flora ‧₊˚.༄ she/her , nineteen , uni student , canadian & brazillian , avid pitt watcher & jack abbot's controversially young gf , overuser of italics , 5sos' #1 fan , pet rat owner , west wing fanatic , pinterest addict , occasional hockey watcher & seth jarvis thinker , constant daydreamer , etc ...
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📄 writing for; the pitt, chicago pd , steve harrington
🕐 most recent: should've [m. robinavitch x reader]
ok reporting back 2 days after seeing ready or not… unfortunately I was very attracted to him throughout that movie and ESPECIALLY at the end im not sure what that says about me…
a/n: a scenario involving robby and dogs has been calling my name for so long now, it is officially time my friends. i just know robby needs this BAD. and i volunteer as tribute!!!!!!!
warnings: doggies!!!!!!!, fluff <3333, gn!reader, reader volunteers at a therapy dog organization, reader is early 20s, age gap, robby needs therapy (obvi), brief mention of death
the pedes room smells faintly like disinfectant. the fluorescent lights make the drawings on the wall pop against the white glow. the forest scene is comforting…well the most it can get in a hospital. foxes, moose, beavers smiling at you. bear sniffs the wall as he walks in, eyeing the grizzly bear painted beside him, giving a little sneeze as he begins to wag his tail at it. you can’t help but giggle at his attentiveness to his surroundings, “come on, bubs.”
you kneel down on a makeshift carpet in the right corner, while the other volunteers and pups settle down around the squared room. bear slumps beside you, tongue playfully sliding out to lick your hand. you smile at the ninety-five pound gentle giant, who makes it his mission to remind you how much he enjoys you being assigned as his handler. he's a long-haired german shepherd, a breed you always dreamed of owning as a kid, and he’s the biggest sweetheart you could ever imagine.
you’re at another pittsburgh hospital, your second this week. the team always starts in the quietest, heaviest places first.
hospice. oncology. pediatrics. the wings where comfort matters most.
then, as the day settles, you make your way down through the rest of the hospital, giving nurses and doctors a chance to breathe between shifts. which is how you end up sitting cross-legged on the floor of the PTMC emergency department.
bear’s big head rests in your lap while a little boy in spider-man pajamas brushes him with intense concentration. his father is unconscious a few rooms down, machines doing the breathing for him, and his mother had asked if her son could sit with the dogs for a bit—she had whispered something about “just needing five minutes”. for both of them, really.
“good job, buddy,” you murmur, voice soft and steady. “he likes that. see his ears? that means he’s relaxed.” bear thumps his tail twice like he’s confirming it. the little boy smiles, fingers scratching deeper into the back of the pup’s ears.
you’re wearing your volunteer badge. a simple sweater, jeans, nothing dramatic. but you look warm, approachable, bright in that quiet and easy way that brings people in.
across the hall, dana is leaning against the nurses’ station. “robinavitch!” she barks, thick pittsburgh accent cutting through the ER. “get your ass up here and pet a damn dog. you look like hell.”
robby doesn’t even look up from the chart he’s pretending to edit through. “i’m fine.”
“you ain’t fine. you’re cranky and you scared a med student earlier. now go.” she orders, finger pointing towards the door of the pedes room, hidden in the upper corner of the ER. a few nurses snicker, as he sighs, hands dragging down his face, fingers sliding under the glasses perched on his structured nose. with a few more grumbles, he finally shoves off the desk.
“five minutes,” he mutters, following the trail of nurses who return looking lighter than when they left. lips pursed as he turns to look at dana, who smiles at her persuasiveness.
he doesn’t expect much and he definitely doesn’t expect you.
he steps into the room mid-afternoon, the ER hitting a temporary lull—less machines beeping, less blood on the floor, less chaos. there are two other volunteers rotating dogs between the staff and patients. and then he sees the both of you.
you look up at the sound of the door, and you smile at him. warm.
“hi,” you say, “you wanna say hi to bear?”
robby forgets how to speak for a full 10 seconds.
bear, the angel he is, lifts himself up and immediately trots towards the man in front him. like he’s been waiting all day for this exact grumpy doctor. robby crouches automatically, big hands coming down to rub his fluffy neck. his floppy ears bounced in the process.
nurses and residents flood in behind robby, making soft cooing noises as they lay their eyes on their options for tail-wags and wet sloppy kisses.
“seems he likes you, dr. robby.” dana teases, hand patting his shoulder.
“of course he does,” trinity whispers to samira, “they have the same sad eyes.” mohan smiles as they both crouch down to greet a goldendoodle and a chocolate lab on the opposite corner.
bear begins to lean into robby, acting like he’s known him forever, fully pushing him to the ground near you. his excitement is clearly peaked, mouth enthusiastically panting as his eyes follow the man’s large frame. robby decides to take a seat beside you, “jesus,” he mutters under his breath. “you’re a big guy, huh?”
you move to brush off the fur on your jeans, the corner of your eye catching the attending sitting beside you. the grey in his beard is more pronounced up close, the ends of his hair fluff slightly upwards, faint lines at the corners of his eyes that speak more of squinting at monitors than smiling, his nose cutting a clean silhouette when he turns toward bear. he smells faintly of coffee and something distinctly and alluringly masculine.
“he’s four,” you begin to explain, “certified therapy dog. he’s very gentle, and he can sense stress.” you smile as you playfully tease, testing the waters.
robby scoffs faintly. “oh yeah?”
bear nudges his chest with his big wet nose. you tilt your head a little, continuing to study robby in his hoodie and scrubs, noticing the exhaustion etched into his shoulders.
robby feels the way you match bear’s slow breathing without even realizing it. a sense of peace slowly flowing over him.
“you must be having a hard shift,” you say gently, and that’s what does it.
not the dog.
not dana watching with a smug grin as she gives ear rubs to the one-year-old lab pup staring up at her lovingly.
you.
you don’t say it with pity, you say it like an observation. like you’ve already decided he doesn’t have to perform for you, like you’re already prepared to hold the answer or let him keep it.
and something in him—something tight and braced—eases.
he shrugs, softly. “it’s an ER. it’s always hard.”
you nod like you understand, like that’s enough.
“then you definitely need him,” you say, scooting closer to reach for bear’s head. “he’s very good at reminding people to breathe.”
robby glances at you. there’s something about how calm you are, how soothing you sound, how warm it feels to sit beside you.
“is that so?” he asks quietly.
“yeah.” you smile again, softer this time. “try matching his breathing. in through your nose…and out slow.”
he almost laughs at that. almost.
but bear is pressed into him, cozy and solid and alive, tail swaying as his big brown eyes waits for his demonstration. so he exhales. slow. robby’s large palm running through his soft sable-coat, a little more relaxed.
you watch his shoulders drop just half an inch.
“good boy” you murmur, instinctively. the words leave your mouth before you can stop them. you freeze. your stomach drops immediately, heat crawling up your neck in seconds.
robby goes rigid almost as quick as you. your words slipping under his guard before he can process it. the phrase sends a strange, quiet shiver down his spine. while his brain tries to dissect the way the words hit him like a bat.
“i—sorry. that’s what i say to him,” you ramble quickly, gesturing to bear, who flops his head backwards to give you a silly open smile.
his throat works once before he clears it, head dipping lower to bear before looking quickly back at you. almost embarrassed now, trying to cover the pink in his ears. “s’fine” he replies, small smile creeping at the ends of his lips. his voice was suddenly rougher than before.
dana watches closely from the door. “well, i’ll be damned.” she whispers.
a few nurses linger near the glass, peering inside with curious eyes, smiling in that way people do when something unexpectedly good happens. there’s quiet nudging, subtle elbowing, the kind of gossip that comes from affection rather than mischief.
“i guess the dogs do the trick.” perlah whispers.
“yeah, sure,” princess replies, “if it’s not the cutie beside him.”
“either way put it on the schedule,” kim chips in, “therapy dog thursdays.”
robby's hand moves slower in bear’s fur, his breathing evening, his mind as quiet as it can get in here. his voice lowers, “you volunteer here often?” he asks, not looking at you.
“this is my first time at this hospital,” you admit. “i only started a couple months ago. i graduated last year and figured i should do something useful while i look for work.”
that makes him glance at you again. assessing, curious. “you just finished university?”
he studies you properly now. not just your face, but the way you exist in the space. calm. unhurried. like you’re not intimidated by the noise of this place. the way bear keeps checking in with you like you’re the steady one in the room.
you notice the weight of his attention and lift your eyes to meet it. the way the air shifts, subtle but present. when you turn back to him, something about the contrast between his rough edges and your quiet ease feels…charged. for the first time, neither of you looks away.
“yeah, penn state. just moved back to pittsburgh.”
“well, you’re good at this.” robby notes, without hesitation.
you shrug a little. “i like making people feel better, any way i can.”
god.
it shouldn’t mean anything, really. he does that for a living, that’s kind of the whole job. but you aren’t talking about medicine, or fixing, or saving. you’re talking about sitting on the floor and reminding someone to breathe and he realizes, with quiet reluctance, that you’ve already done that for him.
he would normally shut down the helping hand, but if it means feeling like this—a little lighter, a little less braced—he might be willing to try it. just once.
robby clears his throat, scratching the back of bear’s ear. “you got any memorable stories so far?” he asks, nodding toward the dog staring back at him. “with this big guy?”
you bite your lip as you recall all the faces you’ve had the privilege of meeting so far. “there was a hospice patient last month,” you begin, “he hadn’t moved in days. the nurses weren’t sure if he was even coherent anymore.”
bear shifts against you, and you rest your hand on his back absentmindedly. you smile, small but genuine, “when we walked in, he reached for bear. just barely, but he did. gave his fur a few strokes too.”
robby watches you closely as you speak. “he passed later that night. the nurse told us he went with a smile.”
his hand stills against bear’s head. he’s seen hundreds of endings. most of them bleak, grim. but the idea of someone reaching out and choosing warmth in their final moments, sits differently.
“huh,” he murmurs quietly. he doesn’t say what he’s thinking, but he wishes more of his patients got to leave like that.
bear suddenly sits up, shoving his snout towards robby’s face, smothering the poor man with huge slobbery kisses wherever he can reach. everyone begins chuckling at the admirable sight, robby dodging his head only a slight, smiling and closing his eyes as he ruffles the shepherd's mane.
“jesus— alright, alright,” he mutters, a bright chuckle shaking his shoulders as bear’s tongue nearly takes out his eye.
“guess he’s chosen his favorite,” one of the other volunteers teases, knowing full well about the pup’s big heart. so it shouldn’t be a surprise if everyone at the organization tells you they absolutely adore bear.
dana snorts. “about damn time someone knocked him off his high horse.”
robby shoots her a glare, but there’s no heat in it. you laugh—soft and embarrassed—tugging bear over to you as much as you can. but the stubborn little bugger won’t budge.
he knows what he’s doing, and he knows robby needs every minute of it.
bear always gets his job done.
“he does that,” you explain, cheeks a little warm, lip caught in between your teeth. “he can tell when someone needs it.”
robby’s smile drops an inch, watching the way bear licks his hand. “smart dog.”
there’s a beat of quiet. the ER feeling far away for once.
“thank you,” he says finally.
you blink. “for what?”
robby scratches under bear’s collar, chocolate eyes flicking up to yours. “for bringing him.” he knows it isn’t just you. there’s an organization. schedules. approvals by departments and boards. but you’re the one sitting here, with him.
you’re the one who handed him the leash.
“well,” you say gently, “we’ll be here another few hours. so you can always come back if you need another reminder to breathe.” shyly meeting his gaze.
the corner of his mouth lifts. “i might take you up on that.” something in you pathetically flutters at the eye contact, at the hint of a smile, at the thought he’ll come back and maybe he’ll enjoy it.
dana’s phone rings by the door, the sharp tone cutting through the peaceful quiet. bear’s head snaps up, ears flopping dramatically toward the sound. robby huffs a quiet laugh at the display.
“alright casanova, break’s over. head trauma rolling in, ETA 5 minutes.” dana voices, making her way back to the sea of chaos.
he stands slowly, as the door opens, the sounds and sights of the ED wasting no time to pull him back in. bear whines like he’s offended by his departure.
robby rubs his ears one more time, “s’okay buddy.”
you begin to push yourself up as well, brushing your palms against your jeans, and then his hand closes around your forearm.
warm. solid.
his grip is gentle but steady, fingers wrapping almost fully around you as he helps you to your feet like it’s the most natural thing in the world. your breathing can’t help but stutter. the contact lingers half a second longer than necessary and you feel it everywhere. then—impulsively—he lightly squeezes your forearm.
brief. intentional.
“i’ll be back,” he mutters, dropping his grip to scratch bear’s chin. “save a spot, okay?” he requests to the pup, but his eyes flick to yours when he says it.
you chuckle again, and he feels it somewhere inconveniently deep.
as he walks out, the rest of the staff follow. samira steps closer once he’s gone, offering you a small, sincere smile. “we really appreciate what you do,” she says quietly. “we all need it.”
her gaze shifts down the hallway where robby moves with ease, despite it all. “some more than others.”
you glance towards the same direction, catching the last view of his figure. bear leans against your leg, suddenly lonely but unconditionally content. “thank you,” you say softly. “i think so, too.”
down the hall, robby absolutely plans on coming back, and not just for bear.
HIIIII BESTIEEE would you write something with Robby’s sister reader and Brendon park? Likeeee I need this I think. Reader is an ER Dr like Robby and her and park are secretly dating but Robby picks up on it when he comes down to assess the leg.
➻ pairing: Dr. Brendon Park x Female!Robinavitch!Reader
➻ summary: Okay- so you’re dating the Ortho god behind your brother’s back. It’s not like he’s so innocent with his revolving door of situationship fuck buddies.
➻ warnings: 18+ MDNI, p in v sex, leaving marks on bodies like you’re not grown adults with professional jobs, secret dating, probably inaccurate medical knowledge, oral (f receiving), calling Robby out on his self sabotaging, angst
➻ author’s note: Up to you how you’re Robby’s sister- adoption, foster, blood- idk man he’s just protective over you and calls you his sister okay? 🎵 “Scotty Robby doesn’t know that Fiona his sister and me do it in my van every Sunday”🎵
“Ah! Fuck- Brendon,” shaky breaths leaving your body, cut off moans when he slides into you a little harder than before- all with his teeth nipping at your neck with need. Grazing over your collarbone with a little too much force that leaves you gasping- more out of frustration than anything because you know he does it on purpose. Park leaves obvious marks on your body that you have to hide with a hoodie or shirt under your scrub top- sucks along your collarbone and the swell of your breasts that sometimes peek out from the ‘v’ of your scrub top. Asshole.
But that was early this morning, after Park woke you up out of your sleep to remind you why you put up with him in the first place- right now you’re asking the nurse to call surgery down to check on the patient for replantation after you’ve stabilized and sedated her. “Mm, let’s try a clamp and direct location instead,” you speak up after Robby tells Whitaker throw a few figure eights around the bleeders. “Park prefers his limbs with less chance of necrosis or desensitization of the tissue,” you shrug- like it was no big deal and you didn’t go over Robby’s head but you’re his ER attending so he nods when Whitaker gives him a look, telling him to do what you said. It wasn’t the way you took over but it was the way you said it- like it wasn’t about the bleeders but it was about Park and it was only Robby who really paid attention to it.
“Since when do we care what Park prefers?” Mumbling almost, barely loud enough for you to hear it let alone anyone else but it’s his tone that you catch. Fuck. That’s too personal isn’t it? You shouldn’t know that Brendon has a preference let alone care but-
“I’m just making sure the limb gets replanted favorably- and not trying to get chewed out by the shark,” another shrug- not looking away from Whitaker’s work and nodding when he did a solid tie off. You hope Robby buys it- hope he doesn’t see the way you’re actively trying to not look at him or the way you bite your lip because you can feel the marks Brendon left only a few hours ago. Angry bites along your inner thighs when he woke you up with his mouth at what- 3 am? Woke up needy and hard and aching and wanting you. At least he gave you a little treat before fucking you open- tongue and lips attacking your pussy as gently as he could but that’s not by much with him.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You didn’t want to hide your relationship from Robby but somewhere along the way he just didn’t drop the protective older brother role- or he always has something negative to say about anyone you date. And you didn’t expect to date Park- honestly it just happened. You were the only one in the ER that didn’t piss him off and mostly stayed out of his way- and when you were in his way, you weren’t fucking incompetent. You were brilliant- smart and fucking gorgeous and of course liked you- how could he not? You didn’t shrink under his gaze and you answered him without stuttering like some still did- he was intrigued. And really it was supposed to be just sex at first.
He listened to you and sought you out and showed up one day at the bar after a long shift- having been invited by Garcia and only agreeing when he heard you were going to be there. Say in the corner all fucking night- watching you and waiting you out. Everyone left one by one- leaving you and the shark alone. “Surprised you came,” you smiled- taking a seat next to him after you promised Robby you’d leave soon. Immediately he opened up- turning his body towards you and even fucking smiled. You spent another hour or two just talking- laughing even because he was funny and charming and how could you say no to those soft blue eyes?
Maybe it was the alcohol- maybe it was the fact that you kept thinking about his arms and how easily he could pick you and fuck you against the wall which he did that night but maybe it was the fact that you liked him too. He was smart and cute and sure a bit of an arrogant asshole but what surgeon isn’t? That night you laid in his big arms- fingers drawing little shapes into his skin when he finally asked you to go out with him. How could you say no? Amazing sex and someone who surprisingly has decent conversation, contrary to popular belief about Park the Shark- he’s funny as fuck and makes you laugh with his snarky comments and snide jokes. And he honestly didn’t care when you said you’d have to keep this on the down low- not wanting to hear Robby drag Brendon’s name through the mud even if he actually respects the guy. Park wasn’t about putting his personal life out at work anyone so he agreed.
“Park,” Robby’s voice cut the tension from your mind- nodding at your secret boyfriend when he walked in to check on the patient for surgery. Only Robby swears he caught something when Brendon passed behind you- a hand on your waist. Gently holding you still while he passes through to ask about the patient and the limb and you didn’t even register that he did it at first- he always touches you or holds you when you’re by yourselves but at work? You hardly cross paths and when he does come down for a consult, it’s usually Robby who deals with the surgical team. But you didn’t realize what he did- his hand wasn’t foreign but a welcomed invitation only not at work. But Robby did realize it. Robby did see Brendon put his heavy hand on your hip to move behind you while he asks his questions.
You watch Brendon move around the room- eyeing the patient, the scans, the limb, and the amputation. He doesn’t even look at you. When you’re both at work you don’t really mix much and even then when you do- he doesn’t get bothered. Or at least he doesn’t let it show- doesn’t openly smirk at the faint bruise he left in your wrists when he pinned you to the mattress, doesn’t smile when he passes by you and smells his body wash on you because you took a shower with him that morning, he doesn’t say anything about the hoodie you have on actually his.
“I’m not blind,” he tells Whitaker after he’s bent down- eyeing the leg of the patient.
“Brendon,” you warn. You warn him- almost chastising him for being mean to your intern the same way you chastise him for eating all your snacks after he said he doesn’t eat sugar or when he listens to his music too loud at 7 am. When his eyes snap up to where you are from behind Whitaker and Ogilvie they soften for a second. No one else sees it- the two kids in front of you don’t know him well enough to know that look. Robby can’t see it- but he fucking hears the way you say Park’s name. His name. Too personally like you’re friends- not Park, not Shark, or ortho- Brendon.
“I’ll book the OR,” walking- no strutting away almost. You feel the tension- not from Park but from Robby. Whose eyes were narrowed at the interaction- but called away before he could ask you anything. Not until later- after the stress has piled onto him and everything in the fucking ER has decided to go wrong on his watch and-
“How long have you been fucking Park?” Point blank- no coddling you when he asks. Oh? Is this a problem now? Because it’s your fucking business and you’ve been trying hide this from him and haven’t even been able to enjoy your fucking relationships because Robby still treats you like a child.
“Longer than you’ve been fucking Noelle,” low blow, cheap shot and you know it. “Or longer than you’ve been fucking that nurse in the ICU, Casey? Lacey? And longer than the derm nurse before her,” because Robby is the last fucking person to be shaming you. Using bodies and other women as a form of self harm and self sabotaging his relationships- while you’ve been doing more than fucking Brendon. You’ve been dating him- have slept on his chest or on his back because he’s so fucking warm. You’ve dragged him to farmers markets and museums and- he holds your hand. He makes you laugh and smile and yes it’s amazing sex but he lets you pick the music in the car and he washes your back when you take a shower together and he uses all your fucking unnecessary skin care products and-
You love him.
You haven’t said that yet, but you love Brendon Park.
And you’re fucking sick of the look Robby gives you now- almost disgusted with you and how you’re conducting yourself. How you’re eye fucking Park in his ER- how you’re throwing yourself at the nearest man who will give you attention because you’re lonely.
“I’m lonely?” Some fucking nerve, because you have someone in your bed who knows you. And who you let in- Robby won’t even let you in anymore. And he’s telling you that you’re using Park to be less lonely and maybe at first you were- but now you’re not lonely. Now you have a boyfriend who buys you your favorite lattes even though he drinks his coffee black because you know he takes sips when you aren’t looking, who wears a shirt or hoodie before giving it to you because he knows you like when it smells like him- who loves you too. He won’t say it- not yet. But he does. So you don’t care what Robby has to say- not anymore.
i am 99% this is gender neutral but im out of practice writing gn so if you don’t think it is, lmk so i can change the warnings! 18+ SMUT, lots of shark allusions, i cant stop thinking about park, etc etc
If you are receiving this, you have been selected as a trial participant in the hospital’s new Attending Feedback Program. For the next 12 months, you will be paired with a cross departmental attending partner that you interact with regularly and give monthly feedback on their performance.
Below is the name of your randomly selected partner:
Brendon Park, Orthopedic Surgery
Month 1 Feedback form is available here, and is due in three weeks. Please reach out to [email protected] with any questions.
Gloria Underwood
Chief Medical Officer, PTMC
You stared at your inbox in disbelief. This is what you got for taking a rare thirty seconds in the ED to check your email instead of doing something useful, like wolfing down a granola bar.
You were now expected to give monthly feedback on the one man you couldn’t stand in surgery. You had an understanding with Garcia, actually liked Walsh, approached Shamsi with respectful caution, but Park? The stupid man with a stupider nickname, his canines slightly longer than an average person that made your head spin a little whenever they flashed.
You’d learned to stay out of his way in the past year as a new attending. To not comment on his rudeness to your med students, his inability to teach residents. Everyone was either perfect or a failure, and since the first was impossible, it seemed the general public fell into the second group.
Then there was…the other part.
The first month mistake. The dive bar near the hospital, the inability for you to remember anyone’s faces or names, let alone their positions in the hospital. The three- no, four gin and tonics, the shitty bar speakers, the cigarette break outside, the borrowed lighter from the man you thought was a stranger, and his all-too-familiar purple scrubs he’d donned that next morning, with a hungover you in his bed. The bite marks on your thighs that took far too long to stop aching.
Like you said, a mistake.
A feedback form was fine. It required mere observation, nothing more. It’s not like you got frequently brutal ortho cases that Park the Shark deigned to come down for. You barely saw the man more than once a week.
Two weeks later, you were regretting that thought. Four. Four overeager chemical engineering Pitt undergrads versus one lab experiment gone wrong. Multiple fingers in plastic bags and three unlucky toes from the one man who’d ignored lab shoe protocol.
“Present.” The trauma doors opened with a bang, Park walking through with his gloves already half on. “Ogilvie,” you said, spurring the newly minted intern into action.
“Some sort of chemical reaction, they’ve refused to say what they used. Five fingers across three patients, three toes from the last. Bagged and on ice, but there are suspected glass fragments. We haven’t sorted through all of them yet.”
“You called me down here without fully evaluating the patient?” Asked Park, his annoyance evident. “We called you down here because we have multiple appendages that need to be reattached. Whittaker has it sorted with the ones we’ve gotten through versus the ones we haven’t,” you replied sweetly. Dark eyes, the same shade of stone you imagined castles were built from, glared at you.
“Let me guess. One of these idiots got their hallux blown off too.” Of course he would say hallux and not ‘big toe’ like a normal person.
Instead of answering, you walked around one of the gurneys to find the bags you were looking for. They’d been specially labeled by your instruction, just for this.
You held up the two bags, extra stars on them noting their importance.
“Not just one hallux, Dr. Park. Looks like you get extra practice on big toe reattachment today.” He snatched the bags from you, huffing loudly. For a brief moment, your gloved hands brushed. It was faster than you had thought possible, his movements like a predator cutting through water, and yet you still felt the echo of his presence long after he rounded the gurney. Your pointer finger hummed, as if in memory of that brush.
More instructions were barked out to your residents present, and while they were delivered harshly, they certainly weren’t incorrect. More sedative was pushed, some extra for your toeless student, before Park finally seemed satisfied with the state of the room.
Then he turned. Movements slick, neck pulsing slightly with awareness. His eyes, a gray so deep they could be black, met yours. It was a poor replica of the look he’d given you in an alley that night of the mistake, the churning waters that made you want to swim a little closer just to find out if you would drown.
They dipped. His pupils widened and his eyes dipped and caught on your lips, snagged like fabric against a nail. You forced yourself not to turn around, not to tighten your gloved fists.
Park’s gaze (Brendon, you’d called him once, throat raspy with smoke) stuttered, lashes blinking slow like an amphibian. If you squinted, you could imagine a double lid there.
”I look forward to being your feedback partner, Dr. Park.”
You didn’t know why you said it. But there was something there, something searching that you didn’t want him to find. He didn’t stutter, didn’t blink harshly like he’d been caught off guard. Park simply nodded, once, steady, and left the room.
Whittaker exhaled loudly. Ogilvie’s eyebrows lowered to their normal height. You rolled your shoulders and got on with calming four undergrads and their inevitable parents.
Thank you for participating in our pilot Attending Feedback Program. Below is the feedback from your assigned partner, Brendon Park. A copy of your feedback is attached as well.
Feedback from Brendon Park:
“Needs to create a more serious work environment instead of coddling residents.”
Your feedback to assigned partner:
“Doctor Park is a highly skilled individual. He could consider taking a more educational tone when conversing with medical students and residents, keeping in mind that this is a teaching hospital first. Keep up the great work!”
Month 2 Feedback form is available here, and is due in three weeks. Please reach out to [email protected] with any questions.
Sincerely,
Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Human Resources Department
You’d promised yourself, sometime back in your intern year, that you would never let an email impact your day. That you could continue onward even with bad news on your shoulder, that that was the mark of a professional.
Today, you decided to forget that promise.
It wasn’t even your trauma. Al-Hashimi was running it, bicycle versus electric scooter, and hadn’t needed your help to keep going. But a flash of purple scrubs caught your eyes, and you weren’t going to let him go. He insinuated you weren’t a professional, that you coddled your students, and there was no way you were letting that get on your permanent file with the hospital.
You left the board in Dana’s capable hands and crossed through the hallway next to the trauma room, emerging just as Park left the room. He turned his neck toward the elevator and suddenly he was there, all encompassing in his presence. You didn’t let yourself take in the strand of hair that freed itself from his usual slick back, dangling in front of his eyes as if daring you to reach up and feel it.
”Park,” you said without preamble. Any other person might be startled as to your emergence from the hallway, but he wasn’t any other person. He said your last name back, low and soulless in his mouth. You wondered if he said it before, had spun the syllables in his head or if it was just a word to him.
Just a name.
”You said I wasn’t serious.”
A beat. Then, “That’s not what I said.”
You sighed, hitting the button for the elevator with more force than necessary. There was no reason for you to go up to ortho, but the conversation needed to be had, and he clearly wasn’t nice enough to stop and wait to finish it.
”That’s what you insinuated. That I coddle.” The elevator dinged open and you both stepped aside, letting the two nurses out before stepping in. He pressed the number for the ortho floor, and you didn’t yourself look at his fingers while he did it. You’d been able to work diplomatically with this man for months, but the moment feedback was needed, it seemed that your cordiality imploded.
”It’s not just you. The entire emergency department coddles,” he replied. You sighed, suddenly achingly tired of the argument you were trying not to have. “No matter your personal feelings on the pedagogy of the ED, you can’t take it out on me. My one year review is next month, and I can’t have something that throws a wrench in it, okay? My spot’s still technically temporary.” You didn’t think Gloria liked you, and you were certain Robby wouldn’t know how to give a genuine compliment if his life was on the line. Al-Hashimi and Abbot were your favorites, but you knew it was admin needed on your side.
Park didn’t answer for a moment. You peeled your eyes away from the elevator doors, the two of you only a floor away from his, and found his face. Something in his cheek twitched, as if he were swallowing hard.
You tore your eyes away.
The elevator jerked to a stopped, the doors dinging open. Just before you could ask for a reply, he turned his heel and met you head on. His eyes on yours, gray depths attempting to swallow you.
”You’re a great doctor. They would be fools not to keep you.”
You blinked, mouth open. Purple whirled in front of you, Park walking back onto his floor. He was gone before you could say thank you. Before you could point out the loose strand of hair that would definitely need fixing before his next surgery.
Someone walked in, nodding at you before hitting the button for the ED. You swallowed hard, and got back to work.
Thank you for participating in our pilot Attending Feedback Program. Below is the feedback from your assigned partner, Brendon Park. A copy of your feedback is attached as well.
Feedback from Brendon Park:
“N/A.”
Your feedback to assigned partner:
“My comments from last month are still applicable. Other than that, I’ve enjoyed working with Dr. Park!”
Month 3 Feedback form is available here, and is due in three weeks. Please reach out to [email protected] with any questions.
Sincerely,
Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Human Resources Department
You needed to be on your couch, in your sweatpants. This was a fact. It was 7:43pm on a Friday night and handoff still hadn’t happened, with the five traumas that came in at 6:55pm. MVC, mini van versus a happy hour drunk couple on an electric scooter. A kid who’d had their hand out of the window when the car crashed. Abbot worked next to you, Mohan at his side, but you couldn’t save either of the scooter riders.
When Ortho came down to consult on the kid, you couldn’t even bring yourself to give Park more than a nod. There was a crick in your neck that had been there since that morning, and an ache forming in your lower back that required a heating pad. Deeper than that, an utter tiredness had made its way into your bones.
It was 8:12pm when you finally left, your bag tugging down your right shoulder considerably. It had been nice outside this morning, so you walked to work like an idiot, and now you had to pay for it. Bus or train or your own two feet, none of which sounded appealing.
You turned towards the parking lot, your goal the bus stop that came after it. As you left the ambulance bay, a black SUV stopped in front of you, blocking your path to the lot. A tinted window rolled down, and you were confronted with the sight of an after-work Park.
His hair was still in its usual gel, a look that you couldn’t imagine any other man pulling off. But there was something there, behind his eyes, that told you he was wrung out by the day. The smudges under thick lashes were a shade of lavender, brought out by his scrubs.
”You didn’t drive to work today,” he stated. It wasn’t a question, so you didn’t answer it, shoulders about to buckle from the weight of your bag. All you could do was tilt your head, a sigh of confusion leaving your lips.
”Get in.”
The bus was delayed. The red clock on your phone map said so.
It wasn’t the reason you got in, but it was plausible deniability.
He drove you to your apartment, and you did not comment on the last, and only, time he’d done it. How you’d sat in this very passenger seat, slightly nauseous from the alcohol and head spinning from what you’d done. From the purple scrubs and the shift he had at 8am and the stop he’d made to get you a breakfast sandwich, nothing for himself. Peeling yourself off of the crisp leather, you hadn’t let yourself meet his eyes, simply murmuring a thank you and trying to not hate yourself for messing up your new job.
Now, you curled into the car like it was yours, tucking your head into the curve of the window. Silence thrummed like its own kind of music, the only sound the occasional instructions of the GPS. The only movement was the swing of the air freshener from the backup mirror. Lemon, bright yellow.
The swinging of it gave you a pattern you never could find in the ED. Something reliable, something steady. Your eyes fluttered, six minutes left on the virtual map on the screen. Just a moment, just a second to close off from the rest of the world and rest.
When you opened your eyes, the clock blinked a steady 9:36pm back at you. The car was still moving, and when you turned left, Park was still there. For some reason, you hadn’t expected him to be. His spine was still straight, hair still in place, hands still quiet.
”Park?” Your voice cracked, dry from the water bottle you emptied halfway through your shift that you never had the chance to refill. He procured a plastic one from the side of the driver door, passing it over without taking his eyes off the road. You gulped it down greedily, emptying half of it until your stomach hurt. No food since that protein bar at 3pm, and you were paying for it.
He didn’t respond to your murmured thank you, and you took the chance to look outside your window. To take in the dark backroads, city streets long gone from your view. Streetlights passed by, blipping in and out of existence like floating stars.
”I’m sorry for falling asleep,” you half-whispered. He didn’t shrug, but it was something close to it. Park seemed to be content to keep driving, so you tapped the screen of his GPS and plugged it back to your apartment address.
Thirty three minutes away.
There was something here, in the warmth of his car, that made words bubble up from your throat. You straightened slightly, eyes ahead on your enivitable return back to the bright city streets. “I had my meeting with Gloria today,” you said. Brought up the memory of her mahogany desk, the office on the eighth floor you’d only been once before for your final round interview.
”I know,” Park replied. Your head snapped left, a question on the tip of your tongue. “I was asked to provide feedback. Temporary attending to permanent requires input from more than just the ED.” You exhaled sharply, gaze on your bag on the ground. On the newly updated badge within, one without an expiration date on it.
“Congratulations,” he murmured. “Thank you,” you replied, letting a small smile make a home on your face. The evaluation had wrecked your nerves, and it was only now that you truly let yourself feel the weight of your accomplishment. The raise, the steady paycheck, the fact that tackling your student loans actually felt achievable.
Time passed quickly after that, and it seemed you were outside your apartment within moments. He parallel parked in a way you could never quite get the hang of, the doors unlocking as the moment ended.
His knuckles gripped the steering wheel so hard they went white, a stark contrast against the purple hues of his body. Plumb scrubs and lavender eyebags turned the veins of his hands into a faint violet, something you’d have to search for to find. There was something in his mouth, his jaw working hard, but no words came out.
Like this, stripped from the OR, he was no less a predator. He was simply at rest, teeth retracted for a moment.
Maybe that’s why you did it. Pure curiosity, reaching out your hand until it met the soft skin of his lips. Your thumb found the edge and pulled, exposing his mouth until you could see his teeth. Pristine white, smooth as you ran your finger over his canine. It wasn’t longer than any normal one, but still felt sharper as you pressed the pad of your finger against him.
No blood.
You removed your finger, and it was like a spell was broken. Your bag was gathered, the door opened, your feet finding the familiar concrete of your sidewalk. When you turned back, only his silhouette was visible past the tint of the window, and yet you burned under the feeling of being watched the rest of the walk to the door.
Thank you for participating in our pilot Attending Feedback Program. Below is the feedback from your assigned partner, Brendon Park. A copy of your feedback is attached as well.
Feedback from Brendon Park:
“Satisfactory work.”
Your feedback to assigned partner:
“Dr. Park is an asset to the hospital, but he could work on his communication skills.”
Month 4 Feedback form is available here, and is due in three weeks. Please reach out to [email protected] with any questions.
Sincerely,
Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center Human Resources Department
Two weeks, six days, four hours and eleven minutes. That’s how long it had been since the car ride. That’s how long it had been since Park had talked to you outside of a trauma room.
It had never bothered you before. In the months before the feedback form, you went out of your way to avoid any situation where you might be alone with him. Survival, a small fish against a bigger one, swimming to safety.
But now circumstances had changed. Now you jerked at every shade of purple, flinching from a patient with a NYU sweatshirt on. Despite that, your patient satisfaction scores were higher than ever, Robby had called you a hard worker last week, and you had plans to get drinks with Al-Hashimi next week. The Pitt felt more like your home than ever, and yet every corner seemed to haunt you with flashes of dark fabric.
And then came Garcia’s birthday invite.
She was nowhere near your closest work friend, and yet the invite had seemed genuine. Or perhaps it was Santos asking if you were going to come, the R3 almost eager to have shitty beer at the bar all Pitt birthdays happened to be celebrated at.
It was not, at all, the possibility of another surgeon being present. It’s not like he partied.
The date was one you didn’t work, so you showed up to the bar looking more human that your coworkers usually saw you as. The door opened and Princess was there and you were being swept into arms and handshakes, a smile making a permanent residence on your face.
The birthday girl herself wore no crown or sash, just a satisfied smirk as you wished her a happy birthday. You left her to make your way to the bar, ordering a hard cider, determined to not repeat your last dive bar mistake.
The night swirled around you. You talked with your fellow attendings, said hi to your residents, and shared a few quips with Walsh. The entire time, a presence seemed to haunt the corner booth. You’d seen Garcia go in and out of it, other people in purple scrubs stopping by.
You left to go to the bathroom, and when you emerged, he was gone.
The back door with a sign titled Smoke Here seemed like the only logical conclusion. Your feet changed course, your hand pressing the door open before you could fully prepare yourself.
He was there.
”You’ve been ignoring me.” The door slammed behind you, ushering you outside into the alley. Someone had hung Christmas lights along the brick wall, basking the area into a hazy sort of golden glow. Park held no cigarette, no preamble to being outside; just leaned back against the brick wall like he had all the time in the world.
”We saw each other yesterday.”
”You were holding a foot. I don’t really count that,” you replied. Park sighed, crossing over his chest. He was still wearing his scrubs, seemingly coming straight from the hospital, and the sight made your blood heat.
You left the doorway and took up the place on his right. The coolness of the brick seeped through your thin sweater, and yet your spine melted into it, letting the wall hold you up.
Maybe you’d read things wrong. He was your coworker, your not-friend, one of the people you saw on a regular basis. Perhaps it had all coalesced into something you’d invented, a book that wasn’t met for you to read. You were practically throwing yourself at a man you’d already fucked, and the memory made you shiver in response.
You pushed off the wall, feet already turned back to the door. “I’ll see you at the hospital, Park.” Maybe you could stop by that Thai place you liked before going home, get yourself a pity meal to commemorate this last attempt at what you thought was something more.
A cold hand grabbed your wrist before you take one more step.
Icy fingers, life saving fingers, wrapped around and took hold. His thumb found the bone of your wrist, pressing inward like he needed to feel it to continue. Park tugged and you went, coming to stand in front of him, his hand wrapped around yours like a vine.
”I’ve been ignoring you,” he admitted. His eyes burned into yours as you looked forward, caught on the dip of his scrub neckline.
”Why?” You rasped, throat dry despite the drink you nursed earlier. The hand around your wrist tightened, surgeon fingers digging at skin to get at sinew. The night settled around you as he pressed, releasing just as quickly when he found whatever he’d been looking for.
”My sheets smelled like you for weeks after that night. Even after washing them. You know what that’s like?” You shook your head, finally brave enough to tilt your chin up and meet his gaze. Sea storms looked less violent than his eyes, a tempest swirling as you took him in. He muttered something under his breath, something that sounded suspiciously like the word ‘feedback’.
You tucked your fingers into the neckline of his scrubs. All he did was let you, staring as you traced the seam of the fabric. The skin under was pale, smooth like, well, a shark. You wondered if he’d been on a swim team, or if he was just born half-sea creature, something hidden from the depths of the ocean that became curious about human life.
He grabbed you again, this time clasping your fingers with his own. His thumb, calloused from years of holding scalpels, stroked the skin of your knuckle reverently. “We do this, you don’t leave my bed again. It’s not a one time thing,” he ordered. This man couldn’t imagine sharing his OR, let alone his residents. You weren’t surprised he refused to share his partner.
You turned his fingers until they interlinked with your own, soft warmth pulsing through your chest. It was your time to give orders this time, nuzzle your cheek against his until your mouth was to his ear.
“Take me home, Brendon.”
-
You’d forgotten the utter carnality of his presence in bed. The bites on your neck, soothed with an unforgiving tongue. He demanded nothing less than skin against skin, so you’d wrapped a leg around his hip and dug your claws into his back as a way to keep him exactly where he was.
Brendon nipped the skin of your ear lobe, bringing you back to the moment. “Do they call you Shark because you bite in bed?” You asked, running a hand through his hair. You’d been wanting to mess up his hair for months now, and finally got the satisfaction of seeing him utterly disheveled. Dark strands framed his face, affection shuddering through your core so powerful you bucked against him.
“I haven’t fucked any of my other coworkers, if that’s what you’re asking. Shark is from med school, and it stuck,” he replied. The words were murmured to your skin, wet from his kisses as he made his way down your torso. You mourned the loss of his warmth, nipples pebbling in the cold he left.
You found his hair and tugged, enough for him to raise his head from the crease of your belly to capture your lips in a kiss. A clever hand, a steady one, a surgeon’s, trailed down your stomach to work you open. He started you on one finger, a smirk on his lips as your mouth fell open. Two left you panting and three had you biting down on his shoulder, claiming his nickname for your own.
“Brendon, please,” you whined, sliding against his fingers in desperation. His cock was right there, brushing against your entrance as you canted against him, and yet you were deliriously empty.
“You want my cock, baby?” He asked in that same condescending voice he used to order med students around, like asking if you could tie your shoes without help. You nodded fiercely, thighs trembling from the three fingers that seemed to carve something from you to make space for something new.
Brendon slipped out from you, shushing you as you whimpered. Something blunt tapped at your entrance, one of his big hands gripping the underside of your knee to spread you wider. His low grunt filled you with heat, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pressed forward.
“‘S too big,” you slurred, even as you pulled him further into you in encouragement. He didn’t laugh, but it was something resembling one, a slight chuckle meant for your ears only. Heat curled in your belly, possessiveness rearing its ugly head as you were determined no one else would receive such a sound from him.
He finally slipped in, his mouth hot against the crook of your neck as you panted. Brendon started to move, finally, and you never wanted him to stop. It took a few stutters, a few pauses where you giggled and he gave you a wry smirk, but you found a rhythm that hit all of the right spots.
His right hand cradled your head from the headboard while his left snaked downward, slipping in between your sweat soaked bodies. He found the top of your curls and pressed down, sending you keening beneath him. The heat that had been simmering since the alley heightened to a roar, pleasure coiling under his hand.
You came with a moan, muffling yourself against the smooth skin of his neck. Park, for he was Park for a second, that killer look in his eyes reminiscent of an ortho evaluation, soon followed you with his own orgasm. Wet heat flooded your insides, quickly coating you both.
He didn’t collapse on you, but it was a near thing, his forearms bracing his body as he slowly lowered himself down. You stroked the thick muscle of his back, noting the red marks that had already started to form from your ministrations. His cock softened inside of you, but neither of you moved to take it out, content to sync your heart beats as your breathing slowed.
His thumb swept against your temple, a constant reminder of his presence as you stared at the ceiling. Your room was the same, same sheets and same books and same window that stuck when you tried to open it more than an inch, but it seemed its owner had changed drastically.
“You think this will get me a good month four feedback form?” You joked, a reminder of the form you needed to fill in before the week ended. “Hopefully more than satisfactory work,” you added, stiffening slightly when he didn’t respond. His thumb left your temple but not your face, moving down until he could cup your chin and meet your gaze.
“Better than my communication skills, according to some,” he answered. You grinned, your hand back in his hair, smoothing it back until sweat made it stick into its normal form.
“There’s always room for improvement,” you agreed, shrieking when he nipped your chin.
logging onto this app the past two nights to read the entirety of the brendon park x reader tag eating up every single thing in there!!!! 1 minute of screen time but we up!!!
I hope one day some of y’all can admit that we live in a world where neither Santos or Langdon is 100% correct and lots of things in that situation have gray areas
