team bonding is really just brendon park's excuse to ogle at the sight and scent of his little remora, with the added inconvenience of a pushy creep.
cw: a man gets weird with the reader, brendon punches the shit out of him. reader gets to patch brendon up!!! reader is also fem!presenting per request!
𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐚!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
— a continuation of this universe
requested by @husherstan !! it won't let me reply to your request directly for some reason🥲. i hope you enjoy!
brendon park did not bond with people. he didn't go golfing with his buddies and he surely didn't go out drinking with his colleagues. it was mindless chatter to him, a necessary evil in order to function within his job. that was the pathetic thing about him—his belief that he didn't need anyone, or anything except the fulfillment of his career.
his fatal flaw had been getting tested ever since you stepped foot into the ortho wing. his customs, his very nature as a shark, had been thrown off kilter. you weren't another predator creating competition, but rather a creature that thrived off of his ruthlessness while cleaning up the chaos in his wake.
it was change. and slowly, brendon was changing whether he liked it or not.
which is what has him here—sitting at a pretentiously expensive bar, sandwiched between yolanda garcia and one of his fourth-year residents—somehow indulging in the monthly get-together of the surgery departments.
"i truly thought i'd see pigs fly than you step into a bar, sharkie," garcia hummed, giving brendon a prying side-eye while she nursed her beer. it makes him frown, because he already felt fucking stupid being there.
"i'm feeling chipper," the words are clipped and curt from his lips, his fist curling around nothing.
"yeah, i can see that," she's smiling at him now, thick with amusement in a way that makes park's neck creep slowly with warmth.
that was change. brendon park never got warm, he never got embarrassed even when he fucked up because his ego was far too fortified for that. but you'd begun to make him waver, you asked questions that actually created pause. you were infuriating, and far too enthralling for his own good.
which was why he clocked your entrance into the bar quickly. people liked you, they gravitated towards your happiness amidst an occupation that hinged on tension and zero fuck-ups. he heard some nurses chirp your name in delight, his head turning on a dime like an owl.
something sharp curls in the depths of his stomach, it's foreign and he doesn't quite know how to rid himself of it.
but it lingers, because you—god, look at you.
he'd never really seen you outside of work, save for the brief moments where you were changed into casual clothes at the end of a shift. it should've stayed that way, really, he was far too professional of a man to want anything else from his colleagues.
but you're here. your hair is down and you've fancied it up in a way his mind could never supply. jewelry adorns your hands, wrists, and neck like you're some fucking buried treasure he'd unearthed, and the silky slip dress you're wearing accentuates every part of you he had never seen beneath baggy scrubs.
and he smells you. god, you're all the way across the room and he can smell you.
it's that sweet earthiness that you carry, but increased tenfold with strong fruity notes like you're the ripest mango he'd ever laid eyes on. and suddenly, the shark finds himself quite hungry.
"oh," garcia clicks her tongue loudly beside him, "so you aren't here to be social and fun," her words are honeyed with a knowing sarcasm that makes brendon whip his head over to look at her. "you're just here to circle your prey and never lunge."
"what the fuck is your problem?" he bites back at her, exhaling sharply as she just drinks her beer with a stupidly smug look on her face.
"what the fuck is your problem?" her brow pricks as she quips back, and she tilts her head towards you as you settle across the bar with the nurses who'd called your name. "all you ever do is sulk and stare at her."
brendon sucks in a deep breath, shooting her a sharp glare that sufficed to say 'shut up!'. if anyone heard this kind of conversation with him associated, he might kill her, and then wilt from the terrible blow it'd deal to his whole intimidating reputation.
yet his gaze found you anyway, seeing that you had ordered a soda, because of course you don't even drink. he watches your eyes swipe over the bar of healthcare workers while one of the nurses talks, until you land on him.
he feels that same heat begin to accumulate at his collar, but the surge of embarrassment doesn't linger. you didn't find the fact that he was already staring at you to be weird, instead, you just waved at him cheerfully while your eyes went wide and a smile split across your cheeks. like you were happy to see him here, to finally see him here, rather.
sheepishly, he offers a small tip of his head in acknowledgment, which satiates your delight and makes you focus back on your conversation.
christ, he does not remember being so easy like this.
yolanda scoffs as she watches him sigh and melt into a puddle against the countertop, which makes her order him a glass of bourbon in pity.
as the night progresses, brendon stays situated besides garcia. he's never minded her, and actually found himself engaging in conversation with her. there were times that he wished she'd specialized in orthopedics over trauma surgery—she was cutthroat and efficient, just how brendon liked his residents. but he had learned overtime that she thrived on the adrenaline of trauma, and orthopedics couldn't give her the dopamine rush to keep her going.
throughout their conversation, you remained present. your scent was still thick in his nose, grounding in a way. it was a reminder that you were as close and tangible as you always were with him.
his eyes found you as the night progressed. watched as you giggled with coworkers and drank your soda like this was natural to you. closeness was your specialty, and he could watch you talk for hours. although, his gaze was only absentminded alongside his commitment to talking with garcia.
which meant he didn't see the way your giggles slowly subsided, or the way a new shadow suddenly lingered beside you. he didn't see how you stopped sipping on your drink, and he didn't notice when your eyes stayed glued to the countertop. he didn't realize that, when the shadow slipped away from your vicinity, you still stayed huddled against the bar quietly.
hell, he didn't even notice when you finally left your seat. brendon was listening to yolanda complain mildly about the pressure hospital administrators put on increasing patient satisfaction scores when he felt something tug at the back of his button-up.
it was a warmth, the curling of a fist. your hand—he had come to know it quite well after months of having it latch onto the back of his scrubs when navigating busy hallways. he feels it drift up to the back of his neck, which has him straightening swiftly and swiveling in his seat to look at you.
your fingers find his nape, curling around a particularly longer lock of his hair. he didn't have it gelled back tonight, and it was curly. you would've never guessed, and you liked it. it was a subtle comfort in the moment.
brendon was staring at you, but his brain wasn't really gathering whatever you were saying to him. you were close, and you were touching him, and you smelled so fucking good. he's fully consumed by your aroma, earthy like fresh cacao beans and sweet like mangoes and honeyed milk. god, he could eat you right up—
and your fingers, too, they're threading into his hair like he's a puppy you've been craving to pet. he hums lowly at the rush of all the sensations flooding his system, a deep purr that makes garcia crane her neck from behind to stare at him like he's a bizarre phenomenon.
but you're speaking too softly for her to hear anything, your voice almost lost beneath the din of the bar. brendon's focus is on everything physical stirring within himself, because he can't remember the last time he'd had to handle something so affectionate.
he had long gotten used to your usual ministrations. they were always small touches, things that lingered briefly and could be passed off as simply nature. but this was so intentional, like—
".. i know i'm probably just being dramatic," you whisper, but brendon finally notices that something is off. "but it's.. been like this all night."
he blinks, "what?"
"the—the guy. i don't know. he kept talking strange to me earlier, and he was so.." a frown graces your pretty little lips, and you almost seemed to shiver, "close.."
"he grabbed my arm and i pulled back real quick, and then he got all stone-faced and walked away," you continue. brendon had never heard you sound so.. small. you're not looking him in the eye, instead focusing on your other hand fiddling with the cuff of his dress shirt.
"he just keeps—" you bit your lip, like you suddenly felt stupid about this. brendon sees the soft flush in your cheeks, and the way you stifle your words. but you don't let go of him, like fear is anchoring you down.
fear. he had never seen you look.. afraid like this.
it's like a papercut. small and imperceptible, but deep to draw out a drop of blood. it trickles down until it hits the ocean's surface, minute but always enough to flip brendon's switch.
the shark who was just melting under the ministrations of his remora suddenly reared its predatory head, pupils dilating with purpose as he rose from his seat. he's towering over you, the warm light of the bar casting sharp shadows over his angular features. his hand snags your wrist, firm but not forceful.
it's reciprocation, a boundary he had never allowed himself to cross with you.
"where?"
the word is punctual but quiet as it falls from his mouth. you're apprehensive to answer and he doesn't like that, but he's patient. brendon just watches the soft frown on your lips deepen for a moment, and then the small flick of your gaze that diverts across the room.
he catches it, his head snapping up to follow suit. he finds a man perched on the edge of an empty booth, and he's staring right back—at you, specifically.
one drop of blood has now become a whole bucket of chum, stirring up a jagged flare of heat in his chest. brendon park was a cutthroat man, but he had never been quick to aggression. yet, it consumes him then, as he lets go of your wrist.
conviction tore through any logic in his mind as he took swift steps across the bar floor—a desire to never see you afraid like that ever again.
it's a blur, really, because a part of brendon surfaced that he never allowed to see light. it was the angry corner of his heart, where hatred festered and his frustrations compiled. usually, he could blow off steam by ripping some intern a new one, or maybe by working out.
but now? it was full-force, and he really couldn't recall the moment when his fist connected with that man's face.
all he could think about was you. the way you looked at him so sheepishly, the way you sounded so unsure of yourself. his little remora acted like prey for the first time, and he fucking hated it.
one punch became two, and two punches connected into three. he lost count, the relevancy phased out until a few of their coworkers managed to peel him off of the guy.
"he's harassing my intern, what do you want me to do?" the words are bitter and loud, ripped straight from his chest when the bouncer finally makes it into the equation. "get him out, or i'll fucking do it."
the words aren't quite a command, but rather a condition. there's no arguing with a man like brendon; being built like a brick wall with the voice of a roman general made anything he said basically law. plus, being surrounded by a brood of doctors and nurses who would ride to battle for the hospital's one-and-only remora meant that the bouncer didn't have much of a choice.
you're fretting over brendon by the time the creep was removed from the equation.
"goodness gracious, look at your beautiful hands!" your voice was struck with dismay as you ushered him into a booth. one of the employees had produced a first-aid kit at your distressed request, which had you torn between being a mother hen and professionally treating the aftermath of his violence.
his knuckles were ripped up quite nicely, and he wasn't even sure how. maybe he really did beat the brakes off of that guy—enough for his dominant hand to be swelling up and blooming with a distant bruise.
"you are a surgeon, brendon park. the number one super-important rule is that you need to keep your hands perfect!" you chastise, but you're too worried about him to sound angry. you're wiping down his hands with whatever cheap antiseptic the kit provided, making him grimace at the sting.
"i'm fine—"
"shut up, stupid idiot!"
how could he not be obedient when you're all huffy and doting over him? he feels like he's seeing stars, because since when the fuck did he ever willingly choose to be obedient for someone?
and so he stays quiet, watching you closely as your focus remains solely on his injury. you're carefully wrapping gauze over his right hand, your fingertips so soft against his calloused palm. brendon couldn't imagine you as anything but gentle, and he's almost regretful of the way that he had treated you when your residency first began.
brendon had been convinced for a long time that gentleness did not belong in his OR. it was emotional, and to him, that meant mistakes would be made. compassion was hesitation, and connection was irrelevant. the ortho wing had functioned well without those attributes for as long as he'd been an attending.
but you defied every arbitrary law he'd set in place. you were gentle yet steadfast, and talkative yet efficient. patients loved you and so did coworkers.
you were the anomaly—a symbiotic species that thrived on cynicism to fuel your curiosity.
"i'm sorry," he hears you murmur. you're quiet again, like from before, and it barely breaks the silence that had stretched between you both. "you shouldn't have had to do that."
brendon blinked and his brows furrowed, trying to read into this whole.. somber act you were putting up. he realized quickly that it wasn't like the theatrics you enjoyed putting on to try and amuse him, but that you were genuinely sorrowful about this.
about him. about seeing his bloodied up hands because some fucking freak decided to treat you like an object to own.
"none of that," brendon clicks his tongue, tone terse. you straightened up slightly, hands still cradling one of his bruised ones, "i did that because i wanted to. and i'm happy that i did."
your brows raise, a soft flush blooming across your cheeks as you look down. something swells in brendon's chest seeing you blush that way—it wasn't embarrassed, not like before. this time, it was flattery. he suddenly didn't feel so emotionally inept.
"can't have nothing hurting my remora," he groused, his words coming out like the disgruntled huff of a stallion. his chest was puffed out mildly with the small streak of confidence your flattery gave him.
"oh?" you respond with your usual gusto now, like his strange patch of social bravery brought you out of your slump. it makes him loose his footing, which has you visibly chuffed.
"i mean—you're precious orthopedics cargo, y'know?" he scoffed, like it was obvious that his violence was only an act of chivalrous protection to keep you safe, and not a visceral afterthought of the possessiveness he felt over you.
"oh, yes, of course." your eyes roll.
"... and i need to make sure my remora is happy," he coughs, like it's a terrible blow to his very egotistical being, "you're an opportunistic hunter, afterall, you'll leave if i slack off."
"you think so?"
"maybe."
his lips press together, wincing slightly while you begin to prod at his other hand. your raised brow of skepticism doesn't help his case right now.
"i'd rather be safe than sorry."
his admittance is low in his chest, like the whine of a lion who just embarrassed himself in front of the pride. it has a smile splitting across your lips, a sight that soothed the soreness radiating up his arms.
"i can assure you, dr. park," you rumbled, tugging his hand up as you tilted your head. confusion flashed in his eyes until he felt the warm contact of your lips as you kissed at his bandaged wounds, and he felt as though he was some damsel you were wooing.
"you are very safe."
christ, what was he going to do with you?
HELLOOO chat i am alive!!! being a lifeguard on 10 hour shifts is not for the weak, and i'm also all tied up with getting ready to move for college.😣
life's a peach otherwise, i suppose..
i hope this feeds you guys well!🫶 i may be a little inactive for the next week or so with everything going on. hopefully i can get back on the grind one the dust settles and complete more reqs!
Mean shark, kinda soft if you squint really hard. Reader is a bit quiet, cries once. Power imbalance, age gap, pet names, dom-sub undertones, secret relationship.
The day started way earlier than it should have, Doctor Park called you at 4am sharp, his voice low as usual. "OR 3 in 25 minutes" he said, no good morning, no sorry for waking you or this will go to your pay check. Nothing, Brendon was known for being overbearing with his "pups" he had to be, he didn't allow space for slacking or anything that isn’t above perfect, after all he takes pride in being the department that fixes the mess that comes up from the pitt.
Everyone said the second year of residency was the worst, you have heard that one girl at the pitt complain about it, you have heard a few doctors talk about it when you were on your first year. You didn't want to believe it, even when you started to pick up on how Brendon worked and how he teaches, you thought everything was just a big coincidence and year two is just year two. But it wasn’t, at least not for you.
From the moment the "new bait" set foot into the shark’s den, the rest of the department whispered about who was going to leave first, most said you wouldn't last a week. You kept quiet, standing close between your peers, making notes and leaning from every case. Until Brendon zeroes on you. "What would you do?" you felt like a deer in headlights, the conversation revolved around if the leg had to be amputated or not, your eyes look back at the screen with the pictures of an old case. "The leg shows signs of infections; it would be best not to..."
Shark nods, the next picture on the slide shows the patient in recovery, his leg was amputated. "Good to know there is one smart person in this group" he said harshly, it wasn’t meant as a compliment, it was meant to make the other want to do better. but it landed like a praise in your ears and brain. As most of the doctors there guessed, a lot of the new “bait” changed departments, others changed hospitals, leaving you and other 2 of the large group. You never thought Brendon liked you, at best you thought he tolerated you, that was until you heard him talking with Robby once, after a small trip down to the pitt, you and the other two remaining of the group saw a patient with a fractured femur, not so cleanly broken in half, easy fix (said Dr. Park).
“Brought your pups down to learn, how many quit?”
“I brought my pup, the other two are just here”
“Harsh as always”
And that is how you learned that Park the shark didn’t like calling his doctors pups, he didn’t say anything when other people did, but no one was smart or good enough to claim as his, until you. That is how you started to get called for every trip down to the pitt, how your surgery schedule got filled up and how your work load increased from 100% to 200%, it was all Brendon, his stern eyes on your face as you are wrist deep fixing up a pelvis or talking to Robby about how it is possible to save an arm, and even when you talk to the staff and other residents, he is watching, lurking, waiting to take the bite.
“Are you tired?” he asks, a cup of hot coffee on his hand as he looks down at you, you can still smell the blood, the operation was long, 5 hours at least, double amputation, bot legs lost at different heights.
“Not every day I wake up to rush into the OR” your voice is quiet, you need breakfast and coffee, maybe a nap in the supply room or the lounge are if you are lucky enough to find it empty.
“Not every day you get to perform in surgery with an amputation that high, pup. Grab something to eat, you look dead” he says, his hand extending to hand you the cup of coffee “Next time I’ll let you sleep and lose knowledge”
“No, I’d rather learn… thank you” you grab the cup, your hands brushing his slightly, Brendon leaves before you can say anything else. On the way to the cafeteria, you recall the first time he called you pup to your face. There had been a mistake, a mix up with files upstairs in radiology, shark was angry, bare teeth out as he barked orders here and there. Fix this, how the fuck are they even working here? Idiots, can’t even check files. Pup, run upstairs. Everyone was silent, everyone moving around him on command, Brendon glares at you when you stood still. Did I fucking stutter? I said, pup, run. Your eyes widen, you can even nod back when your legs are already answering, rushing to the staircase to fix up whatever happened upstairs.
Gladly it was an easy fix, nothing that a few please and thank yous couldn’t fix, in fact, it made the process go faster since, everyone was glad that shark wasn’t the one there. Instead, there you were, waiting for the files after giving everyone a soft smile. You run downstairs too, handing over the papers to an R4 who was the main doctor in the upcoming operation, between the rushing doctors and the sharks faint stern voice down the hall a door swings open and you get punched in the face, a small scream leaving your lips as you drop to the ground. Hand to your face as tears pool in your eyes. “Fucking pup” someone mumbles as you feel your ass leave the ground, strong hands getting you on your feet, lifting you below your arms like you weighted nothing. “with me, walk” Brendon pushes past everyone making way for you as you follow behind him to his office. The door slams shut, everyone stays quiet for a second, still, looking at the door before going back to whatever they were doing.
“Do you even know how to walk? I leave you for a few minutes and your ass is on the ground” he says as he points at his small couch, a few tears rolling down your eyes as he rolls his chair in front of you, sitting there with no clear expression. “Okay, enough, look at me, pup” his hand grabs your jaw, strong fingers squishing your cheeks slightly as he makes you look at him. A small flashlight shinning in your eyes, one at a time, he puts it to the side, his fingers gently feeling your nose and under your eyes for any serious injury.
“Ouch”
“Such a crybaby” he whispers, letting go of your face. “Your nose is red, but you are fine, does your head hurt?” you shake your head, lowering your face again, cleaning up your tears. “Words, pup, and I said look at me” you gulp before looking back at him, a small shiver running down your spine.
“Why do you call me that?”
“Call you what?” he raises a brow, leaning back on his chair, arms crossed over his chest, his biceps look bigger that way, legs slightly parted, yours between them, he was just being mean at this point.
“Pup” you whisper, fidgeting with your own hands, your nose still stinging, eyes still watery.
“Because everyone calls all of the doctors here that” he replies “Oh, are you asking why I call everyone by name and you pup?” he says, a condescending tone, you feel something rush down your body and into between your legs. “Because you are my pup”
“I-”
“What? You don’t like it? I can call you crybaby if you’d prefer, or puppy, close enough to home, huh?” you feel your eyes widen, you shake your head.
“Pup is fine”
“Good, I wasn’t really asking. Take 20, drink water, help yourself to any snacks you find here” he says standing up, one of his hands fall on your head and ruffle up your hair. “And next time you stick besides me, got it?”
“Yes sir” Brendon hums, turning around, not wanting to admit to himself how much that affected him.
A notification in your phone takes your mind out of breakfast, a message from Brendon.
Remember Brendon with the hypermobile girlfriend? Well, they're back!
Brendon was looking forward to that night. Both for trying to raise more funds for his hospital department, and to show off his girlfriend.
What he certainly didn't expect was for her to become the center of attention. Not because of her dress. Not because she'd managed to melt Brendon's icy heart. Not even because she made the Shark smile in a... Kind and non-scary way.
But rather for dislocating every joint in her body.
"So... That's your girlfriend?" Garcia asked, swirling the champagne in his glass.
"Yes," Brendon replied with a smile on his face.
"You know she's dislocating and relocating her shoulder, right?"
"Yes," he huffed, watching her, in the middle of a conversation with some rich folks, move her shoulder back and forth, laughing at the POP it made and, of course, laughing at the terrified faces of the potential donors. "She does that when she's bored. Or when she wants to impress. Or when she wants to scare. It's a talent."
Garcia swallowed his champagne in a larger gulp than usual, watching the scene. Brendon's girlfriend, in a long dress and angelic smile, had just rotated her arm at an angle that would make a contortionist blush, producing a sequence of cracks that echoed through the ballroom. The group of potential donors took a collective step back, faces pale.
She then tilted her head, a loud, wet crack, and laughed. "Sorry, it's the nerves!" she chirped, with an innocence so perfect it was clearly rehearsed. "Continue, please. Tell me more about the funds for the new pediatric wing."
One of the men, with a graying mustache and expensive suit, cleared his throat. "Y-yes... the wing... the children..."
She blinked, and her fingers cracked one by one, as if she were counting something invisible.
"Children are fragile, aren't they? Unlike..." pop her left thumb dislocated and returned to place, "...us adults."
Brendon patted Garcia on the back.
"She got a fifty-thousand-dollar check at the last fundraiser, just by doing that. One of them said he'd donate just to get her to stop. How do you think my department is so well-funded?"
Garcia frowned, confused. "You use your girlfriend...?"
Before Brendon could answer, his girlfriend turned, her gaze finding his across the room. She raised her hand, waved with relaxed fingers, and then bent her wrist to her forearm in a fluid, wrong movement—a final crack that made even the waiters freeze.
Brendon laughed, raising his glass in a toast. "I love this woman."
She smiled back, bared her teeth, and slowly rotated her head in a full circle, her neck cracking like a broken nut. Then, with the same sweetness, she turned back to the donors, who were now clutching their checkbooks like crucifixes.
"So," she said, sweet as poison, "how much do you think the sanity of an entire medical team is worth?"
"Damn, I need to get myself a girlfriend like that..." Garcia huffed, swallowing his champagne, knowing the hospital's orthopedic department had just gotten new equipment.
He always demands asks for the OR that you're assigned to and paid for the best, most comfortable chair for you. He also got you the best compression socks money can buy.
Like 90% of the songs in his operating playlist were chosen with you in mind and when pretends he doesn't notice when the he gets side-eyed by the others in the OR
He knows what you like to bring in to keep you occupied during long surgeries so he makes sure to keep extras on hand (you bring your laptop/ipad? he has like 10 portable chargers in his drawer. sudoku/crossword/word search/puzzle books? he has a dedicated shelf in his office for just those)
Always treats you with the utmost respect both in and out of the operating room and if he so much as hears that another surgeon didn't treat you right (read: didn't worship the ground you walk on), let's just say that The Shark will be out for blood.
I need a Brendon Park the Shark x wife!reader fic where he's married to a shark scientist, and Park the Shark keeps his personal life private, and one day his wife shows up to The Pitt cause Brendon forgot his lunch and The Pitt is like "who are you?" And wifey is like "I'm a friend of his" and someone calls Dr. Park saying "Park the Shark someone is here to see you" wifey asks "why do you call him Shark?" (She knows why) and they explain and shes like "I wanna make a bet on what kind of shark Dr. Park would be, I say $100 he would be a great white shark" and others say he would be either a bull shark, tiger shark, or oceanic white tip shark. And when Dr. Park comes down stairs, let's say Dr. Santos or Dr. King which ever one asks "if you were a shark what species would you be?" And Dr. Park answers, "Great White Shark." And he takes the food from his wife thanks her and leaves and as he is leaving he hears his wife say, "I WON $500 DOLLARS."
Can you imagine Dr. Park? Head of orthopedic surgery. The big shark of orthopedics. Park, the shark. Dating someone with hypermobility and ligamentous laxity? Like, I can see his stress.
"Love! Love! Love!" Brendon knew what was coming as soon as he heard the sound of her running through the house. "Look! I can dislocate my finger!" Brendon saw her make a simple movement, where the metacarpal simply came out of the metacarpophalangeal joint. And back with a loud POP!
"Why?! Why do you do that?!" He asks, taking her hand and giving it a few kisses as if it would make things better.
"It didn't!"
"Well, it should!" He replies, opening one of the drawers in his office and taking out his collection of splints and immobilizations (which he bought just for her). "Want to wear the splint again?"
"No..." She says, her happiness going down the drain.
"Then don't dislocate your fingers, please."
"Why are you sitting like that?" He asked, seeing his girlfriend watching television in the most impossible position possible. One leg practically behind her head. Her right hand raised, her forehead under her right leg... Her torso twisted.
"It's the only position I'm comfortable in," she said as if it were abnormal.
"Honey, I don't think it's a good idea for you to do yoga..."
"My physical therapist said I should do physical activity! Strengthen my muscles so they can support my joints!"
"She meant some physical activity that involves strength! And not putting your leg behind your head for fun!!!"
"You're jealous because I can do this," she said before dislocating both shoulders at the same time. Brendon lost control of his breathing, starting to cough as he watched his girlfriend walk towards a wall and easily put her shoulders back in place.
"That doesn't prove the point you think it proves!" He said, watching her leave.
And, at the worst possible time:
"Oh shit! Harder!!!" She moaned, gripping the sheets and slamming her head against the pillow. Her knees were braced on the bed, and Brendon held her hips as he forced his body harder and harder against her.
He pushed harder.
And listened.
POP
"Shit, that was—"
"Damn it, Brendon?! Why did you stop?!!"
"Because your body moved out of place!"
"IT WAS JUST MY COCCYX! IT'LL GO BACK!"
"What?!"
"Brendon Park, if you don't keep fucking me in three seconds, I'm going to open the drawer and finish the job with the vibrator!"
"Tomorrow I'm taking you for an MRI... There's no way that noise was your coccyx!"
"FUCK ME ALREADY, BRENDON!"
(Clearly a story loosely based on me, because I have ligamentous laxity and hypermobility, hehehe)
Summary: You get why people call Brendon "Park the Shark", and he notices you more than you realize.
Word Count: 300
Playlist Prompt: Mack the Knife - Bobby Darin / “And he shows them pearly white”
Warnings: Grumpy and sunshine dynamic if you squint, bit of fluff, reader is slightly thirsty, Brendon Park (he's a warning, okay?).
A/N: Day 3 of the June Jukebox Scribbles Challenge by @societynsoelsscribbles . ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!
Park the Shark.
You understood quickly why people called Brendon that. Most of the Pitt were intimidated by him. He circled the place like a predator who knew was going to get his fill when he smelled blood in the water. The surgeon had the skills to back up his confidence, too, his focus sharp and his methods rapid and efficient. You believed he’d be at home in the ocean if he was a shark in another life.
But you also liked to believe that underneath his magnificent firm body that there was a soft spot.
Seriously though, how does he look so good in scrubs?
“Morning,” you called out when he walked by.
He paused and turned his head, his eyes narrowed.
“You’re early,” he said, his voice low and even.
You laughed and you swore you caught the corner of his mouth lift, like he was trying not to smile.
And he shows them pearly white.
“You say that like I’m not always early,” you teased.
“I know you are,” he uttered, angling his body to fully face you. “And you were here late last night.”
He noticed?
You shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Case needed finishing, so I stayed.”
“Good work,” he said after a moment.
“Thanks, Park,” you said softly, your heart skipping a beat.
Dana, who stood a few feet away, stared at Brendon over her glasses. He was not a man who made small talk. He wasn’t the kind of person to throw out compliments for the hell of it either.
His jaw clenched, the subtle warmth in his eyes fading. “Let me know if anyone gives you a hard time,” he ordered before he walked away.
Dana raised an eyebrow at you.
“Not a word,” you mumbled.
But you were smiling.
Another first time character for me! What do we think? Love and thanks for reading. ❤️
Summary: Brendon „accidentally“ forgot his lunch at home and asks his wife to bring it and eat with him.
C/w: fluff, mentioning and subtle implication of wine drinking
a/n: I haven’t written anything in ages and it’s my first ff posted on tumblr so please be nice. I feel really weird writing with y/n so I gave her a name but otherwise it’s pretty self indulgent, description of the body, dyed red hair long enough to put up in a clip, facial piercings not specified, mentions of tattoos one specified on the stomach, the rest is not specified. Soft flesh on the belly so ig curvyish body. No mentions of real goth wife, but in my head she is, so more alternative in this story
Wc: 2.4 k
Brendon stared at his phone. It had been 20 minutes since his alarm had gone off, and if he didn’t get up now, he wouldn’t have the time to get in his quick workout before work.
He looked down at his wife, Victoria, leg thrown over his hips, and her arm holding him close by his chest.
A smile crept onto his face as he saw her bed hair, dyed red strands. Tattooed skin peeking out from his old Metallica shirt that she had claimed.
He sighed, gently trying to pull her arm off, but only receiving a groan in response as she pressed closer.
„Baby,“ Brendon said softly, „I gotta get up.“
She shook her head and locked him further in with her legs, „Just 10 more minutes Bren.“
He cupped her cheek, smoothing over the soft skin there, „I wish Sweetheart, but I'm really going to be late if I don’t get up now. You know I got surgeries scheduled early today.“
Reluctantly she huffed out a 'fine‘ and let go of him.
Brendon, now finally able to, sat up and slid out of the bed, turning back once to place a soft kiss on his wife’s forehead and mutter a quick „I‘ll text you later,“ before pulling the blankets over her again and leaving their bedroom.
He made his way through their Victorian-style house. It wasn’t his choice, he used to live in a nice home, modernish with lots of old woodwork. When they engaged, Victoria started looking into other housing options and found her Victorian house of dreams, and Brendon did not care which house he lived in as long as he could see the smile and glee of joy in her eyes.
An hour later he had finished his workout in their small home gym, showered and changed into his scrubs, and was out the door.
What he forgot to pack was his lunch, or maybe he didn’t actually forget it and actually wanted to see his wife during lunch knowing she had her first appointment later that day.
….
A couple of hours later Victoria was woken by two pairs of paws pressing into her chest.
A small smile spread onto her lips before she even opened her eyes.
Reaching out she pet the soft fur of one of their cats, slowly creaking one eye open she looked into green eyes, that stared right back at her.
“Hey there Callum,” Victoria murmured, scratching under his chin and receiving a loud purr in response. A moment later a second cat jumped onto the bed with a loud meow.
“Yeah yeah, I’ll get you your food Salem,” she chuckled patting him on the head twice before getting up.
Putting on the silk rope Brendon had gotten her, she made her way down followed by two cats and joined by a third once downstairs in the kitchen.
Going through the morning ritual of feeding the gremlins and opening the door for their back porch that Brendon had made cat-safe.
Once all that was done, she’d finally made it back upstairs and managed to look at her phone.
Bren<3: I accidentally forgot my lunch at home, mind bringing it over and eating lunch with me before you head into the studio?
Victoria huffed a laugh, shaking her head softly. She was well aware that he didn’t forget his lunch,it was on purpose like last time, but who was she to deny him? Seeing her husband in scrubs? Yeah, that was like a reward.
Opening the chat she typed out a quick message.
Victoria: Of course you did. Your lunch break at 12 still standing?
Almost immediately the reply came.
Bren<3: kept my schedule clear just for you, sweets.
After that, she started a slow morning. Making breakfast for herself and sitting outside with the cats, watching them play and lazily bathe in the sun.
Eventually, Victoria went back inside to catch up on some of the chores. Well, there weren’t many left, Brendon hired a cleaner who shows up two days a week to clean the house, it definitely had taken some convincing from Brendon for Victoria to agree. Still, once he rationalised how big the house was and that they worked full-time it would be a relief for both of them.
And now that she’d get used to it, Victoria didn’t want to miss it.
While folding the laundry Victoria went over the appointments she had planned later that day. And then it was already time to get ready. For tattoo sessions, she always focused on comfort rather than style. So low-rise black sweatpants, a cropped black shirt with a stretched-out neckline, the soft flesh of her stomach was showing, decorated with one of her favourite tattoos. A wolf in sheep's skin and a sheep in a wolf's skin. A couple of necklaces and bracelets and the outfit was complete.
Packing her usual stuff for the studio, and packing an extra bag with Brendon’s forgotten lunch, lunch for herself, and a sweet treat consisting of home-baked cinnamon buns for the both of them.
The drive to the hospital had already memorised itself into Victoria’s brain after all these years. Lucky for Brendon it was actually on her way to the studio.
Parking in the deck it was a home run from there on.
Orthopedics was on the fourth floor of the hospital, so one elevator ride later Victoria was walking towards the nurses' station.
“Hey Jessica,” Victoria greeted the charge nurse. The woman looked up and a smile spread across her face, “Oh hi there dear. Did Park forget his lunch again?” Jessica asked, putting the ‘forgot’ in air quotes.
She chuckled nodding, “Yeah, he did, obviously on the day I have late appointments. How’s your shift?”
“You know, Park’s intimidating the new residents and med students, but otherwise it’s been gracious,” Jessica said, nodding towards the hallway behind her, “Park’s in his office.”
“Thanks, have a wonderful easy shift and I’ll see you,” Victoria smiled and walked towards the breakroom to warm up their food.
Most of the staff had met her over the years in which Victoria and Park had been married, so they didn’t bat an eye when she walked into the breakroom to heat lunch.
With a warm lunch, she knocked on Brendon’s office door hearing his familiar voice through the wood. Stepping inside the office, Brendon had already cleared his desk and stood up to greet her.
“Hey Bren,” Victoria greeted, stepping onto her tiptoes to request a kiss. Brendon oh just so sweetly leaned down to fulfill his wife's wishes, “You got here alright?”
“Yep, no traffic, got my favourite parking spot and now I get to have lunch with my husband,” she said walking over to his desk and settling the dishes down.
“But I fear you're really getting old now, with how often you seem to forget your food,” Victoria said sarcastically, sitting down.
“Oh, you think so? Well blame me then for wanting to see my beautiful wife,” he laughed helping with arranging the leftovers from yesterday's dinner.
“So how’s your shift?” She asked after the first mouthful of his homemade lasagna.
Brendon hummed softly, “Alright, the surgery went well. New residents and med students aren’t too awful. How was your morning, Baby?”
Knowing Brendon that was high praise, he was very particular about his staff, only wanting the best, wanting to give the patients the best care they can get.
Brendon looked at her with all the softness and admiration he had, wondering, as he had done so often, how he got this lucky.
“Oh you know, nice and easy. I coddled the cats, did some laundry, I really missed you, the bed was getting cold,“ Victoria said, earning a full belly laugh from her husband. She leaned over to playfully smack his arm, „Don't you dare laugh at me, Brendon.“
„I'm sorry, Vic. I'll make sure to get you a heated blanket next time,“ he chuckled. „That's not the same, I like your body heat more, cuddling up to you,“ she said in thought, remembering back to countless nights in their shared bed.
Brendon raised his brows, pointing his fork at her, „You just want to warm your cold feet on my body. Mischievous little thing.“
Victoria gasped, pressing her hand to her chest, „My husband? Backstabbing me? I feel betrayed, I would never do such a thing,“ she said with false innocence.
„I‘m not backstabbing, I‘m just telling the truth, I feel it when you warm your feet on my legs,“ he defended himself.
She smirked at him, „And you happily let me.“ He shook his head, but not meaning it, „I‘ll always let you, my love.“
Soon, the lasagna was gone and they moved to the cinnamon buns. „Your baking is heavenly, honey,“ Brendon said, after his first bite.
„Thank you, Bren. I gotta make a patch for the floor again soon and for the ED you know they have hell down there,“ Victoria answered, knowing they always appreciated some home-made goods.
Brendon smiled, „You're way too good for this world.“
„You humble me,“ she laughed.
Once the last of their food was eaten, Victoria got up and walked around his desk. Urging Brendon to scoot back on his chair. „What are you doing?“ he asked, following her lead.
„We got a couple of minutes before I have to leave and your lunch break is over, and I suggest we use it to the fullest,“ she said, taking her place on his lap.
Running her fingers through his slicked-back hair, and down his neck to eventually settle on his shoulder blades. „Careful with the hair,“ Brendon warned playfully with a raised brow.
„Oh you know I hate it when your hair is slicked back like that. I like your curls more,“ she complained, leaning down to steal a kiss.
He happily delivered.
Leaning back a few inches he answered, „You know it's easier with the scrub cap.“
She let their noses brush, whispering, „I know but it doesn't mean I need to like it.“
This time Brendon leaned in to get another kiss, letting his hands wander over her body before settling on her waist and gently pressing into the softness of her flesh.
He could stay like that forever, all his senses consumed by her, smelling her perfume that hauntingly crept up on you, the taste of cinnamon and the gum she always chews on his tongue, the softness of her skin, the weight of her body leaning onto his, seeing the glint of metal and eyeliner when he looked at her face through lidded eyes.
And when he finally relaxed and settled into the embrace his pager went off.
He broke the kiss and groaned in annoyance, „Fuck me.“
Victoria smirked at him, „Don‘t tempt me.“
Reaching for his pager, he took a look at who was disturbing their time, „Fucking ED:“
„Ortho consult?“ Victoria asked, already getting off his lap and starting to pack up their stuff.
„Yeah, they can wait a couple of minutes, I‘m gonna bring you down on my way there,“ he said, helping her pack together.
„Do you mind grabbing groceries on your way home after shift? It's probably gonna be late at the studio today,“ Victoria asked. „Will do. Text me when you're done?“ he asked, holding the door open as they moved out of the office.
She grabbed his hand interlacing their fingers as they walked towards the elevator.
„Of course, you already know what's for dinner?“ she asked. Brendon hummed, „How do you feel about steak, with creamy garlic pasta and asparagus paired with a nice white wine?“
„Oh, you can read my mind, baby,“ she said, smiling up at him.
„Of course I do,“ he replied just as the elevator doors opened.
Stepping into the ED Chaos didn‘t phase Victoria much at this point. „Alright, be safe on your way and then I‘ll see you tonight,“ Brendon said, leaning down to give her one last kiss before parting.
„See you tonight,“ she answered, walking out.
…
Brendon was the first to return home. Just like he had promised, he'd gotten groceries and stopped at the flower shop to pick up a nice bouquet.
By the time Victoria texted that she was wrapping up and on her way home, he'd showered, prepped the steaks, cooked the pasta and the asparagus ready to reheat when they were ready to eat, fed the cats, and was on his way to draw a nice bath for his wife to enjoy when she was home.
Busying himself with laying out her pajamas for later, he heard their front door open.
„Bren, I'm home!“ Victoria's voice boomed through the house.
He heard her bustling around downstairs, greeting the cats. „I'm upstairs,“ he answered.
The bath now finally full he turned off the water and made his way downstairs to find his wife in the kitchen admiring the flowers.
She twirled around, „Aww you got me flowers Bren,“ jumping into his arms and kissing him on the cheek, „Thank you.“
He chuckled, hugging her back, „You are very welcome, Baby.“ Placing a kiss on the top of her head, „For the trouble you had with bringing me my lunch.“
She laughed at his words, „You are the sweetest Brendon.“ He smiled down at her, „Well it gets even better, dinner is nearly done only gotta fry the steaks, but first I got a nice and relaxing bath ready for you.“ He placed his hands on her waist, caressing her gently before turning her towards the stairs, leaning down he murmured, „Why don't you go ahead and I‘ll pour us a glass of wine and join you so you can tell me all about your day.“
Victoria smiled, turned her face to give him a small peck, and then headed upstairs to get into the bath.
Taking the wine from the wine fridge, he poured them both a small glass before dinner and then headed into the master bathroom.
Victoria had just settled into the bath, hair up in a clip so It wouldn‘t get wet.
The bathtub was a custom build. The original was too small to fit Brendon, but Victoria didn't want to go without a Victorian-style tub, so he had one custom built that would accommodate both of them. But tonight he sat down in a similar Victorian-style armchair placed in the corner after handing her, the glass of wine.
It was a familiar ritual at this point, one they did so often. And while Victoria told him about her day, her fellow artists at the studio, the clients, and the designs she had tattooed that day, Brendon once again wondered:
John Shen didn’t know how Brendon Park even got his phone number, but now he gets Park’s Dunkin’ orders every Friday exactly at 6AM for the following Monday.
It’s always a sugary, limited edition drink and Park always pays Shen back in exact change.
“He doesn’t drink them?” Jack asked in confusion when Shen told him. It’s been a month of drink orders and awkward hand offs, and Shen couldn’t understand what was happening.
“Nope. Never takes a sip. Just takes them up to the psychiatric level.”
“Why don’t you ask him?” Jack pressed, but Shen immediately shook his head.
“I can never ask Dr.Park that!”
“Can’t ask me what?” Brendon looked between the two doctors, annoyed that his name was being mentioned.
“Shen wants to know who the drinks are for,” Jack didn’t hesitate to throw his friend under the bus.
Brendon doesn’t react. Doesn’t blush or stutter. He just rolls his eyes, and blows a breath in annoyance.
“They’re for my Buddy.” Brendon looks between Jack and Shen, shrugging a shoulder.
“They enjoy the sugar, it’s good for them.”
Jack and Shen try to nod away his answer, but they both knew: Park the Shark was in love.
Can you do park reader who lives in his apartment building and has guide dog for whatever reason you want and the dog comes to his door when reader falls in the hallway thanks love your stories
You turn to your left and see your next-door neighbor.
Brendon Park.
He was stupidly handsome and such a nice guy.
You always see him at different times of the day because he’s a surgeon down the road at ptmc. It’s also a nice perk to live next door to a doctor, which he insisted you knock if you ever need him day or night.
“Hey Bren, going out or just getting back?”
He smiles as he leans against his door “Just getting back. A long nap is calling my name. Hopefully I’m up by lunch. Where are you and Meesh headed?”
Meesh, a nickname for Misha, is a 4 year old golden retriever. He’s also your service dog of almost three years now.
You had been diagnosed with POTS as a teenager and over the years it had gotten a little more intense. This had led to you passing out while out by yourself one day and had hit your head. Luckily a passerby called EMS and you were taken to the hospital and treated.
It happened more frequently after that and your parents decided a service dog was non-negotiable since you lived alone.
You’ve lived next to Brendon for about a year now and even though he’s a doctor, you’ve never told him of your condition. You just didn’t want to seem incapable or weak around him.
Obviously he knew you had some sort of medical condition as you had Misha but he’d never ask unless you were to bring it up first.
“We’re headed to the new farmer’s market downtown. I’ve heard good things and I've been dying to check it out.” you laugh
“Oooo there's a jam stand there that sells raspberry peach jam, here–” he pulls $40 from his wallet “Could you grab me two jars? I’ve not been able to go with my schedule lately.”
You shake your head with a smile “Bren, I’ll get them. You don’t have to pay me.”
He raises an eyebrow and holds the money out.
“Uh uh, take this and keep the rest for the troubles.”
You tap your chin dramatically “How about I’ll take it when I bring the jams back, fair deal?”
He tilts his head with a chuckle.
“You drive a hard bargain woman but okay, when you get back.”
You wave to him as you walk Meesh to the elevator.
Brendon watches you go even after the elevator doors close.
He bites his lip at the thought of seeing you again later.
Shaking his head he finally unlocks his door and walks in.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
After a whole day in the hot Pittsburgh heat, you’re finally making your way back to the apartment building.
You hold your tote bag on your shoulder, the two jars of jam securely tucked in it.
As you walk towards the elevator you notice a sign on the doors
‘Elevators out of service until tomorrow.”
“Fuck” you say quietly.
Guess you’ll be taking the stairs.
You’re on the sixth floor so it’s not terrible but the trek up there still won’t be easy.
After a few minutes you realize the air conditioning isn’t great in the stairwell and you’re starting to sweat a lot.
You end up stopping on the fourth floor to sit down for a few minutes.
You’re pretty out of breath and start to feel a little dizzy.
Just two more floors.
When you go to stand up Meesh is at your side and is trying to lay on your lap, keeping you sitting.
You then realize he’s alerting you to your fast heart rate. A potential episode starting.
Normally this is when you’d stay seated and rest a bit but you don’t. Gently you pet him while trying to catch your breath.
“I-It’s okay Meesh. Just t-two more and I’ll sit w-when we’re upstairs.”
You knew better than to ignore him and not immediately take it easy but you were almost home.
Meesh whines a little as he desperately tries to get you to stay sitting but you get up anyway and continue up the stairs.
Finally you’re only a set of stairs away from the sixth floor door. As you go to take a step, it feels like the ground is shifting. Your movements feel sluggish as you take another step.
Shit. I need to sit right now.
Your hands shake as you try to grab your phone from your purse. Meesh is back at your side nudging you and again trying to get you to sit.
Without looking you take another step but the dizziness throws you off balance, sending you tumbling down the few stairs to the platform below.
Your bag hits the ground, scattering all your belongings somewhere you can’t see.
“M-Meeshhh” you try to call for him. He looks torn to find something to help and staying to help comfort you.
Then in a split second he’s racing up the stairs to the hallway door. The inside of the door is one you push to open from both sides.
Luckily, in training Meesh, he had been taught how to open a few different types of door handles for retrieving water, medicines, and other things.
It doesn’t take long for him to figure this one out and as soon as it starts to open he’s squeezing through the opening and runs to your apartment door.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Brendon’s enjoying his post-shift nap when a noise pulls him from his sleep.
He looks up from the couch and listens quietly.
There’s a scratching sound.
Are there rats in the walls?
He goes to lay back down when he hears whining.
“What the f—“
Then there’s a loud bark that sounds close by.
He then moves from the couch and towards the front door.
Cracking it open he sees golden fur by your door.
Brendon opens the door wider and sees Meesh scratching at your door.
“Hey Meesh!” he stays where he is since he’s well aware to not touch working dogs.
Speaking of working, where were you?
He walks out further and doesn’t see you but he notices Meesh’s frantic behavior.
“Where’s your mommy buddy?”
Meesh runs to Brendon and frantically paws at Brendon and then runs down to the door leading to the stairwell.
Brendon’s eyebrows furrow as he observes the dog's behavior.
Then it hits him.
Shit.
In a training seminar he was taught that if a service dog is alone, to follow them. That some dogs were trained to find help if the handler was injured or suffering a medical emergency.
You could be in trouble.
He immediately runs to where Meesh is and pushes the door open.
Peering down the stairs, his heart stops.
You’re at the bottom of the stairs on your side looking like you passed out. Your stuff is everywhere and Meesh is trying to comfort you and lay on your chest.
“Sweetheart, hey!” He yells as he makes his way to you quickly.
He notices your labored breathing and that your eyes are barely open.
“Hey sweet girl, what happened? Are you okay?”
He gently feels around your head and takes note of a bump on the side where you likely hit your head.
“B-Bren?” you slur out a little
His hand engulfs your face as he looks you over.
“It’s okay sweetheart, we’re gonna head to ptmc right now.”
You shake your head as you try to sit up.
“Sorry baby you can’t get up. Just stay still.”
“No Bren,” you mumble “no ambulance.”
He grabs your attention, looking into your eyes.
“Hey, hey I know but you’re hurt. So either the ambulance takes you or I do.”
You squint your eyes at the pounding headache and try to curl into him “Take me please.”
——
Brendon had quickly gotten his keys and then grabbed you and Meesh, making his way to ptmc.
He wished he had a picture of Dana’s face when he had come in with you in his arms and a dog glued to your side.
The three of you were a sight to see amongst his friends and colleagues.
Quickly Robby had been called down to your room to assess you.
Brendon stayed glued to your side with your hand in his as they evaluated you, taking in all the information Robby talked about.
You had POTS?
Fuck, he wish you would’ve told him so he could’ve helped better.
—--
About an hour later you were more coherent and able to register where you were.
“Bren?” you whisper as you see him to the side of you.
Your voice gets his attention and he looks over, his hand immediately stroking the side of your face gently.
“Hey sweetheart, you feelin better?”
You take a mental inventory of how you’re feeling.
“Yeah,” you nod “what hap—Meesh! Where is h-“
Brendon hushes you softly “He’s right here.”
He motions towards the dog that’s been attached to him and head in his lap since you guys arrived.
You nod shaky as you try to calm your racing heart.
“You had an episode, POTS. Guess you already knew but they think it was likely brought on by the heat and the exertion from climbing the stairs.”
You start to recall the events in your head.
“Yeah I-I remember it. Meesh alerted to the symptoms but I just wanted to make it to the apartment first. I should’ve listened to him. I’m sorry to drag you into all of this.”
Brendon squeezes your hand “Hey it’s okay. I’m glad I was home to help. But I’m gonna give you my number and next time the elevator is out or you don’t feel good, you use it and call me. I don’t care if I’m asleep or not home. You call me and I’ll come get you, okay?”
You shake your head “Bren, I can’t d-“
“Promise me sweetheart?” his face pleading with you.
You contemplate it and then nod, squeezing his hand.
“Okay, I promise “
He brings your hand to his mouth and places a kiss there.
“Perfect.”
You look around “Where’s my bag?”
Brendo turns and takes it off the back of his chair.
“I gathered what I saw on the stairs earlier but if something’s missing, tell me and I’ll go back and look for it baby.”
Rummaging through the bag you pull out what you were looking for, holding them out to him.
“You really got them?” his grin gets wider as he carefully takes the jars of raspberry peach jam from you.
Depressed!Reader with Support!Buddy!Brendon is a site to behold. You, timid and unable to hold eye contact for longer than a minute. Brendon, who stares people down with a glare so cold, it makes you shiver.
“Eat.” He demands.
“No.” You reply.
A pause, then Brendon rolls his eyes and sighs.
“Please?” Brendon pushes your full plate towards you again.
“My lunch is short as is, I don’t have much time to eat myself. Do me a favor and just eat.” Brendon points a stern finger at you in warning, before taking a huge bite out of his sandwich.
You blink. Stare for a breath before conceding. You take a small nibble of a carrot.
Brendon takes notice, and he praises the small bite. “Good. Again.”
You raise an eyebrow at him in question, and Brendon tries to look annoyed but you catch a smile on his lips as he scowls.
“Please? You brat.” Brendon’s curt plea makes you laugh, and Brendon likes the sound of it.
pairing - brendon park x f!reader
wc - 1.95k
summary - three weeks into working as a nurse at the pitt, you meet brendon park for the first time. unfortunately, no one warns you of his shark teeth before you step close enough to be bit.
cw - i don't think there are any. reader is a sweetheart, but tends to be an anxious rambler. i tried to lean into canon park, so he's lowkey absent and clipped in his words, but i thought this might be an interesting one to write, haha.
a/n - pls notice that park is cinnamon and is spice and she is sugar and is sweet 😫 happy day four of park the shark week! this was the hardest day for me so far, but i hope you all still enjoy it, hehe.
shark divider from @sisterlucifergraphics
You hurry into the emergency department as fast as possible, juggling four trays of baked goods stacked as high as your head. The scent of cinnamon and sugar fills the air, hitting the nurse’s station before your coworkers even spot you struggling to maneuver in the busy space.
Princess rushes over, and you can see her grin even through the stack of dessert. “I could marry you,” she says, grabbing two of the trays and falling into step beside you.
You hear Dana sigh with exaggerated resignation, and it’s not long before she’s at your side. “What did you do now?”
You bite your bottom lip, hiding a smile. “I might have made cinnamon rolls, and the recipe might have gotten a little bit out of hand.”
Whitaker’s head lifts the second he hears the words cinnamon rolls fall from your lips, and you don’t miss the way he and Victoria both stand up from their charting immediately. They hurry over, and the man looks like he’s in awe as he asks, “Are they for us?”
“Who else would they be for?” You question, heading toward the staff lounge to display the treats. “I can’t eat forty-eight cinnamon rolls by myself.”
“You made forty-eight cinnamon rolls?” Emma gasps, her hand squeezing your shoulder gently. You’d fallen into an easy friendship with the girl in the past three weeks of working at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. The first day you’d spent in the unit was full of anxiety, and you’d been grateful to see someone like Emma, so close in age to you, fitting in the emergency room seamlessly, despite her chipper nature. It had made you relax, particularly when she’d complimented the pink ribbon you’d tied in a bow around your ponytail before work.
“Yeah…” you breathe, “I probably went overboard, but I wanted everyone to be able to have some. I had a lot of extra ingredients for the cream cheese frosting anyway, so I thought I might as well go big.”
You stop in front of the table in the center of the lounge and gently place the trays of cinnamon rolls down, careful not to jostle them. Dana stacks the extra boxes off to the side and chuckles when she finds the tiny sheet of ingredients, running her thumb along one of the little sketches of vines you’d decorated the edges with. “You made labels?”
Nodding, you reply, “I don’t want people to eat it if they’re allergic. Or not eat it because they’re scared they might be.”
She clicks her tongue, but her smile is fond when she murmurs, “Never change, kid.”
The emergency department is busy. Busy enough that you’ve had to readjust the ponytails securing your braids three times by eleven. Busy enough that you barely have time to use the restroom. Busy enough that you don’t notice Mel King walking up to you, holding a cinnamon roll in her hand, a beaming smile on her face as she says, “They’re shaped like flowers!”
You giggle, watching as she takes her first bite.
You’d brought baked goods to work a few times, and it warmed your heart to watch your coworkers find joy in them. Sure, you enjoyed baking and would do it either way, but it was nice to know that the things you were making could at least have a tiny impact on the people around you, especially when work could be overwhelming and exhausting.
The rest of the morning passes by in a whirlwind: triage, trauma, and charting biting at your heels when you dare pause for a break. You haven’t found time to check in on the cinnamon rolls in the staff lounge, but you can’t help but feel satisfied each time one of your coworkers passes you and mutters something about the dessert.
By five, the mood in the department shifts, as if you’ve entered the silent but deadly eye of a hurricane. Perlah appears at your elbow as you stock a supply cart while talking to Earl about sandwiches, her face stern. She doesn’t bother with a greeting, instead opting to pull you towards bay eleven.
“We need an extra set of hands in here,” she mutters under her breath, her stride fast and focused. “Robby’s in there with ortho. You need to stay on top of this one. Keep sharp. Listen to what the surgeon is asking for, take notes on the chart, yeah?”
You don’t have time to look at the chart on the tablet she thrusts into your hands before she pushes the door open, tugging you gently into the heavy atmosphere of the medical bay.
You stare at the man in front of you, circling the hospital room like a predator watching its prey. He’s huge, surely several inches over six feet, and you don’t miss the strength in his arms as he crosses them over his chest, the dark blue fabric of his scrubs stretching to accommodate the muscle.
Everyone is silent, and you join them in the quiet, instead deciding to ponder the reason Perlah had pulled you into the room when you hadn’t had anything to do with this case.
Truthfully, it didn’t seem like a second nurse was needed, but it was only your third week on the job, and you weren’t going to make any waves by questioning the nurses who had been working at the hospital for nearly as long as you’d been alive.
The man, Dr. Park, as Perlah had muttered quietly to you when the surgeon had turned his back on the two of you, spoke confidently to Robby, your attending nodding in agreement. You only caught pieces of his words: surgery tomorrow, not urgent, something that sounds like “send her upstairs.”
The room seems to breathe when he exits, a soft chatter picking up again, but your eyes stay trained on him. You hesitate, looking towards the hallway that leads upstairs, to the staff lounge, then back to the man walking down the corridor.
Dr. Park is nearly out of your sight as he begins to round the corner, but you seem to surprise him when you murmur, “Hi!”
He turns on his heels, looks at you, eyes trained on your face in a way that is entirely too intimidating to keep your voice steady while you say, “I’m sorry to interrupt you in the middle of the workday.”
He’s so still. Eerily still and serious, as if he doesn’t move unless there is a purpose. You shift your weight, uncomfortably aware of the stark contrast between the two of you.
You’re in your hospital-issued dark-grey scrubs, but your undershirt is a lavender that matches the shade of your stethoscope. Your hair is pulled into braids, the bottoms secured with a tiny white ribbon, and despite your enjoyment of the outfit, you can’t help but feel a bit childish when the gaze of the orthopedic surgeon falls upon you.
Still, you give a soft smile. “I just wanted to let you know that there are cinnamon rolls in the staff lounge if you want any!” He is silent, and it does nothing to help your nerves. He’s so close, so large, so handsome.
It makes you feel sick.
“I made them yesterday night, and...and there is an ingredient sheet too, in case you’re allergic to anything and want to check. I don’t want anyone to get sick, of course. Though I realize that we’re in a hospital and if you’re going to have anaphylaxis you might as well have it here, and-”
It takes Park interrupting you for the rambling to stop. “I don’t really eat dessert.”
He’s not loud. He isn’t cruel; he’s just…flat in tone. He speaks so matter-of-factly that it sounds like he’s telling you the sky is blue. “I’ll have to pass.”
“Oh, okay,” you nod, swallowing. Your smile falters when you murmur, “No worries.”
He gives you a tiny nod, and you scramble to add, “You can take some for your team, if you’d like?”
God, you feel like a bumbling idiot. What the fuck is wrong with you?
His eyes flick briefly toward the staff break room before falling back on you. “Have a good evening, nurse…” he looks down at your ID badge and adds your name with a tentative twitch of his lips
“You too, Dr. Park.”
He doesn’t look back when he leaves. The doors to the stairs close behind him, and you feel like your tennis shoes are stuck to the ground.
“Oof,” Whitaker mutters, appearing next to you out of thin air.
“What?” You breathe, looking up at him. He looks exhausted, though you can’t blame him. It has been a long day, and with only two hours left in the shift, everyone seems to be dragging their feet, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the night shift.
He nudges your shoulder, and you frown, chewing on your bottom lip. “You okay? You look sad.”
“Do I actually?” You mumble, walking back to central with the resident doctor at your side. Your hands fiddle absentmindedly with the ends of your stethoscope.
“You absolutely look sad.” Dennis shrugs, pressing his lips together in a familiar expression that brings the corners of your lips up just a hair.
“I just thought he’d like a cinnamon roll.” You scratch the back of your neck at how ridiculous you feel. “I wasn't trying to be weird or anything.”
“You weren’t.” He assures.
Dana walks over, throwing her arm around your shoulder and tugging you into her side. It feels motherly, and you thank the universe for her, for her being the one to lead you through this stage of your life. The job, the department, all of it. “What happened to my girl?”
Whitaker points towards the doors of bay eleven, the patient being tended to by Frank and Perlah as they prep her to be transported to the orthopedic rooms. “Park.”
The charge nurse groans, giving your arm a tight squeeze that calms your dejectedness more than it should. “What did he do now?”
“He doesn’t eat dessert apparently,” you grumble, rolling your eyes at the thought of it. Who doesn’t eat sweets? Surely one can live a balanced life and still indulge.
“That’s it?”
“He said it kind of…” Dennis searches, his hands waving around like you noticed he so often did. “Shark-ish.”
“Nobody warned you, did they, sugar?” Dana sighs, reaching over the desk to grab her water.
“About what?” It seems like every day in the emergency department comes with new information to be learned. You expected it, sure; starting your first nursing job was bound to bring new experiences, but not to this extent.
“Dr. Brendon Park. Park the Shark.” Whitaker answers, “Known to be terrifying.”
“He wasn’t terrifying,” you chuckle. Eerily composed, yes, but terrifying wouldn’t be the word that would come to your mind. “He was really serious, though.”
“He denies the existence of joy in the hospital,” Dennis responds. Dana laughs into her water, and you let their teasing be a balm to the disappointment of meeting the surgeon.
Lying back in bed, you sigh, finally feeling relaxed after your twelve-hour shift. You were off tomorrow, with plans to sleep in and maybe go shopping for a new book as a treat – if you successfully manage to clean your apartment first, that is – and you felt giddy at the idea of being free.
You’re musing over that potentially being the ultimate experience of adulthood when your phone buzzes, notifying you of a text message. You click on it, eyes furrowing as you read the words.
How the hell did Park the Shark manage to get your phone number, and why was he messaging you at nine-thirty at night?
ok so this morning i put out a bunch of ideas (like four lmao) that i had for brendon park and a sunshine! reader and it seemed like everyone likes them equally which yay!!!!! so now i get to choose which to publish first but i think im gonna start w the second one. which only really matters to the ppl who saw the post but whateves. hope u all enjoy!!!!
the first time that victoria jivadi met brendon ‘the shark’ park, she thought he might fire her. and while she knew that he didn’t quite have the authority to do so, when she answered his sarcastic musings on whether they should keep the leg attached to the body incorrectly, she figured he might find a way to. ‘no, intern, there’s an infection. sure we can keep the leg, it’ll look great in his casket. robinavitch what are you teaching them down here?’ she thought that she was going to die an unemployed doctor.
she knows that he is cruel and impatient. she knows that he is large and imposing. and she knows that he’s so fucking rich (he drives a porsche to work everyday and he’s a surgeon duh)! which is why she is so suprised to see him working? and not at the hospital.
she had finally convinced the rest of the pittlings to go out to the farmers market with her. they had a rare saturday off and even if they’re too broke to afford anything there, it’s still a treat. and they’re all so shocked to see park, who will carelessly plow through med students if they’re in his way, who will snark at their chief attending, and who they have never seen smile.
what’s even more shocking though, is what he is doing. he’s tucked underneath a pink and white stripped tent, still far too large to stand comfortably so they see his shoulders hunched. his face is relaxed and his eyebrows are no longer furrowed. his hair is mussed, like someone has spent the day carding their hands through it, and his eyes are alight. he’s wrapping a bouquet of flowers in brown paper with the careful precision of a surgeon.
and you’re there. floating around what is evidently your little stand, with a long flowy white dress on. your hair is pulled back and away from your face and god it’s like your glowing. your eyes are bright and your cheeks are flushed and your lips are glossed and if the sunflowers near you were still on their stalks they would have faced you for light instead of the sunflowers near.
when the sunlight hits you, teeth gleam in its rays and the fat fucking rock on your ring finger nearly illuminates the street. after brendon finishes handing the wrapped bouquet to the costumer and you finish gathering the cash from them, you lean back against brendon’s chest and he wraps a thick bicep around you. he kisses the top of your head and victoria doesn’t think she’ll be able to be frightened of his again (this assumption is proved wrong in a mere weeks time).
park was looking around the market when he made eye contact with whitaker. whitaker looked away quickly and his eyes grew wide as if he hoped the ground would swallow him whole. ‘jivadi, he saw me. he saw us. oh my god. i think im going to need to quit’
they all watched as park’s jaw rolled and his shoulders stiffened. he was not ashamed of you. rather, he had seen what the hospital could do to people, how abbot spends his few days off getting shot at for therapy. how robinavitch’s summer plans included driving himself off a cliff. he didn’t want you involved in that. when he thinks of you, he wants to thing of saturday’s like these, full of flowers and sunshine and love. he turns away from his coworkers.
on the next time that brendon park is forced down to the pitt, he brings along three gift cards to a coffee stand which sets up next to you. before leaving, he makes sure to spot jivadi and hand them to her. ‘i hope you haven’t said anything.’ his eyes are shark like again, narrowed and dark when he looks at her. his hair is gelled back and jivadi stammers quickly to free herself from his jaws. ‘no! no, i haven’t doctor park! i wouldn’t say anything!’ he grunts his approval and stalks back to the fourth floor.
she makes a mental note to tell trinity to keep her mouth shut and hand her and whitaker the gift cards. it seems like saturdays at the farmers market are off the table in the inevitable future, maybe the museum would be fun.
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