Park letting sunshine!reader be the only one to flirt with him and him only shaking his head letting her do the flirting (idiots in love) but one day she stops and and is very quiet and not like her sunshine self at all, doesn't talk to anyone. Only for Park to find out that someone broke into her house the night before and she had to call 911 and didn't wanna tell anyone. Ends in fluff:))))))))
my poor angel!! omggg
It’s always “hi shark” or “good morning parkie” every time he sees you walking into the hospital.
You’re attentive, bright eyed, kind no matter how many of your colleagues have definitely told you to treat him colder than normal.
You simply don’t, have never even tried to dim your warm demeanor.
That’s what he likes about you, your inability to be cruel or mean, even if it means getting teased for it by the other residents.
You simply shrug it off and keep swimming.
And to say he doesn’t play around with it a little would be unfair.
He likes the warmth, likes how it makes him feel like he’s actually wanted and an integral part of the vast ocean that is PTMC.
If he has to go down to deal with bottom dwelling emergency department business, the least they can do is have you working that day too.
Robby has noticed and definitely makes sure to have you working whenever Shark is also on rotation.
Sure, it’s sneaky and definitely ethically ambiguous at best, but if you’ve noticed, you don’t seem to mind.
It also drastically improves their wait times for ortho consults.
It’s a plus for everyone involved.
Or so he thought.
Today you’re…not here?
He got called to assist on something five minutes ago, his examination of the case being quick and thorough, not enough for him to linger, but as he steps back out towards the hub, he can’t help but look for you.
His gaze sharpens as he scans through the school of the ED.
It’s Dana who catches his eye.
“She’s out in triage.”
His brow quirks. What? Why?
“Didn’t say, volunteered.”
Her attention gets pulled and Park swims away. He can take the long way back upstairs.
He finds you silently assisting McKay of all people, wordlessly following her around, not engaging with patients like you usually do.
Something pulls him forward, he doesn’t know what calls to him from the depths but he heeds the siren call.
He steps up. Says your name softly.
“May I borrow you for a second?”
McKay smirks to herself, nodding her agreement before returning to the case at hand.
Then he turns his sights to you who…honestly he doesn’t know what you’re feeling.
You’re staring at him as if you’re looking past him, not really engaged in what’s right in front of you.
So he extends his hand.
A gesture he’s never done with you before.
You blink away the shock, mentally battling yourself before you decide to be brave and leap to your feet.
You take his outstretched hand and lead him out to the stairway for the change.
The second the door clicks behind the two of you, you’re burying yourself in his warm body.
His arms instantly wrap around you as if it’s the most instinctual thing in the world.
“What’s wrong?” He murmurs against your temple.
You shake your head as a sob rips through you.
He instantly pulls back to look at your face. Tears streak down your cheeks as if he’s opened a damn and it’s determined to flood the entire valley.
He wipes them away, his large hands cupping your face to keep you grounded.
“What. Happened.”
His tone sends a chill down your spine. There’s no arguing with him now.
“They…someone…broke into…my apartment last night.”
He goes ice cold in an instant.
“What?”
You still in his grip. You know he’s not angry at you but rather for you, but it’s still scary seeing him so upset.
“Do you have a go bag?” His tone softens again, just for you.
You nod.
“Good. You’re staying at mine tonight.”
“Brendon I can’t—”
“You can and you will. I have a guest bedroom. Private security. Underground parking.”
You open your mouth to protest again.
“Please,” he begs, he actually begs and there’s no higher power or your own damn ego left to push back anymore. “I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you and I could’ve stopped it.”
You’re stunned into silence.
Simply mouth an okay before he rewards you with a dazzling smile.
“Thank you, sweetheart.”
a/n: that man can order me around any day
sharkie tags: @stuffingbuttsandshit, @dear-fifi
dividers by @/enchanthings | gif cred @/snoozingsnoopy
Self indulgent fic because my husband helped me fix my car today and I “helped” like reader.
“I can help, you know.”
Price doesn’t even look up from under the hood of your car, one grease stained hand reaching for a wrench. “You are helping, love. By staying right where you are.”
You’re not staying where you are, though. You’ve already circled around to his side, watching the way his shoulders flex under his tight black t-shirt as he leans deeper into the engine. His jeans are riding low on his hips, and you’re having thoughts.
“I’m very handy,” you insist, stepping closer.
“Mmhm.” He’s not paying attention. Big mistake.
You slide your hands around his waist, ostensibly to peer over his shoulder at whatever he’s doing. Your palms flatten against his stomach, feeling the warm, solid muscle there. Price pauses mid-reach.
“What are you doing?”
“Helping,” you say innocently. “I’m… stabilizing you. For safety.”
“Stabilizing.” His voice is flat, but you catch the hint of amusement.
“Yep. OSHA regulations.”
Your hands drift lower. Then lower still. Then they’re very firmly on his ass, giving an appreciative squeeze.
Price straightens up so fast he nearly hits his head on the hood. He turns to look at you, one eyebrow raised, wrench still in hand. There’s grease on his forearm, a smudge on his jaw, and he looks absolutely delicious.
“Love.”
“Yes?” You bat your eyelashes.
“That’s not helping.”
“Isn’t it though?” Your hands are still exactly where they were. You give another squeeze for good measure. “I’m boosting morale. Team building. Positive reinforcement.”
His eyes narrow, but his mouth is twitching. “Positive reinforcement.”
“You’re doing such a good job,” you coo, patting his ass like he’s a prize show horse. “Such a strong, capable man. Very impressive.”
“Christ,” he mutters, but he’s definitely smiling now. He turns back to the engine, and you take this as permission to continue your “assistance.”
You press yourself against his back, arms sliding around him again. This time your hands roam more freely, tracing the lines of his obliques, smoothing over his chest, dipping teasingly toward his belt buckle.
“You’re a menace,” he says, but his voice has gone a bit rougher.
“I’m helpful,” you correct, rising on your tiptoes to kiss the back of his neck. Your hands slide down to grip his hips, thumbs rubbing small circles. “Very, very helpful.”
Price sets down the wrench with deliberate care. “You know what else would be helpful?”
“What’s that?”
In one smooth motion, he turns and lifts you onto the edge of the car’s frame, stepping between your legs. His hands land on either side of you, caging you in, and suddenly he’s very close, all blue eyes and barely contained amusement.
“If you stopped distracting me so I could actually finish this,” he says, voice low. But his thumbs are stroking your thighs, and he’s looking at your mouth.
“But this is so much more fun,” you murmur, looping your arms around his neck.
“You’re impossible.”
“And yet you love me.”
“Unfortunately.” But he’s kissing you now, slow and thorough, tasting like coffee and that hint of cigar smoke that always clings to him. When he pulls back, there’s a smudge of grease on your jaw from his hand.
“Oops,” he says, not looking sorry at all.
“John Price, did you just- ”
“Just getting you back, love.” He pats your thigh and steps away, returning to the engine with infuriating composure. “Now, are you going to actually help, or are you going to keep fondling me like a stress ball?”
You hop down, moving to stand beside him. “Can’t I do both?”
He hands you a rag. “Hold this. And keep your hands where I can see them.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m loads of fun. After I fix your bloody car.” But there’s warmth in his voice, affection in the way he glances at you.
You behave. For approximately forty five seconds.
Then your hand finds its way back to his ass, and Price just sighs like a man who knows he’s fighting a losing battle.
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he mutters.
“I know,” you say sweetly, giving him another pat.
He finishes the repair in record time after that. Something about “motivation.”
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