try to stop it from landing, the crunch of it against his cheek perversely reassuring, and he stays prone as he pulls back again and again
I’m gonna shit my pants I love this so so so so much!!!!!!!
I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS!!!!
-when Simon and soap meet price for the first time and price sees soaps anger, he pulls Simon aside and asks him if soap did that, Simon lies
-Simon begged for help, grabbing on to sleeve of Johnnys shirt , gently tugging to get him to stop
-while it was happening for Simon it’s a mixture of the first real thing he’s felt other than apathy in a long while and also its first time he’s hurt that wasn’t self inflicted
-baby boy Simon has a flashback to when he was abused as a child and accidentally calls soap dad in the middle of it, trying to get him off
-the orderly’s are torn because yes Johnny did this but Simon won’t let him leave and Johnny isn’t leaving voluntarily so they allow check ins every hour but no physical touch
-back to price; price knows Simon is lying and doesn’t fully ignore it but he does keep that in the back of his head so that when one of the other gym patrons and soap get into it, and Simon goes to push Johnny away price is right there after him so no one gets hurt, not even Simon
GOD PRICE KEEPING AN EYE ON THEM IS SO !!! maybe he believes ghost when he says it’s not as cut and dry as abuse, that yes he lied about soap being the one to hurt him but not bc of fear or internalised blame. ghost knows soap hurt him on purpose (even if he didn’t know who he was hurting) he just doesn’t care. price seeing that lack of self preservation, maybe remembering the people he hurt bc they thought they needed to stay, and decides if ghost won’t leave or protect himself, he’ll just have to do it for him. the loser he gets to soap, the more it solidifies into the correct choice in his mind; soap is a man on the brink but when it comes to ghost, none of his violence is deliberate and he knows that in protecting ghost, he’s also protecting soap
the image of ghost slurring out “dad, please” while soap hits him over and over, deaf and blind to the pain he’s causing, maybe even calling out for soap to help him, both of them losing reality and not knowing who they’re with oh fuck 🥺🥺 it’s part of what makes the orderlies decide to allow soap to stay in the infirmary bc even barely conscious and through broken teeth, ghost begs soap to help him, to save him. even when he’s fully conscious and remembers what happened, he still believes soap saved him; he would take being beaten by soap a hundred times over if it means he gets all those toxic emotions out of his head. if it means overriding ghost’s memories of his father with something much kinder, no matter the pain
ghost being irritated by price hovering, the way he occasionally tries to stop ghost from grounding soap bc he thinks he knows more about them than ghost himself until price learns to be more subtle and just watch, sticking to the edges in case he’s needed. he knows ghost would take soap and leave in a heartbeat if he pressed too hard, that as apathetic as he is, being perceived as something to be coddled and protected grates at him, and soap would follow him at a single word no matter how much he’s grown to like price and his gym; soap priorities ghost above all else and if he so much as hinted at wanting to leave, price would never see either of them again
Park the shark with a scent kink is so valid. I also feel like period sex is definitely on the table with him
(Hey so this possessed me so much so that I wrote this at work the moment I saw the ask. I'm not the best at writing in second person yet so it's like, half me rambling and half an attempt at a fic, plus I wrote this on my night shift and cleaned it up half asleep so apologies for any spelling or grammar errors or if it's a little clunky. Anyway, pls enjoy this lil thought blurb that kinda got away from me in length)
Park may be a little ooc but also we only saw like 30 seconds of him sooooo is it really ooc if he isn't fully fleshed out? Also it isn't super gender specific another than referencing you've got a vagina, a period, and nipples.
Word count: 3k
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Same Time Next Month?
Imagine if the Park the Shark moniker came from his frat days in college (you can pry frat bro Park from my cold dead hands) and it got around that he didn’t gaf about blood and would still fuck/eat out someone on their period. Like he’s in med school, he’s gonna be an orthopedic surgeon, why tf would something like blood deter him?
If anything it was almost like he didn’t just “not mind” it, it was that Park craved it. He got off on it just as much as whoever’s legs he was between and thus Park the Shark was born, and he wore it like a badge of fucking honor the rest of the way through school.
Just from how strenuous and demanding orthopedic residency is maybe his sex life, and subsequently the moniker, gets pushed to the back of his mind until an old frat brother comes in and calls him Park the Shark in front of everyone and now the nickname is being whispered through the halls, following him like a shadow because hospital staff thought it was because he’s brutish, cold, and a total asshole. And yeah, he is those things, but the shark moniker had once been positive, a source of pride that fed his ego, it made him an outlier among his peers and made him popular with the ladies.
He had hook ups every now and again when he found the time during his later residency years, after carving out a place for himself among the PTMC staff, but found it brought more headache than pleasure to fuck where he worked- especially when he became an attending, so he gives up and forces himself to focus on work.
Of course until you, that is.
You, a new ED resident who captures his full attention by simply walking into a room and not taking any of his shit for a millisecond, not even batting an eye under the Shark's looming figure and icy glare. You return it with a glare of your own, your lip curled in anger as you snap at him to stand up straight if he's going to talk to you like that and fuck, he’s enamored. Park wants you carnally, almost desperately, and every time you roll your eyes at him or pop your gum in his face he gets hard enough to see stars. You’re infuriating— your competency is infuriating. It would be easier to get over it if you were just stupid but no. No you just had to be top of your class with a spine made of steel and you don’t give him a single inch where he usually takes a mile. The chase takes a while, longer than any other person he's pursued in his life. You’re not an easy one to wear down and you give him hell the entire way, but he’s not quick to give up until he’s got you to say yes to "just one date".
You get to find that you actually kinda like Brendon Park outside of the hospital when he's shed the shark persona, and one date turns into two, two into three, and three into a trip to HR to update your relationship status to make sure all your bases are covered.
The first time you get your period at his house not only is he
1. Prepared with anything you need (I like to think he’s got sisters who visit so he just keeps things stocked up. Big family Park the Shark my beloved)
2. Harder than fucking diamond the moment you gently push him back and, uncharacteristically shyly, tell him you can’t do anything because of said period, and he gets to watch your pretty mouth drop open in surprise when he just shrugs and says “it’s never stopped me before.”
Like… Bren what do you mean it’s never stopped you before???? Park blanks for a half second like “oh yeah, not everybody does that” and there’s no point in him being shy about it now so he just kisses you on the mouth, a smug little smirk on his face when he pulls away—
“I didn’t get called ‘the Shark’ in college for nothing, sweetheart”
And holy fuck if that doesn’t stay in your brain for the next month. He’s put the thought it your mind now, he’ll assure you through this period that it really doesn’t bother him at all and maybe you don’t do anything about it at first, but he can see the interest growing as the days pass.
Maybe it takes a little bit of time, a little research on your end because hey, period sex is kinda out of your wheelhouse but it’s not like it's unheard of and you’re not entirely against it, just apprehensive, curious even. (As someone who’s done it, I was a lil nervous at first too and did a stupid amount of research to calm down about it lmao)
Eventually you broach the topic with him, maybe a little embarrassed because yeah it’s a natural bodily function but it’s still a lil taboo and even if Park has said he doesn’t gaf about a little blood you still need a little reassurance that he’s actually ok with it. And so you do, and he assures you that it’s fine, he’s ok with it— more than ok with it really, ever since the first time he’d mentioned it it’s all he can think about. He doesn’t tell you he’s been craving it since then, but you can see he’s eager, he’s practically vibrating with want. So maybe he drops a few “hints” here and there. It’ll help alleviate cramps, it’ll feel good because of the heightened sensitivity, it could help increase libido (not that the two of you need that), it's incredibly intimate, etc.
I think Park is a little bit of a boundary pusher in the bedroom, like things he can see you’re teetering on trying he’s gonna try and nudge you. He's not pushy, never bullying you into things, he's just…suggestive.
“We can try it, and if you hate it we won’t do it again.”
If you give him a firm no he’ll respect it, sure he’s a little bummed but it’s not gonna ruin his entire day. Brendon Park loves you and respects you, so he’d never force you into anything that is a hard no even if it’s something he likes.
However, if you say yes? Sweet love, say less because he’s already set aside everything you’d need for it just in case.
It’s a common headcanon that Brendon Park fucks, but this? This takes it to a whole new level. He’s got you spread out on his bed, a towel under your hips— oh did you think it’d be a dark towel? Not a chance. Park’s set out the bright white towels so that he can see the mess he’s gonna make with you. Ambient lighting, but not so dark he can't see anything because he wants to see everything.
He’ll get you nice and relaxed, Park’s a lover boy after all and at the end of the day he never wants you to be uncomfortable, especially with something he’s doing. He takes his time laid on top of you, letting you control how long your make out lasts, taking his time undressing you and only parting to pull your shirt over your head with his quickly following suit. You stop his hands from taking off your underwear just yet, still a little apprehensive, a little nervous, but that’s fine with him so he just kisses you again and lets you wrap your arms around his neck. He loves the feeling of your hands on his body but especially on his back, the way you trail them up the back of his neck to run your nails through the hair at the base of his scalp makes him shiver and lean more into you, a groan bubbling up from deep in his chest.
When you give him the ok to move elsewhere, his lips and teeth are everywhere. Trailing down your neck and chest leaving bites and newly forming bruises in his wake, some you can’t even see but you know you’ll feel for a while after he's done.
He relishes in the noises you make when he gets his mouth on your already sensitive nipples, now more so that he’s given them a little attention. He sucks a bruise into your hip, leaves a bite on the inside of your thigh that makes you yelp, and just chuckles when your heel connects with his back as if to reprimand him.
We’ve established that I think Park’s got a scent kink and boy does this play into it. He looks up at you, raising his eyebrows as if to ask “this ok?”, and only moves when you give him an affirmative for him to slide your underwear down your legs.
It takes everything in him not to shove your soiled underwear against his nose and inhale like it’s a fucking drug— it is, in a way, because the moment the metallic scent of blood hits his nose he’s shaking, salivating, nearly panting like a dog when he throws your legs over his shoulders and— just once more looks back up at you to make sure you’re serious about this— and buries his face into your cunt the moment you give him the go ahead.
If you thought Brendon Park was a munch before, this was nothing in comparison.
He’s ravenous, eyes rolling back at the copper tang on his tongue as he eats you out like he’s been starving for it. And maybe he has been. It’s been years since someone’s let him do this to them.
Park’s bound to leave bruises from just how tightly he’s holding your thighs— now clamped around his ears like a vice with your nails digging into his scalp as you wail.
He’s groaning at the sounds you’re making, the sounds your sticky, wet cunt was making, and he gets a little lightheaded from how quickly all of the blood in his body makes a beeline south. He's still in his briefs and they're growing wetter by the second from the precum steadily leaking out with how desperately he's grinding against the bed, hips involuntarily searching for friction before he bullies a broad shoulder between your thighs forcing you to make room for him, gasping in a breath and sliding two fingers into your slick, messy heat curling them almost viciously just to hear that sound from before and you give it to him.
Your body arches off the bed so suddenly it was as if you’d been struck by lightning, his one arm pressing down against your hips the only thing tethering you to the bed as you let out another high, pitchy wail.
Park can’t take his eyes off of you, fuck you’re stunning. You’ve got a hand latched onto his arm, digging your nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood, and your other covering your eyes as you pant and moan and chant his name like a fucking prayer, unable to squirm away with his strong arm over your hips.
Mentally Park is patting his younger self on the back for finding a place with above average sound proofing because had you been doing this at your apartment, your nosy neighbor would’ve called the cops the moment he got his mouth on you.
God he feels fucking drunk. Maybe it’s the lack of oxygen or maybe he really is drunk on your blood, either way he’s doing everything he knows you like to get you across the finish line.
Your hands find his hair again when you’re about to come, your breath quickening as you beg him not to stop, to keep going, to keep- keep- oh god Bren— Brendon!
He doesn’t stop, just eats you through it until your second orgasm is crashing into the aftershocks of the first making you shriek. You finally pull him away from you just as the third is ebbing into painful overstimulation territory, and make eye contact, his eyes half lidded but you can see his pupils are blown wide, the faintest hint of blue haloing them as he stares up at you from where he's still positioned between your legs and fuck if it isn’t erotic.
Half his face is covered in blood, it's smeared across his mouth and cheeks and a little ways up his nose, his sharp teeth glinting where the saliva on them catches the light as he heaves in ragged breaths, the parts of his face not covered by blood are still flushed red, his blush extending to his ears and down his neck where you know it's spread across his chest and shoulders— he looks as fucked out as you feel, and it’s so, so hot watching him fall apart from just how badly he wants you. He’s already tugging against your grip on his hair, eager to get his mouth back on you as if he can’t help but search out blood.
The sound Park makes when you pull him up by his hair to plant your lips on his is pathetic. It’s wanton and needy and he nearly comes on the spot when you lick into his mouth with a filthy moan at the taste of not only your wetness, but your own blood. Your faces slide against each other from the sheer amount of wetness on your skin. He moves over you, body nearly crushing you under his weight as his hips grind against the apex of your thighs but it's not quite the right spot— he's still got his briefs on and they're in his fucking way—
He didn't even notice your hands in his scramble to get his briefs off until you've got a hand around his shaft and he’s choking, gasping against your open mouth when you guide his cock to your folds. He bumps your clit making you jolt and mumbles out a quick “sorry, angel” before pushing in all the way.
God you’re slick and wet and so hot that the last of his self control snaps. Any other time he’d give you a second to adjust, a moment to breathe and get used to his size even after getting four fingers in you, but there’s blood in the water and he’s frenzied.
He holds you down by the backs of your thighs setting a relentless, punishing pace as he snaps his hips against yours, jackhammering like a virgin hellbent on sating his own selfish pleasure.
It’s electrifying and bordering on painful but it’s so so good—
You can’t even manage moans anymore, just broken little whimpers as you grip the pillow underneath your head, your face wet with tears, the blood already drying around your mouth— you look so fucking filthy and he loves it. He loves you.
Park plants a hand next to your waist and hooks one of your legs over his shoulder to change the angle, grinding his cock into you at a slower pace to yank himself from the edge he'd been hurtling towards. Sure, you've come 3 times, but he can feel one more creeping up on you by the way your walls flutter around his length. You throw your head back in a wordless scream when his thumb rubs circles around your clit, aborted, broken little sounds escaping your exposed throat as you tremble violently, Park speeding up his thrusts just as you topple over the edge so he's right behind you.
His vision darkens at the edges, a high pitched ringing in his ears as his orgasm crashes into him like a freight train nearly knocking the wind out of him. For a man who's spent a good majority of his life in the gym, and spends a current majority of his time outside of work fucking you in just about every place you'll let him, it's a rare sight to see him genuinely out of breath.
The first sound to come back to him is your pitiful sniffles and your attempts to calm your own racing heart by taking in deep, shaky breaths. He moves the two of you onto your sides, his arms wrapped securely around your waist with yours around his shoulders, not an inch of space between the two of you. A shiver runs down his spine when he feels the faintest brush of your nails at the back of his head, he rubs a hand up and down your back as he presses his lips against your exposed shoulder. Park slowly makes his way up your neck and over your jaw, kissing the spot under your left eye where he always does before he kisses your lips. You're too tired to anything more and he's not about to start anything, just needing you close as you both come down from your highs.
Exhaustion weighs him down and he knows that the two of you should get up and in the shower because if you don't he'll hear it from the moment you wake up that you're still covered in dried blood, spit, and cum, and you'll make it his problem. (He's right where he wants to be)
Try as he may, Park still dozes off for just a moment, only coming to because you're kissing his face gently and slowly, your hand scratching over the back of his head and for a second he thinks you're crying again. He gets it, Park wasn't lying when he said it was intimate and he moves your head back to wipe your tears except you're not really crying anymore, instead you're chuckling quietly to yourself.
"What are you laughing at?" Brendon mumurs, his curious gaze sweeping over your face as you chuckled while tears dripped down your face. The headboard had been hitting the wall pretty hard but he was still sure that you hadn't bumped your head somehow, even if you bumped it against the headboard it was tufted leather on the side facing the bed so you shouldn't have gotten a head injury—
"So," you pause, your voice pulling him out of his slight spiral about a possible head injury, your pretty eyes roaming over his face and down to his chest where dried blood is smudged on the side of his neck and collarbone, your fingers gently brushing against some of it making it flake away before your eyes trail back up to meet his through your thick lashes, a teasing grin spreading across your lips as you lean your head onto the pillow he's half on. "Same time next month?"
He blinks, not fully registering what you've said until your teeth are digging into your lower lip in an attempt to hold back your giggles, a grin stretching across his face as he leans in to kiss you, swallowing down your giggles before pulling back and gently nudging your nose with his own.
"Yeah sweetheart, same time next month."
(oh my god that was so much longer than I meant it to be. I started my period and apparently this was exactly what my brain wanted to focus on. Anyways happy birthday to me I'm gonna go take a nap, k love you bye 💖🌕🪼)
Price being haunted by Soap's ghost. He hears him, sees him in the shadows. Sometimes, at night, he talks to him. Never gets a reply, just blank stares.
gummygunk
vaporwave
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
prguitarman
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart
