dr. brendon park with a whimsical reader, send tweet.
from the less than 1 minute screen time of dr. brendon park, and the amazing fics I've been reading about him, i think we all agree he is a guy with a very strict and modern aesthetic; i'm talking everything he owns is strictly black, with the occasional pop of white or gray. his gym bag, his car, his sofa, his sheets, his notepad, his phone caseâliterally everything. his house/apartment definitely has the interior design of a typical wattpad CEO main character, you know what I mean? the kinda decoration that says, "i'm a man in my thirties, and i paid someone a lot of money to decorate this place, but it completely lacks human warmth."
well, i think it would be really cool if he ended up marrying a whimsical reader! the kind of girl who has a lot of hobbies and loves crafts, and it shows in her spaceânow the house she and her handsome husband share. her house is obviously not dirty or a mess, but it's not always perfectly tidy like the ones photographed for magazines. and brendon loves it!!! that man completely adores the way his wife makes a house feel like a home.
he loves her silly decorations, like the salt and pepper shakers shaped like cute ducks! or that toothbrush holder she made from a youtube video, and the tableware that never matches. he loves to come home and see pieces of her new hobby scattered around the house because that means his wife is happy, has enough time to do things she likes, and is so eager to build a cute and comfy space for them to live in. his favorite furniture had been this knife holder btw, but then she made this key rack with a photo of their wedding and every time he is heading to work and takes his keys off the hock and sees that photo, he is reminded that there is a home to come back, and it's in her arms.
he absolutely ADORES it when, on his days off, he can spend them sitting with his woman in the garage while he fixes her car and she paints some rocks to put in the garden or whateverâjust being there in silence, co-existing.
and even though he makes a lot of money being a doctor and a surgeon and blah blah blah, he also knows that his wifey loves to go to flea markets and thrift stores because, to her, "that's where the good stuff is." whatever makes her happy.
so yeah, when a stupid coworker asks him if he misses living in a "man cave" he just stares at him, truly confused. how could he ever want to live in another place that is not the home his wife has created???
robby knows itâs wrong. youâre this sweet little thing, clutching your iPad to your chest, looking left and right like youâre about to cross the road. but all youâre doing is standing in the er, deer in headlights expression painting your face.
he wills himself not to approach you, speak to you, but you look so inviting, he just has to. âlookinâ for someone?â
âoh â hi.â if he thought you were adorable before, you being flustered takes the cake. âi am supposed to look for a dr robinavitch?â you frame it like youâre unsure, eyelashes fluttering as you take in his towering figure. âiâ i have to shadow him.â
robbyâs palm connects with the small of your back, ushering towards the break room like heâs taking you to meet your mentor. well, that isnât far from whatâs happening, is it?
To expand on Parkâs wife talking him into letting her keep chickens. She names their chickens old lady names: Gertrude, Henrietta, Belinda, AgathaâŠShe lets Park name a few but his names can be kinda meanâŠMcNugget, Birdbrain, KFCâŠ.she vetos the name KFCâŠshe flips him off at his counteroffer of naming their chicken Kentucky.
He does take her by surprise naming one new baby chick LemmyâŠwhen she questions the lack of a sarcastic mean spirited name he shrugs and remarks âMotörhead is a good bandâŠthe chick seems like theyâre scrappyâŠLemmy had grit.â Her stoic intense surgeon husband is a metal headâŠ
He buys the most expensive bags of chicken feed and a sprinkler so they can cool off during the summer. The first winter they have chickens he buys a heater for the coop after grilling the poor feed store employees over which heater will be the best his money can buy and the most reliable for a coop if a snowstorm hits.
He might sass the chickens and insult them when he pours out their feed but he kind of feels his heart melt just the slightest when he comes home after a brutal day and finds his wife sitting out back with a chicken in her lap reading a book. The chickens like to cuddle she insists and âforcesâ him to join them. Their feathers do feel kind of niceâŠ.
Love your angsty rabbot piece. I canât stop thinking about reader being out somewhere with one of them (probably Jack) and someone refers to him as their husband, just assuming because theyâre together and he has a ring. And him not correcting the assumption. Or reader out with one of them (probably Robby) and getting weird looks or comments because he refers to them as his gf/bf/partner but heâs wearing a wedding ring, so it looks like heâs cheating on his spouse with someone younger.
part one
yes!!! this is another avenue i wanted to explore 100%
especially when you inevitably turn up at the pitt at one point or another, probably on day shift to bring robby lunch because jack works ungodly hours and you canât quite drag yourself out of bed for that.
so when you turn up, lunchbox in hand, arms immediately wrapping around robbyâs neck with a peck on his cheek, the others are justifiably confused.
becauseâŠthatâs robby. their robby. jackâs robby. the two have been together longer than some of the residents have been in med school.
robby who is still currently wearing his wedding ring on the hand venturing dangerously close to the waistband of your jeans.
and robby is none the wiser to the stares. the weird, questioning, almost accusing stares. heâs caught up in you and in the hushed conversation youâre sharing about how jackâs bedhead looked especially funny when you left the house that morning. how youâre making jackâs favourite dinner tonight because you could tell his shift last night had drained him mentally: how youâd box some up for robby to heat up tonight when he got home.
the others donât hear this, all they can focus on is the fact that robby looks far too close to someone who is decidedly not jack.
it takes all of thirty seconds from the time robby waves you off with a lovestruck grin from the ambulance bay doors for santos to sidle up beside him
Robby puts his hand over your mouth after a particularly loud moan. âYou donât want to wake up Jack now do you, baby? You need to keep quiet. He had a long shift.â
He continues to keep his hand over your mouth as he drags his cock through your wet folds and notches at your entrance. Robby slowly enters and whispers into your ear. âSuch a good girl staying quiet. Think you can keep doing that?â You nod your head as you bite your lower lip to keep as quiet as you can. Robby removes his hand from your mouth and wipes at a tear that fallen near your cheek.
At one point, you turn your head and look at Jack asleep on the other side of the king bed. Robby notices that youâre not looking at him and does a particularly deep thrust, making you gasp. He takes your head and turns it back to him. âEyes on me baby. If Iâm making you cum, youâre looking at me.â
Robby starts to pick up the pace and his fingers find your clit moving in just the right tight circles. Your thighs start to shake and you canât hold back moaning Robbyâs name as you grab his biceps.
Thereâs movement from the other side of the bed. Robby notices that Jack is now awake and sitting up with his back against the headboard watching you two. Robby grabs your hips and makes an adjustment to the angle. âSorry brother, she can never be quiet.â
Jack brushes some of your hair away from your face. âItâs fine. Just means weâre doing something right, doesnât it sweetheart. Go on. You donât have to be quiet anymore. Let us hear those pretty sounds you make.â
Robby takes that comment as challenge to get you to make as many sounds as he can. He repeatedly finds the perfect spot, making you clench so hard around him that you see black spots. âFuck me. Youâre gripping me tight, baby.â You cry out his name as you cum. Robby follows right behind you, spilling inside of you. âJesus Christ.â He rolls onto his back over on his side of the bed.
Jack pulls you closer to him and kisses your forehead. âYou good, sweetheart?â You nod, still trying to catch your breath.
âAlright, letâs get some sleep now.â Jack maneuvers you so that heâs lined up with your entrance, thatâs dripping with Robbyâs cum. He nudges his tip into you. âDonât want you making a mess all over these sheets.â He slides in the rest of the way, making you whine because youâre still sensitive from Robby.
Robby rolls closer and brushes some of your hair back. âBe a good girl and give Jack a kiss goodnight. Heâs had a hard shift and needs some rest, baby.â
You raise your head up and kiss Jack. âGoodnight Jack.â He puts his hand on the back of your head and kisses you throughly for a moment. Jack breaks the kiss to kiss your forehead. âSuch the perfect girl for us.â You fall asleep a few moments later with Jack still inside you and Robbyâs chest pressed against your back.
Summary: some filthy, nasty pervy boyfriends dads Rabbot thoughts that stemmed from me melting outside tanning in this current heatwave
(Jesus forgive me for i have fantasized about them eating younger pussy... Again.)
Warnings?: 18+ content including taboo relationships (boyfriends dads rabbot) they're pervy here, age gaps, potential dubcon depending how you view it (though it was written with drunk reader in mind!!) alcohol, mentions of intoxication, fem!reciveing oral, pussy pronouns, fingering, nipple play, overstimulation, one single robby referring to himself as daddy moment aaaand an 18+ twitter link! think thats it but feel free to correct me!!
Thinking many thoughts about this little clip and just how rabbot coded it is.
Maybe even, and walk with me here, boyfriends dads rabbot.
Maybe youâre staying with your boyfriend for a little while over summer break. Maybe some of those days said boyfriend still has tennis or perhaps soccer training meaning he's out for the majority of the morning/early afternoon.
And on those days, the only people still home just so happens to be his two hot, older dads.
You get along, always have since you first met the pair, but that doesn't quell the fuzzy feeling in your gut whenever they interact with you.
The pair find it endearing really, the way you'll slip sometimes, calling them Mr Abbot and Mr Robinavitch instead of Jack and Robby (or Micheal if you'd prefer it). You struggle to keep eye contact with them too, even more so when you trip your words up when responding to questions about yourself. Your degree, your hobbies, what you enjoy to eat, hell, they'll even how your relationship is going with their boy- they're just interested thats all!
But the thing that gets both Jack and Robby chubbing up in their pants like perverted old bastards the most?
How you've spent your time bouncing around the Robinavitch-Abbot household in what must be the skimpest of summer clothes. That bikini that barely covers your tits as you soak up the sun in their garden, or the denim shorts that hardly hides the line of your panties as you sit on the couch reading.
Theres guilt, of course there is, the pair of them perving over their sons girlfriend. But not nearly enough to make them stop thinking about you in ways they shouldn't be. Like how wet you get when worked up or how beautiful your body must be truly bare.
Robby always thinks your lips would look stretched around the girth of them, while Jack ponders the perfect whines you'd let free as you cum.
Its after a long day of sunbathing does everything finally come to a head though
Your skin glistens with a mix of sunscreen and sweat, heart thudding in your chest from the heat. You're boyfriends gone again, has been all day, leaving you, Jack and Robby at home soaking in the summer sun in the backyard.
At lunch you learnt Jack knows a thing or two about making cocktails, by almost dinner you're pretty confident he's got a mean pour.
The world floats by as you lounge on a chair, watching Robby stood by the grill cooking steaks with his own sweating beer. The glass on the table next to you half full, your.. Fourth? Maybe third? Fruity Margarita abandoned as you giggle about something that feels funnier than it is.
Thats the last thing you properly remember- the gruff laughter, the sundrunk haze, Jack and Robby drinking, grilling and hosting like regular older men.
When your eyes blink open again (did you shut them on purpose or did they flutter without you knowing?) the scene is vastly different.
Grey curls sit messily between your plush thighs, hazel eyes peering up lustblown and dark. It hits you then, the intense pleasure of a skilled mouth lapping and lavishing your pussy.
Its hot, wet, perfect and utterly wrong all in one, legs desperate to close around the older mans ears to little avail. Jacks big hands hold you open though, palms flat on your inner thighs, panties of your bathing suit crooked to the side and held steady by two thick fingers.
Your back arches from the lounger, a ragged, breathless gasp ripping from your heaving chest. "O-oh my god!"
The tongue flicks playfully against your clit, before plump lips suckle lewdly, a voice you recognize as Robbys chucking as he sits crouched beside you. "Mm, not quite sweetheart. You wanna that try again?"
The moan breaks with your voice, a hand flying down to those mused salt and pepper curls, tangling tight. "J-jack oh f-fuckk"
"Yeahhh, There you go" he grins wolfish, "s' he makin you feel good kid?"
The nod is jerky, the response even more so. Your hips bump up despite Jack's grip, brain unsure if to run or relish in the overwhelming feeling between your legs; at how fuckig wrong it is to let it continue. "M-mphm y-yeah"
Jack offers some reprive just a moment, unlatching his mouth for just a moment to gravel out "Got you squirmin like no ones done this before, s' our boy holdin out on you honey?"
The question only serves as a reminder these men are your boyfriends fathers, men decades older than you and him. Its wrong, sick, absolutely fucking vile to do to the man you love.. But fuck, his dads devouring you like your sloppy, slick pussy is the only thing left on earth to sustain him. Hes licking you with experience that only comes from enjoyment, suckling like every gasp and whine gives him air.
But in this moment, your hot. Hazy. Utterly drunk of bliss. So you mewl out the truth, jerking your hips to hump at Jack's face like the pleasures the only thing that will keep you alive. "M-mhm.. Says he.. He doesnt like it- fucking shit- that s' not enjoyable-"
"Doesn't like eatin this pretty pussy up, Christ, where'd we go wrong mi- mphmn" Jack murmers incredulous again your folds, stubble rubbing a heavenly kind of pain on your most intimate of areas, fumed point cut off by Robby reaching over a hand that pushes his partner back into your pussy so tight its a wonder he's able to breathe.
"Shhh jack, jus' keep goin. Shes gettin close huh honey?" Robby grins, hand sliding beneath the cups of your bikini top. Your nipples pert and tight as his calloused thumb offers a delightful friction. "Sides, we've gotta correct that bullshit ourselves hm, apologize to that sweet little pussy for everything she's been missin"
Your head is thrown back, hair mused against the chair, your body quivering as the bliss only draws tighter in your gut. Your eyes struggle to stay open between the now setting sun and the onslaught of pleasure. Those plush, still glistening thighs tremble against Jack's touch, one of his hands sliping down to press one, then two, thick digits inside.
You can feel the cool edge of his wedding band bump your hole with each slickened drive, every curl managing to rub at your g spot in a way that only pushes you closer to crumbling.
Then, as quick as Jack's mouth had appeared at your pussy, another sensation has your spine arching almost painfully. Robbys somehow pushed the cup of your top to the side, mouth hot on your skin, his own tongue flicking and teasing at your nipple. His peppered beard making you shake as it rubs your skin with every move he makes.
Its that combo that sends you over the edge with a wail of their names so perfect their chubbed up cocks throb and leak inside the confines of shorts now way too tight. It takes your breath away near violently, the orgasm hitting you so hard you're almost convinced you'll never come back down.
They both keep it up until tears slip down your cheeks, until you're pushing them off and your body is overwhelmingly sensitive. Blood thunders in your ears, hazing over the praise the pair murmer to you.
Jack rises with a groan, shuffling himself forward to meet your mouth in a messy, filthy kiss. You can taste yourself on his tongue, feel the dampness on his stubble, letting yourself drown in the dopamine a moment longer before you know you'll have to address everything that's just happened..
That is, until hot breath fans over your twitching clit the same but different, you're eyes wide as you dart between Robby who you didn't even realise had moved and Jack.
Robby grins wolfish again, shuffled between your shaking thighs, a large hand pressing on your still heaving belly. Your eyes must look like saucers, lips pouty and bitten raw, peering down with the most doe- like expression.
"Nawh whats that look for?" he coos, pitiful and mocking, inhaling the sweet, musky scent of you in a way that makes your insided lurch. "S'it too much t' take sweetheart? Two old men wantin to lick your sweet pussy?"
"mhm.." you mewl, hand reaching blindly for the loungers edge- for Jack and some semblance of safety. "R-robby please..cant.."
The chuckle is mean, a rumble you feel in the deepest parts of you, hips shifting preemptively to little avail. Robbys gaze drops, as does his wiry haired jaw, his sentiment cut between a broken moan and the envelopement of your puffy clit into the cavern of his mouth.
"Ah ah, no cant n' no runnin.. You'll manage, cause Daddy's got some apologizing left to do; poor little thing.
Simon Riley really delving into his oral fixation.
See, you'd asked Simon to stop smoking after reading that it would damage his sperm. Trying for a baby apparently meant he needed to give up his vice.
But you were his missus, and he'd learned a long time agoâdon't fucking argue with the missus.
Already by day three Simon was buying multiple packs of gum a day. Grumbling around base and the house. But he wouldn't take it out on you, never on you.
Your tits? Different story.
Simon had been sucking on your tits for almost an hour, switching between your now swollen and spit slick nipples. Yes, it felt fantasticâbut Jesus Christ what was his obsession tonight?
"Simon." You murmur, tugging at his hair to pull him up. "You're usually inside me by now."
Simon grumbled, licking his lips. "You had me quit smokin' my fucking mouth needs to be doin' somethin'"
After that confession, Simon was always on you.
He comes home from work, and he pushes your shirt up while you read some book on the couch. His mouth immediately locking around your nipple. The tension built throughout the day leaving his body.
He'd suck on your tits of a morning instead of going for his usual smoke. Though you point out that he spends a lot longer on your nipples than he ever did his cigarettes.
You can't even take your shirt off around him without Simon pawing at your tits and sucking on you for at least five minutes before you finally batt him off to go cook dinner.
After a long weekend though, you went to work with sore tits. Your coworkers getting excited after hearing you'd been trying for a baby and now you were adjusting your bra all day.
Simon only chuckled when you complained to him that afternoon, letting you frustratedly throw your bra at him. "Just tell them that your husbands helping you practice for when you're actually breastfeeding."
đŁČâïœĄË rabbot love taking you at the same time p link
jack is grasping your hips from below you with an iron rip as your boobs press against his chest, dragging against him with each harsh thrust. he's looking straight up at your face, and you gaze down at him with bleary eyes, already so fucked out :(
he pouts sympathetically at the dumb look on your face and brushes some of the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes when your head lulled forward. you make sensual eye contact while he caresses your face in his big hand, gazing at you adoringly.
it would've been so romantic
if not for the absolute brute robby was, pounding into you from behind, with a harsh grunt from each thurst.
no wonder you were so dumb already, your poor pussy was struggling to fit both of their big cocks at the same time :(
robby readjusts and hikes his leg up to give him more momentum, gripping onto your shoulders to drag you right back down their lengths when you tried to squirm away.
the new angle caused you to let out a shocked squeal and then a defeated whimper when you realised robby wouldn't let up. jack tuts, "aw robby's being mean isn't he baby?"
you let out a dumb nod, making eye contact with jack again while they both plough into you. robby ignores the comment and just keeps going, and jacks hands drag up your body to squeeze the plush planes of your boobs, still holding eye contact while teasing your nipples.
you were a mess, bless your soul, spasming, drooling, your hole leaking. but they loved it. they revel in knowing they ruin you so good your brain can't function anymore and all you can think about is dick.
rabbot love ruining their girl at the same time á„«áĄ.
Dr. Brendon Parkâs wife somehow managing to talk him into letting her have chickens in their backyard. She looked it up and itâs totally legal in their county. The hoa can suck it okay. Sheâll totally deal with the hoa president if she says shit. Barb has it coming and sheâs afraid of ParkâŠso Reader is gonna weaponize her scary husband to deal with the hoaâŠ
Heâs buying a dumb expensive coop and having a fence installed. Park is spending his day off driving a few hours outside the city to the only feed store nearby so she can buy chicken feed.
He tells her she better not come out with another damn chicken but sheâs coming out holding a baby chick defending it by âit reminded me of you đ„č.â âBaby, WTF about a baby chick reminded you of me!!?? Okay fine it is kind of cute. Yeah itâs adorable that itâs speckled, fine.â She tries to come out with a baby duck once but he talks her down by promising two baby chicks instead.
He comes home to find his wife sitting outside with the chickens cuddling them like theyâre dogsâŠdoes he join her, yes because it makes her happy so shut upâŠdoes he at least like the fresh eggs??? Yes. Garcia gets a lot of fresh eggs and Park refuses to explain where heâs getting themâŠ
Reader insists theyâre gonna retire to a farm one dayâŠPark says no but sheâll win him over one chicken at a timeâŠ
âSheâs my âCherry pie,ââ Garrett mumbles along with the song, kissing below your stomach above your panty line as he gently pulls the underwear down your warm thighs. Licking his lips, he dives right in still mumbling the song with his eyes directly on you. Though it was very pleasurable, on certain lyrics it felt like a sensitive tickle causing you to giggle. âBaby, I know my singing isnât that good.â He smiles pleased to make you laugh and feel good at the same time.
Shaking your head, fingers threading through his hair. "Tickles a little," you pant out as he switches up his movements, causing the sheets to crinkle.
Garrett chuckles against your pussy, the low vibration sending a fresh shiver up your spine. âThen Iâll just have to be more careful with my tongue, wonât I?â His green eyes sparkle with mischief as he pulls back just enough to speak, lips shiny. âCanât have my girl laughing when Iâm trying to make her come.â
Before you can fire back a witty reply, he flattens his tongue and curling it up to meet your clit with a soft flick. After a few minutes, he changes his method, as he seals his mouth around your clit and sucks gently, two thick fingers sliding into you without warning, curling just right against that spot that makes your back arch off the bed.
âGâ,â you moan, your laugh melting into a needy whimper. Your fingers tighten in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him grunt.
âUh huh, thatâs better,â he murmurs, the words half-muffled as he keeps working you. âLove when you say my name like that. All sweet..â He pumps his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue flicking over your swollen clit. Every time you squirm or let out a breathy giggle from an accidental tickle, he doubles down, turning it into deeper pleasure.
As you pant, Garrett looks up at you the whole time, eyes locked on your face not missing a single reaction. His free hand slides up your body, palming one of your breasts, thumb teasing your nipple; enjoying the sensation of the bud hardening for him. And he knows that only he can give you that pleasure.
âGod, youâre so fucking pretty,â he rasps, with a scratchy throat from yelling at the game before. âSpread out for me, dripping down my fingers. Hmm..my own personal cherry pie.â
You manage a breathless laugh despite the building pressure. Looking down at him, back against his pillow. âYouâre such a big sap even when youâre between my legs.â
He grins, âsap whoâs about to make you come all over my face.â He adds a third finger, stretching you deliciously, and curls them harder while his tongue works your clit over again.
You feel a tight coil, instantly causing your hips buck against his mouth, chasing the pleasure as you muffle the sounds with your hands. âGarrettâshitâIâm closeââ
âCome for me, baby,â he growls, the command vibrating against your sensitive flesh. You come with a loud cry, thighs clamping around his head as multiple waves of pleasure crash through you. Garrett doesnât stop, licking you through every ebb n' flow, drawing it out until youâre whimpering about being oversensitive.
When you finally sag back against the pillows, chest heaving, he crawls up your body, kissing a trail along your stomach, between your breasts, and finally claiming your mouth. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it only makes you pull him closer.
âThink I earned a little reward for that performance?â he teases, grinding his hard cock against your thigh. Heâs still wearing his boxers, but the thick outline is unmistakable. You reach down and palm him through the fabric, squeezing just enough to make him hiss from the contact. âHm, well only if you sing the next chorus while youâre inside me.â
â§âËâàŒâ§âË. jack abbot x kindergarten teacher!reader
â jack abbot who comes into his wife's kindergarten class every year on careers day to tell the kids all about being a doctor
â jack abbot who keeps all of the drawings the students make for him
â jack abbot who is always called for paediatric cases because he spends so much time in his wife's class, and knows what to talk to the kids about to keep them distracted
â jack abbot who remembers the names of all his wife's students and remembers everything she tells him about them
â jack abbot who sits quietly on saturday mornings and reads medical journals while his wife marks her students work
â jack abbot who helps out with all the school fairs and performances, he even goes on all their fields trips (for practicality of course, he can be a first aider if needed, not because he secretly loves the trips to the aquarium)
â jack abbot who helps decorate her classroom every summer (and for halloween and christmas)
â jack abbot who always buys his wife two bouquets of flowers, one for the dining table and one for her desk in her classroom
â Öč Ë LATE NIGHT SNACKING WITH BF!GARRETT á±ș㠀㠀  àšà±żÂ
heâs fucked you so good it feels like youâve just gone through a three hour workout session. youâre sprawled on his bed, his whole weight pressed on top of you, when your stomach clearly didnât get the memo and lets out a loud grumble.
âyou hungry?â
âa little.â you nod, a little breathless. his expression softens instantly, thumb brushing gently over your cheek. âsay less. your favorite, yeah?â
which is what brings you both into the kitchen at one in the morning.
heâs quietly whipping up the ingredients for your favorite cinnamon pancakes, trying not to wake the others, while you sit on the counter beside him, a bowl of strawberries balanced between your legs. you bite into one, watchingâno, openly admiringâyour very attractive boyfriend.
soon-to-be husband, if he keeps this gentleman act up.
the whole âbeing quietâ thing fails miserably because garrett canât help cracking dumb jokes and throwing in terrible pickup lines. you laugh way too loud, and he uses it as an excuse to kiss you just to shut you up.
âcan you get me the chocolate chips, please?â he mumbles, focused adorably on mixing the dry with the wet ingredients.
you reach into the drawer next to you and hand them over. he leans in to peck your lips in return. âthank you, baby.â
âmhm.â
while waiting for the pancakes to cook, he stands between your legs as you feed him strawberries, rewarding you each time with a soft kiss.
who knew garret âi-donât-do-girlfriendsâ graham would be standing in a dimly lit kitchen, hand-feeding his girl pancakes he made from scratch at one in the morning without a single complaintâkissing the syrup off her lips after every bite, making her giggle hysterically. the kind of giggle that makes him grin so wide, looking at her like sheâs the only girl in the world.
Brendon Park x wife! reader. 18+ | MDNI | wc : 2.5K
The tupperware is warm in your hands. Brendon mentioned he had to come down to the ER for a consult around noon and your brain went oh perfect I'll bring him food. Like you're some housewife and heâs some guy who canât feed himself. Â
But he does forget to eat. You've seen him come home at 8 PM having survived on black coffee, so maybe this isn't completely stupid.
The ER is chaos. It always is but you forgot how much chaos because you haven't been here since beforeâ well. Before your body decided to become a dairy factory. There's someone screaming about their foot, a kid crying, and the white lights are giving you a headache already.
You're about to ask someone where orthopedics might be hanging around when you hear his voice.
"â completely unacceptable. I need those scans now, I have â"
That's your husband. Sharp, cold, probably making some poor resident want to quit medicine entirely. You'd recognize that tone anywhere, the one that means Brendon is two seconds from snapping someone's head off.
He's standing near the nurses station, all six feet of beautiful irritation in his white coat â you didnât even know he owned one of those, what with always coming home in his scrubs â, dark hair falling across his forehead, he keeps running his hands through it when he's pissed. Which is always.
You walk over before you can think better of it. "Brendon."
As soon as your voice reaches him, his face changes. A complete shift from shark to softness, something that makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with how fucking full your breasts are right now. "Hey." His voice is different too. Quieter. "What are you doing here?"
"Brought you lunch." You hold up the tupperware like an offering. Brendon stares at it, then at you. There's this moment where you're suddenly very aware of how you look. Milk-stained shirt hidden under a cardigan, hair in a messy bun that's more mess than bun, the exhaustion that comes from a six-month-old who thinks sleep is optional.
You hear a crash, when you glance over there's a nurse staring at you. Then another one. A resident you don't recognize has stopped mid-step.
They're all staring.
"Uh."
Brendon's jaw tightens. He's noticed them staring too and he looks about ready to start firing people.
"Come on." His hand finds the small of your back and guides you away from the audience. You catch whispers as you walk past âdid Park just âwho is thatâhe has a wife?
Oh. Right. Brendon doesn't exactly share details about his personal life. You knew that, obviously you knew that, but somehow it didn't register that these people have probably never seen any evidence that he has a life outside of yelling at them about bone fractures.
There's a supply closet. Brendon pulls you inside and closes the door, which seems dramatic until you remember your husband thrives on drama as long as he's the one creating it. "You didn't tell me you were coming."
"It was spontaneous."
"Spontaneous." He repeats it like youâre dumb for even saying it. Then he takes the tupperware from your hands and sets it on a shelf next to boxes of gauze. "How's she doing?"
"Asleep when I left. Your sister's watching her."
Brendon nods, hands on your waist, thumbs rubbing small circles through your cardigan. It's such a casual thing, something he does without thinking, but it makes your whole body relax anyway.
A hiss leaves your moth as your breast twinges. It's been doing that for the past hour. Little reminders that you're about twenty minutes past when you should have pumped. The baby's been sleeping longer stretches which is amazing for sleep, terrible for your milk supply regulation. Your body keeps producing like she's still feeding every two hours and now you're engorged and starting to leak, standing in a supply closet with your husband who definitely doesn't need to know about this.
"You okay?" Brendon asks. The man notices everything, it's infuriating.
"Yeah, I'm fine."
"You made that face."
"What face?"
"The face you make when something hurts but you're pretending it doesn't."
Damn him. Damn his stupid observant doctor brain.
"It's nothing. I just need to â" You stop because how do you finish that sentence? I need to go home and hook myself up to a breast pump like a cow? "I'm fine."
Brendon's eyes drop. Zero subtlety, just straight down to your chest where your breasts are probably visibly larger than they were this morning. The nursing pads you shoved in your bra are doing their best but there's only so much they can absorb. "You need to pump."Â
You feel your face heat up. This is mortifying. Bad enough that your body has become a milk machine, worse that your husband who spends his days putting people back together has to witness it. "I'll do it when I get home."
"That's an hour drive."
"I'll survive."
"You're in pain."
"Brendonâ"
He cuts you off with a kiss. It's brief, barely a press of lips, but it shuts your brain up for a second. When he pulls back his expression is set, he's made a decision and you arguing is irrelevant. "There's a room. On-call room, it has a door that locks."
Your brain is trying to catch up. "I don't have my pump."
"So hand express."
"Into what, my hands? The sink?" The image is horrifying. You're already leaking through your bra, the idea of standing in a hospital bathroom squeezing milk into a drain seems like rock bottom.
Brendon's quiet, looking at you with an expression you can't quite read, dark and focused. Â
"What?"
"I could help."
The words hang there. You're pretty sure you misheard because there's no way your husband just suggested â
"Help how?"
Brendon's mouth twitches, almost a smile but meaner. "You know how."
Oh. Oh fuck.
Did he just? Did your doctor husband just suggest he put his mouth on your breast and drink from you like â
"We're in your hospital." You say like every other part of the sentence was completely normal.Â
"Thatâs fine â"
How is that fine? "Someone could âpeople will â" You can't finish sentences apparently. Your chest is aching, your pussy suddenly very interested in this conversation. Brendon looking at you like he wants to devour you doesnât help your cause.Â
"The room locks," he says again, his voice making your thighs clench. "And I told you, I can help."
This is a bad idea. Terrible idea. The worst idea either of you have ever had and that's including the time Brendon thought he could fix the garbage disposal himself. But your breasts hurt. And the thought of Brendan's mouth on you, his tongue, the heat and pressure and relief â
"Okay." You say it before you can take it back. Brendon's eyes flash, something predatory and hungry. Without missing a beat, his hand goes to your lower back guiding you out of the supply closet.
Itâs completely normal for a doctor to take his spouse to an on-call room. They might have to talk, they could just eat. But your brain treats the walk like a death march, hyperaware of every person you pass, convinced they all somehow know what's about to happen. A nurse tracks you, looking above her reading glasses. But your husband doesnât seem to care.Â
When he closes the door behind you and locks, he speaks, "sit."
There's a bed, a tiny desk, a chair that's seen better days. You take the bed, legs feeling shaky like they might give out any second.Â
Brendon moves in front of you, and starts unbuttoning his white coat.
"What are you doing?"
"It's in the way." When the coat comes off, you catch sight of the familiar scrubs. You hate how good he looks. How unfair it is that he can spend twelve hours putting bones back together and still look like that.
Your cardigan is next. Brendon's fingers are gentle when they push it off your shoulders, careful like you might break. The nursing tank underneath is stretched tight across your swollen breasts, wet spots clearly visible where you've been leaking.
"Fuck." Your husband rarely swears, mostly because he can get his point across without having to raise his voice. More so lately after your daughter was born, heâs been all soft words and small smiles. But now he swears. Itâs quiet, almost to himself, hand coming up to cup your breast through the fabric and you gasp. The pressure feels good and painful at the same time, relief and torture. "Sensitive?"
"Mhmm."
Brendon's thumb brushes over your nipple and milk leaks out, soaking through the already damp fabric. You can see the wet spreading circle. Your cheeks burn hotter with each second, arousal gathering within you, making you want to hide and also spread your legs.
"I'm gonna â" You reach for the tank but Brendan stops you.
"Let me." He pulls the fabric down himself. Like theyâve been in confines all day, your breast spills out, heavy and swollen, nipple already beading with milk. The air feels cold against your overheated skin.
Brendon stares. You've been together for years, he's seen your breasts more times than you can count, but this feels different. More exposed. Your body is doing something it's supposed to do, natural and maternal, and he's looking at you like you're the hottest thing he's ever seen.
"Bren â"
His mouth closes around your nipple and your words fail. The first pull of suction is intense. Relief floods through you, almost immediately, overwhelming, better than any pump you've used. Milk flows freely and your husband swallows, tongue working against your sensitive flesh, and holy fuck this feels good.Â
This shouldn't feel good. It's functional, practical, your husband helping you with a medical issue. But you canât think of practical when his fingers are indented in the flesh of your hips, hard enough to leave marks, mouth spilling groans he canât quite control.
One of your hands find his hair. The soft dark strands slip through your fingers when you pull, maybe too hard, but Brendon just sucks harder in response. "Oh godâ"
You can feel the pressure in your breast easing, a gradual relief, but it's being replaced by a different kind of pressure between your legs. You're wet. Soaking wet, probably leaving a mark on your underwear.
Brendon pulls off with a wet sound, lips shiny with milk, pupils blown wide, looking fucked up in the best way. "Other side."
He doesn't wait for you to respond, pulling the other side of your tank down and takes your breast into his mouth. The relief is immediate again, almost dizzying. Brendon drinks it down like he's been thinking about this for months, not wasting a single drop.Â
You've caught him staring sometimes when you're feeding the baby, look on his face that you couldn't quite identify. Hunger maybe. Want. You know, the want that makes people do stupid things like suggest sucking their wife's tits in an on-call room.
His free hand slides up your thigh, and under your skirt. In retrospect, youâre happy you chose the skirt instead of those overworn sweats, even though you weren't exactly planning for this. His fingers find the edge of your underwear. Your legs soread themselves immediately , on their own accord. Â
"You're turned on." Brendon says it against your breast, muffled and matter-of-fact. Like he's diagnosing a condition. As if his fingers arenât currently making their way to your pussy.Â
"Shut up."
His fingers slip under the fabric and yeah, okay, there's no denying it. You're drenched, which kind of feels humiliating even though youâve already known. His fingers slide through your folds easily, collecting wetness. You bite your lip to keep from moaning.
"This turning you on that much?" Brendon's voice is dark, teasing. "Me drinking from you?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe?" He bites down gently on your nipple and you gasp. "Liar."
Two fingers push inside you. Youâre so wet thereâs no resistance, and the stretch is perfect, an immediate fullness that makes your walls clench. Brendon's fingers curl, finding that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
His mouth doesnât part from your nipple, mil still flowing and coating his tongue, the dual sensation of it is too much, wet sounds filling the small room. "Brendon â"
He doesnât look up to speak, not willing to part and lose the flow. "What?"
"I'mâfuckâI'm close."
He hums against your breast. The vibration shoots straight to your clit. His thumb finds the swollen bundle of nerves and circles it. "Come for me, honey." Your husband, who spends his days giving orders in operating rooms, is telling you to come and your body obeys.
Your pussy clenches around his fingers, walls fluttering. You have to slap a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. Brendon works you through it, fingers pumping steadily, mouth still on your breast like he can't get enough.
Even though youâre shaking, your chest finally feels lighter, the ache replaced by a pleasant soreness. Brendon's fingers slip out of you and you watch as he brings them to his mouth, licking them clean.
"Thatâs disgusting."
He doesnât seem to mind it. You watch his tongue slide between his fingers, cleaning off your wetness, and your spent pussy gives a valiant twitch of interest.
Brendon fixes your tank top, gentle hands pulling the fabric back into place. Your breasts are still visible through the wet fabric but at least they're covered. The cardigan goes back on next. "Better?"
"Yeah." You are better. Lighter. Less like you're about to burst. Of course now you're sitting in an on-call room having just had an orgasm while your husband drank your breast milk, so better is relative.
"I have to get back." Brendon's putting his white coat back on, smoothing down the front. He looks completely composed. Meanwhile you probably look like you've been thoroughly fucked. "You good to drive?"
"I think so."
"Text me when you get home."
"Okay."
He kisses you before you leave. It's soft, careful, and you can taste yourself on his lips. Sweet and tangy, weird but intimate in a way that makes your chest tight. "Thanks for lunch."
"You didn't eat it yet."
"Yeah, just drank it." His hand squeezes your hip. "Tonight when I get home we're doing that again."
Your face burns at his words. "The lactation thing or the orgasm thing?"
"Both."
You leave first. Brendon waits a minute before following, some attempt at discretion that's probably pointless. When you walk past the nurses station every head turns. You can feel their eyes on you, questions forming, gossip already spreading.
Park the Shark has a wife. She's soft and tired and apparently visits him at work. She also looks thoroughly debauched but they probably don't know that part.
Probably.
Your phone buzzes before you even make it to your car.
âA Chance in Hellâ - Dr. Brendon Park x Reader
Summary: You're the person who has to deal with the consequences of Brendon Park's actions, which means you're the only one willing to bite his head off. You want to strangle him; he wants to kiss your feet.
A/N: nobody needs a woman to yell at him like park the shark
Word Count: 6.2k
There is exactly one sound on earth known to make Emergency Department attending physicians with decades of experience under their belt run for the hills and cower under cover â and thatâs high heels.
Your high heels, specifically.
Itâs not a common sound in the emergency room or the hospital as a whole; most healthcare employees are in sneakers, clogs, or boots the entire time theyâre clocked in. But not you. Always dressed pristinely â today itâs high-waisted tailored slacks and a mock-neck sleeveless blouse, effortless and simple with legs that go on for miles and miles â you stalk through the hospital with a mission.
Robby spots you first, strolling in from the offices with eyeliner sharp enough to slice. As his eyes widen, he flips around, briefly touches Abbot and Park on their backs, and hisses, âFind cover, gentlemen. Itâs the Viper.â
Abbot breaks into a near run toward the closest open patient room he can find. While Robby scans the area for his hiding place, Park asks, âWhat the hellâs going on?â
Robby hustles in the opposite direction with a shrug. âEvery man for himself, Shark.â
Then a bright, clear, loud womanâs voice bowls down the ED like an oncoming storm. âDr. Park, just the man Iâve been looking for.â
Even Al-Hashimi claps him on the back and runs off with a whispered, âGood luck.â
You join him in the next second. In your heels, which arenât even that tall, youâre looking him square in the eyes. Smiling through lips coated in a deep maroon, you ask him, âHowâs the transfer to the ED treating you, doctor?â
Arms crossed over his chest, Brendon eyes you suspiciously. âAh, good, so far. I prefer trauma to ortho. The stakes are higher. Feels good at the end of the day. Accomplished.â
âGlad to hear it. I just need a couple minutes; I know youâre busy. Can we talk here or would you like to go to my office?â
Not noticing the way every single doctor and nurse is nervously glancing in your direction, Brendon mutters, âHereâs fine if itâs quick.â
âGreat!â You unlock your briefcase on the nurseâs station and remove a binder as thick as a textbook. Voice still sweet and teasing, you tut at him, âYouâve made yourself very difficult for me to find, Brendon Park.â
âIâm usually in surgery,â he replies, confused and suspicious. He vaguely recognizes you from somewhere, but he canât quite place it. Probably just flitting around the ED when heâs been here for consults, but itâs entirely possible youâre the hot woman on PTMCâs billboard over I-376. âWhatâs this about?â
You introduce yourself, shaking his massive hand with yours (blood red stiletto manicure and all), and explain, âIâm the Emergency Departmentâs Patient Advocate Supervisor.â
âAh,â Park sighs, eyes raking up and down your accentuated curves, âyouâre my new Kevin. He was a huge pain in my ass; I hope our relationship will be better.â
âNo, Kevin is a patient advocate and a damn good one, considering he had to deal with your mountain of issues; orthoâs equivalent of me is an idiot who lets the monkeys run the circus,â you correct with harsh eyes. All pretense of pleasantness gone. Brendon looks at you like youâre speaking Klingon, so you slow down your words like heâs a child and explain, âThe patient advocates give their evaluations to me. I analyze them and write reports on each and every doctor in the department.â
His brows furrow. âI thought that was Gloriaâs-â
âI donât work for the hospital,â you say, offended by the very idea. âHospital employees are beholden to the board and the bottom line. Iâm a medical malpractice lawyer that the hospital contracts from a private firm to whip their doctors into shape. I donât care about anything but how patients get treated while theyâre here in the ED. Iâm more than happy to testify against you in court, recommend probations and suspensions, advocate for salary cuts, or whatever else you might need to be a little more motivated to do your fucking job.â
He lets out a defensive half-chuckle sound, not quite believing the way youâre speaking to him when heâs used to nothing but deference from his coworkers. âI do my job just fine.â
You tap the thick binder and say, âThis is your disciplinary folder, Dr. Park. You cut up patients just fine â and thatâs an apt description, considering your outcomes arenât any better than the other surgeons you treat like imbeciles despite doing identical work to yours.â He scoffs and goes to argue, but you barrel ahead, âDonât ever interrupt me and donât ever try to correct me; I donât say things unless Iâm completely certain theyâre backed up by the data.â
With wide eyes, Brendon confirms, âThatâs my file?â
âYes. You have more patient complaints than any other surgeon in the hospital. I had to switch it from a folder because it has so many entries your previous PAS didnât go through, so now I have to deal with a two-year backlog. She didnât do her job of keeping you in line and I wonât be repeating her mistake. Your luck has run out; I expect you in my office at five this Friday for a comprehensive review of your existing file and every Friday after that until your performance improves.â
With his mind reeling, all Brendon can get out is, âAh, I usually head out early on Fridays. Do a long surgery in the morning and get home by three or four.â
âI know that; I have your schedule history.â With a pat to his shoulder, you smile and tell him, âI want you to spend every weekend from now on thinking about how fucking annoying it is that some bitch from legal wonât let you leave the hospital until seven â and remember that itâs your own fault for being an asshole to patients and itâll end as soon as you try to be nice and smile for once.â
Slack-jawed, Brendon just watches as you turn on your red-soled heels and head toward your next victim. After a couple of steps, though, you turn back toward him and add, âOh, and welcome to the Emergency Department. Iâm sure youâll fit right in.â
And all thatâs left of you is a waft of warm, citrusy perfume. Park leans against the nurseâs station and breathes out slowly as the other attendings gradually reappear. Baffled, he just shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. âWhat the fuck?â
Robby slaps him on the back. âA good public reaming by the Viper is a rite of passage in the Pitt; you were bound to get your first one sometime. Youâre one of us now.â
Feeling dizzy and breathless, Brendon says softly but confidently, âIâm gonna marry that woman.â
Robby shakes his head and snorts out a laugh, âThatâs a fucked up thing to say.â
âNo, no, I can see it,â Jack cuts in, chuckling too. âYouâd have the tallest, smartest, meanest children around.â
âIâm serious,â Park insists. A smile threatens his lips. âGive me six months, boys, and Iâll have a ring on that finger.â
âNot a chance in hell,â Robby replies simply. âI heard she dumped her last boyfriend because he polished her shoes with the wrong rag. She doesnât want a man; she wants a whipping boy.â
Brendon looks between them both and sighs almost wistfully. âA girl like that? Iâd let her whip me any time she wanted to, especially if I ruined her $1,000 heels.â
Itâs Jackâs turn to laugh. Shaking his head as he grabs a new chart, he mutters, âSomething is deeply wrong with you, man.â
That evening, Park waits around your office for you to leave, hustling behind you when you stroll past in your stylish knee-length coat, ready to brave the autumn air. You see him in the corner of your eye and hold up a hand. âWhatever it is, it can wait until morning.â
âNo, no, I donât need anything,â he assures, quickening his pace to match step with your relentless one. âI think we got off on the wrong foot back there, Ms. Viper.â
You cut him a smirk. âBased on your file, I have a sneaking suspicion thatâs how things usually go for you.â
âWell, Iâd like to apologize for making your life so difficult over dinner and expensive wine.â
You stop in your tracks and turn around; he nearly barrels into you as he stops short. âAre you seriously asking me out on a date right now?â
âYeah, I absolutely am. Are you saying yes?â
âWow, you really do have all the social grace of a baboon.â With your hand on his chest, you give him the cruelest and most effortlessly dismissive laugh heâs ever heard, like heâs a snail by your foot and not an attractive, successful doctor. It makes him shiver. âYouâre punching above your weight class, Dr. Park.â
But he just gives you a hunky grin, undeterred. âI can bench almost twice what I weigh; how much bigger do I need to get to take you out?â
You chuckle and reply, âLift a thousand pounds with one hand.â
âNo problem; give me two days.â
Trying to push down how charming he is, you turn at the entrance to the parking garage and tell him simply, âIâll see you on Friday for your review.â
âPerfect.â He nods and, like itâs an assignment, confirms, âIâll be done by then for sure.â
Friday afternoon, right on time, Brendon knocks on your office door. He pushes it open when you call for him to and slips inside with the air of a child who knows heâs in trouble.
âSit,â you order, nodding to the chairs on the opposite side of your desk. He does so right away, clearly waiting to hear what you have to say instead of jumping into something himself. You set the contents of his disciplinary file on the desk and gesture to the piles. âWell, your reputation certainly precedes you, Dr. Park.â
He tries out a smirk to keep some semblance of confidence. âNot the first time Iâve heard that.â
You tilt your head and narrow your eyes. âBeen a bully your whole life, then?â
âI meant more that-â
âYeah, Iâm not stupid.â You show him each of the three piles of paperwork and explain, âSince you started in the ED, Iâve been sorting through the complaints against you. This tallest stack is complaints I can handle myself without your help or where your help would only make things worse.â
âWhat does that mean?â
You level him with a gaze so stern it makes him squirm. âOnes where the problem was your personality, basically.â
âBrutal.â
âLike you.â When he hears himself in your words, Brendon doesnât like it. For maybe the first time in his life, he questions his own behavior. So it sounds like an opportunity when you go on, âThis one is complaints that Iâll have to pass on to the review board if you refuse to help me resolve the problems.â
After pinching the bridge of his nose, he taps the smallest stack of two thick documents held together by binder clips. âAnd this one?â
You sigh and tell him, âThese two are going to the review board no matter what.â
âShit.â
âYeah, turns out that-â you show him the cover page of each complaint â-pressuring parents into high-risk surgeries for their child isnât very nice.â
âWell,â he bites back, still pushing up against his over-groomed ego, âbeing a good doctor isnât about being nice.â
âYouâre right.â You match his intensity. âItâs about effective patient care, which is impossible if your patients donât trust you.â
Gesturing like heâs trying to find the right words to grab, he argues, âThe kid wouldâve died without the surgery.â
You let out a harsh laugh. âAnd when you gave a blood transfusion to a Jehovahâs Witness?â
âThey came in unconscious and had no identification of their religious status.â He throws his hands up defensively. âCould not possibly be construed as misconduct.â
âClearly the complainant disagrees.â You sigh and lean back in your chair, fuse burning short at his constant belligerence. âLook, Brendon. Your surgical work is fine â good, even â but your bedside manner is nothing short of atrocious. You donât spend enough time getting informed consent, you donât listen to concerns, and you regularly exhibit disrespect to patients and other doctors. Now, I understand that surgeons receive more complaints than other specialties â less face time with patients, uncertainty about post-op results, all that. But you, doctor, are a true outlier among outliers. And if you want to keep your job at this hospital, then you need to cooperate with me in resolving these complaints.â
Your words hang heavy in the air for a minute. Brendon hates that you know exactly how to deliver a monologue that makes him feel like heâs in the time-out corner and absolutely deserves it. Thereâs never been a coworker â or a woman, frankly â whoâs put him in his place like this. Finally sounding on the border of humble, he asks, âWhat the hell am I supposed to do?â
âWhatever I say.â
âIn practical terms, please.â
You canât help but let out a laugh at his pouty tone. âYouâre going to take mornings off surgery for the next two weeks to meet with aggrieved former patients. You will listen, you will sincerely apologize, and you will agree with every single thing I say to convince them not to escalate.â
His eyes widen and he balks, âYou seriously expect me to not do surgery?â
âMy proposal has already been cleared by hospital administration and the meetings are scheduled. Iâll add them to your calendar.â
Reaching for anything to get out of what he imagines would be the worst thing on earth â trapped with a gorgeous, cruel woman who hates him and a jilted patient â Brendon mutters pathetically, âI thought we werenât supposed to apologize to patients for fuckups.â
âThatâs a myth and one that makes my life way more annoying on a regular basis.â You rifle through some papers on the cabinet behind your desk and hand him a pamphlet on malpractice, explaining, âPhysician apologies cannot be used to demonstrate guilt in a court of law and theyâre actually the number one reason patients agree to mediation and ultimately drop complaints.â
Brendon absently flips through the pamphlet, trying to resign himself to his fate. âWhat do I do, then?â
âCome to my office first thing in the morning,â you start, giving him a âdonât you dareâ look when he opens his mouth to crack a joke about that. âWear a light-colored button-down and your white coat. Mousse your hair instead of gelling it so itâs soft. Practice looking like a human being in the mirror.â
Once again, his expression turns to a mix of offense and dread, scoffing, âWhat, like Iâm a murderer trying to convince a jury Iâm not a psycho? The damn Menendez brothers in their pastel fucking sweaters?â
You canât help laughing at the irony. âBrendon, listen to yourself.â
He sighs heavily and runs his fingers through his end-of-day-loose hair. âChrist, I really am an asshole, arenât I?â
âAcceptance is the first step in recovery,â you lilt. Then you pick up a few of the files and say, âNow, letâs go over the meetings I have lined up for Monday morning. The more prepared you are for what theyâre going to say, the better we can handle it.â Watching him tentatively take the first file and read over it with furrowed brows, you go on, much softer, âI know everyone at the hospital thinks Iâm a bitch â and, to be fair, I am â but itâs only because I want your patients to have a good experience with you. When your patients view you as competent and trustworthy, theyâll return to you for care, theyâll follow instructions better, and ultimately your outcomes will improve. So just work with me here and weâll get this figured out.â
He nods slowly, guilt trickling into his veins as he actually reads over the details of the complaints for the first time. Patients who felt dismissed, who didnât understand his decisions, who ended up with post-op complications they didnât feel comfortable bringing up. After what feels like forever, his voice lowers and you see a flicker of humility in his eyes. âYeah, okay. I trust you. I donât-â He swallows hard, averts his eyes, and manages to admit, âI donât want to be the kind of doctor people avoid. I want to be better.â
You reach across the desk and give his forearm and small, affirming squeeze. When you smile at him earnestly for the first time, it makes his heart flutter a little too embarrassingly for him to acknowledge. âThatâs all I need to hear for us to work together.â
The two of you make it through reviewing the first weekâs-worth of low-level complaints by seven, going back and forth to understand his perspective, the patientâs, and the advocateâs. You hate to admit it, but when Brendon actually accepts that thereâs a problem and gets determined to fix it, heâsâŠgood. He cares. He has the work ethic of an ox and you can tell heâs the kind of man who needs to right his wrongs.
It doesnât hurt that most of the complaints against him have to do with him being hard-headed, not incompetent or malicious, usually bulldozing patients because heâs right and wants to do the best he can. Not like some of the ED doctors who have fewer complaints that are much more serious. You know he just needs to find the balance of that skill and confidence with communication and understanding. Heâll be the best of the hospital if he can do that.
Your watch beeps at seven, interrupting the flow of your conversation. You stand up first to make it clear that Brendonâs officially free, saying, âThank you for coming in and for your understanding. You can do this.â
As you collect your things and he does the same, he ensures, âSo weâre done for now?â
âYeah, we are. You can head out.â
âGreat.â He opens up your office door to let you walk through and says seriously, âLetâs circle back on that conversation we had earlier this week now that weâre off the clock. Would you like to go on a date with me?â
You laugh and shake your head. âYour biceps arenât looking any stronger since we last went over this; sure youâre ready to lift that thousand pounds for me?â
All cocky again, he whistles and muses, âSo you have noticed how big my arms are.â
You nudge him in the arm with your elbow as he falls into step next to you. âIâve noticed your scrub tops are a size too small, yes.â
âGod, you are far and away the most brutal, beautiful woman Iâve ever seen and I can tell youâd sucker punch a bear if it didnât mind its manners,â he absolutely swoons. While you try not to smile, he goes on, looking for all the world like heâs about to break into song, âIâm smitten over here. Iâll take you somewhere nice, dress up like a gentleman, the whole damn thing. What do you say?â
âI only date doctors with a patient satisfaction score in the double digits, Brendon.â
âGod, my name sounds so good in your mouth itâs like this is the first time Iâm hearing it. You can make the meanest insult sound like a song. What a gift.â While you laugh and push out of the hospitalâs front door toward the parking garages, he follows behind you like a puppy and goes on, âPlus, I know for a fact my patient satisfaction score is 51 because Robby was thrilled to have a doctor who scored lower than his 65. Iâm proud of that.â
With an eye roll, you remind him, âYou really shouldnât be.â
âAnd you really should go on a date with me. Iâd treat you so well; you have no idea,â he insists as you walk through the parking garage toward your reserved spot halfway down the first row. âIâd lick this garage floor right now if youâd let me open your car door for you.â
You stop next to a sexy little silver Miata and snicker, âIâll let you do that today, but only because I have my hands full.â Brendon immediately drops to his knees and bends toward the ground with his tongue out, making you shriek out a laugh and smack him with your purse. You cover your smile with your hand and chastise, âYouâre horrifying.â
âAnd youâre just a few more interactions from falling in love with me.â He stands up with a satisfied, goofy grin thatâs far too boyishly charming for his features and opens your car door, stepping back and gesturing with a flourish. âGet home safe, beautiful.â
You slide into the front seat, settle your belongings, and tell him, âIf you smile like that at your patients, you might actually have a chance with me, big guy.â
He salutes and promises, âIâll spend the whole weekend practicing for you.â
The whole ride home, you have to keep forcibly wiping the school-girl smile from your face. Youâre totally aware that Brendon Park can 1000% wear you down. Definitely not your usual type with his wolfish smile and domineering attitude, but gorgeous, broad, and just cocky enough to turn you on without intimidating you.
The problem is that his very existence is an annoyance to you. If you were going to date a doctor in the ED, it would be Abbot, who seems to actually give a shit about making your job easier and treating his patients like people and not puzzles. Shen is by far too happy and Al Hashimi is too sweet. Robby repulses you on a visceral level for more reasons than you can name.
But Brendon Park? Heâs a big question mark for you. All you know about him is from his file, which doesnât paint a particularly flattering picture. When he talks and smiles, though, you can sense a sweetness in him that he doesnât show often. Maybe that means he can open up and be better â but you doubt it.
That flicker of hope in your gut? You arenât sure whether to stoke it or blow it out.
You fully expect Brendon to drop his crusade to go out with you after a couple of rejections. He could have any girl he wanted with a snap of his fingers, youâre sure, so thereâs no way heâd keep going for someone as off-putting and crass as you. Especially after two full weeks of morning meetings that essentially consist of you bending him over and letting patients spank him red, youâd guessed that his interest would fizzle out into something more akin to begrudging tolerance.
But no.
Brendon Park is not a man easily dissuaded.
Every time you spend two hours on Friday afternoon verbally beating the shit out of him so heâll become a better doctor, he inevitably goes through the same routine.
âGo out with me, gorgeous, Iâm begging you,â he tries again. His latest addition to the song and dance is insisting on carrying your file box and briefcase out to your car because, quote, âyour manicure is too sexy to risk chipping.â Sticking right by your side, he swears, âIâll get on my knees right now if you just say yes.â
You meet his too-pretty blue eyes and insist, knowing itâs only about 40% true now, âNot in a million years.â
âNo problem,â he beams, âIâll wait a million and one just to sweep the floor in front of you so you donât get any scuffs on those designer shoes.â
âCute, but how about you start working on that list of calls for me instead? Give me an update the next time you see me.â
âOh, Iâm already on it,â he assures like a dog showing off a new trick and hoping for a cookie, âbut if it gets me another single solitary second breathing in that perfume of yours, Iâll go double time.â
You roll your eyes and ignore it â but youâre smiling, and thatâs enough for Brendon.
By the time you and Brendon are on the last week of his patient apology tour, your resolve is about as strong as a toothpick. Heâs bringing you coffee and pastries every single morning, just setting them on your desk without a word while the two of you prep. He always compliments not only what youâre wearing but the little details alongside it â your perfumeâs top notes, the shade of your lipstick, the way your earrings catch the light. With every ounce of his earnest affection, he can tell your resolve is wearing very, very thin, but itâs definitely still there. He can smell the blood in the water even if he isnât quite sure when or how to make the final strike.
Brendon figures out his plan of attack because of the wisdom of one Dana Evans.
Youâre working on the floor of the ED today because a nasty bug has taken out two of your patient advocates. In picking up their workload, you end up floating through Brendonâs peripheral vision all day. For everyone else, youâre the viper who might bite their neck at any turn. But, for Brendon, itâs like, well, the most beautiful woman heâs ever seen is just there for him to gaze at in between surgeries.
While going over plans with him and a few nurses, Garcia turns to him and offers, âOne of my friends wants me to set her up with a doctor and I said Iâd try. Park, youâre single, right? Sheâs funny, pretty, successful. Maybe a little nice for you, but you never know.â
Brendon smirks, glancing in your direction, and answers, âIâm single, but Iâm not available.â
Princess rolls her eyes and cuts in for the sake of the gossip: âWhat the hell does that mean, Shark?â
âIâve got a girl in mind,â he replies easily, voice smooth and cool as a saxophone. âGot a feeling sheâs finally gonna give me a shot soon.â
Garcia faux-gasps. âYouâre groveling for a girl? You know youâre, like, eight feet tall, buff, and rich, right?â
âAnd that means thereâs nothing sexier than a woman who needs to be courted.â
âEw.â
Absently listening to the exchange, Dana glances up at him over the rims of her glasses. âYouâre cock-blocking yourself with her, Park, you know that, right?â
Princess looks between Park and Dana, beyond nose, and presses, âWith who, exactly? This girl works at the hospital?â
âThe Viper,â Dana explains like thatâs not some top-shelf, high-value chisme. âHeâs been trying to get her to go out with him for weeks now. Itâs obvious.â
Garciaâs mouth falls open in horror. âYou like her?!â
âShut up,â Brendon hisses, nervous about the potential of you overhearing just a few feet over. He narrows in on Dana and demands, âWhat do you mean? Iâve never put more effort into trying to convince a girl to date me.â
âKid, she likes you already. She laughs at your bad jokes and she squeezes your arm like itâs a prize tenderloin sheâs thinking about buying. She wants to go out with you.â Staring him down from over her glasses, Dana explains, âBut you know whatâs not attractive? Being the reason she had to work overtime almost every day this month. You wanna go on a date with someone after you spend four hours defending them to angry patients and lawyers?
This isnât some playground back in the â90s when we tried to convince girls it was cute for a boy to pull her pigtails or tease her. A lady like that expects better for herself. Youâre clearing all these complaints for her, but, in the meantime, youâre collecting plenty of new ones. Bring her all the coffees and donuts you want, but until youâre a guy she can actually rely on to make her life better instead of worse, itâs a lost cause.â
âDamn, Evans.â Brendon lets out a long, slow breath, watching you talk with a patient using those soft eyes you donât give to anyone else. God, youâre so beautiful it aches. The harshness of you and the softness, too. With a sharp nod, plan solidifying in his mind, Brendon claps Dana on the shoulder and says, âHeard.â
After the very last patient from the backlog of Brendonâs complaint file leaves your office, you stretch your arms above your head, down the last of your coffee, and tell him, âCongratulations, Dr. Park. Youâre officially rid of me until you get a brand new complaint â so, Iâm guessing Iâll see you this afternoon?â
With a shit-eating grin, he muses, âOh, you havenât heard?â
You raise an eyebrow. âHeard what?â
Shrugging like itâs easy and obvious, he explains, âIâm not gonna get a single complaint this month.â
You bark out a sharp laugh and start preparing for your next meeting. âFor the first time in your career? Is that so?â
âYes, maâam,â he vows, almost somber in his conviction. âIâve got a brand new wave of motivation.â
You lean forward and balance your chin in your hands like youâre tuning in for a gossip session. âDo tell.â
âTurns out my bad behavior has a direct negative effect on the girl I like, so Iâve gotta shape up if I want to make her mine.â
Your heart flutters and you unintentionally bite your lower lip before catching yourself and admonishing your brain for responding to something soâŠsoâŠcharming. As he leans in your doorway, lingering instead of leaving, you ask, âAnd what do you think the odds are on that?â
âOh, theyâre astronomical.â Sounding positively wistful, he gazes at you affectionately and continues, âShe never gives me the time of day and she scares the shit out of me; itâs the most amazing thing that she still absolutely knocks my socks off. Iâve got no idea what the hellâs wrong with me when it comes to her.â
âYeah, me neither,â you giggle. Fuck, you didnât mean for it to come out as a giggle. Shaking your head and averting your eyes to your computer because the embarrassment of being caught feeling all flirty and cute is too much, you say, âGet back to the ED, Brendon; Iâve got my next meathead doctor in a few minutes.â
âNo problem, gorgeous, but Iâve gotta tell you one more thing, though.â
You look back at him, careful to keep your face together and not too wooed. âWhatâs that?â
He steps forward and leans over your desk, hands planted on the tabletop. His eyes bore into yours. âMy odds may not be good, but theyâre not zero. And that minuscule chance? That keeps me going. Youâve just gotta give me a single second and youâll fall in love for the rest of your life, I promise you that.â
A little breathless, you meet his baby blues. âDo you?â
âIâm gonna treat you so well and make your life so much easier; itâll be impossible not to fall for me.â Then, so confident it steals whateverâs left of your breath, he cups your cheek and says, âIâm gonna fix this whole departmentâs patient satisfaction scores starting with my own and then Iâm gonna learn how to shine your shoes just how you like. Iâd do nothing but sit in your closet with a dehumidifier to make sure the humidity for your leather heels is just right if thatâs what you wanted.â
You swallow hard as his touch stays on your face long after he withdraws his hand. âSounds a little scary.â
Brendon shrugs, smiles, and backs toward the door once more, always reluctant to leave you. âThen youâll just have to give me something else to do to make you happy. Let me change your oil; you donât even have to be there while I do it. Or I can mow your lawn, bring over my own push mower and everything to make sure I get the stripes just right how you want them. Iâll hand wash your floors with my toothbrush. Anything.â
You shake your head and sigh tenderly, âWhat am I gonna do with you, Brendon?â
âWhatever you want, whenever you want. Have I not made that clear enough?â Brendonâs eyes rake over you once more like heâs memorizing the sight of you to savor for the rest of the day. âMan, even when youâre rejecting me, youâre just about the loveliest thing Iâve ever set my eyes on. The things I would do for you if youâd even brush a hair off my shoulder.â
âThat would be the most action a manâs gotten from me in a very long time.â
âYeah? How long?â
âIâll see you later, Dr. Park.â
âSee you soon, Viper.â
Brendon makes absolutely zero attempts to ask you out for the next 30 days straight. Youâre honestly starting to believe he may have lost interest until he waltzes into your office at 5PM on a Friday, the last day of the month. He knocks dramatically on the door frame even though itâs propped open.
In the middle of collecting your things, you shrug on your jacket and sigh, âCan I help you with something, Dr. Park.â
Standing with his hands suspiciously bashfully behind his back, Brendon steps into the office and informs you seriously, âYou should sit down for this, gorgeous.â
You lean against your desk and nudge, âWhyâs that?â
âBecause,â he announces, voice grand like heâs about to call an auction, âyou, the Viper of the Emergency Department, are about to agree to go out with me, your humble subject, and, after your many rejections, I have to imagine thatâll be so shocking for you that you might pass out.â
With your stomach full of butterflies you canât deny, you hop up on your desk dramatically and gesture broadly like a queen for her jester. âAlright, Sharkie, go ahead.â
Brendonâs smile only grows at your teasing. He takes a deep breath and explains, âDana told me this morning that I had to check my mailbox because it had gotten too full. The whole time I worked in ortho, I think I checked my box maybe once. When you get served, they put the notice right in your hand, so why bother? But I go to the mailroom and sheâs right; my cubbyâs got a million fucking envelopes in it.â From behind his back, he hands you a stack of cards. âTheyâre from patients. My patients.â
He lets it hang as you inspect the papers heâs handed over. Like he said, theyâre all cards and theyâre all from patients. There are hand-drawn ones from kids with pictures of sharks, sentimental ones from old ladies, ones with shitty jokes from the convenience store. There have to be twenty of them here, each one telling a story of a doctor who truly made them feel seen and cared for.
The last of your resolve crumbles into dust.
Brendon steps forward, studying your expression carefully, and says softly, âTurns out that while Iâve just been trying to impress you, I actually became a better doctor for my patients. And a better man, I hope. So, first and foremost, I wanted to thank you for that.â
When he doesnât launch into another attempt to ask you out immediately, you let the silence linger for a moment. Thumbing through the cards, you make your mind up once and for all. You meet his baby blue eyes, let a small smile part your lips, and reply, âOkay.â
His eyebrows go up. âOkay?â
You nod and sigh out, âIâll go on a date with you.â
He fist pumps the air in a way so dorky and adorable you almost back out and lets out a dramatic whoop, âFuck, yes! Jesus, I really didnât think that would work.â
You roll your eyes at him even though itâs become physically impossible to suppress your delighted smile that matches his. âAlright, slugger, calm down. Iâm just a woman.â
Brendon shakes his head and scoffs, âAu contraire. You arenât âjustâ anything.â
âWell, regardless, you win.â You take a Post-It from your desk, scribble your phone numbers on it, and hand it over to him. âText me your address. Make me dinner tomorrow night.â
âMake you dinner? You know I could get us a table at any restaurant you wanted.â
You cross your arms over your chest and challenge, âAnd I want you to cook for me. Itâs the perfect test for a man.â
Staring down at your phone number in your swoopy handwriting like itâs made of diamonds, Brendon absently asks, âYeah? Whyâs that?â
âIt means one of the three things.â You explain seriously, âHe can already cook, which is a green flag. He can follow a recipe, which means heâs teachable, or he utterly fails and that means he can handle being humbled, which is sexy.â
âItâs sexy when a man gets humbled?â
âWhat exactly do you think has been going on between us?â
âHonestly, I havenât heard a single word since you agreed to date me.â
In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund.
Brendon Park was, believe it or not, a pretty light sleeper.
If you thought about it for long at all it would make sense. Years spent sleeping with one ear open for his pager meant it didnât take much I disturb his slumber.
And after falling in love with you and adjusting to your presence in his bed, he definitely woke when something was wrong with you.
Like something clearly was right now.
No longer were you in his arms, lax and snuggly, but a few feet away coiled in tight, soft whimpers unable to be muffled
And knowing the things he did about you, he could diagnose easily.
He reached out, putting a heavy sleepy hand on your hip.
âHey baby, you alright?â He murmured.
You stammered an apology.
âNo sorries honey. How long have you been up?â
âDunno.â You slurred.
He understood.
He pushed himself up, to your dismay.
âWhat-â
âIâm gonna get your medicine and your electric blanketâ he explained.
In a broken voice you thanked him and apologized.
He ignored both.
âIâll be right backâ he promised.
And he was.
Maybe three minutes passed and there he was, in the dark bedroom, plunging in the electric blanket beside your nightstand and then offering you two white pills and your water bottle from the nightstand.
He settled the blanket over your hips, tummy and legs, and laid back down beside you.
âYou need anything else you tell meâ he reminded you firmly. After you nodded in confirmation he wrapped an arm around your tummy, pulling you close. âIm right here, baby.â He muttered, kissing your shoulder.
blurb: a rich uptown girl with car issues keeps visiting the small garage off the highway where the ownerâs super hot son works.
warnings: fem!reader, fluff, lowk ditzy!reader but not really, yummy mechanic!logan.
Logan heard you before he saw you.
He memorized the sound of those heels clicking against the rough pavement like a second heartbeat. After all, not many girls around this side of town wore vintage Prada pumps to an off-highway garage.
And even if they did, they most certainly did not own a BMW 6er f12 convertible.
Loganâs older brother Jeff was leaning against the workshop desk and sipping on a can of Coke when he saw you strut in. He sighed, âHere comes Lottie.â
The nickname was a running joke between the brothers. Jeff had muttered it under his breath when you first visited the shop and asked a question about diesel gas. He took one look at you and knew you were a clueless, rich girl who shouldnât be visiting garages such as theirs.
Logan hadnât entertained the nickname so much. He thought it was unnecessarily mean. Besides, Lottie was always a sweetheart in Princess and the Frog.
Jeff turned on his heels and disappeared into the garageâs office, leaving Logan to deal with you on his own.
Logan put down a spare part he was working on and turned around, leaning back against the counter.
You waved excitedly with a cheerful grin. âHi, Logan!â
He smiled politely, âHeyâŠâ
âDid you save my girl?â You asked, batting your lashes.
Logan nodded, âSheâs all fixed up for you,â he said, walking over to the wall of car keys hung on hooks to retrieve yours.
You clapped your hands, âYay!â
He chuckled whilst shaking his head. You got happy over the simplest of things. He thought it was endearing.
You walked over to your car. Nebula, as you called her. A fitting name for a sleek, black convertible with dark purple leather upholstery and shiny silver rims.
Logan came over and handed you your keys. âYou wanna try her out?â
You nodded and unlocked your car before opening the driverâs side door. No beeping. Perfect.
You beamed at Logan. âYou did it!â
He smiled with an easy laugh, feeling proud of his work. In reality, your car issue was a minor one; the door sensor just needed a replacement. Nothing about it required a lick of rocket science, and yet you looked at him as if he hung the stars in your galaxy.
You put your designer bag into your car and bent over to fish out your wallet. Logan stared at your body for a second before he caught himself, clearing his throat and looking away respectfully.
You stood up straight, holding your leather wallet between both hands, looking at him with a doe-eyed expression.
He scratched the back of his neck and gestured for you to follow him to the counter. The gritty sounds of his boots crunching the gravel below and the rhythmic click click click of your heels echoed through the garage.
Logan went around the counter and pulled out a receipt and wrote down the service you needed with the price. He slid the piece of paper to you but you just kept looking at his face with a smile. He blinked before realizing you didnât care for the price. Right, he thought. Rich girls donât worry about those things.
âCash or card?â He asked.
You held up your metal black credit card.
Logan pursed his lips and nodded as he pulled out a card reader. You tapped your card without even glancing at the screen and clapped your hands when the machine beeped in satisfaction.
âThank you, Logan,â you told him kindly.
He shrugged politely, âItâs no problem.â
You smiled at him. He returned it, âDo you want your receiââ
Before he could even hand you your proof of service, you were walking back to your car. He nodded to himself and stuffed the receipt into the cash register.
He watched as you exited the garage, waving at him enthusiastically as you drove by. He gave a small wave back.
+
A week later, your BMW pulled into the garage whilst Logan was working under a car.
He didnât hear the sound of your heels this time as he had headphones in, blasting a classic rock song. He felt a shadow looming nearby so he turned and saw your heels appear. He paused and rolled out from under the car, meeting the sight of your broad smile peering down at him.
âHi, Logan!â
âHeyâŠâ He sounded confused. His eyebrows furrowed and he glanced around, âDidnât you pick up your car last week?â
You nodded. âYep. But my AC is broken nowâŠâ You pouted.
Hm, Logan thought. He sat up, âOh, I didnât see that when I did the diagnostic last weekââ
âMust be a new issue, then. These foreign cars are all funny,â you replied, tilting your head.
He cleaned his hands with a rag before standing up. He had oil stains on his shirt and just a little smudge on his face. You thought he looked so ruggedly handsome.
âLet me take a look,â he said and you stepped out the way for him to crank open your hood and inspect the situation.
As he got to work, you leaned against your car and watched. After a moment, you asked, âHow was your weekend?â
People donât usually talk to Logan when he repairs their cars. Especially not pretty, rich girls like you.
âIt was good, played hockey, worked here in the shop,â he responded casually.
You nodded along even though he couldnât see you.
âDid you win?â You asked.
He laughed, an amused sound. âYeahâŠyeah, we won.â
You clapped your hands, âYay!â
Logan laughed again. It was cute, he thought, how you always clapped at good news.
âYou like hockey?â He asked, looking over your hood to meet your eyes.
You hummed, âI only recently got into it. My family prefers watching polo, golf, or tennis.â
Rich people sports, he wanted to say. That made sense.
âRecently, huh?â He said instead, ducking his head to keep working. âWho should I thank for putting you onto hockey?â He joked.
You smiled shyly and said, âYouâŠâ
His hand paused. The parts of your car suddenly looking like alphabet soup moving in jumbled letters. He lifted his head to meet your gaze again. But before he could manage a reply, you changed the subject. âIs it broken beyond repair?â You asked, turning your attention to your car parts.
He snapped out of his daze and shook his head. âUhh, no. No, you just need AC coolant.â
âIs that an easy fix?â You asked.
He nodded, âYeah, the easiest.â He said.
You smiled in relief. âThank goodness I have you fixing my car,â you told him.
He smiled at that.
He fixed your car, you chirped out a âThank you, Logan!â, you paid without looking at the bill, and waved goodbye as you left.
âThat the BMW girl again?â Loganâs dad asked as he stepped out the office.
âYeah,â Logan replied, wiping his hands.
âLottie back again so soon?â Jeff teased. Logan rolled his eyes at the jab.
âYou overcharge her?â His dad asked.
Logan looked at him, âWhy would I do that?â
His dad shrugged, âLuxurious car fee?â
Logan squinted his eyes, âWe donât do that.â
Jeff piped in, âWe could. She doesnât even check her receipts.â
Logan looked between his dad and brother, âSo what? We charge her fair and square.â
His dad shared a looked with Jeff before he went back inside the office.
+
Week after week, you came by to the garage. First it was an oil change, then a rim replacement, then a loose window ribbon, then a tire with low air, and so on.
By week 7, Logan had had enough. Itâs not that he didnât like seeing you, no. Far from it. He actually enjoyed your company. He often looked forward to when youâd come by and say Hi, Logan! in that sing-song voice of yours, your joyful smile, and innocent questions.
But now he was noticing a pattern.
So when you rolled in that Thursday night like clockwork, he didnât go up to you. He stayed by the workshop desk and watched you with his arms crossed over his chest.
âHi, Logan!â You beamed with a gleeful wave.
But upon meeting his stern expression, your smile faltered and your hand slowly dropped back to your side. You looked around the empty garage before walking over to him in hesitant steps. The sound of your heels filled the space between the two of you. You stopped in front of him and flattened down your skirt, a nervous tic of yours that you never noticed before.
âY/n,â he said, his tone serious. âThis is the seventh time youâve come to the garage.â
You nodded, âNebula keeps acting upââ
âNo, she doesnât.â
You looked at your feet. No smile, no lively clapping.
His arms uncrossed and he stepped closer. He wasnât angry. No, it wasnât that. Logan isnât an idiot. He knew. He knew you had a crush on him, knew the only reason you showed up time and time again was just to spend time with him. Why else would you come? He knew families like yours had their own repairmen at fancy dealerships who could fix any problem. You didnât need to come into his familyâs garage.
Yet, you did.
Logan figured it out by week 4. But truth be told, he never mentioned it because a part of him liked being around you too. He liked hearing your upbeat voice, the familiar tap of your heels, the sound of your laugh. So he stayed quiet, he fixed your tires, and refilled your carâs oil. He went along with it. Because he liked your company just as much as you liked his.
Unable to lie to him, you lifted your head and met his eyes. âI did those things to my car on purpose.â You confessed quietly.
Logan blinked. His stance eased at your admission and he looked at you with soft eyes.
âI watched a YouTube video on how to drain AC coolant,â you added. âAnd drove around until my tires lost some of its pressure, andââ
âY/n,â he held your chin with his hand. âYou didnât have to do all that to see me.â
Your eyes widened as you stared at him. He smiled gently, âIâŠlike seeing you. With or without Nebula.â
âYou do?â You asked.
He nodded, âI do.â
He leaned in slowly, giving you the chance to pull away. But you stayed. His lips met yours in a gentle kiss. Not hungry or desperate, just a soft sealing; a mutual understandingâI like you and you like me.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours. You looked at him with a honeyed, dazed expression. He smiled down at you and pecked your lips once more. You werenât a spoiled, rich girl to him. Not clueless or ditzy. You were justâŠyou. A sweetheart with a crush on a cute guy who would do anything to see him. You were Lottie.
He glanced behind you at your car. He pulled away with a reluctant sigh, âWhat did you do to her this time?â
You smiled sheepishly, âI jammed my gearshiftâŠâ
He chuckled softly, both amused and fondly exasperated by you. âOkayâŠlet me take a look.â He said, lacing his hand with yours and bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss.
