Early on in life you had been thrown a curveball when you were diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.
It had caused issues the first few years but with the help of family, doctors and medications, you had been able to manage it.
The only time it seemed to pose a setback was when you started medical school.
You’d think it would be more assuring to work in a hospital, especially if something went wrong. But while that might seem to be a good thing, you were worried others would view it as a weakness.
Being a nurse requires you to be careful, attentive, and meticulous in everything you do.
You weren’t ashamed of the fact you had diabetes, but you didn’t want to give people a reason to doubt your abilities.
The only people at PTMC that knew of your condition was Gloria (for disclosure purposes) and your boyfriend, Brendon Park.
He was truly a blessing and beyond understanding of things. Brendon always had a sugary drink or snack on hand for low blood sugar, and extra medication for when it got too high. He was always prepared.
You appreciated him so much more for it.
He always tried to watch out for you since at times you would get overwhelmed with work or other things and not stay on top of things.
Unfortunately today was an extremely busy day for him and unfortunately it was for you too.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Budget cuts.
That was the biggest talk around the hospital. Word had it that it was happening in all departments and the pitt was the first to get hit.
This meant that everyone was on their A-game and working ten times harder to not be part of the cut.
You were one of the people who was working their ass off to not be cut. This meant showing up early, staying late, taking extra shifts, no sitting, and no breaks.
This posed an issue for you since you had to be a tad more vigilant with yourself and your diabetes.
Normally you would check your phone several times a day to make sure your blood sugar was in range and make sure your dexcom was letting you know if something was too high or too low.
But with the talk of cutting staff, you had neglected checking your phone so that you wouldn’t have anyone second guessing you.
—--
It’s late afternoon when it happens.
You’re at a slight jog all day moving from patient to patient, filling out chart after chart. The sweat is sticking to you and it feels like the a/c isn’t even working.
It starts when you take a short five minutes to catch your breath.
You had felt fatigued all day but it was now really starting to set in, more than usual. Your heart is also beating a bit too fast but you chalk it up to being on the move all day.
An hour later you feel the shaking begin. It’s barely noticeable to anyone else but you clock it immediately.
It’s not too bad, I’ll be fine for a bit longer.
That's the thought process you convince yourself to keep going.
You can’t afford to stop again.
You can’t get cut.
So you continue working.
Not even thirty minutes later you’re getting ready to discharge a patient when your sight gets a bit blurry.
You shake your head a bit hoping to clear things. When it doesn’t help you dismiss yourself from the room briefly.
Walking to the nurses station feels like you’re completing a race drunk.
The dizziness is getting worse and making you sluggish in movement.
“Sweetpea, you okay?”
Dana? Who’s talking to me?
Your vision still swims as you look up and see blurry figures not too far from you.
“Kid? You’re not lookin too good. What’s wrong?”
Robby?
I don’t feel good.
“Kid what’s wrong? Can you hear me?”
Yes I can hear you. I just told you I don’t feel good.
It feels like everything is in slow motion as you reach for the desk counter but you can’t feel it.
All you feel is how your world tilts.
Everything going black before you hit the floor.
—--
“Shit!” Robby hisses out before lunging towards your crumbling form.
He manages to catch your upper body before your head hits the floor.
“I need a gurney now!” he yells as he checks the pulse in your neck.
Dana falls to her knees with you and Robby.
“Sweetpea, hey! Can you hear me?”
She checks your eyes but they’re rolled to the back of your head.
“Her pulse is racing D. I don’t know what’s going on.”
A gurney is rolled over and they both get you lifted and rolled into an empty room.
“Does she have any medical issues? Did something happen recently?”
Dana looks over you checking for injuries. She lifts your left sleeve and then your right one.
“Robby, get over here!”
He rushes over and looks at what she’s found.
Your dexcom.
“She’s diabetic?” He questions in disbelief
Dana tears up as she shakes her head “I had no idea.”
“I need glucagon now!” he shouts to a resident in the room.
He then looks back to Dana “Get Park down here.”
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Brendon is finishing scrubbing out from a surgery. He’s exhausted as he dries off his hands but is pulled from his tired state from the door hitting the wall.
“Park” Garcia says as she catches her breath “get to the pitt now.”
His eyebrows furrow as he fully faces her “What’s wrong?”
“Dana called up saying your girl collapsed and to get down there quick.”
Brendon’s moving before she can even finish.
His heart races as his mind files through the possibilities at hand. He runs as fast as he can to get to you.
—--
He makes it to the pitt in record time and finds your room as its crowded by your pitt family trying to check on you.
“Park,” Robby gets his attention and he quickly pushes through everyone to get in, finding your side immediately.
He cups your face gently, thumbs rubbing over your cheeks.
“What fucking happened, Robinavitch?”
Robby turns to him “Why didn’t you or her tell us she was fucking diabetic?” he says with a clipped tone.
Brendon is taken aback by the question, anger slowly building.
“Excuse me? That’s something you guys should already know. Why would I have to tell you?” he grits out
Robby furrows his eyebrows “What? We never knew. We just found out when she collapsed from a fucking hypoglycemic episode. Her blood sugar tanked bad, Park.”
Brendon looks at Robby in shock “She didn’t tell you?”
He shakes his head.
Brendon looks at your resting form.
Why didn’t you tell them?
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Your eyes feel heavy as you try to open them.
What the hell?
Shift must’ve been crazy if I can barely wake up.
As you open your eyes and things come into focus, you’re met with the frown of an upset boyfriend and concerned faces of your friends.
Wait what?
“B-Bren?”
“Welcome back sweetpea.” Dana smiles in your direction.
You look from her, to Robby, and then to Brendon.
“What happened?”
Brendon approaches you and cups your face as he kisses your forehead.
“Your blood sugar dropped, sweetheart. Why didn’t you take something when your phone went off?”
Your eyebrows furrow as you feel around your pockets and pull out your phone.
You tap the screen and it doesn’t turn on.
Shit.
“I never heard it go off. I guess my phone was dead. Shit, I’m sorry Bren.”
He rubs your cheek gently “It’s okay baby. You’re okay now. But do you want to tell me why your friends and coworkers had no idea you were diabetic?”
You look back over at Dana and Robby who give off worried mom and dad energy.
Tears start to fill your eyes.
“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper out “I just– I never wanted anyone to doubt me or my abilities if they knew or saw me handling it. Then with the budget cuts I really didn’t want anyone doubting me. I usually look at my phone to check my levels but I didn’t want to risk any bad feedback that could get me in trouble.”
Robby walks to your other side and grabs your hand.
“Kid,” he starts “no one would doubt your abilities and if they did, me and anyone who really know you would squash that immediately.”
He looks up at the ceiling and you see his eyes wet with unshed tears.
“My stomach dropped when you collapsed. I didn’t know if you were hurt or if I was watching you die.” he sniffs as he puts his hands on his hips.
“Sweet girl, your health is more important than anything. You can’t do your best if you don’t feel your best. You have to tell us when you have conditions like this.” Dana tells you
“We’re not here to judge you and we would never tell anyone but we need to know these things so we can care for you better in case things like this happen.”
Tears roll down your face as you nod silently.
Brendon wipes the tears away.
“Sweetheart, as soon as your phone is charged, you’re adding me on your app to keep me notified of your levels. I can’t see you like this again. I can’t, baby.”
One choice the show made in revealing Robby’s character is showing us that he’s friendly with staff at all levels of the hierarchy in the hospital (except admin because this man hates the hierarchy). He and Ahmad are friendly. He knows Esme’s name, uses it, and asks how she is in both seasons. If you don’t work in a hospital you might not know that this really isn’t typical for doctors. Many will ignore the cleaning staff entirely. Few would know their names. Esme likes Robby enough that she saw him struggling during the MCI and asked if he needed anything, if he wanted her to grab him something to eat. That speaks to their relationship and to why the staff like him so much. He talks to them as equals. He doesn’t put himself on a pedestal, and that is really not common among doctors.
"Just the Way It Is" - Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x Reader
Summary: When a new HR assistant director introduces a hospital-wide weight loss program, the last person you expect to be your ally is Park the Shark, an ortho jock you've never really gotten to know.
Tags: fat!reader (mentioned as being over 200 pounds but no other physical description given), pediatric emergency attending!reader, i made kingdon her residents and donnie her nurse bc why not they felt the most pediatrics-oriented to me, kingdon crumbs, pining brendon, protective brendon, slow burn, flirting, first date, SMUT, face sitting, piv (unprotected)
Content Warnings: both direct and indirect fatphobia, discussion of orthorexia, diet/intentional weight loss culture
Author's Note: this beast of a fic has been finished for @genevievedarcygranger as part of my birthday fundraiser, which will continue taking donations through july 31st; thank you so so much for your contribution!!
Word Count: 11.6k
You’re suspicious of the new HR assistant director the moment you meet her.
It’s not that she’s skinny. Not really. Obviously, in health care, you mainly work with thin people; the field is fatphobic as hell, even the doctors who are doing their best not to be. You have maybe two other plus-size coworkers you know, but none in the Pitt. People question your presence all the time in silent moments (and sometimes verbal ones). So it’s not that she’s skinny. But the green smoothie clutched in her manicured hand, the office siren aesthetic designed to show off her itty-bitty waist, the expensive blonde highlights, and the bleached smile raise alarm bells in your brain. And, let’s be honest: Her name is Candice, but she goes by Candi. It’s difficult for you to imagine a more ironic, biting choice than that.
Your initial suspicion turns to straight-up disdain – maybe even hate on your less charitable days – when she announces her very first hospital-wide initiative. She gathers all the attendings and charge nurses into the largest conference room at shift change and launches into a slide show. The very first slide, there’s a photo of a bashful, adorable fat girl, maybe twelve years old, wearing a sparkly pink dress as she holds hands with her dad.
“That was me right before my first father-daughter dance. You might not believe it looking at the woman standing before you today, but I was heavyset most of my life.” Candi goes on, “With a lot of hard work, I was able to lose the weight and keep it off. Now, working in HR, I know that a thinner workplace is a healthier one, which means lower insurance rates for everyone. To promote health and wellness for our staff, we’ll be ringing in the New Year with a Corporate Weight Loss Journey! We can all accomplish our New Year’s Goals together and get some benefits for our teams.”
You shrink in your seat. Objectively, you know that nobody’s staring at you, but it feels like it. In a room where almost everyone’s below 200 pounds, you’re naked and Candi’s just grown devil horns to shine a spotlight on your stretch marks and rolls.
While you yearn for a total building collapse, for the next half hour, she goes over the rules. “The hospital will offer complimentary fitness classes twice a week and a healthier slate of meal options in the cafeteria to encourage the program, but those perks are far from the best part. For every percent of weight lost, individuals will receive tiered rewards. And, if your entire department achieves 10% weight loss on average, there’s a big prize in store to reward everyone for their hard work.” Then she flips to a slide with lots of happy before-and-after photos where all the ‘before’ sides look a lot like you. With that magazine-ready smile, she announces, “Lastly, to incentivize our staff members who need it most, whoever loses the most total pounds will win an all-expense-paid three-day vacation to a US-based resort of their choosing! Isn’t that incredible?”
There’s a light smattering of claps, most of the attendings bored but prepared to accept whatever initiatives HR wants to foist upon them. You definitely notice a handful of more excited claps and whoops, though, and you work to quickly memorize who they come from as a shorthand ‘to avoid’ list.
Candi gives a stomach-turning false squeal and finishes, “Of course, we can’t make this program mandatory, but I’m personally asking all of you as our PTMC leaders to encourage your teams to participate. Any questions?”
Then someone else’s voice rises from the silence. No raised hand. Clear and strong, a man you don’t recognize in dark scrubs and a surgical cap barks out, “This is a terrible program and you should can the whole concept before it crashes and burns.”
Candi’s face falls for a second before it twists up into scorn. “Excuse me, Dr. Park?”
“Do you have any idea how damaging programs like this are to the actual wellness of your employees?” His steady voice barely conceals rage. You sit up straighter to look at him, surprised to see a buff tall guy on the same page as you. “Let’s start with the obvious: You have no idea how many staff members may have eating disorder histories or are currently struggling with body dysmorphia or the countless conditions that make weight loss impossible or damaging. That alone should be enough to stop this.”
She scoffs, “Like I said, nobody is required to participate.”
“That doesn’t change how you’re creating an outright dangerous environment for them,” he argues. No hesitation or wavering in his voice. “Then let’s talk about how hard it is for overweight patients – who make up the large majority of Americans, let’s keep in mind – to trust their doctors in the first place. They already put off care out of fear and receive worse care because of their doctors’ biases; how much worse do you think it’s gonna be if we have management reinforcing those biases? It’s disgusting and I’m not going to endorse it.”
“Dr. Park,” she replies, all soft and condescending, “just give it a chance. I promise we have the best intentions here.”
“Nope, absolutely not. My practice will not be participating,” he cuts back without any sympathy in his voice. Is that a wet patch in your panties? “In fact, I’m gonna personally buy them all prizes for not doing this and for using their brain power to provide the quality patient care they’re paid to focus on instead of wasting their time with vain competitions that value the hospital’s bottom line over the important work we actually do. Maybe we’ll finish with a pizza party.” Standing up and collecting his things, he concludes by telling her, “My subordinates’ bodies aren’t my business; their skills are. Let’s not pretend this is about anything other than lowering the hospital’s insurance costs so the board can maximize profits.”
Next to you, Robby mutters under his breath, “Classic Park.”
When Dr. Park storms out of the meeting, you’re too stunned to move, speak, or breathe.
A few minutes after the meeting ends, the elevator down with Robby and Abbot is the longest of your entire life. They’re your friends, yes, but there’s always been a level of distance between you. They’re the ER Cowboys, the big bad attendings who’ve worked together since the dark ages, and you’re the new attending who campaigned hard to start a pediatric sub-specialty unit in the ED. They both like you plenty, but you also run your own little world that orbits theirs, a bite-sized version neither of them has to mess with often.
You’re trying not to listen to their back-and-forth – Robby talking about his ‘beer gut,’ Jack mentioning his ‘dad bod’ – when Robby nudges you with his elbow and asks, “You gonna get your residents and nurses involved with this thing? I mean, it should be especially important to you, right? Childhood obesity rates rising and everything.”
“Which is something I’m not particularly concerned about working in emergency medicine,” you reply, voice shorter than you’d meant. “Last time I checked, being fat doesn’t make kids break their arms, smack their heads, or develop infections.”
His eyebrows go up, a little surprised at your hard pushback. You’re usually soft and sweet and chatty, exactly the doctor you want helping your baby get better, but he’s clearly hit a sore spot. “I guess that would be a hard no.”
As the elevator doors slide blessedly open, you tell him, “There aren’t enough hours in the day for me to spend any of them thinking about Frank Langdon’s BMI.”
Robby replies, “I think the point is focusing on our own.”
You can tell he doesn’t do it on purpose, but the way his eyes flick down to your hips tells you everything you need to know about what he’s thinking. Spending your life in this body, you can tell what people mean beneath what they’re saying. So you give a tight smile and say, “Well, I’m perfectly fine with mine the way it is. Hope you have fun hating yours.”
As you push past them and beeline toward the lockers so you can escape to your car as soon as possible, you hear Robby turn to Abbot and ask, “What the hell was that? Did I say something?”
Jack rolls his eyes and huffs, “Brother, she’s the only bigger girl on our whole floor. Maybe try being more sensitive than an estranged father at custody trade-off next time.”
“Shit, I hadn’t even thought of that.”
“Because you’re bad with women,” Jack says with a clap to Robby’s shoulder. Just as you start to think he might be a safe space for you in all of this, he play-boxes Robby’s chest and says, “Anyway, night shift’s absolutely gonna crush day shift on this thing. Shen’s been asking me to show him the ropes at the gym for months and Ellis used to box. We can cut weight no problem.”
Robby chuckles and shakes his head. “You bastard.”
That night, you eat your dinner in front of your work computer. You give a few nervous parents messages in their portals, sign off on some resident charts, and sort through a few transfers and AMA notices. The whole time, though, your mind keeps drifting back to that doctor from the meeting, and soon enough you find yourself sorting through the hospital directory. Of course, the massive city hospital employs about fifteen Dr. Parks, three of which are attendings, and there are no pictures because the website is behind the times.
Which means you have to use the tools at your disposal.
Pretty soon after coming into the Pitt Jr. the next morning (as your department has come to be called), you take advantage of a lull in the flow to interrogate two of your residents. You find Mel and Langdon at the nurse’s station, making heart-eyes at each other, while they go over a chart. You come up to them like you’re about to commit espionage and ask under your breath, “Do you guys know a Dr. Park who works in the hospital? Big buff dude?”
“Park the Shark?” Frank takes a deep breath like even the thought is harrowing. “Yeah, of course we know him. Everyone in the ED does.”
Your brows wrinkle. “Why haven’t I met him? I’ve been here a year now.”
He scoffs and offers, “Because you’re insanely lucky?”
Mel, always generous, adds in Park’s defense, “It’s because you’re a pediatric specialist. Shark’s head of orthopedic surgery and he has his own private practice, so he’s picky about the cases he’ll take from the Pitt.”
“Thank god we have Robbins,” you say of the incredible pediatric surgeon who’s always coming down to the Pitt Jr. Then, pretending it’s more of a passing interest than a burning one, you press, “Sounds like you two aren’t crazy about him.”
“He’s a huge dick,” Langdon says at the same time Mel explains, “He can be kind of intense.”
They make the kind of conspiratorial eye contact that always makes you roll your eyes, tempted to tell them to just fuck it out of their systems already. “Details, people.”
Frank raises his hands innocently and defers to Mel, who sums it up, “He just…only cares about the medicine, I guess.”
You narrow your eyes at them. “And that’s a bad thing?
“She means that he very actively doesn’t care about anything else.” Frank clarifies, “Like, hates everything. And everyone. Especially emergency room doctors, because we can’t magically control what happens to a patient’s bones before they show up to the hospital.”
You nod slowly but ask, “Okay, so he’s an ortho jock, but what about, like, as a person?”
“I’m not sure he even is one,” Frank replies, his expression completely serious. “The only thing I know about him is that he can squat and bench 450.”
From behind him, revealing that he’s been listening, Donnie adds, “Don’t forget the 550 deadlift.”
Frank groans, “Right, how could I forget the 550 deadlift?”
At your confused look, Donnie explains, “Dr. Park took part in this powerlifting charity competition a couple of years ago.” He takes out his phone and rapidly pulls up a video. “The organization would match every pound lifted with $100 for the top three competitors. He got second – I guess the national record-holder lives in Pennsylvania – but he still donated $145,000 to Operation Rainbow. They do free orthopedic surgeries for kids in developing countries.”
“Jesus.” Trying to actually conceptualize lifting that amount of weight as Donnie scrubs through the competition video until Dr. Park’s on screen, you give Frank a pointed look. “Doesn’t sound like too bad of a guy to me.”
“Yeah, I’m sure the attention he was swimming in after had nothing to do with it,” Frank replies, all cynical. “They put it on the hospital’s Twitter and it went kind of viral. That was a tough season for any of us guys trying to date coworkers.”
Mel nudges him on the shoulder. “You’re just as handsome as Dr. Park.”
“But I definitely can’t lift the girls I date over my head.”
She protests, “That’s not what girls want!”
Watching the video of Park’s deadlift on Donnie’s outstretched phone, sweat dripping down his chest and a driven expression on his face, you muse breathily, “It’s not not what girls want.” You lean in closer to the video and observe, “Wow, those are tiny shorts.”
Mel looks over your shoulder and her eyes widen. Almost mesmerized by Dr. Park’s pumped muscles, she agrees, “Not much left to the imagination.”
Frank snatches Donnie’s phone, pushes it back at him, and huffs while grabbing a chart, “Don’t we have work to do, people?”
Donnie snickers, “Jealous little spoil sport.”
It’s not long before the day picks back up, lots of feverish crying babies and vomiting kindergarteners and skatepark preteens with broken arms that need tending. Robbins comes down to set a few bones and schedule a couple surgeries. You fall into the flow of the work you love, comforting parents and supporting students. It’s all going fairly easily until Langdon mentions the weight loss challenge; he goes back and forth between your and Robby’s service, especially for teenage patients, so he catches wind of it first. And then he manages to get Donnie into the idea in a ‘get rid of our dad bods’ way, which has you suppressing groans, and then Donnie ropes in another nurse, and Frank ropes in Mel (who has absolutely no weight to lose) because he can rope her into anything, and then you have to be the bad guy.
All in all, by the time of your last break around three, you’re fed up. You just need to vent to someone who you know agrees with you. So you stomp into the elevator and punch the button that you know leads to orthopedics, trying not to let the storm swirling in your throat control you. At reception, you flash your badge and get waved back toward the offices, where you easily identify Dr. Park’s as the biggest one all the way toward the back with the near floor-to-ceiling window views over the city on one side.
When you knock on the door, you hear an annoyed-sounding, “Yeah?”
But you’re not a shrinking violet who’s turned off by the thought of being an inconvenience. You slip into his office and close the door behind you as he turns to face you. You’re talking before he even has a chance to: “Hi, Dr. Park, I know you don’t know who I am, but-”
“I know who you are,” he interrupts bluntly. You get the sense that he does that a lot. “You started that new pediatric wing in the emergency department. I hired Robbins to my team so you’d have a pediatric specialist to call for all your tiny bone breaks.”
Taken aback for a second, your lips part into a smile. “I figured the board was in charge of that.”
“Please, the hospital doesn’t have the cash to hire a double-board-certified surgeon on short notice,” he scoffs. “I run my private practice out of this suite. I hired her personally; she has hospital privileges just like I do. Pediatric orthopedic surgery’s way harder; I figured if the Pitt’s gonna be bringing in more kids, I’m not gonna have my surgical residents butchering their little bodies in the name of education.”
Leaning against the door, you laugh and tease, “You’re kind of a bleeding heart, Dr. Park. I never would’ve guessed.”
He looks up at you properly. His eyes rake over your body and he smirks. “Don’t rat me out.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Good. What brings you all the way up to the penthouse?”
“It’s kind of embarrassing,” you start, dropping your eyes from his for the first time in the conversation, “but I just wanted to thank you for saying something during that stupid meeting yesterday. About the weight loss thing. It was nice hearing someone, um, not think my body is inherently bad. So. Yeah. Wanted to introduce myself officially and let you know it mattered to me.”
“That’s not embarrassing,” he replies with a furrowed brow. Like he really can’t fathom it. “You have the right to feel safe in the workplace just like anyone else does. Any administrative program that makes my coworkers, my nurses, or my students uncomfortable isn’t welcome in my department.”
“I wish that was the attitude in the Pitt,” you sigh, flopping down on the loveseat opposite his desk like you own the place. He definitely doesn’t hate the way you look all sprawled out or the way you unapologetically take up the space. You groan, “The other attendings are so committed to it that my students are asking if we can participate.”
“What’d you say?”
Expression tight and unforgiving, you reply stiffly, “That they’re welcome to work toward the individual prizes on their own time, but, as a department leader, I’m not going to encourage it.”
“Very tactful.”
You shrug and admit, “I may not have phrased it that well in context.”
Amused now, actually enjoying your company, Park presses, “What did it sound like in context?”
Giving him a conspiratorial little smile that he can’t deny is heart-poundingly cute, you tell him, “Something along the lines of ‘that prissy HR bitch can’t force me to starve myself to save the hospital money and you shouldn’t be sheep’ if I’m remembering correctly.” He barks out a laugh as you quickly cover it with, “Okay, okay, I know, but, in my defense, they covered the Pitt’s doctor’s lounge with these ‘motivational’ posters that make me wanna puke. How am I supposed to enjoy my sandwich with ‘weight loss starts in the kitchen!’ staring down at me? I’m here eating in my car like I did my senior year of high school when girls like Candi fucking Cassidy called me Piggysburgh. Not even that funny.”
“Come up here and eat with me, then,” he suggests with a shrug. Like it’s no big deal. Like it doesn’t make your head spin from the easy, casual selflessness of the offer. “You can use the ortho lounge whenever you need a break, too. I’ll get you a badge for our floor. We’ve got bean bag chairs,” he says with waggling eyebrows like that’s the holy grail of accomplishments. “I always make sure the place is stocked with good snacks since our vending machine blows. Plus, we’ve got Roku. And foosball.”
You meet his smile with one of your own. “Sounds very luxurious.”
“It is. Private practice is magical.” After a beat of charged silence, Park looks you up and down again like you’re his dinner plans and says, “I take my lunches at one. Consider yourself invited.”
The next day, you slip away from the emergency room floor with your lunchbox and into the elevator toward ortho without a word, ditching the unspoken, usual routine of eating lunch alongside Robby and Abbot. It’s the time of day when the three of you have a sort of informal meeting about the different cases you’re dealing with, what needs to fill in the broader emergency department, which students need more support – and the results of the latest Pens game. You know perfectly well that they’ll immediately notice your absence, but, you figure, if they really want your time, they can actually schedule something instead of taking it for granted.
When you gently tap on Dr. Park’s door, you’re met with a sort-of-teasing-but-mostly-not bark, “That better be the cute Pitt Jr. doctor and not your ugly ass here again to ruin my lunch with another last-minute emergency, Peterson!”
You nudge the door open, bite your lower lip, and reply, “Cute Pitt Jr. doctor checking in.”
His eyes shoot up to his hairline and he nearly jumps out of his seat. Swallowing hard to conceal his embarrassment, he course corrects, “I didn’t think you’d actually come. Ah, hi. Hi, doctor. It’s good to see you again.”
“You don’t have to call me ‘doctor,” you laugh as he stands up and grabs his own lunchbox from one of the countless drawers behind his desk. “We can be on a first-name basis since you’re saving me from the hell of lunch with my coworkers.”
Park scoffs, reaching around you to open up his door. “I’m your coworker.”
“Yeah, but you’re cool.”
He chuckles, “I’m cool?”
“You don’t hate fat people,” you amend with a shrug. “That’s a good start for me.”
“Fair enough.” He shakes his head in annoyance at the reminder of what you’re having to deal with downstairs. Then he nods down a hall and says, “C’mon, I’ve got a spot where I like to eat.”
“It’s not the roof, is it?” Your nose wrinkles when you frown and Park catches himself memorizing it. “Jack and Robby are always trying to get me to hang out with them on the roof.”
Park cringes at the thought, leading you decidedly away from the stairs. “Yeah, I’ve had nightmares about being the poor bastard who has to put Robinavitch back together again if he ever actually jumps.”
You snicker even though you probably shouldn’t. “He won’t; it’d be too much of an inconvenience for everyone else.”
“Hey, whatever gets the job done.” He replies with a suspiciously knowing sort of sigh, “No bad reason to stay alive.” He opens up an ‘authorized personnel only’ door with his badge key. You step into a room with a warm skylight at the center of the ceiling, the sun raining down onto a small square garden beneath it, ringed by a few plush armchairs. It’s like a miniature oasis, the walls soundproof, the space insulated from the chaos of the hospital. Park explains, “They were supposed to turn this room into a whole zen meditation space thing for families waiting for their loved ones to get out of surgery, but I very kindly explained to the board that I had patients who needed care and couldn’t afford it, so that money should probably be used to start a surgical angel fund and, of course, they agreed with me.”
Sitting down in one of the inviting chairs, you give him a mischievous sideways glance. “I have a feeling it didn’t sound like that in context.”
“It may have sounded a bit more like ‘you greedy fuckers’ and ‘this disgusts me so much that I’ll move my practice to another hospital,’” he admits with a warm laugh as he opens up his lunchbox, which is an oversized borderline military thing with lots of organization. As he unpacks about a thousand containers, he glances at you doing the same and remarks, “Cute lunchbox.”
You show off the pastel bento-style compartments, arranged perfectly with fresh fruit, your favorite snacks, and a pesto pasta salad you’ve been yearning for all day. “Lunch is the only time of day I get off my feet for a solid half hour. I take it very seriously.”
“I can see that.”
You don’t miss his soft, affectionate smile as he takes in your matching containers and floral-patterned napkins. As you look at his own spread, similar in intentions but different in execution, you muse, “Looks like you’re the same way.”
“I try to be intentional when I eat,” he replies simply, pouring a homemade dressing on a colorful salad made from ingredients in his different small jars. You have to respect a man who maintains the structural integrity of a salad by mixing it at lunchtime instead of in advance.
“You must be a ‘food is fuel’ kind of guy,” you guess, gesturing to his general musculature, “given the whole ‘550 deadlift’ thing.”
He makes eye contact that strikes you as very cheeky and self-satisfied. Cute, even. “That old video still circling around downstairs?”
You nod and confirm, “They were pretty eager to have me ogle you.”
He waggles his eyebrows; you wonder if any of your coworkers have ever seen him so playful or if you’re already special to him for some reason. “Like what you saw?”
Rolling your eyes, you point your fork at him. “Don’t fish for compliments when you know you’re hot; it’s unbecoming.”
Only half-jokingly flexing his biceps for you, he snickers, “Clearly I didn’t have to fish very much.”
You reach across and smack his arm, definitely not giving his muscles a squeeze on the way. He just laughs and shakes his head and goes back to eating. The two of you are comfortable and quiet for a few minutes as you eat. Usually, you’re uncomfortable eating around others, expecting comments on your choices, whether ‘healthy’ or not. But Brendon puts you at ease, not even glancing at what you’re having as he eats.
After a few lunches together, you gather up the courage to ask what you’ve been wanting to since the HR meeting. “Why do you care so much about the weight loss campaign thing, anyway? You’re kind of, like, the exact beauty standard for men.”
“Am I?”
“We already covered fishing for compliments, remember?”
“Touché.” He laughs and shrugs and stabs into his food. “How much honesty do you want?”
“Enough to satiate my curiosity without making you uncomfortable.”
“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable to talk about it as long as you won’t be uncomfortable hearing it.”
Getting something of a sense of where this might be going, you nod and tell him slightly more seriously, “I won’t be. I wanna know, especially if you’re gonna be my regular lunch date.”
The word ‘date’ makes him straighten up and preen a bit. “Well, I think I’d like that.” So he takes a slow breath, debates his phrasing a minute, and ultimately barrels into it, talking fast in a way that seems maybe half nervous: “I had an eating disorder when I was younger. Orthorexia. Back then, it was diagnosed as OCD and ARFID. With the education I have now, I can recognize it for what it was.”
The honesty hits you hard. You know without it needing to be said that Park isn’t honest like this with most people. He’s decided, in the same way that you have, that the two of you are allies in some kind of way. The two people vocally against this stupid HR thing, yes, but something that matters more, too. Something you can’t quite put your finger on yet.
With you giving him space, no judgment, just presence, he goes on, following the train of thought and memory and letting you join him like it isn’t the big deal it is, “I was a scrawny kid. Wanted to bulk up some in med school to get girls – I know, I know – and then when I went for ortho, one of my mentors mentioned it was good to build extra strength. In this field, you need endurance, grip strength, upper body strength, core stability.” He chews on the thought alongside his lunch for a moment before clarifying, “But I went about it all wrong. Crash diets with brutal full-body gym days. Cutting out anything that ‘sounded’ bad – first it was fats, then carbs, then just about everything bodies actually need. I stopped caring about how my body functioned and got obsessed with how it looked to everyone else.”
His voice goes far away for the first time, fork wavering in the air, and you watch him carefully, waiting with held breath.
Finally, he sighs sharply, “My residency took two extra years because of it. I needed serious help. If the hospital I worked at had some program that incentivized that behavior? I’d probably be fucking dead. That’s not happening in my department.” Finally, his eyes lift up to yours. You’ve never realized just how blue they are, brilliant and light. “I’m sorry it’s happening in yours. You ever need me down there, just call.”
It takes you a minute to speak, so many emotions tangled up in your gut. You start with a simple, “thank you,” but then it quickly spirals out into, “for telling me about your history, trusting me, I guess and for standing up like that in the meeting, and for being so nice to me during all this when you don’t have to, for- for-”
“Hey, stop,” he stops you as your voice speeds up and shakes. He reaches over and gives your hand one quick, firm pulse with his own. The touch lingers. His thumb on your wrist. Like he’s making sure you’re really there. After a beat, he murmurs, “You deserve better than saying thank you for the bare minimum. Everyone does. I know that I get listened to here when most people don’t. If I don’t say something, nobody will.”
And, god, is that sexy.
You just nod kind of stupidly, trying not to get lost in his eyes like some lovestruck tween.
Thankfully, Brendon’s pager goes off, shocking you both out of the intense eye contact that’s begging to end in a kiss or a confession. He drops his gaze first and rolls his shoulders, trying to ignore the countless feelings that tumble around in his stomach whenever you look at him because Brendon Park does not get ‘crushes’ on coworkers.
After he closes up his lunch box, Brendon stands, touches your cheek with his thumb so casually it makes you want to scream, and offers, “Lunch is on me tomorrow, alright? Let’s grab something fun instead of moping around in the hospital.”
You’re still finding it a bit hard to breathe, but you manage to reply, “Yeah, that sounds nice.”
And that’s how it goes for you and Brendon.
You eat lunch together.
You talk.
You don’t tell anyone in the Emergency Department.
It’s not like you’re hiding your friendship with him since there’s nothing to be ashamed of, not really, but he’s sort of your personal oasis. Your escape from the annoying, unendingly frustrating reality of posters that read things like ‘you can have results or excuses; not both!’ and ‘the body achieves what the mind believes,’ which feels particularly insulting given the emergency room of the whole thing. Every time you top off your coffee, you have to passively wonder if Mrs. Thomas in bed eight can eat, exercise, and think her way out of the pressure sores she’s getting from overnight understaffing or Hannah in the Pitt Jr. can stop making excuses to get the result of fixing her respiratory infection.
Hannah’s parents, of course, are the kind of people who very clearly buy into the ideologies now running rampant in your hospital. You can tell in the way her father looks at you like you’re not a doctor. It’s hard to explain. That look. But you know it well. First, the assumption that you’re a nurse; you’re used to that in your colorful scrubs and being a woman in general. There are worse things than being mistaken for the most competent segment of the hospital. But this is beyond that. It’s the obvious implication that you can’t know what you’re doing because you’re fat. That you must’ve made it through med school on something besides merit because your body is proof that you can’t take care of them.
He makes it patently clear when you suggest a course of treatment that he disagrees with. You’re the one with the education, the expertise, the fellowship, the brain, but he’s the one who gets to say, “Why should we listen to some ‘doctor’ who’s going to die of a heart attack before 40? This is fucking ridiculous.”
Keeping your voice tight and professional as your eyes and cheeks begin to burn, you manage to get out, “I’ll send in another doctor for a second opinion,” before turning around and busting out of the patient’s room. You rush a few steps forward, tap Mel on the shoulder because ‘skinny’ seems to be the necessary qualification, nod back toward the room, and then escape to your office while the tears fight for dominance. Thank god you’re an attending now; crying on shift was so much more annoying before you had a door to call your own. You don’t even know for sure what you’re doing until your fingers are already on your pager.
Exactly two minutes later – one walk down the hall and a slow elevator ride – there’s a knock. He doesn’t wait for your response. Slipping inside the door like it’s a secret, Brendon takes in your tears. You’re leaning against your desk with your arms crossed over your chest. With a soft anger in his voice, he asks quietly, “What happened?”
His voice snaps you out of it. It’s a losing battle to stop the tears, but you’re still swiping them away with your palms as you tell him, “I’m sorry; I know it’s- it’s so immature to page you during the workday for something personal when-”
Brendon’s shaking his head and closing the space between you in an instant. His arms wrap around you like they were always meant to fit there. And you finally lose it, blubbering out the whole story to him in sniffly, pathetic half-sentences. How much this whole contest is getting in your head and what your patient’s dad said and how it’s all swirling together into something ugly in your mind. Eventually you whimper into his broad chest, “Maybe I should just cave and play along. If I lost some weight, then everyone would-”
“Don’t do that,” he interrupts. Stern. Like it’s deathly serious to him. “Definitely don’t do that.”
You eye him carefully, eyes wide and shiny. The tears stop when you realize he’s looking at you with nothing but adoration on his features. “Why not?”
His cheeks go pink. You’ve never seen him blush before – not like this, not a deep, neon pink that’s blotchy on his neck above his collar. It’s almost cute, if that were a word Brendon Park was capable of embodying. Eyes trained firmly on what’s in front of him, he says, plain and simple, “Your body is perfect. Just the way it is.”
That makes your lips stop wobbling, instead curling up at the corners. You let loose a tiny, sweet giggle, press your hand to the center of his chest, and tease, “Are you hitting on me in my time of need?”
“Stating a fact,” he clarifies with a hard swallow. Unable to meet your eyes because of just how caught he feels, he goes on, “Don’t let this shit get in your head. It’s not worth it. You’re smart, you’re capable, you’re gorgeous; that big sexy brain of yours doesn’t have room for that garbage.”
You bury your forehead against his shoulder and laugh, “My big sexy brain, huh?”
“Damn straight.” He pulls away from you – reluctant – and sighs, “I should get back upstairs; I’ve got to scrub in ten.”
“Sorry again for-”
“No. Don’t apologize. I, ah, I like being there for you. Glad you caught me when I had a minute.”
“Then thanks.”
“Any time.” He does that thing where he cups your cheek again. It takes everything in you not to nuzzle into his palm. “I mean that.”
“I can tell.”
As Brendon leaves your office, you take a minute to catch your breath behind the door, knowing you need to refocus yourself.
That’s when the rage kicks into his gut.
It’s no secret that Brendon has a bit of an anger problem. Not the kind that has him flying off the handle throwing punches, but enough that he’ll call a doctor a dumbass if they compromise a patient’s care or suggest something particularly asinine. Enough that he can’t stop himself from shoving into the Pitt’s doctor’s lounge, where Robby and Jack are both on break, laughing over coffee like they aren’t part of the reason you’re in your office crying when you should be saving kids from polio or whatever's wrong with them.
The moment Brendon’s in the lounge, all eyes turn to him. He’s out of place. Hulking and determined and mean. Without saying a word, he goes around the tables and rips down the first poster he sees related to weight loss or food off the wall, ripping and crumpling it in his hand. As Robby stands to intervene or at least ask anything, Park shakes his head hard and snarls, “Violation of hospital policy. Section 241. Content of materials posted in common areas must be professional and inoffensive.”
Robby scoffs, on the verge of laughing because of how ridiculous it seems to him, “I wouldn’t exactly consider a poster for an HR campaign inoffensive.”
“Then why was I offended by it, Mike?” He goes for the next poster and gives it an equally ruthless treatment, shredding it and trashing it. “Get all this shit down. Other side of the Pitt, too, the pediatric side. People are complaining”
Watching in shock as Brendon continues to tear down every piece of weight loss promotional content he can find, Robby warns, “Shark, you can’t just come down into my department and-”
Park whips around, pushes a balled-up poster into Robby’s chest, and interrupts, “File a complaint.”
Robby raises his eyebrows to the sky and watches Park stalk out of the lounge, continuing his reign of terror on the bulletin boards that line his way to the elevator. “Ooookay, then.”
Jack releases a harsh laugh. “Who pissed in his coffee this morning?”
When you walk past the lounge, still sniffly and puffy, Robby tilts his head to the side. “I have a feeling it’s about someone else.”
The next morning, you’re lingering near HR’s doors, taking your first break early because Donnie had sent you a text: looks like your boyfriend’s in trouble…
When you’d looked up, you saw Candi Cassidy dragging Brendon toward the administrative section of the hospital, having caught him right after the two of you shared your morning coffee and bitch session in your office. Trying and failing to be subtle, you glared in Donnie’s direction and then high-tailed it over to Human Resources, one hall’s length behind them so you wouldn’t get caught.
You can half-hear the argument behind the door. Candi’s throwing around staff intimidation, employee morale, non-compliance while Brendon’s tossing back hostile work environment, discrimination, bias. HR buzzwords fly back and forth. Voices are clipped and high. Tense. Brendon sounds firm and sure of himself, giving orders, and your brain can’t do anything useful because you’re just imagining what it would sound like to be on the receiving end of that tone in very different circumstances.
After a minute of total silence, Brendon barrels out of the door, clearly still pissed, and nearly knocks right into you. Before he can curse out whatever dumbass doctor got in his way, he realizes it’s you. And his entire being softens – his expression, his tense shoulders, his damn lungs. He lets out a long breath and mumbles, “Shit, sorry. Didn’t see you there.”
You nod toward the nearest empty corner, lower your voice, and ask him seriously, “Are you in trouble for your little fit in the ED yesterday? Everyone was gossiping about you all afternoon.”
He snorts like it really is a laughable thought. “No. She doesn’t have any power over me unless I really step in it. Taking down a couple posters isn’t going to do that.”
“So what was all the yelling for?”
Brendon shrugs and averts his eyes, not sure if you’re going to be upset with him or not. “She said I can’t make a scene in front of junior doctors over a new policy I don’t agree with. I said I’d be much happier to make a scene elsewhere if that’s better.”
A smirk flicks at the edge of your cheek; Brendon’s obsessed with the way your skin wrinkles ever so slightly next to your smile. “And how exactly did you phrase that, Shark?”
Almost bashful, he admits, “I threatened to pull my hospital privileges if she doesn’t nix the program. Said I’ll move my practice; UPMC’s been trying to poach me for a decade.”
All choked up out of nowhere, you whisper, “You didn’t have to do that.”
He shrugs and searches your face. Like it’s an answer, he says, soft and sweet, “Well, you were crying yesterday.”
With your heart pounding out of your chest, you try on a half smile. “Technically that was because of a patient’s parent, not the weight loss competition.”
“It’s the whole fucking culture,” he sighs. When he runs a hand through his slicked-back hair, it loosens some of his waves. You wonder how he looks without the product in, morning-tousled and sleepy-eyed. “Candi’s all ‘it is what it is’ about this whole thing, about the ‘side effect’ of making people feel like shit. She thinks it’s worth it. For the greater good. Whatever. My practice doesn’t bring in twenty fucking percent of this place’s annual surgical revenue for the hospital to treat its doctors and nurses like they’re just another expense to lower. Makes me fucking sick.”
Your head spins at the idea, running some quick numbers from the figures that get presented every quarter. “Jesus, your practice is worth that much?”
“220 million last year across all my surgeons,” he huffs as though it’s a footnote. Then he touches your chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger. Forcing you to look at him. To focus on him. Your knees are weak under the intensity of his gaze. “That’s not the point. I want you to go on a date with me.”
“That’s the point?” You laugh. Honestly laugh. Placing your hand at the center of his chest, you chuckle, “You threatened to cost the hospital two hundred million dollars to get me to date you?”
“No, no, not- not like that,” he’s quick to assure. “I really do think this whole thing is bullshit. You know it matters to me, too. A lot. And I speak up. Always have. But you- Getting to know you has made it matter a lot more, okay? Don’t make me defend myself. Just go out with me.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“I’m begging you.”
You let out a sharp laugh that you stifle with your hand, checking around to see if anybody’s noticed how stupid the two of you are, talking about all this out in the open. Sure that you have a moment of privacy, just to drive him crazy, you corner him and lower your gaze and press, “Tell me honestly: Do you have a fat fetish, Brendon?”
For some reason not taken aback by the question, he debates his answer for a minute, tilting his head slightly as he chews on the words. Ultimately, he decides to be honest: “I don’t think it’s a fetish to prefer big girls. And I don’t think fetishes are inherently a bad thing. I have plenty of fetishes.”
That makes your eyebrows shoot up. “Oh?”
“Go out with me,” he presses, leaning in much closer than is work appropriate, “and I’ll tell you.”
A little breathless, you insist, “But you do usually pursue plus-size girls?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not necessarily.”
“I get that you’re suspicious – it makes total sense, seriously, I swear I get where you’re coming from – but it’s not any different than wanting a tall boyfriend or something, right?” It makes sense to you when Brendon reasons, “We all have our things we like about someone else’s looks when we get a crush. I think you’re hot as fuck, I’m attracted to your body, and you have a great personality in addition to that. Smarter than me by a mile, sensitive like I can never manage. You’re fucking perfect. I’d be an idiot not to ask you out when you check all my boxes.”
“Pause.” Actually, truly smiling now – flirtatious and adorable enough to make Brendon swoon at the view – you needle, “Did you just say you have a crush on me?”
“Yeah, I absolutely did,” he murmurs with cheeks rapidly turning pink. “And that’s mortifying for a guy like me, don’t you think? The kind of thing that at least earns a pity date?”
Dragging out your words, doing a terrible job at pretending you aren’t going to say yes, you lilt gently, all sweet and feminine, “Give me a really good reason and I’ll think about it.”
Brendon’s rich blue eyes absolutely sparkle when he realizes he’s got you. “I’ll give you two. First of all, there’s a special art exhibit downtown this month and a little birdie told me through the grapevine that you love museums.”
You curse under your breath. “Mel, you useless romantic.”
“Secondly,” he goes on, lowering his voice. He steps toward you so that you have to back up. Into the wall. Now it’s his turn to check if you’re alone. With one hand on either side of your head, he presses you against the sheetrock, eyes locked on yours with an intensity that has your resolve to play coy evaporating. “If I like fat girls, and I’ve mostly been with them, you know what that means?”
It’s nearly a gasp as you reply, “What?”
“It means I’ll know exactly how to worship you,” he murmurs. Right against your ear. Your toes curl in your sneakers. Toying with you by dragging his finger along the base of your neck, just a slow back and forth, he muses, “Doesn’t that sound nice? A guy who isn’t a coward about grabbing your stomach? A guy who knows he wants to wear your thighs like earmuffs? A guy strong enough to throw you around the way you’ve always craved?” Hands on your waist now, not overtly sexual but already overwhelming in the most delicious way, he purrs, “Gimme a chance, gorgeous, and I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”
Biting your lip and shaking your head because you have to get rid of the absolute ache to kiss his smirk right off him in order to practice medicine for the rest of the day, you ask, “When’s your next day off?”
“I have the whole weekend.”
Your eyes brighten up. “Me too.”
“How early do you wake up on Saturdays?”
“How early is your fancy art exhibit open?”
“Ten.”
“Pick me up at 9:30.”
“I could take you to breakfast first.”
“I refuse to go out with you first thing in the morning; I’ll look like a zombie.”
“Prettiest zombie I’ve ever seen.”
“You’re such a suck-up.” When your watch buzzes, signaling that your break’s over, you kiss his cheek softly and say, “9:30 on Saturday. Don’t be late.”
“Never have been; don’t plan on starting now.”
Getting ready for your date with Brendon is actually fun. It’s been a long time since you’ve gotten ready for a date and felt uncomplicated excitement about it. No nerves about your body because you already know Brendon is beyond into it. So you slip into something that highlights every curve instead of disguising any of them, a maroon silky thing with a long lace hem to show off your legs, low square neck that frames out your cleavage, and straps just thick enough to cover your nude bra. The fabric is thin enough to show the delicate line of your thong in exactly the right lighting, which you’re sure Brendon will manage to find at some point during the day.
He rings your doorbell at 9:28. Doesn’t text to say he’s outside, doesn’t honk the horn for your attention. Walks all the way up to your porch to greet you like an adult. And when you open the door, his absolutely floored expression has you rocketing up to cloud nine on a dopamine rush. Brendon reaches out and touches your waist as he steps just inside the doorway. He revels in every inch of you. You become acutely aware that the two of you aren’t at the hospital anymore with the way his eyes are slow, greedy, savoring. He’s checked you out at PTMC before, for sure, but now he’s basically feeling you up with those baby blues as he whistles low, “Wow. Seriously, wow.”
You smack him on the chest as your cheeks heat up, not used to the obvious desire written all over him. When your hand hits the luxurious fabric, you actually notice his outfit instead of the way he’s devouring yours. In a camel-colored knit polo – you definitely don’t miss the subtle sheen of the Versace logo on the pocket in nearly the same color as the fabric – tucked into slightly high light tan slacks, all under a dark brown coat, he looks modern, stylish, and absolutely positively downright edible. His hair’s moussed instead of gelled, slightly wavy and fluffy, and he’s freshly shaved instead of late-night scruffy.
Dragging your hand down the center of his chest, you shake your head and smile. “Who knew the Shark had actual style?”
He lifts your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your fingers. With a too-charming smirk, he murmurs, “Don’t tell anybody, alright? Nobody would be scared of me at the hospital if they knew I’m the kind of guy who drops a grand on a shirt.”
Grabbing your purse and shrugging on your black leather jacket before stepping out the door after him, you reason, “You put in the time and effort to make the big bucks; you have every right to spend it however you want.”
“I’m glad you think that way,” he replies as he guides you half a block down to his parking spot, “because this is my car, and I’m really hoping you don’t think that makes me an asshole.”
“Yeah, it definitely makes you an asshole,” you breathe as you drag your finger along the freshly-shined blue GranCabrio. “This is one slutty car, Dr. Park.”
He laughs – loud and honest like he rarely can during work hours – and opens up the side door for you. “Does that mean you like it?”
“Definitely.” You grin as you slide onto the rich leather interior. “As soon as it’s warm enough, you have to put the top down and take me somewhere you can drive fast.”
“Yeah?” As he settles into the seat next to you, Brendon puts one hand firmly on your thigh as he pulls the car out into the Pittsburgh traffic. With his fingers driving you clinically insane just sitting there on your dress, he flashes you a hunky smile and teases, “Planning on keeping me around that long?”
“Maybe if you behave yourself today.”
“Oh, baby, I never behave myself when I’m off the clock.”
“Is that a promise?”
“Absolutely.”
The rest of the drive there is easy between you, and that same energy carries on as he whisks you through the museum’s entrance and straight inside. He’d already bought the tickets online and added them to his phone wallet, so you don’t even get a moment of feigning like you would’ve paid for yourself. Slick bastard. Brendon just makes every moment so easy to fall into. Not that you’d expected the date to be hard, but you’d figured there would be some kind of adjustment period going from lunches and coffee breaks to a full-on date out in the real world, no pagers or coworkers to separate you.
Instead, it’s not long before you’re instinctively threading your fingers with his and dragging him from exhibit to exhibit. You clearly know a hell of a lot more about art than he does – it’s obvious when every nod of his comes with his eyes drifting over your body – but he likes listening to you talk about literally anything you want to talk about. Just having your voice all to himself is enough to keep him over the moon among the stars.
When you reach the special exhibit – portraits by Viktor Lyapkalo – Brendon takes the time to slow down and read all the plaques and descriptions alongside listening to you talk. The way he engages with the new material makes you wonder if maybe he’s actually just been to this museum enough times that he’s got all the other areas committed to memory, preferring to treat you like the art.
“I love the way he paints women,” you sigh wistfully as you stand in front of a particularly lovely nude: Evening, from 2007. Brendon stands squarely behind you, arms casually around you. Admiring the work up close, you go on, “He notices all the things that make bodies beautiful. The light and shadow on the curves, refusing to make them smooth and pristine, like every single dimple is worth painting for the rest of time to see. They’re all so…lush. Succulent. Like you’d want to reach inside the scene and take a big bite and the juice would run down your chin like a summer plum.”
“You’re describing yourself there, gorgeous,” he murmurs in your ear from behind. Breath hot. Gravelly. Wanting. His hands roam over your waist and hips and stomach, way too slow and intimate for how profoundly in public you are. But you’ve never had a man so openly desire you like this, so you can’t help melting against his chest. Yearning for more. For half a second, he palms your ass, and then he nips your ear to say, “Never wanted to take a bite of anything so badly.”
Before he can fluster you too much, get the upper hand so you’re melting into a puddle on the museum floor, you turn around and kiss him. He makes the cutest surprised sound at the base of his throat like he hadn’t expected you to match his energy. But then you tangle your fingers in his hair. You push up onto your toes. And then he comes to his senses and kisses you back. Hard. Commanding. Pieces of his control slipping away with every shared breath. His hands are on your waist and your lower back, desperate to touch more, and you can feel the restraint it’s taking him not to bend you over the bench in front of the art and ruin you.
When you accidentally moan into Brendon’s mouth, a security guard in the nearby archway clears his throat. You stifle a giggle and pull back from him. You’re about to apologize, but he’s faster. Brendon’s breath is hot against your ear as he croons, “Can I take you back to my place now or do I have to look at the rest of these paintings when all I can think about is seeing what’s under this dress?”
With a coy smile, you give him one more quick kiss and say, “Bring me back next weekend so I can finish reading everything and we can leave right now.”
His grin is wicked. “You have yourself a deal, doctor.”
You’re all over him the moment you’re in his bedroom, barely taking a second to absorb the expectedly organized and minimalist space, outfitted only with luxurious staples in cream and navy and no needless clutter. Your dress is somewhere on the staircase up to the second floor, discarded haphazardly as Brendon manhandled you through the space, strong enough to basically carry you any time you lose your footing in the dizzying intensity of his mouth on yours.
By the time you’ve pushed through the bedroom door, you’ve yanked off his (extremely soft) polo and gone for his belt next. As you move, you’re shoving him toward his bed with an eagerness that maybe borders on desperation. It’s been a long time and he’s hot as fuck; god forbid. Trying to suppress his grin as he pulls out of the kiss, Brendon orders, “Don’t rush me, baby. We have all the time in the world.”
Forcing yourself to take a deep breath, you teasingly groan at him, “That wasn’t your attitude half an hour ago.”
He reasons, “Half an hour ago there were several miles between you and my bedroom.”
He steps – ever so casually – out of his slacks, revealing extremely form fitting gray boxer briefs, a drop of precum darkening the front, highlighting the delicious outline of his cock. Not letting you drool too much, those precise hands of his go to your bra clasp, unhooking it with the ease of, well, a surgeon. Enjoying the gentle hitch of your breath when his eyes devour you, he kisses over your pulse point just to feel it quicken beneath his attention. When he’s satisfied with the way your toes curl into the plush rug beneath your feet, he finally loops his thumbs beneath the hips of your underwear.
“But now I’ve got you all to myself-” Brendon slides your underwear down your legs, guides you out of them, and pushes you backwards “-in my bedroom-” your knees hit the bed and you fold underneath his weight, staring up at him as he cages you between his elbows “-at my mercy. No need to rush.”
You raise up an eyebrow and chase him for a kiss that he dodges just to drive you up the wall. Dragging your first finger along his bicep, his trap, his throat, his chest, you muse, “At your mercy, huh?”
He nods with a satisfied, painfully charming smirk. “That’s right.”
Your voice drips with lust. He’s never heard it darken like that and it’s definitely becoming a problem for his patience. “Gonna do whatever you want to me?”
“Yup, absolutely.”
You huff a bit and tut, “Well, you sure are just hovering over my naked body for someone with such big plans.”
He grins and shifts his weight back so he can properly look at you. “What did I just say about rushing?”
You sit up and kiss him hard just because you’re allowed to now. You feel his resolve weaken as you palm the borderline offensive ridge of his thick, hard cock. Your ego tingles a bit at the knowledge that, even if he’s putting on a show of waiting, you’re affecting him just as much as he’s affecting you. “God forbid I want you to make good on all that feeling me up at the museum.”
“Fine, you wanna be in charge so bad?” All dramatic, Brendon flops onto his back next to you and taps his lips. “Saddle up, cowgirl.”
You snort out a less-than-sexy laugh, but he finds it just as cute as every other sound you make. “Jesus, Bren, did you seriously just say that?”
“I’m losing my ability to form coherent sentences just thinking about it, frankly,” he teases. You’ve never noticed how much he glows when he’s happy. Then he takes your hand and tugs you toward him, on your knees. “How about ‘come sit on my face right the fuck now’? That work better for you?”
Looking down at his eager expression, nervous and not wanting to disappoint, you bite your lip and admit, “I’ve never done that before.”
It’s a personal offense to him. He props himself up on his elbows as his lips part in true surprise. “Seriously?”
You shrug modestly. “Too nervous to hurt someone.”
“Then you’ve been with weak men,” he says, deathly serious. He gives your thigh an affectionate squeeze and assures you, completely sincere, “Don’t worry; I’ll make sure it’s so fucking good for you. Give me two minutes of trust and I swear you’re gonna love it.”
Well, you figure, he’s never done you wrong with his promises before. So you swing one leg over his chest and hover suspiciously a few inches above his head. His mouth waters when he can finally see the hint of your pussy beyond your soft, inviting mons.
Keeping his voice so sweet and soothing, he adds, “If it doesn’t feel good or if you’re uncomfortable or anything, just tap me and get right off. You’re in charge.”.3.1
Still skeptical of the whole affair, you say, “I know you know already, okay? But, like, I’m not small, Brendon, I could seriously break your jaw or something if I slip out of place.”
Craning his neck to try to get to your pussy, he growls, impatient and starving, “Thankfully I know a few good maxillofacial surgeons.”
“Okay, but what if I-”
Brendon rolls his eyes and yanks you down by the hips so your cunt envelopes his mouth. You let out a yelp and grab his headboard to get your balance. Finally, his eyes roll shut with pleasure as your warm, thick thighs on the side of his head muffle any sounds but your pretty moans. He mutters, dreamy and rough, into your pussy, “That’s better.”
You can’t help giggling as you put your other hand in Brendon’s hair for support, grateful to be with someone who makes you feel so comfortable and safe even at the edge of your comfort zone. With Brendon reverently holding your hips, stroking your stretch marks with his thumbs, keeping you grounded on his precise tongue, it only takes you a minute to find the pressure and rhythm that feels comfortable, where you can get out of your head and trust Brendon and your own legs.
Then it finally starts to get good.
Brendon’s cock strains against his boxer briefs when you finally let out that first real, uninhibited moan he’s been craving as long as he’s known you. It’s a high-pitched, surprised thing that rings around his ears like a bell, the sound slightly dampened by your thighs just the way he wanted. He memorizes the exact motion he did with his tongue to work that sound out and repeats. Again. Again. Your breaths get faster. Shorter.
It takes real, actual concentration for Brendon to stop himself from creaming his shorts when he realizes you’re going to cum on his face. Your thighs start to tremble as you resist it at first, reluctant to lose control in such a vulnerable position. But then Brendon’s strong fingers dig into the plump fat off your ass – hard.
Possessive.
The sudden moment of eye-rolling-good pain drops you completely into your body, all doubts and insecurities abandoned, and you snap. Your fingernails dig into Brendon’s scalp as you grip his hair to stay in the moment. Pleasure skyrockets up your spine in lightning strikes. Timed with the pulses of your cunt, begging to be filled by him.
When it’s finished rolling through you, lungs heaving, you slowly flop off of Brendon and throw your forearm over your face to catch your breath. You can’t help but laugh softly to yourself. Sweat shines on your hairline and your legs still feel like jelly as Brendon turns onto his side to gaze at you with so much adoration it’s overwhelming.
Pupils blown wide and drunken on your body, Brendon sighs out happily, “Fuck, you’ve got no idea how good you taste.”
“Come here, then,” you giggle, so light and airy with delight that everything has become simple. You kiss him with a greedy tongue and let your own mild tartness linger on your tastebuds. When you pull back, he looks positively dumb. Eyes empty. Nothing but lust in his pretty blues. “Yeah, I do taste pretty good, huh? Bet your cock would like a taste.”
He shakes his head and laughs as he shifts onto his knees above you. “It’s so easy for you, isn’t it?”
You spread your legs and bat your eyes and savor just how devoted he looks, like a puppy sitting pretty for its favorite treats. “What is?”
“Being so fucking sexy without even thinking about it,” he breathes, sounding a little shaky as he lines up the head of his cock with your orgasm-slick pussy. “Fuck.”
You roll your eyes even as your cheeks burn. “As if you don’t have the exact same gift.”
“No, I have to think about it a lot. I try. You’re just floating around being this damn goddess like it’s the easiest thing in the entire world.”
“You don’t have to stroke my ego, Bren, you’re already about to fuck me.”
He frowns a bit and stills, not thrusting into you just yet. “You know I’m not complimenting you just to butter you up, right?” At the split second of partial disbelief on your face, he shakes his head and leans down and kisses you hard. You’ve never seen his expression so stern. “Baby, you’re gorgeous. After that first time you showed up to my office, I couldn’t stop talking about you to everyone. It was like word vomit.”
“Now that makes me feel sexy.”
“Shut up; I’m not always good with the word stuff.” He wrinkles his brows to try to come up with the right words. “Every single time I see you, my brain stops working. Everything short circuits. Because I just- I can’t even imagine deserving to be in the same room as you, much less between these perfect goddamn legs.” He shifts upward again, hands rubbing up your thighs as he shakes his head wistfully. “Grabbing these gorgeous hips and getting to play with your amazing tits.” His hands follow his words, toying with your nipples until you’re gasping and grinning. “Looking into your beautiful eyes while I get to fuck you.”
As tears sting at your eyes, you turn your head and blink hard, whimpering out nothing but an innocent, “Brendon.”
“Don’t hide from me, sweetheart,” he urges as he kisses you. Slowly, so slowly, as you look up at him with glossy eyes, he pushes his cock into you. When your lips part softly in pleasure at the way he fills you, Brendon murmurs against your pulse in between kisses to your skin? “There’s my girl. Just stay right here with me. I’ve got you. Let me make you feel good.”
And he does.
All the while holding you and groaning sweetness into your ears, your lips, your neck, Brendon fucks you like he’s been designed for your pleasure. He takes his time. He pays attention. When he thrusts just right, making you moan his name loud and unafraid as the head of his cock crooks against your g-spot, he keeps it exactly like that and tucks the sound away in a proud little part of his brain.
With how talkative you are, he’d expected you to be vocal in bed. But you’re just loud. And that’s plenty clear for him. So he does the talking, swearing and praising in equal measure. There’s no performative dirty talk from him, nothing that sounds like it’s straight out of a cheesy porno. It’s just you feel amazing, I’m so lucky I get to have you, fuck, this is perfect. You’re melting under him and you barely notice him snaking one hand between your bodies to thumb at your clit until you’re already on the verge of cumming again, him whispering, “there you go, that’s it” right up against your ear in a way that has your toes curling, your fingernails digging into his shoulder blade and his arm, your breaths teetering on the edge of gasps.
“That’s- When you’re gripping me like that, I can’t-” Brendon’s barely able to string words together as your second orgasm threatens, taken well and truly aback by how good you feel wrapped around him when you’ve completely let go of control and fear and shame. When you’re just his and he’s yours and it really can be just that simple. His balls are already tightening up when he manages to rasp out, “Can I-”
You’re nodding into his shoulder before the question’s even finished, shuddering out a shaky and honest, “Please. Let’s- Together, please.”
And you detonate. Both of you. Locked to one another. You can’t bear to close your eyes and risk missing a single moment of Brendon Park’s soft, rapturous expression when his cum spills inside of you. His borderline angelic blue eyes meet yours – meet them, like a handshake between long-lost friends, a meeting that turns to a clasped hug, reluctant to let go – and you’re filled with his heat and he’s founded by having you.
Brendon’s lips kiss the tender sweat from your forehead as he catches his breath. There’s a tiny, secret little smile that exists only for you on his rough features. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Struggling to stifle a smile that’s yearning to split you open, you nip a quick kiss onto his lips and half-giggle, “You’ve mentioned that.”
“And I’m gonna keep mentioning it,” he replies, warm and wonderful as winter cider, “as long as you’ll have me.”
summary: Baz hires you as Lena's nanny...but you and her want to spend more time with Pope
content/warnings: NSFW + MDNI! 18+ ONLY! violence towards reader, smurf, daddy kink, unprotected sex, light stalking (it's pope ofc), oral sex (f & m receiving), no use of y/n
wc: 4k
notes: Set between season one and two, I'm only on season 3 of Animal Kingdom, so apologies for the ooc of it all. pics used just for aesthetic purpose, not a reflection of what the reader looks like.
You always loved working with kids. Always knew that you were going to work with kids. You worked as an au pair around Europe in your early twenties. But after almost a decade raising rich brats in France and Italy and Spain, you decided that it was time to come home. Or close enough to home.
That's how you end up sitting looking out at the sea in Oceanside waiting to meet your new kid. Lena.
Her father, single dad, Barry Blackwell had put out an advertisement for a nanny. And you needed the job. You could handle a rich American brat too. The Strand was being gentrified. But Mr Blackwell seems more rough-and-tumble than hedge fund manager.
If you're being honest, he makes your skin crawl. But you need a job.
"This is a live-in position?" you clarify as you sit at the breakfast bar in his home.
He nods his head, "Yea, um, with my job I have to be away from home a lot. I don't like leaving Lena alone."
You blink, "Well yes, she's six. I wouldn't leave her alone either. That's fine. I'll just take Saturday afternoons until Monday mornings off."
The man before you frowns, "What if I need you to work weekends?"
"We can discuss overtime, Mr Blackwell. But I will be taking weekends. I'm being generous with Saturday mornings," you say with a frown.
His frown deepens but he nods.
"Lena's mother would do a grocery run-"
"Mr Blackwell, I'm not a maid. Of course, I'll cook for Lena. But I don't clean, I don't cook, I don't grocery shop."
"If I paid more?" he asks then.
You cock your head to the side, "If you paid more, then we can discuss that, of course."
So that's how you end up working for Barry Blackwell.
You don't mind living in the house by the beach. You get Lena up every morning, you make breakfast, bring her to school. You go clean the house when she's away, even do the damn grocery shopping with the wad of money he leaves on top of the microwave each week. When you pick Lena up from school, you always bring her to the beach.
"Daddy never takes me to the beach," she tells you one day as you eat ice cream.
Yea, you gather. You really don't like her dad. But he's rarely at home like he said.
"Uncle Pope brings me," she says. "We go to the swings."
You stroke her curls and smile, "Your uncle? Does he live around here?"
Lena shrugs, "I think so. Sometimes he's at Grandma Smurf's. But he was away for a really long time. I don't know where. But he's nice."
One morning after you drop Lena to school, you walk into the house to find a blonde woman sitting in the kitchen. You jump when you see her. Nobody has been in the house bar you and Lena since Baz left at the start of the week.
She sizes you up and down, "Where's my son?"
"Mr Blackwell?" you ask.
You've never seen this woman before. Baz told you not to let anyone into the house when he was away. Fuck. The older woman softens at your tone.
"Who are you exactly?" she asks, pursing her lips as she eyes you up.
"I'm Lena's nanny," you explain. "Mr Blackwell hired me a few weeks ago. He needed the help after his wife left. I just dropped her at school. Sorry, he never mentioned any family."
She frowns at your words, "Well that would be why I haven't seen my grandbaby in so long. I didn't know what Baz was doing with her. But he's got a pretty girl like you taking care of her.
"You can call me Smurf. Everyone else does. How about you bring Lena over to my house after school?"
"Oh, sure. I, well, don't know where you live," you confess.
Smurf smiles, "Well why don't you come over now. And we can go get Lena together. We have a pool," she tells you.
You brighten up immediately, "Oh! I was trying to teach Lena to swim. She loves to go to the beach but she can't swim. You think I could teach her in your pool?"
Smurf is delighted by the idea. Let's you gather your and Lena's things before driving you over to the Cody house. You've never been to this area of Oceanside. You don't expect the huge house. And you don't expect to meet Smurf's other sons.
Craig and Deran are making noise by the pool when you walk in. Smurf just ushers you into the kitchen.
"Have you had breakfast?" she asks you.
"Um, no I usually eat after I come back from dropping off Lena," you respond.
Smurf immediately starts cooking for you. You hate being doted on like that. You haven't been in so long. So you try to help but Smurf tells you to sit.
"Can I make you coffee at least?" you finally ask.
Smurf allows this, and you get to work with making fresh coffee for them. You look up when you hear heavy footsteps approaching. Your heart skips a beat when you look up to see a man storming into the kitchen handsome, auburn hair, hazel eyes and sun-kissed skin.
"Who's that?" he asks Smurf, ignoring you.
"Baz hired a nanny for Lena," his mother responds, introducing you.
He frowns as he sizes you up, "What did he do that for? We can take care of her."
Smurf scowls at him, at the suggestion. She doesn't want him to say something stupid in front of this stranger. She puts her arm around you, squeezing you gently.
"This is my eldest boy, Andrew," she tells you. "He's a bit rough around the edges but I promise, he's a sweetheart underneath it all. Now you go eat your breakfast while I speak to him."
You do as you're told. A part of you knows better than to go against what this woman says. It's a gut feeling. And you don't go against gut feelings.
When Smurf leaves you and Lena back to Baz's, Smurf grips your wrist, stopping you from getting out of her car.
"Let's not tell Baz about this visit. I think it's best if we just keep it between us," she says.
You nod your head. You're not stupid enough to disagree with her. And anyway, it's just swimming lessons.
Since Pope learned about you, he knew he needed to keep an eye on you. He spent a week following you. Watching as you brought Lena to school. Where you do your grocery shopping. He watches you when you go to the beach before you have to collect Lena. He likes watching how your body moves in the water when you go for a swim. He tries to ignore how his body reacts to you when you walk out of the sea, water sliding down your body.
You have no idea about Pope Cody. One morning, when you go to wake Lena up to get her ready for the day, you go into her room, and she's not there. Your heart drops. She's not watching TV. She's not in the bathroom. You search every inch of the house.
You're about to call Baz when the door opens and Lena walks in. You rush over to her, falling to your knees and cupping her little face in your hands.
"Where were you?" you ask. "You know you can't just wander outside on your own."
"I wasn't alone," she says as the door opens wider.
You look up from where you're kneeling on the ground to see a man come in. Andrew. The man who you met briefly at Smurf's house.
"Uncle Pope brought me to swings."
You lean back on your kneels with a frown as you look at him. He stares you down and you can't help the way your heart races. You blame it on the stress of Lena going missing.
"You shoulda woke me up," you say to her, stroking her cheeks again before standing up.
Andrew, Pope, looks at you. Cocking his head to the side.
"Where's Baz?" he asks, his voice rough.
Lena answers, "He's away..."
"And is he away a lot?" Pope asks, his eyes flicking to you.
"Lena, can you get ready for school, sweetie. I'll make you breakfast in a second," you say.
As soon as Lena rushes off you turn your attention to Pope.
"You can't just break in here and take off with her," you tell him. "I thought she was kidnapped. Mr Blackwell woulda killed me!"
Pope sizes you up, "She's my niece. I can see her whenever I want."
You look at him like he's crazy. He has to be crazy. It's barely 6am and he thought he'd pay a visit?!
"I knew Baz wasn't around. I was worried about Lena. I thought she was here alone."
"And you didn't call your brother?" you ask, folding your arms in annoyance.
"He didn't answer. Where is he?" he retorts.
You shrug as you turn to the kitchen, Pope's eyes fall to the swell of your ass under your sleep shorts.
"He told me he travels for work. Is that not true?" you ask as you pull out bacon from the fridge.
Pope just sniffs in return. He knows his brother is probably with Lucy in Mexico. Leaving his daughter with a stranger.
"You're a nanny?" he asks then.
"Yea, I worked in Europe as an au pair. I've done all my courses. Everything is above board, if that's what you're tryin' to get at," you say as you start making breakfast.
"And you live here? With Baz?"
You shake your head quickly.
"I'm a live-in nanny. But I don't live with Baz," you say, maybe a bit harsher than usual. "You want coffee?"
Pope's lips twitch, as close to a smile as you'll get. He likes you.
You don't expect Pope to still be there after you get home from dropping Lena to school. But he's there, cleaning the kitchen.
"Lena really likes you," you say. "When she goes to her grandmother's she's always asking if you'll be there. I'm teaching her how to swim. I can't believe she's a Cali girl and she can't swim!"
Pope just shrugs. He's not much of a talker.
"Look, I have no problem with you seeing her but I'd appreciate if you told me first."
He takes another minute before looking at you.
"So I need your number," you say offering him your phone.
That's how you end up texting Pope Cody.
Pope Cody: Hello. I can pick Lena up from school today. I'm in the area.
Pope Cody: Good Morning. I can take Lena for breakfast, she likes a pancake place on the way to school.
Pope Cody: Hello. I made too much spaghetti, I can bring some over for Lena and you if you'd like.
You smile whenever your phone vibrates. You like talking to Pope. Even if it is just about Lena.
Whenever Baz is there, the texts don't come in. Sometimes Pope will come over to hang out with Baz. But you never get to say too much to him as Baz suggests you take Lena somewhere else.
Although one day you walk in as Baz snarls in Pope's face, "No one is ever gonna have a kid with you."
Pope can't meet your eyes as he walks past you to leave.
You spend your Saturday afternoons and Sundays out of Oceanside. Unless Baz has requested that you stay. He pays you in cash beforehand, and you just spend the weekend with Lena. Sometimes at Smurf's. Sometimes with Pope.
You're on the beach one Saturday with Lena, Pope is pushing her on the swings and you are watching on. A woman comes up to you and smiles.
"Your little girl is so cute and your husband is so good with her," she says. "I have to drag my husband out with them."
You should correct her, but you don't. You want people to think that you're a family. It would be nice...
Soon you find yourself texting Pope, not just about Lena.
You: I watched a documentary about wolves I think you'd like
You: I was going to go to the beach tomorrow did you wanna come? Deran said you used to like surfing!
Baz comes in all flustered one afternoon. He hasn't been home in almost a month. It's the longest that he's been away. He rushes over to Lena and she's so happy to see her Daddy. You go back to cleaning as she babbles about everything that has happened since he's been away. You smile.
She's a great kid. One of the best you've taken care of.
You hear Baz ask her to repeat herself and your head shoots up.
"She's teaching me how to swim in Grandma Smurf's pool," you hear her say.
It's not her fault. She's just a kid. And even though you had told her not to say anything about Pope or Smurf, you can't blame her for spilling details. But the colour drains out of your face nevertheless. Especially when you hear Baz telling her to go to her room. She does as she's told.
You continue cleaning as you hear Baz's footsteps storm into the kitchen. He grabs your hair and pulls you backwards. He's pressed against your back and you're looking up at him, fear coursing through your body.
"I thought I told you not to let anyone in the house. And now I hear Smurf has been sniffing around. And you're bringing my kid around to her house," he hisses at you.
You whimper as his grip on your hair tightens.
"She's her grandmother. I didn't think-" you being before Baz slams your head against a cupboard.
"Yea, you didn't fuckin' think. When I tell you something, you fuckin' listen. You stupid bitch," he snarls, hitting your head against the cupboard again.
You're bracing yourself for another slam, but you're suddenly falling to the ground. Baz has been hauled off you. You collapse. You turn to see Pope dragging him off you. He punches him once before pushing him to the other side of the room.
You whimper when you hear footsteps coming towards you but it's not Baz. Pope scoops you up into his arms and carries you out of the house.
"Lena," you breathe shakily.
You don't wanna leave her alone in that house.
"She'll be okay. Baz isn't gonna hurt her," Pope promises as he brings you to his car.
He puts you into the passenger side and drives you to his home. You've never been to Pope's house before, even though you spend most days with him now. You start to get out of the car, but Pope once again gathers you in his arms, bringing you into the house.
"Are you okay?" he finally asks, his face a mask of anger.
He places you down on the couch. He strokes the cuts on your face, he can already see where the bruises will come up. Baz at least hadn't broken your nose.
"Let me clean you up," he breathes after you nod that you're okay.
You're shaken but it wasn't the first time that you've gotten hit. It's just been a while. Fuck, you thought you were over that stage of your life. Shouldn't have gone to fuckin' Oceanside to mind some kid.
"You promise Lena'll be okay?" you ask him when he finally returns with water and cotton pads.
Pope grunts as he cleans you up, "I wouldn't have left her there if I thought Baz would hurt her...I'll get her in the morning and bring her here. Is that okay?"
"Thank you, Andrew," you say softly. "You didn't have to do any of this. And thanks for being there."
You don't query how he knew you needed his help. You're just glad he was there. His large hands are still holding your face and his rough thumb slides over your lower lip. He is well aware that he shouldn't do this. But he can't help himself. You gently kiss the pad of his thumb, your eyes never leaving his.
He brushes his thumb slowly over your cheekbone. His eyes never leave yours. Pope has never been good with eye contact but he holds yours for what seems like hours. He doesn't want to push you. Not after what Baz did to you. But you're the one who finally breaks and presses your lips against his. Pope tentatively kisses you back but when he hears your little whimper, he's a goner. His hands drop from your face to your waist, pulling you onto his lap.
You've been waiting for months to run your fingers through his auburn curls. You tug at his curls as you deepen the kiss. You're suddenly dry-humping with Pope Cody on his couch like two teenagers. And you couldn't stop if you tried.
That is until his hands slide up your shirt and grasp your tits. You moan into his mouth as his rough palms press against the swell of your breasts, squeezing and releasing. He pulls your shirt over your head, breaking the kiss for just a second to do so. He doesn't even undo your bra, just pulls the cups down so your breasts fall free. He flips you onto your back. He kisses down your neck and then to your tits. He spends what feels like hours laving at your nipples. Whichever tit isn't in his mouth is being played with by his rough hands. Your arousal is all but rolling down your thighs when he finally pulls away from your tits.
His eyes are so blown out they're almost black. He pulls your jean shorts and panties down in one move. He groans at the sight of you.
"Lemme see that pretty pussy, baby," he tells you as he spreads your legs. You've never been this turned on in your life.
"Andrew Cody, if you don't fuck me right now," you whine out.
Your whines only result on him smacking you hard on your weeping cunt. Your back arches off the couch. Fuck you need him.
"Now lemme see that pussy."
Pope crawls between your legs, getting eye level down with your pussy.
"So pretty," he praises as he spreads you open, his eyes scanning you. He blows on you, causing you to shudder. His thumb teases your clit watching how you clench around nothing.
"So, so pretty," he praises.
Finally he presses kisses up your thighs and eventually presses his tongue inside you.
"Fuck, yes, right there," you whine out in pure need, grinding against his face.
Pope decides he needs to have you ride his face next. But not yet. He wants to play some more. He focuses his attention on your clit, hooking your legs over his wide shoulders. And within just a handful of ministrations, you're coming undone over his tongue. Your orgasm hits like a freight train. You're painfully turned on. You've been wound up for so long. And Pope Cody is just so happy to help you let loose.
Once you come down from your high, you pounce on him, pulling his clothes off. Desperate to see him. He chuckles softly as he helps you take his clothes off.
You follow his lead, kissing over the freckles on his neck, down his chest and stomach. He tenses under your movements and you smirk, nipping over his abs. His cock is leaking, standing to attention. And he's fucking huge. You should have expected that.
"Wanna fuck my face, daddy?" you coo up at him.
That name sends Pope wild, he grabs your hair and guides you down onto him. Once you've gotten used to him, he starts rocking his hips up. He holds onto you as he starts fucking into your mouth just like you asked.
"Fuck, sweetheart. Shit," he grunts after just a handful of thrusts. "I can't take this anymore. I need to be inside you. I need to fuck that pretty pussy of yours."
Pope grips you, flipping you back onto your back so he's on top of you again. He teases your clit with the head of his cock, smirking as you start to squirm.
"You want daddy's cock, huh? You gonna be a good girl and take my cock?" he growls in your ear.
You nod desperately, dumbly. Finally he's pressing inside you, inch by inch. You lock your legs around his hips as he finally bottoms out.
"Just like heaven, baby girl," he breathes in your ear.
He should be gentle, sweet, slow, after what Baz did to you. But he's desperate. So he starts jerking his hips in and out of you. The snap of skin on skin fills the room. Your pussy is so wet you can hear it just as well. You're so desperate for him.
"You gonna cum on daddy's cock?" he breathes as he fucks you. His hands palm at your tits with each thrust.
And as if on command, you cum again. You soak him and Pope looks victorious. But he's not finished with you yet. He pulls out to flip you onto your stomach and press inside you again.
"Fuck, so big, daddy," you whine for him as he pounds into you.
Pope kisses over your neck and down your spine, as best as he can from this angle. He buries his face into your neck as he hits that sweet spot inside you over and over again. Your eyes roll back in your head as your third orgasm hits you.
This time you clench so tightly over his cock, Pope can't move. Your cunt literally milks his cock, forcing his orgasm out of him. He hasn't cum in so long that his release his hot and thick. It starts sliding out of you as your abused pussy can't take it all.
And Pope, you hates mess, marvels at the sight. After you've both come down from your highs, he gathers you in his arms.
"Sorry...was that too much?" he breathes.
You shake your head, "No. It was perfect. Needed it. Needed you."
"I can sleep out here," he says suddenly.
You look at him in shock, "Oh no baby. I wanna sleep right next to you. What if I need daddy's cock in the middle of the night?"
Pope gives you a wolfish grin as he kisses you again.
Baz thinks everything is alright when he wakes up the next morning and sees that Lena is already gone to school. But then he realises that all your shit is gone. And he sees red.
He drives straight to Smurf. Planning on spreading some bullshit about the nanny. Some sly bitch you tried to swindle him. He walks into the house, crocodile tears at the ready so mommy can fix his mess.
He frowns when he sees Pope sitting on the couch looking like a fucking king and you curled into his side. He's running his hand up and down your arm as the cuts and bruises Baz left on your face are on display.
"Baz," Smurf tuts when she sees him. "We need to work on your temper."
a/n: thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! any and all feedback appreciated. requests open
content warning: 18+. minors do not interact. brendon park x f!chubby/fat!reader. this one has physical descriptions of r's body. slight degradation (it's just a single sentence), brendon calls you baby, honey, pretty girl, good girl. multiple orgasms, praising, unprotected penetrative sex (pls wrap it before you tap it!!!), creampie, pussy pronouns, mentions of knocking up reader, aftercare.
word count: ≈ 1k.
brendon park fucking you in prone bone 🫦
brendon's on top of you. you're on your stomach, and he has his whole weight pressing you down on the mattress with each thrust. the lower part of his stomach brushes against your ass, and the flesh ripples as he fucks you hard enough to rattle the headboard.
one of his hands grips at your hair, forcing your head into the pillows, and at this point, you're drooling and slobbering all over them, completely fucked out of your mind.
"did i fuck you stupid, baby?" he muses when you can't answer what he asked you.
you babble, eyes permanently rolled back, and he asks again. "you gonna cum on my cock? yeah?" you can only nod, and brendon chuckles darkly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
"such a pretty girl, getting fucked real nice, huh," he says, in that tone of voice. low and rumbling and so filthy it makes your pussy clench on his lenght, coating him in your slick. "yeaaaaah, that's right, baby. squeeze that tight pussy on my dick, c'mon. do it, you know i like it," he groans. "just like that, baby."
one of his hands slip beneath your limp body, at first, squeezing at your soft stomach. it turns him on, the supple flesh on your midriff. he cannot go a day without feeling you up, squeezing and grabbing at your tummy and hips. it's no different when he's fucking you. from behind? he'll reach over to squeeze at you. mating press? it makes his eyes roll back and he cums impressively fast just feeling your soft belly all pressed up and squished against his stomach.
his favorite position though, is when you're riding him. first, obviously, your tits bounce right on his face. that's his heaven, is what it is. your ass going up and down, hitting the top of his thighs, and then, your tummy jiggling with each of your bounces. it makes brendon's mind go all fuzzy and he swears he goes all dumb, and he's often overwhelmed with the need to just fuck a baby into you already. you'd look so pretty knocked up.
"god, baby, i love this pussy so much," brendon moans as you clench again, and you're so close to coming again. before he even got to fuck you, he pulled two orgasms out of you using just his fingers. "she's so good, yeah? takes my cock so well," he says, biting your shoulder. "she missed me, look at that," he chuckles at the wet squelching of your pussy.
you come without warning, your orgasm washing over you, your thighs shaking. brendon does not stop. he fucks you through it, groaning at how tight your cunt gets when your cumming.
"bren—" you sob, overstimulated. you feel raw, from the inside out. your fat pussy lips being split open on that thick, girthy cock, your hole weeping at the bullying of his thrusts.
"nu-uh, pretty girl. you know i don't get satisfied with just one," he says, fucking into you deeper, his heavy balls slaps against the globes of your ass. "c'mon, baby. she can get me another one, right? y'know she can, she's such a good girl." you know he's not talking about you. brendon's talking about your pussy, treating it like a separate person. it's fucking hot and you can feel another orgasm building up already.
he laughs when your moans grow louder and whiny. brendon's groaning at the back of his throat, trying to starve off his own orgasm, a coil tightening in his lower belly.
your second — fourth? — orgasm's like the previous, sudden and unannounced. it feels different, stronger.
and soon enough you find out. because you don't stop cumming. the high of that orgasm doesn't fade, instead, it builds higher and higher, and you keep coming. your cum forms a filthy white, creamy ring at the base of brendon's cock.
he can't stop staring at it as he pulls back slowly, only to thrust in again, but not as fast or hard. just gliding his dick between your folds. he can feel it, his own orgasm barreling forward, unstoppable.
"i'm gonna cum in you," he growls, giving your poor, puffy cunt a few last, fast thrusts. "you want it?"
you nod desperately, whining. "want it, bren— inside, baby. come inside me," you plead, kicking your feet on the sheets from the stimulation.
and then he's cumming, painting your cervix white and filling you up nice and good. "fuck, baby," he breathes out as he pulls out, rivulets of cum leaking out of your abused cunt.
brendon kisses your back, your shoulders, the sides of your neck, just breathing you in. the musk of your skin, sweaty and heady and he's so in love with you his heart could burst out at any moment.
"you okay?" he asks, still holding himself up, both arms on the sides of your head, his weight still on top of you. his softening cock nestles right between your asscheeks, slick and messy, covered in both your fluids. you nod weakily, blissfully fucked out. you manage to give him a thumbs up though. he chuckles and slides off you, reaching in the bedside table for some wet wipes he keeps there for exactly this kind of situation.
brendon cleans you up carefully, mumbling how you were so good for him and how much he loves you. he kisses the insides of your thighs while doing so, then stands up and pulls you into his arms. he carries you to the bathroom despite you groaning in petulance.
"you gotta pee, honey, you know that," he murmurs. "can't have you getting and UTI," he sets you down on the toilet. pretending he's going to give you some privacy, brendon stands at the door, his back turned, still naked.
he carries you back to the bed, and isn't bothered to put some clothes on you or himself. he sets you back on the bed, settling under the covers with you, completely bare. you can get clothes later, when you wake up.
in honour of season 5 of the bear. no spoilers, just felt like writing something cute for carm!
as the restaurant winds down, carmy’s eyes find his heavily pregnant girlfriend sitting a corner table. he can tell you’re trying not to fall asleep, your plate completely empty, and he chuckles softly to himself at the sight.
“go get your girl,” richie nods towards your section. “we got it from here, chef.”
“you sure?” carmy asks softly, but he’s already throwing down his towel and patting his cousin on the back in a grateful gesture. “thanks, rich.”
richie only nods, taking over carmy’s closing routine. a soft smile finds carmy’s face as he makes his way over to you, “hey, honey. you good over here?”
you smile up at your boyfriend, “yeah. just sleepy. it’s the baby’s fault, and syd’s awesome cooking.”
“i’m glad you liked it,” he runs his fingers through your hair and you careen into his touch. “i’ll be sure to give your compliments to her.”
you hum, “hadn’t you better get back?”
“no, no, i’m taking you home.”
“but, carm, your staff—“
“will be fine without me,” he leans down and pecks your lips. “you need me more.”
you practically melt at his words, and you blame the hormones for the tears that spring to your eyes. you take carmy’s warm hand and let him pull you up, his other hand lingering on your growing bump. he smiles, leans down to kiss you again, and considers himself the luckiest man in the world.
Brendon “the shark” park x f!curvy!reader (sorry if it isn’t for u, if anyone wanted I could do none curvy!!)
Tags: mentions of SH! family issues (cough* cough* projection), soft!brendon, ED (cough* cough* projection), size kink (not sexually—yet 😘), lots of fluff and plot!!, implied age gap.
No word count cuz I’m lazy at the moment xx
Summary: reader has just come home from a week long trip back home! Bren is there to pick up the pieces.
a/n: this is acc fully a projection fic icl but enjoy lovelies. Feedback is welcome just don’t be too mean pls.
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It had just gone 7pm when you walked through the door of the apartment you shared with your boyfriend. Instantly, the smell of your favourite meal assaulted your senses. You could cry, especially after the week you had just had.
“Baby, that you?” Bren shouts from the kitchen, even the sound of his voice causes an instant rush of emotion to wash over you.
“Yeah, give me a sec Bren.” You replied trying to make your voice as even as possible, even if all you wanted to do was cry.
You sat by the door on the little bench Bren had insisted on getting so you could sit and take off your shoes. God, even thinking about all the thought Bren put into your home together wanted to make you cry. You were so fucked. Bren would see through you right away, you needed to get your shit together. Just as you were taking deep breaths, trying to regulate yourself just as your therapist had told you to, your face came in line with Bren’s crotch.
“Just breathe baby. You don’t have to hide anything from me, we’ve talked about this.” Who would believe it, the supposed “shark” being so soft. In your family, problems, especially emotional, were to never talked about. Your issues were either dismissed or discussed using raised voices. You always tell yourself that you’re being dramatic and so many people have way bigger problems.
“Come on. Let me take you to the kitchen.” Bren scooped you up bridal style, you of course protested.
“Bren, I’m too heavy for you to be pulling this shit. You should put me down before I injure you.” You sighed tiredly.
“Now what have I said about this baby. You will never ever be too heavy for me to carry.” You scoffed in response, clearly not believing him. He set you down on one of the kitchen stools at the island (because you actually had a kitchen island now!!).
“Okay, spill baby. The silence this week has been killing me. I can’t stand it a minute longer.”
“I don’t know Bren. Promise not to shout at me. Please.” You asked, shrinking in on yourself.
“Sweetheart, please tell me. I want to understand you, maybe even help you.”
Reluctantly, you start to tell him.
“I don’t know whether I’ve told you about my brother before.” You paused, you had only been dating for three months and your brother was a subject you don’t like to talk about with anyone. Not even Bren.
“He’s an addict. Not any hard drugs, just weed. But shit Bren- you should have seen him 10 years ago compared to now.” You breathe deeply, blinking back tears rapidly.
“He was so fucking thoughtful. He was also so smart and funny. He was my only friend. Then he gets a girlfriend, and she was so lovely. But she introduced him to smoking weed. At first I thought it was fine, you know loads of people smoke weed. It can’t be too harmful. But he changed.” A single tear rolled down your face, wiping it away quickly before Bren see’s. He of course caught it.
Softly he walked over, lifting you from the stool and taking you to the living room. He sat on the couch, pulling you into his lap. Slowly, he stroked your hair with his big hand, occasionally leaving small kisses along the back of your neck and shoulders.
“Bren- I’m too heavy let me get off.” The glare he gave you was enough to keep you quiet. Maybe you see why people call him the shark.
“Oh, we’ll get to the part where you have been skipping meals soon, sweetheart.” He said, not unkindly, but with a sternness he only used when he was deeply concerned. He knew that you had a rough time expressing emotions without thinking someone would shout, so he tried to be as gentle with you as possible. Even if he was so frustrated with the way you refused to look after yourself.
“Carry on baby. Please. No one’s mad at you.” You nodded softly.
“He’s so violent now. Any discussion he doesn’t want to have, he’ll get up in your face and shout. He’s never got physical with me but there’s been times where I’ve been scared he would. He’s also so selfish, he eats all the food, he lives off of my parent’s money. He’s older than me for christ’s sake. He should have a job by now. This sounds so dramatic, there’s so many bigger problems in the world.”
Bren is quiet for a moment, he knew you had an older brother. He didn’t know what type of relationship you had though. A flare of protectiveness strikes up in him. How dare he scared his baby. He’s processing the conversation, tuning in on how you said he was your only friend. Bren knew you had no friends now, but had it always been that way? His heart is slowly cracking open, physically hurting his chest the more you speak. How can such a sweet, caring girl think that because people are going through harder situations that she couldn’t complain. That she thought what’s happening to her is okay. He will spend every hour of every day making sure you knew you were loved now, no one was ever going to hurt you or do you wrong again.
Finally he spoke. “Baby. You are not being dramatic. This situation is not right, no matter what other people are going through.” His eyes are deadly serious, his string hands striking your hair soothingly.
“Hmmm. Maybe.” He still didn’t like the sound of that dismissal, but he allowed you to continue.
“He also smokes weed in-front of the house constantly. He is out every half an hour smoking weed. My parents live next to fucking kids Bren. A 3 yr old kid has to play outside whilst my brother is stinking up the place with his weed.” Your sadness has quickly turned into anger, you got up from Bren’s lap despite his protest. Pacing back and forth through the living room.
“I am so pathetic. Some people have it so much harder than a brother addicted to weed you know. I feel so shitty for complaining. I don’t know, just- ughhhh.” You groan, lying on the floor dramatically.
“Okay. Sweetheart, sit up for me. There you go baby. First of all, you are not pathetic, you have watched a person you love change dramatically because of substance abuse. I don’t care about other people’s situations or other people’s addictions. It doesn’t make your brothers any better. His behaviour, weed or not, is selfish and harmful. You and your family deserve better, despite what I think of your parents at times. Now sweetheart, you are going to get off of that floor and eat something because I sure as hell know you have not eaten a full meal all week.” You open your mouth to protest. “No, don’t think I haven’t noticed how much lighter you have become in a week. It’s not healthy, let me feed you my love.” He offered his hand, pulling you off the floor and into his large, beefy arms.
“It’s going to be okay.” He whispered kissing the top of your head. He guided you to the kitchen, sitting you on the same stool from before.
He placed the warm dish infront of you and sat in the stool next to you.
“Eat baby.” He encouraged.
“Bren. I don’t want to sound like I’m fishing for compliments, but I feel too fat to eat right now. I don’t think I’m in the right head space.” You said quietly, avoiding eye contact.
“I won’t force you to eat. You are a grown woman who can make her own decisions. But you need to know how it makes me feel when you talk bad about the girl I’m in-love with.” His lips were turned down in a frown. “Please tell me why you haven’t been eating baby.” You looked up, his gorgeous eyes were filled with softness. He was too good for you and you knew it. He was so big and attractive he could have whoever the fuck he wanted. Your mum had told you so all week long. If you didn’t get your hips smaller then he would leave you.
“Why are you with me? You could have anyone Bren.”
“Fuck sweetheart.” His eyes were glossy, you had never seen him look like this recently. Not since the beginning of your relationship where he discovered your old self-harm scars. “You don’t know how much that breaks my heart.”
“I’m sorry.” You reply.
“No, no, no. Baby, no. Don’t apologise. I love you so fucking much and I hate that you have been made to feel this way.” His large hands enveloped your face, he peppered kisses all over your face until he got to your lips. The kiss communicated everything he couldn’t make you understand with words. It was so so so soft and gentle, yet somehow possessive- you were his and there was no doubt about it.
You broke apart and spoke. “Sorry Bren. My mum has been down my ear all week. My hips, my thighs, my waist. Shit- basically all of me is too big.” You laughed, although it came out as more of a hysterical sob. You folded in half. The whole week catching up to you. Bren caught you, engulfing you in his large arms, your face again his broad chest. He soothed you with sweet words.
“I love you so much Bren. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“I am pretty great.” He smirked down at you, taking in your glossy eyes and red face, still so fucking beautiful.
“What happened to you comforting me, Hm?” You smiled, his things gently swiping under your eyes, across your cheeks.
“Well, it got a smile from you didn’t it?” His own face breaking into a wide smile, very rarely seen by the Pitt.
“Sorry for not really texting this week. How was has your week been?” You asked, your head laying back against his chest.
“Pretty bleak without you baby.” He began recounting different surgeries and patients. Updating you on your weekly gossip of the Pitt.
“Missed you Bren.” Standing on your toes to give him a kiss. It started off light, little pecks and slowly turned into deep, passionate kisses. His tongue swiped across your bottom lip, asking for permission. You quickly granted it, whining softly into the kiss. He captured your thighs, lifting you up so they were wrapped around his thick, stocky waist. The angle added a whole new vigour to your kisses, becoming frantic and sloppy but so fucking addicting. He slowly broke the kiss.
“Okay baby. That’s enough for tonight. You’ve had an emotional week. Let me look after you sweetheart. I’ve got the day of tomorrow, maybe we resume this in the morning? After food and sleep?” He says out of breath, your mouth all red and glossy, and your eyes half shut.
“You’re such a tease Bren. But fine. You’re too good to me, don’t deserve you.” Your murmur sleepily into his neck. “Dinner in bed?”
“Thought you’d never ask my love.” He chuckled. Carrying you up to bed with one hand supporting your ass, the other holding a plate of food.
“Love you baby.”
“Love you too Bren.”
Fin!
a/n: this is so bad but self indulgent asf. I don’t know if anyone will get the staind reference. “Warm safe place” is my fav song rn. Pls listen bbys. Any spelling errors- well it is 2am and I have an exam tomorrow so deal with that.
wait more Andrew pope Cody on your period. what if you’re asleep together and he wakes up because he feels something wet against his boxers. When he lifts the covers he realizes that you got your period. your blood slightly staining staining waist band and his hair there. you’re dead asleep and unaware as he slides out of bed and slides you across the mattress so you wouldn’t be in the small stain that’s on the sheets now as well. the bed is big enough and he’ll worry about that tomorrow. he wipes himself off and changes his boxers and come back to bed and gently maneuvers you to slide your panties off you so that he can clean you down with a warm rag. when you start to stir a little he rubs your hip and tells you it’s okay go back to sleep. you make a little noise and a gesture of a nod he thinks as you do what he says. there’s a trust between the both of you that Andrew never thought another person would feel so deeply with him. so much that you’re comfortable enough to stay asleep when he tells you. and I think he would put your tampon in for you. using one hand to grip your thigh and the other to push it inside you before sliding a new pair of underwear up your legs. he knows if you woke up you’d be so embarrassed but nothing could ever be disgusting or embarrassing because it’s you.
OKAY I love this! anon this is such a lovely blurb, I agree that pope would do everything he could to ease your embarrassment. I love the part about you trusting him and feeling safe with him to just fall asleep when he tells you.
I couldn’t add to what you’ve written, it’s perfect, but it did inspire me to write something adjacent to this idea because something similar happened to me recently and i had no pope cody to help me.
warnings/tags: mentions of blood, menstration/period/time of the month, supportive bf!andrew cody
You woke up wet. You weren’t sure what had awoken you in the middle of the night but the uncomfortable, concerning wetness between your legs certainly made sure to bring you into a groggy but panicked alertness. You sat up the best you could with Andrew’s arm heavy over your waist and his body pressed tightly to your back. You propped yourself up on your elbow and immediately felt a rush between your legs thanks to your movement.
“Fuck.” You cursed, the panic swirling in your chest kicking you into action. You threw the covers off of yourself and slid across the mattress to make a break for the bathroom. You heard Andrew stir behind you and you cursed internally that you’d woken him but you needed to act fast as gravity worked against you. You spared a quick glance back at him in the bed as you exited the bedroom and your heart dropped at the dark stain on your light coloured top sheet that was visible even in the dim moonlight. You didn’t have a moment to worry about that or warn Andrew because the stream of blood travelling down your leg needed your attention now.
You hobbled to the bathroom and threw on the overhead light as you reached behind yourself to push the door mostly shut. You winced at the brightness of the room, the light stinging your eyes as you felt your way to the toilet and sat down to go pee, hoping the rest of the blood can be disposed of into the toilet. Looking down at your sleep shorts around your knees, to your horror you found them soaked with blood, as though you hadn’t worn used any menstrual products at all. The patch was fresh, wet, and large, and as you stripped out of your shorts you had a terrible realization that with how closely Andrew had been snuggled against you, you must have bled on him.
Oh god you could have died from embarrassment.
You wadded up some toilet paper to wipe up the line of blood that had run down your leg and sighed to yourself in frustration over the whole situation. This had never happened before, and you’d definitely never bled so badly with your partner in your bed. Why did this have to happen in the middle of the night? Now you’d have to strip the bed and get new clothes to sleep in and if Andrew hadn’t completely awoken, you’d have the mortifying job of waking him to tell him what happened if he had blood on his boxers.
A soft knock on the mostly closed bathroom door startled you and you whipped your head towards it, surprise rattling through your chest. Andrew’s gruff but sympathetic voice came through the crack in the door.
“You okay?” You closed your eyes in mortification and doubled over on the toilet as though you could hide.
“Yeah,” You called out lamely, your tone flat. The fact Andrew was awake and had asked you that question meant he knew what happened. You wished the floor would open up and swallow you whole.
“Andrew I-” You sat up, starting to apologize, but Andrew cut you off.
“I hope these are okay.” Andrew said as his arm slipped through the crack in the door and you realized he was balancing a neatly folded pile of clothes on the palm of his hand, which he set on the corner of the bathroom counter right by the door. Only his arm entered the bathroom so you could maintain your privacy. You were stunned to a loss of words and left to stare at the kind gesture as Andrew retreated down the hallway without another word.
Other boyfriends in the past would turn their nose up at any mention of your time of the month or would make you feel shameful whenever the bleeding or symptoms got unmanageable. Andrew acted very logically instead, providing you with some clothes to change into in the privacy of the bathroom. Your embarrassment wasn’t totally gone but Andrew’s actions definitely soothed the pit in your stomach.
You spent the next few minutes focusing on cleaning up, getting out of your ruined clothes and wiping your skin with a warm, wet cloth to make sure your skin was as clean as you could get without taking a shower. You slipped on the new pyjamas Andrew brought you, including a new pair of underwear that you recognized as a stained pair you only wore during your time of the month. That small attention to detail had a grateful smile creeping its way onto your face. As you were getting cleaned and dressed, you could hear Andrew moving up and down the hallway periodically. Unsure of what he was doing, you replaced your menstrual products with fresh ones and finished getting dressed so you could investigate.
When you left the bathroom you noticed the light was on in the kitchen and you followed it down the hallway to find Andrew standing at the kitchen sink with the sheet from your bed. The sharp tang of vinegar reached your nose as you moved to stand next to him and you saw that Andrew was treating the stain on your sheet with white vinegar and cold water.
“Oh, Andrew you don’t need to do that. I could do that in the morning.” You said, your embarrassment rising back up into your stomach. Andrew shouldn’t have to deal with your mess. Andrew glanced at you, his hands dabbing at the stain with a paper towel.
“The stain is easier to clean if you get to it faster, it would have been tougher for you in the morning.” Andrew looked back down at the sheet and paused his patting to check his handiwork. He tilted his chin up in satisfaction and dropped the paper towel in the garbage before grabbing the stain remover spray off the counter. “You were busy with other stuff so I took care of it.” Andrew sprayed the sheet with good amount of the stain remover, completely oblivious to the gratitude that was soaring through your body. This was something you loved about Andrew, he just handled things without complaint or instruction because in his mind, it was the practical thing to do. Why would he leave things for you to do when he could just do it himself? Your mental load was practically nonexistent with Andrew.
“You can go back to bed if you want. I put new sheets on the bed and I already cleaned up the hallway.” Andrew said as he laid the sheet out on your dining room table to be dealt with in the morning. The last part of his sentence confused you and you took a step forward, following him to the table.
“Wait, what was wrong in the hallway?”
“There was blood on the floor.” Andrew stated simply. Your jaw dropped open as your mind went momentarily blank with shock. In your sleepy stumble to the bathroom you’d managed to leave a trail of blood that your boyfriend cleaned up for you. Oh god, what if he stepped in it in the dark? If you thought you felt shame before, this was tenfold.
“That-that’s never happened before, Andrew I’m so sorry you had to clean that up.” You dropped your face into your hands and groaned. You were too tired for all of this, it was 3am for goodness sake. You felt Andrew’s fingertips graze your elbows and you dropped your hands to find your boyfriend reaching for you gently, his eyebrows furrowed lightly in confusion.
“It isn’t a problem. You’re the one bleeding, you shouldn’t have to bend over to clean the floors or stand around removing the stain, you should be resting.” Andrew’s warm hands rubbed up and down your arms comfortingly and you let yourself fall forward into his embrace. You wrapped your arms around his torso and nuzzled your face against the bare skin of his chest as he pulled you close. Andrew was so thoughtful and caring and knew just what to say to make you feel better. His practically and calmness about the whole thing made you feel like you didn’t have to apologize for getting blood on his boxers, which you knew you did since he was wearing a new pair. Bleeding a few days every month was a part of your life and Andrew knew you didn’t have control over it, it wasn’t something to feel shame about.
You stayed in the hug for only a little longer before you decided that your bed was calling for you. You took Andrew’s hand and headed back to bed, shutting off the kitchen light as you passed it and declining Andrew’s offer of doing the stain treatment on your original pair of pyjamas. You could deal with it in the morning. Tucked into bed with Andrew, all snuggled up close to his chest, you released a sigh and tried to fall asleep. Unfortunately twinges of anxiety began to pull at your mind, disturbing your ability to drift off. Andrew could feel a slight tension in your body and he pulled back just enough to look at you.
“Are you okay? Are you in pain? I can grab the hot water bottle and some meds.”
“No, no, it’s not that, I-” You paused, unsure of how to say how you were feeling. You knew what you needed but you’d already disturbed Andrew’s sleep, which was a precious commodity for him, you didn’t want to make the rest of his slumber unpleasant.
“What?” He prompted. “Are you worried you’ll bleed a lot again?” And just like that, he read your mind. You nodded and Andrew got up immediately, leaving the room and returning quickly with a towel. Your heart soared at the continued expressions of familiarity and love from your boyfriend, how he showed he knew you so well and that he wanted you to be comfortable. You scooted over so he could place the towel down on the bed for you to sleep on top of.
As you got situated again with Andrew tucked behind you, his arms wrapped securely around as he held you close, you let out a sigh of relief and relaxed into his embrace. Andrew truly felt that your time of the month was no big deal and he was concerned for you rather than annoyed or disgusted. You hadn’t realized you’d been doing so much alone in your previous relationships, making your needs smaller and allowing your own mental and physical discomfort to keep your partners comfortable. Andrew showed you how backwards that was and that your partner should be caring for you, not making you feel worse about a natural part of your life.
You fell back to sleep easily in Andrew’s embrace, all your stress nonexistent now that you knew there was nothing to worry about.
Synopsis: You're forced into your worst nightmare, a loveless marriage with an assumed psychopath. But maybe it's not all bad.
Warnings: forced marriage, age gap, mentions of murder, mentions of cults, mentions of Satan, virgin Titus, Titus is borderline stalkerish, sub! Titus, dom! reader, masturbating in front of someone, p in v! sex, unprotected sex, not much foreplay, breeding kink if you squint, kissing, marking, panty sniffing, crying from pleasure, pet names, blood
Gif credits to owners!
You were fucked. You were so totally fucked.
Not only was your father marrying you off like some cattle to repay a debt, but he was marrying you off to Titus Danforth no less.
Titus Danforth, who around the high council and other members of the cult was known as a notorious psychopath. Okay well everyone in the high council was a psychopath, but there was something else about Titus.
But that night you stood in front of him, in a blood red dress. As red as the blood oath you took tying you to a man twice your age. A man you hardly knew, all so your father didn't explode. Literally.
Now he sits on the bed of his room, you stood almost as far away from him as possible as his eyes watch you. You aren't sure if he's contemplating his next move or watching to make sure you're not going to run.
"You don't have to be scared, you know." He finally speaks. You don't respond, only scoff at his statement.
"You don't." He reaffirms.
At that you turn, finally looking at him. His hands are sitting in his lap, turning into each other as if he was anxious. Your eyebrows furrow at his movements, but he doesn't notice, or at least he doesn't react.
"We both grew up with all of this, Titus, you know that isn't true. Safety is a falsehood."
"It isn't a falsehood, I can keep you safe." Another scoff.
"You can't even keep yourself safe, not really." He wants to fight your words, but he knows you are right.
He stands, moving slowly towards you. As if you would cower from him if he moved any faster.
"We don't have to do this, though." You shock him by speaking, motioning between the two of you as you do.
"Do what? Talk?"
"No, we don't have to create all this tension between us. I know that both of us didn't want this union but-"
Titus cuts you off, "I wanted this union."
Your jaw almost drops open. "What?"
"I wanted this." His voice is so monotone, almost clinical. Almost scary. "I asked for this."
"You what?"
"I suggested we wed. Your father owed us some debts and I wanted you."
You don't answer, you don't know how. So you just blink at him.
He steps closer.
"And now that I have you, we will come to an understanding."
"What understanding?" You look up at him, trying to analyze what he is thinking.
He licks his lips before speaking again, "I do not wish to force you to do anything or be something you are not. But I do have a few expectations, if not now then when you are comfortable."
"Expectations?"
"Maybe expectations is a poor choice of words. Let's say requests."
You hold back the sigh bubbling in your throat, "Okay, what are your requests?"
"I will share them all with you in time but for tonight I only have one. If you are willing." Your eyebrows raise at his words.
Titus does not let you respond, "I wish for us to have sex, I would like to know if I enjoy it."
If he would enjoy it? His choice of words is strange. It almost makes it sound as though he has never had sex before. Then you think back to the kiss at the wedding, how rough he was. How aggressive and long the whole display was. You thought it was some feral claiming thing, but now as Titus stands in front of you in the dim light of his ornate room you know the true intensity behind it. Titus Danforth is a virgin.
You do not laugh, you would never not with the reputation Titus has. Instead you form your words carefully, "You have never done it before?"
"No." That's it, just a flat out simple no.
A darkness sparks behind your eyes at his response. It is not like you wish to take Titus Danforth's virginity, but this? This is something to hold over his head.
"Alright." This quickness of your submission has Titus tilting his head at you. He knows it would never be that simple.
"But I have some requests as well then." There it is.
Titus's eyes darken as well, "Yes, Mrs. Danforth." He stands completely over you now, towering. His large body shields you from the light, encapsulating you in his darkness.
"I'm in charge tonight."
"I cannot promise that I will obey."
"I do not care. You will." Titus's Adams apple bobs. He does not speak again, only drops his head down to your level and takes your lips with his. This time the kiss is nothing like the one on the alter. It's slower, as if he is really tasting you.
When he pulls away he tries to read your face, searching for approval.
You do not give it, "Unzip my dress."
Titus listens instantly and unzips the back almost too flawlessly. He starts to push the fabric down your shoulders but you grab his hand, tutting warningly.
"I only said unzip it. Get on the bed."
He does. You saunter towards him slowly. Swaying your hips a bit more than usual, teasing him with every movement. Stopping at the edge of the bed you cock your head at him, the noticeable bulge in his pants finally catching your attention.
"Titus, honey I've barely even touched you." You talk to him as if he is a child and yet it doesn't make him angry, just want you more. What are you doing to the almighty Titus Danforth? And so easily too.
"Do you wish for me to?"
"Yes." He breathes out.
"Prove it. Touch yourself in front of me."
Again, he follows your orders all too easily. Unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down his legs eagerly along with his underwear. His member springs to life, bouncing against his stomach.
"What a shame, you have all this and never shared it with anyone." You tut at him again, running one nail down the underside of his hard cock. Titus shivers at the feeling, he swears he could finish right then and there.
"Go on." You nod your head at him. Slowly, almost tentatively, he wraps his fingers around his dick. Gripping it completely he starts to move his hand up and down his shaft. His eyes never leave yours as he continues his motions.
He swallows, hard, sucking in a breath. You are not watching him, not like that, you are watching his face as it twists slightly in pleasure. Then you reach down under your skirts and pull your panties down your thighs. The teeny tiny black lacey piece of barely there fabric that your mom insisted you wear that morning.
They dangle from your index finger as if taunting Titus. He licks his lips at the sight, but never stops working his hand on his member. You toss them at him and they land perfectly onto his chest. He grabs them and lifts them to his nose and inhales deeply. He groans.
You bite your lip, your dominant demeanor almost dropping as you watch him slip into the intoxication of your scent.
"That's enough." You stop him. Hand stops moving instantly, he's a deer in the headlights as you slap his hand away from his dick. You lift your dress up your hips and straddle him. "My turn."
He nods quickly, desperately. His hands reach out to grab your hips to help you settle on top of him. Reaching in between the two of you, you grab his cock. You run the tip across your wet core, teasing the both of you.
Then without warning you sink onto his rock hard member and he whimpers, actually whimpers at the feeling. It just urges you forward, slowly grind your hips into his.
"Do you want to see all of me?" You ask, you were still in your stuffy dress and if you were honest you would love to feel him fully in this moment.
He nods and grabs the tulle, all but ripping it from your body. Now you are left with nothing but his shirt between the two of you. His eyes lock onto your boobs. Titus reaches forward and grabs one of them carefully, kneading it.
"You can manhandle me, you know?" You say.
"I thought you were in charge?" He asks.
"I am and I want you to use me." His eyes turn black at the permission and he sits up, teeth locking onto your neck. He bites hard, you know what he wants, to mark you.
"You're that possessive?" You want to giggle, but you bite it back.
"You have no idea." He bites again in another spot, then again. This time you gasp and look down at him. And as he looks back up at you, a drop of blood falls down his lips. He smiles at you and licks his lips clean, he moans.
"I want to fuck you." He says, no he whines.
"I already gave you permission."
So he does, he fucks up into you roughly. The thrusts continue as his face stays in your neck. He groans as he enters you particularly deeply.
Titus knows he's not going to last long, but at least he wants to make you feel good before he finishes. It's as if you can sense it as well because you grab his shoulder and push him back down onto the bed. You hover your body over his, kissing him deeply while grinding your hips into his.
Your clit grinds into his pelvis adding to your pleasure, as you use your husband below you. A hand stays on his chest to hold him down. You may have given the minute to be in charge, but there was no way that was ever going to last that long.
"You gonna cum for me Titus? Huh, wanna fill me up nice?" He gulps again and moans at your words.
"Tell me how much you wanna fill me up."
"I want to fill you up with my seed. I want to cum so that you-" And he stutters on his words, hips stuttering at the same time as his orgasm overcomes him.
He fills you with rope after rope of his cum. You would've thought he had never came before in his life. It doesn't send you over your edge, but the warmth that spreads across your body as he looses himself under you is worth it. Besides you have all night right?
Finally Titus starts to come down from his high, but you are unrelenting as you continue to work his softening dick inside of you. His fingers grip your hips tightly, leaving bruises in their wake. He whines at the feeling as a tear falls down his cheek at the pleasure.
You finally slow down your movements, but do not remove him from inside of you. Instead you lean down, face to face. You grab his chin and turn his head to the side. You run your tongue up his cheek taking the salty tear with you, blinking down at him below you. All he can do is stare back at you.
Summary: you help jack get through a holiday that he finds difficult, an iconic summer party, & share some exciting news.
Warnings: mentions of deployment, ptsd, & deployment. TONS of fluff, age-gap, established-relationship, mentions of pregnancy, soft dad to be!jack & medical inaccuracies.
Word Count: 2k+
Author’s Note: here’s the anticipated memorial day jack fic !! full of fluff & comforting him !! sorry if it’s kinda lame, i wasn’t really sure how to end it/have it play out. but i hope you all still enjoy it !! <3
It was that time of the year again; the first of Jack Abbot’s annual summer parties of the year—Memorial Day to be specific. It was just now hot enough in Pittsburgh that the pool had been opened, cleaned, and fully maintenanced.
The second that pool cover came off, you and Jack spent every free moment you got in it. Mostly just lounging in the slightly shallower end or on the pool steps; lemonade or waters in hand. The garden by the fence was coming up well; speckles of various plants growing up the length of the faded and chipped wood.
The grass had been mowed, grill cleaned off and ready for anything Jack would throw at it. The pool bar was stocked and cleaned. Jack was ready for it. He handled backyard parties the same way he handled the ED; meticulously and efficiently. He wiped down counters like he was cleaning up an OR. Mowed grass like he was threading a suture needle, and tended to the garden with hands so gentle you’d think he was performing an emergency procedure.
With about an hour until guests arrived, Jack opened the back sliding glass door—padding his way inside the air conditioned house. He wiped sweat already building at his brow and tugged off his shirt. He was going in the pool the second guests arrived anyways.
If there was one thing about Jack Abbot, it’s that he’s gonna be shirtless at his own home in the warm weather. He didn’t care who saw or was coming over. He lived in basketball shorts and swim trunks, sometimes just his boxers when it was only the two of you at home.
Jack grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, letting ice cold condensation drip onto his neck and hands before untwisting the cap to take a long and needed sip. He huffed his way up the stairs, shaking his head about how it was too damn hot for stairs.
When he rounded the corner into your shared bedroom, he found it empty. The covers were thrown back on both sides; waiting to be made. The curtains were pushed back to let sunlight in, your vanity mirror light was on, and soft humming came from the cracked bathroom door.
“Sweetheart?”, Jack called out, “You in here?”
You poked your head around the corner; “Mhm, just finishing putting my hair up.”
Jack plopped down on the bed, unhooking his prosthesis and reaching for the waterproof attachment you had already left out on the bed for him. He rubbed at his residual limb for a moment before attaching the new leg. It took him a second longer, hesitation with the weight of what the day actually was.
Memorial Day was never easy for Jack—he hadn’t slept as well as he’d liked the night before. Better than he would’ve if he were still deployed, better than he would’ve if you hadn’t been there. His leg had thankfully decided not to send phantom pain up and down his limb and spine like lightning strikes. Still, you knew he was in his head; you could always tell before it fully even settled in for him where he was drifting.
His shoulders would get slightly stiffer, movements more rigid like he really had to try to stay upright. But the moment you reassured him with hands on his shoulders or around his waist to pull him close—a soothing hand on his back; it all melted away for a moment.
When you finally came out of the bathroom, your hair was pulled up in a yellow claw clip. One of Jack’s favorite colors on you. Your bikini bottoms hugged your hips at the ties on each side; the top matched the same. Also a favorite of his.
You pulled a pair of striped flowy shorts on, and a tube top to match. Jack could only watch you in awe, taking in how you looked so relaxed and at ease. Jack could only describe you as glowing.
It was only when you bent slightly over your vanity to get a pair of earrings and then above your head for your sunglasses that Jack froze. His heartbeat immediately picked up as his eyes wandered over the tiny—but now obvious—bump at the bottom of your belly. A soft curve that was finally showing proof of—what you had both known for a few months—was a little life.
You caught him staring when you looked back, stopping mid sentence when you caught his gaze.
“So Robby said he’ll bring some extra sodas if we need, but i don’t think—Jack?”, You trail off as you try to bend slightly to catch his eye; “What’s wrong?”
Jack shakes his head, swallowing once—his eyes barely flicking up to yours before they find their way back to your exposed skin.
“Baby…”, He breathes, pulling you close by your hips. He hesitates for a moment before carefully letting his palm splay out against the small roundness of your skin; “You’ve popped.”
The touch was so soft, almost hovering like he was afraid he’d break you. His fingers twitched slightly against you as he moved his hand around, like he’s expecting to feel something; even though you both know it’s too early.
“You think so?”, You ask, scrunching your nose up at him in disbelief.
He only nods, rising to his feet and carefully guiding you over to the mirror. Standing sideways with him behind you, staring at your small bump in the reflection—you finally see it.
A small swell that starts at your waist band and ends just above your navel. Not really there unless you’re looking for it, but still there.
“Oh”, You breathe, your eyes going wide as you find Jack’s for a moment in the mirror.
His hand splays over your bump again, covering it entirely as he lets his thumb rub soft circles into your skin. He bites his lower lip, eyes glued to the spot that has both of your attention now.
“I swear it was still flat yesterday”, You say, poking at your skin like it’ll go away, not that you want it too.
Jack shakes his head; “Certainly wasn’t…’would’ve seen it.”
His brows furrow a little, like he’s wrapping his head around it all over again; “There’s actually a baby in there…”
You catch his expression and spin around in his arms, cupping his cheeks carefully in your hands; “Our baby, honey.”
Jack sighs and lets his eyes flutter close, forehead dipping against yours. You bump your noses together.
“Hey…”, You say softly, guiding him gently to look at you; “You’re not there anymore, you’re here, you’re safe, you’re home.”
His breath stuttered a little, a long sigh leaving his lips. His eyes stayed closed a moment longer.
Then, when he thought his knees couldn’t buckle any more at the absolute weakness he had for you, you spoke; “We’ve got you, baby. We’re right here.”
You place a soft hand over his, guiding him to lay flat against your tiny bump again.
“Thank you…”, He breathes, his spiral coming down before it could even fully start—all the noise in his brain drifting away.
“You sure you’re up to this today?”, You asks softly.
He nods almost immediately; “Yeah…yeah”, you watch the small smirk climb onto his lips; “Can’t leave all the kids hanging, now can we?”
As much as he hid behind the humor of it, Jack wouldn’t know what to do without himself if he cancelled everything. The party was a tradition of his, yes, but he also threw it as a distraction. A distraction to keep his head above water in a place he could actually enjoy himself on days like today that reminded him of way too much; and it worked.
No, Jack wasn’t going to let himself think about all the what-ifs of how things should’ve went in his life or how he never thought he’d get this; not when he had you reminding him he deserved every second of what he had now, right in front of him.
“I love you”, You whisper.
He smiles softly at that; “I love you too.”
He kisses you then, lips soft against yours. He tastes like faint coffee and the watermelon he snuck a few pieces of while cutting it earlier. Sweet and so uniquely Jack.
“Guess we’re telling everyone today then, huh?”, You ask when the kiss breaks; “Can’t really hide it anymore, especially in this suit.”
Jack laughs with a tsk of his tongue; “Afraid not, sweetheart…and you’re not changing that bikini, it’s my favorite.”
You pull at the curls on the back of his neck, just a small tug that you know he loves; “Trust me, I know it is.”
That’s when he lets his hand fall down your back and smacks your ass once, making you gasp into him; “Jack!”
But he’s beaming; bottom lip between his teeth; “What? Gotta get it out before everyone gets here.”
You roll your eyes, but can’t help from leaning forward to kiss him again. You wouldn’t change him, not in a million years. Not when he’s so perfectly Jack. Your Jack.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
The guests start to trickle in a little while later; Robby with a few extra cases of different sodas in tow as promised. Jack lead most of them to the backyard, letting you lounge in one of the chairs by the pool. With the way your laying all stretched out, your bump isn’t very visible; easily passable as bloating or having a big breakfast.
You can hear Robby teasing Jack about something having to do with him being shirtless behind you, but you certainly weren’t going to complain about it. Not with the view it gave you.
Guests settled in around you; mingling at the bar, surrounding Robby—who insisted on cooking something—around the grill, some starting to make their way into the pool.
It was mostly night shift staff, a few stragglers from day shift that you and Jack had gotten close with over your time there. Dana appeared next to you shortly after greeting Jack; sitting in the lounge chair next to you.
“You just gonna let him walk around looking like that?”, She smirks, peering over her glasses in Jack’s direction.
Every single freckle he has on his torso, back and arms are on display. His farmers tan that’s slowly morphing into an entire body tan looks ridiculously good, and his biceps and pecs—don’t even get started on those.
“Oh hell yeah”, You say, gaze flickering between her and your husband, who you’re pretty much ogling now; “What a view.”
Dana laughs, shaking her head as she settles into the chair; “Hey if he wasn’t taken, I wasn’t married and about fifteen years younger…”
“Dana!”, You scold, but it’s all in fun.
You catch Jack’s eye then, whose expression immediately softens before he mouths a small; “You ok?”
You nod in return, biting your lip before you relax further back into your chair; taking a sip of your lemonade that Jack had apparently made fresh that morning.
The chatter around you was music to your ears. Drinks clinking, people laughing, the soft humming of a lawn mower a few houses down. Getting in the pool later would be the icing on the cake for you, especially if Jack joined you.
Next thing you know, Jack’s standing over you, holding out a plate of food; “Your burger, m’lady.”
He bows in a dramatic fashion as you take it from him, leaning up to kiss him softly; “Thank you, Jack. You didn’t have to bring it to me.”
His brows furrow for a second before he’s smiling softly again, plopping down next to you and pulling your feet into his lap; “I know. But I want to, gotta take care of my girl.”
“You gonna eat?”, You hum to which Jack nods.
“In a little bit.”
Jack, ever the caring man; always making sure everyone was taken care of before himself.
You don’t notice Dana and Robby’s eyes on you from across the yard as Jack puts his hands to work massaging your legs, or the quiet whispers between them. Sure, Jack had always taken care of you, but ever since you told him you were pregnant? He waited on you hand and foot, didn’t want you to move unless you absolutely had to, wouldn’t let you lift a finger unless you beat him to it. To him, the two lives you carried were the most fragile and precious thing to him.
He made sure you were taken care of; and it was noticeable.
Robby noticed immediately when you were already in a lounge chair upon his arrival, how Jack intercepted the heavy soda he was carrying before you could move; throwing a soft look your way and a quiet; “I got it, you relax, sweetheart.”
Dana noticed the same, and more importantly; how you weren’t in the pool yet. How you laid on the pool lounger, legs bunched up slightly like you were trying to hide something precious.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
It wouldn’t be long before your secret was out; just as the sun was starting dip behind the skyline and the deep blue of the warm summer sky starting peeking out—Jack stood with his arm draped across your shoulder, clearing his throat.
At first you don’t hear what he’s saying, despite the silence in the backyard. You bite your bottom lip, made its way between your teeth as you held onto the last few seconds you’d have before everyone was all over you.
With a warm hand Jack pulled you carefully up from the lounge chair, letting your body fully stretch out. His hand found your waist and pulled you closer; other hand finding the small swell of your belly again.
“I couldn’t imagine a better group of people to share this news with. A found family that’s been there through so much more than I ever imagined”, Jack exhales shakily, eyes flicking to you; “The night shift crew is expanding…we’re having a baby!”
Gasps echoed through the backyard; Dana’s hand flew to her mouth with watery eyes, Robby choked out a wet laugh of disbelief, the med students and residents all exchanged looks of excitement. But Jack was looking at you.
You, who had given him the best gift he ever could’ve dreamt of.
Robby was clapping Jack on the shoulder with a strong hand, shaking him gently as he pulled him into a hug; “Congratulations, brother”, and then softer into his ear; “You deserve every second of this.”
He finds you next, hug softer and gentle as he looks you up and down in a similar fashion that Jack would.
“Congratulations, kid”, Robby hums, and then laughs softly; “Guess I can’t call you that anymore though.”
You shove him playfully, startling slightly when Dana steers you towards her.
“I knew it! I knew you were hiding something”, She laughs.
“Mother’s intuition?”, You smirk.
She shakes her head, hugging you close.
“Congratulations, honey. You two are going to be the best parents”, She whispers.
─ ─── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ─── ─
When the party dies down and the sun has dipped low, you snuggle into Jack’s side on the couch that sits on the backyard patio. Your swimsuit and hair damp after finally getting in the pool; Jack’s trunks the same. Robby sits across from you, nursing another beer; no doubt planning to spend the night. You wouldn’t have it any other way.
Your hand slips under Jack’s shirt—the first one he’s worn all day—rubbing softly at the firmness of his stomach. He looks down at you with fond eyes, leaning forward to press a kiss to your temple.
“Did you have a good day?”, You ask him, quiet enough so only he can hear you.
He nods, dipping his ear down closer to you; “Best day in a long while, sweetheart”, He says, thumb rubbing circles above your navel; “Except finding out about them.”
“Head ok? Not too loud?”
Jack hums softly; “I’m ok, sweetheart.”
You watch his thumb for a moment, the circles sending goosebumps up your spine in the cool evening air.
Jack notices, because of course he does; “You cold?”
You shake your head; “No, just enjoying you.”
Jack continues rubbing softly circles.
Robby scoffs behind his beer; “Get a room.”
“Already did, how do you think she got pregnant?”
Robby almost chokes on his beer as Jack turns back to you, kissing your lips softly.
You snuggle into him closer, perfectly content to be just where you are; with your little family.
Sleep had been hard to come by the last few weeks with you working overtime at your office job. As a ‘thank you’ your boss had given you an extra day off to add onto this weekend.
Your husband Brendon had also been working odd hours this week. He was on call so if he was needed at 2 a.m.? He was gone.
Tonight he was covering for Garcia so it was just you alone in bed.
You were just on the cusp of falling asleep when your phone rings. Looking at the clock on your dresser it reads 4 a.m.
Not odd given your husband and close friends work in healthcare, so someone’s typically awake. It doesn’t phase you until it rings again. This time you’re quick to pick up, not even looking at the caller ID.
“Hello?” you answer tiredly, eyes still closed.
“My angel, I need your help” the familiar voice asks in a rushed tone.
You rub your eyes “Dana? What’s going on?”
“We’re having an influx of patients and the hospital is swamped in all departments. We’re having to empty beds as fast as we can to make room for more. We need to use baby jane doe’s room but she’ll have nowhere to go… is there any way you could take her? Just for the weekend?”
“I’m assuming you didn’t mention this to Brendon yet?” you laugh tiredly.
“I figured if I got the nicer Park to agree then the prickly one would go along with it seamlessly.”
“Well you definitely have the best strategy D” you smile.
“So is that a yes sweet pea?”
“That is a yes” you grab a sweatshirt, shoes, and your keys “I’m on my way now.”
“Thank you soooo much sweetie. Temporary custody papers are already approved, I’ll just have to submit yours and Brendon’s name to confirm.”
You nod even though she can’t see “No worries D, I’m comin.”
“You’re a gem. See you soon, bye!” Dana ends the call in a rush.
You rub your eyes as you stare at the ceiling of your bedroom.
Please don’t have a cow sweet husband of mine.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
You make it to ptmc and walk in the pitt looking for your favorite blonde charge nurse.
A waving hand catches your attention. Dana signals you to follow her to the baby’s room.
There, among all the chaos, is the sweetest patient of the pitt.
You tickle her belly lightly, earning a big grin from the 3 month old.
“Hey sweet girl. Ready to come home with me for a sleepover?” you ask her in a sweet voice.
You take the happy gurgles as a yes.
“I’ve got a diaper bag with the basics, some formula for a few days and a car seat. I also found this cute little onesie for her at a thrift store last week. Should keep her warm when you go out.”
Dana hands you the fuzzy onesie with teddy bear ears on the hood.
You dress her and pick her up, placing her on your hip. Dana situates the diaper bag in the car seat and places the handle into your hand.
“Im sorry to spring this on you last minute and so early in the morning but I appreciate it so much hun.” She gives you a side hug.
“No worries D.” You look at baby jane “can’t let this cutie patootie get left behind, can we now?” you say in a baby voice with a smile.
That one earns you a giggle and you can’t help but laugh back at the small one.
With one last goodbye you and baby jane make your way out of the pitt and back home.
——
As you make your way to the doors, Brendon happens to walk out of a room from down the hall having finished a consult.
He is completely unaware of the wife and small teddy bear duo walking the other direction and heading to the apartment.
He’ll find out in just a few hours
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Finally 8 a.m. rolls around and Brendon gets to go home. He originally had planned to spend yesterday with you but had to cover Garcia last minute while she attended to a personal emergency.
He grabs his bag and makes his way to the doors.
“Enjoy your weekend Shark! Bet you’ll stay busy!” Dana yells after him.
Huh? Busy? I mean he did have plans to take you a few places. Maybe you had mentioned it to her?
“Thanks D. My wife always keeps me on my toes.”
“Im sure it’ll stay that way !” she gives him a quick wink
What? Maybe it’s the need to sleep getting to him.
——
Brendon gets into the apartment and goes to set his stuff down when he hears you talking. It’s pretty early and you usually sleep in longer than this.
He makes his was into the bedroom and stops at the sight he’s met with.
You’re sitting in bed with a baby, a familiar one at that.
Baby jane doe?
He doesn’t even know how she’s here.
Did something happen? Did you—
Then it hits him.
Dana.
No wonder she looked a little too happy to see him leave today. Of course she arranged this and used his soft spot to get around him.
“Hey sweetheart. What’s the small bear doing here?”
He walks to sit on his side of the bed next to you, where you’re feeding jane a bottle.
The sight does something to his heart.
“Sooo, as you can see” you smile sheepishly at him “we have a weekend visitor.”
You explain the situation to him.
He can’t help but smile at you. He knows your heart is big for others and your love is boundless. This was just a prime example of that.
Brendon takes a finger and rubs the side of jane’s face gently.
“Hey little miss. You excited to party with the Parks this weekend?” He asks her softly.
Jane stares at him intensely and grabs his finger tight.
The action tugs at Brendon’s heart again.
She soon finishes the bottle and you prop her against your shoulder and make sure to burp her.
Brendon struggles to leave you and jane but he needs to start the decompression process so he can relax with you both.
He jumps in the shower briefly and then changes into sweats and a tshirt.
You had left a plate of breakfast for him in the microwave which he downs in a timely manner.
By the time he gets back into bed, you’re fast asleep beside jane who is still awake. Barely.
“Ready for a nap, pretty girl?” He coos at her.
He gently picks her up and lays her against his chest, rubbing her back soothingly. Slowly her eyes start to shut until she’s fast asleep against him.
Brendon can barely keep his eyes open, his hands securely on baby jane to keep her safe.
He can hardly focus until his eyes shut.
Before sleep overtakes him he has one thought
I could really get used to this.
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Later that afternoon you wake up alone in bed. You slowly get up and stretch. Brendon’s voice echoes low from the bedroom door. With a yawn, you make your way towards his voice and find him in the kitchen with his back facing you, still talking.
When he turns around the sight you see makes your heart swoon and ovaries practically explode.
Brendon has a baby carrier strapped to his chest with baby jane snuggled close.
This man will be the death of me.
He looks up at you.
“Morning sweetheart. Me ‘n jane were just finishing up making lunch.” he says, making jane’s little hand wave at you, making her giggle.
“Hey cutie girl, is the big ole shark takin good care of you?” you coo at her with a wide smile.
Jane grins even wider at you which makes you laugh.
Brendon smiles fondly at the interaction. Completely smitten with you and how you are with baby jane.
He can only imagine how much sweeter it would be with yours and his baby one day.
——
After lunch you guys decide to go for a stroll around downtown Pittsburgh to get some fresh air. You guys pass by a cute baby store and head in to take a look. You see cute clothes and toys that jane would love.
You turn to Brendon who convinces you to only get a few items as anything you guys get would have to go back with jane to the hospital after the weekend.
But a girl needs a couple outfits right? Exactly.
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The weekend goes by faster than you would’ve liked but soon it comes time to bring Jane back.
Once you guys get to the hospital, Brendon straps jane into the baby carrier on his chest and you guys head into the pitt.
“Well well well, look what we have here.” Dana announces with a wide smile at the sight she sees.
“Baby jane doe and the shark. Cutest thing I ever did see.”
“Look at you, papa shark.” Robby chimes in from the desk beside her.
Brendon can’t help but blush a little at their words. He really did love having jane around. A new soft spot in addition to you.
You take jane from Brendon and baby talk with her as you walk back to her room, Robby coming around to grab her stuff for you.
Brendon stands there and watches you with her, something soft in his gaze.
Dana comes up beside him.
“So, when can I expect a baby shark, big guy?”
He lets out a long breath with a small smile.
“Whenever the missus is ready.”
Watching you with baby jane this weekend, he has a feeling that time will be sooner rather than later.
Dr. Robby x gn!reader / you are paged in the ER only to find that robby had a heart-attack
Word count: 1k
I am sucker for exes fics and there's something about robby that just begs for that energy lol
"You’ve been paged to the ER," the chief nurse of Cardio-thoracic surgery noted as you hurried past, on your way for a protein bar.
"Me?" You pointed at your own chest with wide eyes.
"A cardio-thoracic surgeon, you fit the description." She uttered with her eyes on the computer screen.
"Is there no one else available? You know I hate it down there." You tried approaching the station.
She fixed you with a stare that spare for negotiation. Pressing your lips together in a thin line, you gave a sharp nod and headed for the elevators.
As soon as the doors opened you heard the commotion. A wall of noise and movement centered around a tight circle of scrub-clad bodies. Everyone was shouting over one another, pushing to get a better look at the center of the storm.
You hurried your step, and as you came closer, the crowd parted to Dana's command. Her eyes locked onto yours immediately, wide and glassy.
"Thank God" She breathed. "I think Robby's having a heart-attack" Her usually iron voice crumbling with fear.
You didn't even answer. Your feet were already moving, shoving past interns and residents until you saw him. He was half-lying on the floor, pale and unresponsive.
"Everybody TAKE A STEP BACK" Your voice hit a register you didn’t know you possessed. The crowd recoiled. You whipped your stethoscope from your neck, your fingers trembling as you pressed the bell to his chest.
"Come on, Michael" you didnt register the plea leaving your lips until the room went deathly quiet.
This was wrong.
This was so wrong.
You couldn't be the one to do this.
There it was.
A strong, steady, heartbeat. You sighed in relief.
"Stretcher!" you ordered as you looped the instrument back in place.
"You" your finger landed on Langdon, "you" then Jesse, and "you" a blonde resident, "are with me. Everyone else, GO BACK TO YOUR PATIENTS."
Between the four of you, managed to get Robby on a gurney.
"Where to?" Langdon asked, his eyes wide with genuine fear.
You exhaled, slamming the guardrail into place. "Upstairs. Cardio."
"Is he going to surgery?" The blonde resident asked. Dana was standing a few steps behind.
You held Dana's gaze when you answered: "No."
"Then what?" Dana cut in, no longer pretending not to hear.
You turned back to him. His eyes were closed, his breath coming in shallow, labored hitches. His shoulders were trembling. "I want to observe him. I want him to have some peace and quiet for a change."
"The captain can't leave the ship, Doc. You should know that."
You looked at the chief nurse and gave a defeated nod. "Take us to the quietest corner of the Pit, Dana."
The "quietest corner" was still a fishbowl.
Curious eyes followed the stretcher from across the floor, and a few bold residents lingered by the curtain. You ignored them, moving around the floor like it was your own; hanging a bag of saline, checking his vitals, keeping your stethoscope almost glued to his chest.
He was exhausted, dehydrated, and over-anxious. A textbook panic attack that had led to a vasovagal syncope. Knowing the diagnosis was a relief, but communicating it to him—now that he was stirring—was a different kind of stress.
His lashes fluttered, his brow furrowing as he tried to make sense to what he was seeing.
"Honey?"
The word fell from his lips with such ease that it almost made you forget it had been years since you last heard it.
You heard a few gasps in the room. Probably from that blonde resident.
You swallowed before leaning in.
"Hey, sleepyhead." your voice dropping to a soft, warm whisper. You could feel his breath on your face. His eyes were glassy, staring into yours with a dazed, golden warmth. "How are you feeling?"
His gaze dropped to his hand, to the IV, then to the room. "What the hell happened?"
When his eyes returned to yours he was Dr. Robinavitch.
You straightened up, your voice regaining its professional edge. "Hadn't I kicked everyone out of here?"
He grunted, trying to sit up, his free hand already reaching to rip out the IV.
"shhhttttt." you slapped his hand softly--but firm. "Don't you dare."
Once the room cleared, he tried to sit up again, only to be held down by your index finger against his shoulder. You took a mental note of his docileness.
"You had a panic attack, Mick." You decided to hand him his diagnosis without sugar once the loving eyes were gone.
"WHAT" The way his mouth pressed down told you he didn't trust your judgment, but a simple raised brow had his scowl dissappearing.
"You collapsed on the floor. Everyone thought you were having a stroke," you said, leaning against the guardrail. "You scared the hell out of me."
He inhaled and exhaled once.
Twice.
Thrice.
And then.
"Thank you." This time his eyes didn't meet yours. And you understood that whatever mental-fog he had that had made him call you honey was gone.
You simply nodded. You did not want to say "you are welcome", or even worse "anytime". You settled for a tight lipped smile and a squeeze of his hand.
He didn't squeeze back.
"I'll let you stay here, so your minions can take care of you," you said, stepping back. "But if you leave this bed before the IV is empty, I’m dragging you upstairs to a locked ward."
"Deal" He muttered.
"See you later." You pulled back the curtain to find Langdon, Mckay and Dana behind it. "Good. So you heard the orders."
"Yeah, yeah," Dana teased, a mischievous smirk playing on her lips. "We got it, Dr. Honey."
You rolled your eyes, heading for the elevator without looking back.
