Been reading your soft dom jack, regular dom Robby fics (aka good cop bad cop) and I’m desperate for soft aftercare Robby pls 😩😩😩😩
18+ mdni
eeek idk what made me picture this but im imagining robby relaxing after a shift one night, watching tv in his chair with a beer. meanwhile jack has his fun with you in the bedroom cause he has the night off…. robby isn’t expecting you to come padding out into the living room afterwards, totally naked, eyes all glassy and skin still balmy. He furrows his brows and asks “You okay, sweetheart?”
and you don’t respond, you just approach him and worm your way onto his lap. he loops his arms around you right away, rubs his big warm hand up and down your spine. jack appears at the end of the hallway after a couple seconds and robby shoots him a look. “Did something happen?”
“Nope.” Jack says with a shrug, grasping his right forearm and rotating his wrist, which feels a bit tight from fingering you for so long. “Just said that she wanted you.”
Robby’s hum of acknowledgment is almost more of a coo. he tries to dip his head down to catch your eye. “You miss me in there, honey?” You nod into his chest. “Yeah? I’ve got you.”
Moments later Jack’s handing Robby a damp washcloth. “Christ, you didn’t even clean her up?”
“I tried. Like I said, man, she asked for you.”
“Oookay.” Robby murmurs, patting your ass. “Alright. C’mon, sweetheart, get up on your knees a bit— there we go.” He gently swipes the cloth through your folds, which are now cold and sticky. He shushes you when you whimper. “I know, sweetheart, but I’ve gotta do it.” after a few more wipes he kisses the crown of your head. “Okay. All done, get comfy.”
jack abbot, who practices getting down on one knee as smoothly as possible the day he buys your ring.
jack abbot, who is so scared that you’ll say no that he stumbles over his words when he asks you the question.
jack abbot, who begs you to repeat your answer three times, smiling from ear to ear when the ‘yes’ finally sinks in.
jack abbot, who puts the biggest goddamn rock on your finger, trying to be all smug about it, but he just stares at you with puppy eyes and hopes that you like the ring he picked out.
jack abbot, who looks at you like you’re insane when you ask about the budget while wedding planning.
“princess, just pick whatever you want. i’ll pay for it.”
jack abbot, who cries when you walk down the aisle. robby is next to him, smiling like an idiot when he sees his best friend finally get what he wants, what he deserves—the love of a woman who absolutely adores him.
jack abbot, who thinks about his first wife for a second, and while he misses her, he just knows that she sent you his way on purpose.
jack abbot, who has practiced dancing with his prosthetic for weeks now. he is desperate to get everything right, all for you.
jack abbot, who refuses to take a break from twirling you across the dance floor. who grinds his teeth when his leg starts hurting. who tries to push through it until you force him to sit down with you.
jack abbot, who is so scared that he won’t be enough for you.
jack abbot, who melts into your arms when you reassure him that he is.
Jack keeps a ponytail tie on his wrists. it’s lowkey performative like you’re Jack abbot whos so nice and look out for women in all aspects—ofc you do, but when he’s around so many women in his ER, and one snaps or gets misplaced he’s right there, “keep going, i’ll tie it for you.” he’d say to someone who’s busy with a patient. it’s nothing to him.
it’s such a known thing, that sometimes doctors or nurses will just come up to him and take it off his wrist with nothing but a “thank you!” he doesn’t mind, doesn’t even blink at it. it’s what it’s there for.
…somewhat.
he also…keeps it for you. for when he’s at the edge of your shared bed, watching you swallow his dick like a python. his hand holding your chin and he’s steadily watching you pull it back, tuck it behind your ear and such. it’s something so small, yet makes you feel like the most special girl in the world.
“lift up, sweetpea..” he says low, already guiding you off as he fingers the stray hairs sticking against your cheek away. you look at him with big, glassy eyes, love and lust circling them as he gently pulls your her back for you, concentration on his brows to make sure he’s not pulling too hard.
“there we go, all neat.” he grabs your pony at the base, adoring your little smile as you whisper out a thank you before guiding you back along his tip. “i’ll take over, kay? just breath.” he coos, biting his lip and leaning back on his hand as he starts to shove you down further and further. such a sweet n thoughtful guy! ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა
Jack keeps a ponytail on his wrists. it’s lowkey performative like you’re Jack abbot whos so nice and look out for women in all aspects—ofc you do, but when he’s around so many women in his ER, and one snaps or gets misplaced he’s right there, “keep going, i’ll tie it for you.” he’d say to someone who’s busy with a patient. it’s nothing to him.
it’s such a known thing, that sometimes doctors or nurses will just come up to him and take it off his wrist with nothing but a “thank you!” he doesn’t mind, doesn’t even blink at it. it’s what it’s there for.
…somewhat.
he also…keeps it for you. for when he’s at the edge of your shared bed, watching you swallow his dick like a python. his hand holding your chin and he’s steadily watching you pull it back, tuck it behind your ear and such. it’s something so small, yet makes you feel like the most special girl in the world.
“lift up, sweetpea..” he says low, already guiding you off as he fingers the stray hairs sticking against your cheek away. you look at him with big, glassy eyes, love and lust circling them as he gently pulls your her back for you, concentration on his brows to make sure he’s not pulling too hard.
“there we go, all neat.” he grabs your pony at the base, adoring your little smile as you whisper out a thank you before guiding you back along his tip. “i’ll take over, kay? just breath.” he coos, biting his lip and leaning back on his hand as he starts to shove you down further and further. such a sweet n thoughtful guy! ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა
WARNINGS: (MDNI) suggestive content, whinny/bratty!reader, lowkey dom/mean!jack, kissing, touching, established relationship, mentions of marriage ayyyy, fem!reader implied, use of curse words, nipple play, teasing, choking lowkey, age gap not implied but pictured when written
A/N: can you tell that one line in s2 e14 reallyyyyy got to me?
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you’re pissed. jack got called into work again at the last minute. and it shouldn’t piss you off! you know who you started dating. you know he’s important and he’s needed at the hospital. but all you wanted was a date night. he’d be working a lot lately and you don’t get why. you can see the exhaustion that seeps through him after every shift. and he doesn’t need to do it. he’s worked hard and he’s well off, he could easily retire and the two of you could lay in bed for the rest of your days.
you snap out of you thoughts and look at yourself in the mirror. your hair and makeup was done. you brought a new dress for this occasion too. sighing, you get undressed and wipe off your makeup. getting into bed, you think the best thing to do is just sleep it off.
it’s late in the morning when jack finally gets home. you’re woken up by jack’s voice, soft and sweet from the side of the bed. but somehow it just makes you more annoyed. your first thought is how your date night was cut short. so you don’t answer him when your eyes flutter open and you don’t kiss back when he presses a kiss to your lips.
“what’s the matter with you, hm? still tired?” he asks.
you don’t reply, turning away from him so your back is facing where he’s standing over you on your side of the bed. frowning at your antics, he asks again what’s wrong with you. this time, you just huff.
“alright enough out of you” he grunts, folding his arms.
you don’t say anything and you think that’s the end of it because he doesn’t speak again. until you feel his hands on your side, rolling you onto your back. you let him move you but refuse to make eye contact. he moves a hand to toy with the waistband of your pajama shorts. you try to ignore the growing feeling of need that courses through you. do not give in. he moves the hand to dip in your waistband, feeling you over your panties.
“wanna tell me what’s wrong yet, sweetheart?” he presses his fingers down harder as he talks. your still not looking at him, shaking your head as a no while you bite your lip to stop from moaning.
he pulls his hand out of your pants and moves it up to your shirt, lifting it up so your tits can be seen. he pinches a nipple. you let out a whine at this, finally looking at him.
“jack! stop being mean” you complain, pushing his hand off and pulling down your shirt.
“i’m being mean? you’re the one that’s ignoring me after i came home from a shift” he laughs.
“yeah ‘cause you deserve it,” you grumble.
“oh yeah? why do i deserve it?” he asks condensingly.
“you missed date night! and you do it all the time. ‘s not fair i’m alone all the time!” you whine, crossing your arms over your chest and pouting.
“you’re such a baby” he replies.
you sit up on the bed at that, up on your knees so that your face to face with jack.
“i’m not a baby, you just don’t care about me anymore!” you point at his chest as you accuse him. jack grabs your wrist, stopping your movements and you try to pull away from his grip.
“let me go! don’t want you to touch me!”
jack let’s go of your wrist, like you ask. but instead, he moves it up to your neck. he squeezes slightly, just to remind you who’s in charge. and it does the trick, shutting you up. he free hand slides down to your shorts once more, but this time he slips it right in past your panties. you ground yourself by resting your hands on his shoulders. his middle finger slides through your folds and your eyes flutter. his ring finger joins him and they circle your clit. you let out a breathy moan.
“don’t want me to touch you but you’re this wet? make up your mind babe” he teases.
“fuck off. don’t want you near me.” you get out but it’s not very convincing. jack chuckles, his fingers rubbing faster as he leans closer and presses kisses your jaw.
“you’re mad i took an extra shift?” he murmurs against your skin.
“yes! you- you’re never around,” you say between a moan.
“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he huffs out a laugh. “wanna know why i’m always taking those shifts baby? hm? do it so i can get the prettiest and biggest ring on your finger”. he moves his fingers back between your folds, rubbing your wetness around, making a mess.
he brings his fingers out of your panties and up to your mouth. he presses them to your lips and forces you to suck on them, forcing you to taste yourself. he pushes his fingers further down your throat and you try not to gag.
Three times he flirted with you, and the one time he did something about it - Brendon Park
The Pitt Masterlist|Masterlist
Content and Warnings: Not really any, medical inaccuracies for sure, rude patient, flirting. WC: 2K
I've been gone for a few days because I was working on this little one here! Let me know what y'all think!
First Time
“What do you have for me, Pixie?” Park said in his usual no time for bullshit tone, circling into the room like the shark he is. He used the nickname you'd received during your second year at the PTMC.
His eyes immediately found yours, and his frown softened while he waited for you to respond.
He preferred to speak to you during consults, claiming you were one of the only competent doctors in the ED.
Everyone else didn’t really want to risk him snapping at them, so they had no problem letting you be bait. Not that you minded, of course, Park was always nice to you.
“Francis Parker, 36, fell from the roof of his house trying to clean the gutters. Landed right on his knee and basically shattered it. He tore his ACL as well as the MCL.” You list off continuing, “I gave him Tramadol as well as a sedative to help him sleep; he was screaming when he got here. Blood pressure has stayed stable, and I think he might be viable for surgery.” You finish in your bubbly manner with a smile.
“Pull up the scans,” he says in his gruff voice.
“Please”. He added to everyone's surprise. You pulled them up before enlarging the images. Instead of moving around you to see, Park leaned over you, smelling of antiseptic and a manly scent you couldn’t decipher.
Your shoulder grazed his chest, but he paid no mind while you had a mini heart attack.
He hummed as he looked them over before looking down at you, “What do you suggest, Pixie?” Before you could speak, you were cut off by an intern: “Amputation is probably the best outcome here.”
“Did I ask you, intern?” Park snapped back before giving you his attention to continue. Having his full attention on you was sometimes a bit flustering due to your crush, but nonetheless, you had to be professional.
You spoke quickly but confidently. “As difficult as the surgery will be, I do think it will give Mr. Parker a chance to keep his leg. Recovery will be long, yes, along with PT, but ultimately it’s his best chance to keep his leg.”
Park contemplated silently before speaking, “Multiligamentous knee reconstruction isn’t a simple surgery, but it isn’t impossible.” You watched as he took his gloves off, saying to the team, “Secure the patient and bring him up”.
“Follow me,” he told you, already walking out of the room, holding the door open for you to duck under his arm.
You hurriedly rushed to the door, not missing the looks you received from Dana and Princess at the main desk as the two of you walked side by side, his arm occasionally brushing yours.
“You’ll be scrubbing in with me,” he stated, leaving no room for any debate, not that you would.
Which you expressed excitedly: “Oh my goodness, I’m so excited! I’ve always wanted to scrub in on a knee reconstruction”. You were practically bouncing on the balls of your feet, thinking of the surgery.
His plump but sharp lips were upturned into a small grin as he listened to you speak.
The two of you stepped into the elevator, and he turned to you after pressing the button to say slyly, “I like the pink, by the way.” Referring to your babydoll pink scarf that was wrapped around your face, pulling your bouncy, shoulder-length coils back. It matched the pink long-sleeved undershirt you wore under your scrubs for extra warmth. “Suits you”.
Your face was burning so badly you would’ve thought someone turned the AC to Hell. You gave him a hushed but bashful thank you as he smirked. The elevator dinged, and he stepped out.
“We’ll be in OR three,” he informed you before striding off towards the room.
Second Time
“We need an ortho consult,” Trinity said irritably. She, just like everyone else, knew they’d drag their feet and come down at the last possible minute, which is why she called you.
She slid the phone your way with a sly grin before saying, “Please work your magic and get Shark down here.”
You gave her an incredulous look and spoke,” I have charting to do, Missy. Plus, Park isn’t going to come down here just because I call.”
It was her turn to return the look before saying, “Pixie, the last time I called Shark, he ripped me a new one for forgetting what time a limb was wrapped. And the last time Huckleberry called, he told him to find a speciality working with dead bodies.”
She shoved the phone into your hands and said, “Call him,” before backing up and resting her head on her hands.
You sighed playfully before dialing, “Hi Janice, it’s Pixie. Could we get Dr. Park for a consult? It’s a clean break.”
You put the phone down, turning back to Trinity to say, “He’ll be here in five”. Not wanting to see her ‘I told you so’ facial expression, you hurriedly walked to your next patient.
—-
Trinity had texted you and told you Dr. Park was more irritated than normal. She’s assuming it has to do with the fact that you called him for the consult, but wasn’t on the patient's care team.
Before you could respond to her, you ran into something hard, grumbling as you rubbed your arm. “I was actually just looking for you, Pixie,” Park said in his deep voice, tone saved only for you (not that you knew that).
“Here I am,” you replied sheepishly.
“I didn’t see you for that earlier consult. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re using your name to get me down here.” He didn’t have a smile on his face when he said it, nor did he sound like he was joking, but you knew him. And you knew he was teasing you.
You let out a laugh before replying with a giggle still in your voice, “Santos actually thinks that for whatever reason, you come down here quicker when I’m the one to call you”.
It was silent for a moment before he said, “I do come down quicker when you call”.
“What do you mean?” you asked.
“Exactly what I said,” he replied smoothly, but before you could respond, he was paged away. You didn’t have a moment to ponder on what had just happened before you were also paged.
Third Time
It’s been a few days since you’ve seen Park, which isn’t necessarily a strange thing. You don’t get to work on every single case he does for the ED. Your patients have been keeping you busy.
Today, you had a patient who had been so rowdy and combative that Dana thought it best to make sure you helped him with the door open. So, you and Perlah tried to appease him into being cooperative to no avail.
He was in the middle of his physical before deciding he didn’t feel like doing it anymore.
“Sir, I promise, we will try to get this done as quickly as we can. But to figure out what the problem could be, we have to do a few tests,” you tried to reason.
“Get away from me, tramp!” the patient named Mr. Ecos snapped. “I just want to go home. I feel fine now, and you’re keeping me here against my will. That’s the problem with you, female nurses. You don’t know how to listen to men when they speak.”
“Sir, I’m a doctor, your doctor. If you prefer to go home, we can figure out-” he cut you off. “Just shut up and get me a male doctor, idiot!”
Before you could respond, you noticed Dr. Park at the door, putting on gloves and putting himself between you and the patient. “Sir, is there a reason you’re speaking to your doctor like this?”
He looked like his usual self, no patience for stupidity and definitely not for patients treating his favorite ED resident badly.
Mr. Ecos attempted to stammer out a response, but Dr. Park beat him to it. “You have one of the most competent and capable doctors here, helping you, and you’re treating her like this? I’d rethink that if I were you.” But Park wasn’t done there.
“Apologize,” he demanded sharply, looking Mr. Ecos in the eyes without blinking. Mr. Ecos blinked a few times rapidly before stuttering out, “I’m sorry”.
Park didn’t look at you while he said this. He didn’t even look at you while he checked over Mr. Ecos’ leg. But you were grateful nonetheless. He didn’t usually dish out compliments like that.
Perlah’s mouth was on the floor as she read off Mr. Ecos’ vitals. You busied yourself with grabbing gauze as Park asked you and Perlah questions as if nothing had happened.
When he finally did something
Your voice was beginning to sound hoarse as you trailed off the ending to “He Wasn’t Man Enough” with Trinity and Mel. PTMC had decided to do a team-building exercise and let everyone do a poll on where to go.
Thankfully, everyone was smart enough to choose karaoke over bingo night at the 50+ community. The karaoke bar wasn’t bad at all. More than enough space for everyone who went.
You, Trinity, and Mel had been on stage previously but now sat down to finish your drinks.
Dennis was watching them for you guys as he spoke with Princess and Perlah.
Abbot, Robby, Dana, and Park sat by the bar, nursing their drinks. There were more employees scattered about, too. Park looked like he would pay money to be anywhere but there.
Throughout the night, you and Park kept making eye contact with each other. Before you could dwell on it any more, Parker pulled you out of your thoughts, “How long are you guys going to do this cat and mouse thing with each other?”
Truth be told, you didn’t know. Clearly, he felt some type of way towards you. Now, whether it was just that he tolerated you more or that the girls were right and he possibly did feel something towards you.
You doubted it, but all you can do is theorize. You sighed and told them exactly that before getting up to grab another drink. You hadn’t noticed that Park’s seat was empty, or that he was also ordering.
“I didn’t know you were so great at karaoke”, a teasing voice said to your right. Your head quickly snapped over before your face started to flush.
His hair was slicked back as usual, but he traded in his scrubs for dark jeans and a dark plum sweater. He had a gold watch adorning his wrist, and it made his fingers look delectable. You felt as though you’d lost the ability to speak.
“What can I say? I like to brush up on my talents during my off days,” you responded jokingly.
“You look beautiful,” he said smoothly. “It’s nice to see you having fun outside of work,” he finished off casually.
That made you stop, before you replied, “Do you think about me outside of work often?”
Normally, you’d never ask something like that. It must be the drinks, the liquid courage giving you the confidence you lack.
“More than I should,” he settled on finally.
“So I guess what everyone’s been saying was true then. You have been flirting with me,” you stated, kind of like a question, but also not.
He looked at you as though it should have been obvious the whole time before replying, “Of course I was. I’m not someone who does that, usually. But you bring it out of me”. He replied honestly.
You sipped your drink as he finished his beer, the two of you moving to a more secluded table. “So now what?” you finally asked after a few moments of silence.
“Now”, he said, “I take you out on an actual date, and we go from there”. His tone left no room for argument, as if you’d deny him.
“I can’t believe I really never noticed you were flirting this whole time”. You said, exasperated with yourself. “I can kiss you if that would make things more obvious,” he replied, a bit cheekily, in his own way.
“I think that might be best,” you said, attempting to flirt, before he placed his lips over yours.
Kitten and the Shark: Park the Shark x Reader Headcannons
Brendon Park can cook. His Nona taught him all the family recipes. She told him he had to learn them so he can teach his future children.
Reader can not cook to save her life. She once gave a boyfriend food poisoning…he was an awful boyfriend but still
She is capable of somehow burning and undercooking her food at the same time. No one knows how she does it. It’s a phenomenon that needs to be studied by science
Park has attempted to teach her to cook but it’s a disaster. It always ends in having to disable the smoke alarm
She lives off of boxed Mac and cheese, frozen meals, and sandwiches prior to dating Park. He’s horrified by the state of her fridge
To be fair readers childhood was chaotic bouncing from foster care to foster care to group home to group home. She had to learn a lot of life skills on her own. The adults in her life growing up did not really guide her.
When she waitressed prior to becoming a nurse she just lived off restaurant leftovers. She befriended the line cooks and they fed her
Reader learned to have a sharp tongue in her childhood and it grew sharper the years she spent as a waitress. The backhouse staff taught her some creative insults
She gives Park scary guard dog privileges outside of work. She can’t go to the gym or the grocery store without him looming behind her giving harsh stares to anyone who he thinks is looking at her unfavorably
Park sneaks in the scary guard dog privileges at work behind her back…he’ll ask for forgiveness instead of permission later
She meets Park’s Nona and is automatically the favorite much to Parks grumbling as he’s used to being spoiled
Park is her unofficial gym trainer and she has to remind him she doesn’t want to bulk up and lift weights
Park tries to pay off her student loans after he realizes how much they’re impacting her quality of life. She refuses to allow it…but ya know he does secretly decide if they get married he’s paying them off…it’s just healthy financial planning for couples
Parks apartment is way nicer than hers and she feels awkward to let him see where she lives. She lives in a studio and her neighbors are awful…Park maybe shuts her neighbors up when they get a little inappropriate with catcalls towards her
People keep leaving gummy sharks on Readers workspace…and her coworkers gave her a jaws themed bday card…she’s unamused. Park is…he’s proud of his nickname
Reader has a lot of nightmares related to her childhood. She’s hesitant to open up to Park about them but he’s persuasive and reassures her he doesn’t mind being woken up by her due to them
NSFW concept; Park is a big guy okay…in more ways than one. It’s a lot the first time and pretty much every time after that. Theres a lot of talking Reader through it
Best sex either has ever had. For reader she’s never had a partner who puts so much effort into making sure she enjoys herself. For Park he’s never had a partner who makes intimacy feel loving and even playful
He’s hesitant to get rough with her and actually lets her make the moves towards rougher activities. He’s a patient man who wants to move at her pace and worried about hurting her
He’s considered pulling her away for a quickie at work but resists the urge knowing it’s not worth the hr nightmare…on the way home though it’s fair game
He’s a sucker for her anything she wants she gets….the only problem is she doesn’t often tell him if she wants something…so he does a lot of guessing and reading body language
She’s not accustomed to people being so giving to her without wanting something in return. She’s anxious about how much he’s willing to give her in all aspects of the relationship. It takes time to reassure her he’s not loving her to get something out of her but because he simply loves her
Is her biggest hype man…wants to encourage her to get her nurse practitioner coursework because she’s smart and answers his questions better than half his residents
She’s encouraging to him to not be so hard on himself. He’s a perfectionist and takes failure hard. She reminds him failure is human and even if he’s an amazing surgeon he’s still human
Garcia gives him shit about being soft for her but he just brings up Santos and it stops
He likes her perfume and hates she can’t wear it at work. She’s worried about it being unpleasant for patients. She keeps travel vial in her backpack and puts it on at the end of her shift for him though
Reader will wear his shirts and he will react the same way he does to lingerie
He has plenty of photos of her on his phone both g rated and not
He goes to hr before even suggesting they become official. He’s already made up his mind that it’s happening and wants to make it clear that he intends this to last
Has accidentally called her kitten at work she almost died on the spot
She calls him Bren outside of work. The Shark thing on occasion but Bren is more personal. She’s the only one who calls him Bren
Will talk about his surgeries and she will listen and ask questions because she knows he’s proud of his work
He asks her about her workday and low key thinks the day shift in the ed is dysfunctional. He maybe helps her come down from that environment
Has tried to talk her into transferring to the ortho department but she reminds him they are on thin ice with hr as it is
She tells him he has a lovely smile and should smile more. He tells her that smiling will ruin everything he’s worked for respect wise at work…he does smile outside of work enough so that people notice
Reader takes offense when people assume he’s heartless. She is quick to point out that he’s not emotionless he’s just focused on his career and takes the responsibility of being a surgeon seriously.
He is fast to defend anyone who might suggest she’s weak or damaged when she reacts to anything that triggers bad memories from her childhood.
Will admit he didn’t have much of a life before her. He went to the gym went to work visited his Nona and repeated. She gets him to live a little and he takes care of her in return and gives her some stability
You expected Brendon to be bad at it- maybe a little selfish- to slap your ass and give you a “good game champ” before he called you an uber and showered. But dammit- he was fucking good at aftercare. Even the first time you fucked- he didn’t pull away immediately or even pull out, he slowed his movements to allow you a moment to get acclimated to earth again. Brendon didn’t stop kissing you- there wasn’t the urgency or desperation like while you were fucking but all the heat and passion was still there.
He gave you a moment to breathe again- letting you melt back into the mattress or sag against his body if you were on top, mumbling praise into you lips while his large hands massaged the sore parts that he knew would ache later. Brendon would ask if you wanted to shower- if not then he’d get a warm rag to clean you up gently before pulling you to lay on his chest or even completely on top of him. Large hand soothing down your back- warm and heavy- grounding you back to reality.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Brendon loves his hands. Large, strong, the precision he needs to carry out delicate nerve transfers while having the strength he needs to do a double hip replacement surgery on grandma. He loves his hands- soft and delicate precision he needs to gently coax an orgasm from you with slow strokes of his thick fingers inside your pussy- lazy circles around your clit while he muffles your moans with his lips against yours. Strong when he needs to force your thighs open because you’re trying to shut him out- four orgasms deep and so sore and raw but your pussy looks so pretty he wants to give you another. Gentle when he holds your hand- large and heavy to keep you grounded when he fucks you, sliding deeper with a sloppy tongue in your mouth and slurred praise. Strong when he delivers devastating slaps to your ass or, god forbid, your puffy cunt- handing out some punishment he warned you about.
His favorite on you? God he loves your eyes. The color isn’t basic to him- there’s flecks and changes depending on the light. Even when you’re excited he swears the get brighter and bigger- looking up at him with love and a devotion he’s never felt before. He loves when you have some tears- fat drops collecting in the corners of your eyes when he bullies his cock deep into your cunt over and over again. Big eyes shiny and wet- looking up at him with a soft “please Brendon- baby, I can’t-” when he asks if you’ll give him one more orgasm. The way your eyes get half lidded with lust when you ride him- trying to keep them open to look at him but he feels so fucking good you start to cry again and- “look at me baby, lemme see those pretty eyes, yeah?”
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
He actually tastes pretty good- all things considered. His diet is better than most guys- lots of protein and fiber, very little carbs and so much water. He works out- takes care of his body and in turn that means his cum isn’t as bitter or disgusting as most guys. You actually look forward to him cumming on your tongue- pulling away at the last moment to open your mouth and jerk him fast so those hot spurts drip onto your tongue and you can show him. Mouth open, tongue flat and out- smiling and nodding when he asks- “taste good baby- yeah?”
It’s so good- that Brendon likes to taste himself on you. Like to swirl his tongue around yours after he finishes on your tongue- not letting you swallow until he explores your mouth. Or after he fills your needy pussy up with his spend- immediately pulling out to crawl down your body and shove his tongue into your cunt so he can taste how sweet you are mixed with him.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He loves eating your pussy after you work out. Or after a long day? God Brendon loves burying his face between your thighs- inhaling your scent and moaning at how your natural smell floods his senses. He’ll beg if he has to- but usually he tries to coax you into joining him in the shower after going to the gym. Not knowing he has an ulterior motive because before you even get a second to wash the sweat and day from your pussy he’s on his knees in front of you- nose at your mound and tongue poking your clit with a moan as he deeply inhales you. “Wait! B-Brendon lemme- n-no wait,” stuttering but he’s too fast- hand throwing your leg over his shoulder and tongue diving in to work you open for him.
And if somehow he’s not able to taste you after the gym? He’s been known to grab your panties and wait until you’re asleep or busy so he can inhale you and fuck his fist.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Brendon is very experienced- Park the Shark fucks. That became painfully aware the first time you found yourself underneath him- expecting him to be some ortho jock asshole who uses you like a fleshlight but you were so fucking wrong. And happy to be wrong- because he wasn’t selfish like you expected.
He took his time with you, spent a good hour at least on just kissing you alone- sat in his lap while you buried your hands in his surprisingly soft hair and tangled your tongues together. Only pulling away to breathe before he drags your lips back to his with a strong grip on your jaw- moaning when you feel him grind up into you. Takes his time stripping you- like he’s peeling wrapping paper off the best gift he’s ever been given before he licks and kisses at the skin of yours that he’s exposed. Spends another half an hour with his face buried between your thighs- licking and exploring you to make sure you’re thoroughly wet and ready for him. Yeah- Brendon fucks.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Park is a big man, strong- definitely in his prime. He likes fucking you against the wall sometimes. When you’re showering together or against the giant glass windows in his expensive apartment and you’ve spent more time playing with his cock than actually bathing? Strong hands gripping your ass- legs thrown over his elbows to force you open for him while your back is flush against the icy tiles- can’t do anything but let him use his grip to force you up and down on him cock over and over again.
He’s also a fan of reverse cowgirl- but he likes to sit up while you ride him. He likes to suck on your neck and bite your shoulders- thick fingers circling your clit- groaning in your ear when you go too fast and he slips out of your leaking cunt. “You don’t want it there do you? Want my cock here?” Guiding his tip a little farther back to where you’re tighter- ass spread open for him and whimpering like a whore when he shoves the head of his cock into your ass. You’re stuffed- Brendon’s cock sinking into your hole while three thick and long fingers stretch your pussy open and sound so obscenely loud from how wet you were.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Honestly it depends- Park can mostly be a bit serious when it comes down to sex. When you first started landing in his bed it was a serious event- the concentration on his face was apparent because he wanted this to be good for you.
But after you’ve been dating? Brendon is actually a goofy idiot- only around you though. Only in the comfort of your arms can he strip that Shark personality off and be yours. Where he will laugh during sex because you both just came from a date night- he’s fucking happy and comfortable and you make eye contact with him and you both break into a fit of giggles from how unserious it was for a second. When you’re desperate to feel him and the second he gets home from work you’re on him- stripping him so fast and needy that you accidentally scratch him and he laughs because of how much you want him. When you both wake up at 3 am and decide to make out because there’s nothing to hinder you in that moment- smiling and laughing when you both roll each other all over the bed without a care in the world.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
It’s slicked back- no jk he only slicks his hair back for surgery. It’s easier to maintain. But as for below the belt? It’s trimmed. Neat and tidy- sometimes he’s exhausted and will let it go for a bit. Soft and fluffy curls that are similar to the hair on his head.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Park is a serious man- and with all that seriousness comes a deep longing for intimacy. Even when you first started fucking- it was intimate and consuming. Your senses were on overdrive from how Brendon felt around you- needing this to be good and wanting you to feel just how much wanted this. Lights off- or definitely has some low/soft light setting in his lavish apartment to just barely illuminate your bodies. Eyes half lidded and nearly in a daze from how good he fucking feels around you- warm body covering yours and soft lips taking your breath away.
And after you’re exclusive? God there’s candles- soft scents that help relax your mind and just let you give into the pleasures of him. There’s whispered love and mumbled out confessions of earnest desire and devotion- “feel s’good baby, so- s’fucking good- love you- I love you so much,” because he’s not good with words but he can ramble and stutter out his love when he’s fucking you a lot easier.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Yeah- he does. Sometimes stress and pent up frustration gets the better of him and he can’t take it out by hammering rods into someone’s leg so he’ll go into the showers at the hospital- wrap a heavy hand around his cock and stroke himself fast. Biting his fist to stop himself from groaning too loud- hearing the little whimper he let out echo and bounce around the cold shower tiles. He doesn’t like taking his stress out on you so- yeah he jerks off.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Bondage (Giving): Tying you up- wrist restraints to keep you stuck to the bed or leg restraints to keep those pretty legs open so he can focus on licking your pussy or fucking you stupid. The feeling that you have complete trust in him- relinquishing control and giving it to Brendon so he can use your body for his own selfish desires. He likes being needed by you- hearing you cry his name feeds some sick part of his ego to know that it’s him that has you like this.
Bondage (Receiving): Don’t be fooled- Brendon will hand you the reins from time to time. When he’s had a long week with making decisions and sometimes saving a life with his own bare hands he just needs a fucking moment to let it go. He loves and trusts you- wants to relax and let you take over so- yeah, he lets you tie him up. He lets you secure his wrists so he doesn’t get the urge to grab your body and move you how he wants. He lays on the bed and lets you ride him or suck his dick the way you think he needs- mind fully going free and empty because you feel so fucking good and are praising him- “Fuck you’re so big- too big baby- feels so fucking good I’m already gonna cum.”
Biting: Okay okay- yes part of his nickname is because he likes to bite. Brendon Park the Shark likes to mark your body up- leaving indents and teeth marks all over the softness of your skin also feeds his ego. No one else makes you feel this good- no one else gets to bite your heaving chest while you ride them. No one else gets to leave a mark in your shoulder- smirking when he presses on accident the next day to feel you shudder and tense. No one else leaves mark on the inside of your thighs- pressing into them on purpose the next day and even taking a picture.
Choking: Again- it’s about trust. Loving him so much that you nod with excitement when his heavy hand slides up from its place between your legs- feeling him cup your breast and pinch at your nipples before continuing up until you feel his thumb and fingers dig into the sides of your throat with an experimental squeeze. Feeling your walls tighten around his cock when he does so- begging him for it. Your vision going a little fuzzy sometimes when he squeezes his hand around your throat while diving deeper into your cunt- pussy leaking all over him until you cum from the lightheadedness. And sometimes? He likes when you do the same to him.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Anywhere as long as you’re the other party in the situation- that being said, Brendon has a particular fondness for your bed. It’s nice- it smells like you, your sheets are soft and in a light color that he would never get for himself but they immediately feel like home to him. You thought he’d prefer his bed with those black silky sheets and orthopedic comfort that helps his old sports injuries but now- he prefers your space. You bring color into his life. There’s a softness- a light about your apartment that he likes. Your bed is smaller- he’s always pressed up against you in some way and it makes him smile when he feels you cuddle closer into him. He likes the way you look in the morning when you ride him- your sheets bunched around your hips and the sunlight catching the way your face is scrunched up in pleasure while you chase your orgasm.
He’s also a sucker for some good car sex too- crammed together in his tiny sports car where there’s barely any room to move about so you’re reduced to grinding against each other for pleasure. Unable to bounce in his lap like you want because there’s no overhead space so you’re writhing in his lap like a whore- rolling your hips back and forth where his abs can rub against your clit and help you cum on him. Steering wheel digging in your lower back or you’re bent in half with your knees grazing your ears because it’s the only way you’ll fit in the back seat. And it’s so fucking good.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
After a good workout or successful surgery? All that adrenaline pumping through Park’s veins? Goes straight to his cock. Texting you to be ready when he gets home- not even caring to elaborate because even he doesn’t know what he’s about to do. Nearly stumbling through the door to try and find you- praying you’re on the couch so he doesn’t have to walk far and try and find you. Groaning in almost pain when he sees you wearing nothing but he’s shirt and legs already open for him- asking what’s gotten into him when he drags you into his lap and all but tears the shirt off your body. “Do I need an excuse for wanting to fuck my girlfriend?” Already pushing through your walls- twin moans echoing through the apartment when you feel him inside you, strong hands gripping your hips and using that leverage to help him fuck you until he flips you over and hammers you into the couch.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
He won’t share- no threesomes. Sex is intimate to Brendon- something that should only be shared between you and him and the idea of someone else touching you makes him sick.
He hates the fake pornstar moaning- has broken up with girls for it because they thought he liked that and all it did was irritate him. He wants your genuine love and sounds- if you’re not into it don’t fake it. Tell him and he’ll adjust.
He’s not really into sexting or phone sex- he can visualize it just fine but he wants it tangibly and to hear you without the crackle of the shitty cell reception sometimes. He wants to hold you and feel you.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Park loves when you suck him off- he loves to see you get on your knees for him the second he gets home. Needy and shoving him against the front door before reaching in his pant to pull out his half hard cock- soft lips wrapping around the head of him to tease and lick the precum he’s leaked because you texted a little sneak peek of what’s to come when he gets home. Keys forgotten- thrown to the floor so he can empty his hands and grab at your hair to ground himself before he cums down your throat in mere seconds. “Miss me baby?” choked off moan- cumming when your hand reaches up to cradle his balls and tug just a little with a smirk because you feel him immediately tense and groan when he spills down your throat.
Park loves to eat your pussy. It’s another stress reliever for him- letting himself get lost in your taste and the pretty sounds you make. Closing his eyes and just letting his senses be overtaken by you- the whimpers and moans you cry out when he presses his tongue inside your pussy. The sweet tangy taste of your juices- flooding his tongue with every orgasm you give him, or that he gives you really. Loves making you clench and cry around his tongue- licking up into you and letting his tongue rub along that soft spot that has you pulling his hair and weakly crying his name. He doesn’t even use his hands on your pussy- Brendon’s hands stay rooted on your hips or thighs to keep you open, his mouth doing all the work.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Both- and yes that’s a cop out but it truly depends on his mood and how his day had been. Is he tired after doing his third knee replacement? Then he’s slow- soft and gentle when he rocks into you earnestly, giant body thrown on top of yours- keeping you underneath him with just the weight of him and the slow strokes he fucks into you.
Is he on call? And his phone can ring at any second to drag him back to the hospital for an MVC where the kid’s spine is in multiple pieces? He’s fast- fucking you hard and rough because he’ll be damned if he’s called away from your sweet pussy before he gets to feel you cum around his aching cock. Hasn’t fucked you in days because of his schedule- you’re asleep by the time he gets home and in the morning he needs to run out the door before he’s late so he doesn’t have time for anything more than a kiss.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
He’ll do them- they’re just not his preferred method of making you cum. He likes to take his time breaking you apart but dammit if you don’t turn him on sometimes- wearing some tight dress at some stupid fucking event where he’s wearing a bow tie and smiling with a little “thank you,” because he won an award and- god you just look good enough to fucking eat.
Brendon’s quickies are usually about getting you off- kneeling in front of you in so tucked away corner that anyone can walk in on and see you both but you don’t fucking care. His tongue is hot and stiff and licking the entire expanse of your pussy- your hands messing up the slicked back hair that you hate because you like the soft curls he has.
Or when you’re bent over in those leggings that he swears he can see the outline of your cunt in- he gets the urge and just needs to have you now. Large hand over your mouth to keep you silent while the other works quick circles over your clit like the pace he fucks into you from behind- hands scratching at the tree in front of you for stability because you think you’re about to fall from the force of him behind you. Hiking seemed like a good idea at the time but who knew nature turned him on so much.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Even though he sees what risk can do to people on a daily basis- Park likes a little risk in his life. He’s a little more kinky than you expected and when you bring up the subject of a new toy or something to try in the bedroom he’s always game. Food? He’ll lick chocolate off your body or let you suck whip cream off his dick. Outdoors? He’ll find the safest route away from the hiking trail and check for snakes or spiders before he bends you over a good looking rock. Semi-public? Just give him a look and he’s grabbing your hand and shoving you on your knees to feed his cock into your open mouth with a smirk and a- “just couldn’t fucking wait until we get home huh?” lightly slapping your cheek before grabbing your hair to set a pace that he likes.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Brendon was built for endurance- he was built to last out opponents on the opposite team and to be strong and effective. One hit and they’re out. Of course that means he can last a long time in bed as well- three to four rounds that last about 10 to 15 minutes each is his usual. Maybe a few minutes between rounds to catch his breath or stretch out an impending cramp because he’s not in his 20’s anymore and can’t just go without taking a beating for it- but Park can go.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Brendon is a bit of a kinky asshole- you find out the hard way after you’re both decided to be exclusively together. Toys? Yeah- he has them. Uses them most of the time- his favorite is a spreader bar, keeps your legs wide open for him to fuck you after he’s had a long day. Has wrist restraints that easily lock onto his headboard to keep you still underneath him when he licks you clean. A few plugs that he likes to try out on you- making you wear it throughout the day and if you’re spending the day at home he’ll periodically ask you to show him. He likes to ties you up to his bed when you’re being a brat- knelt over you while he uses a fleshlight on himself and makes you watch and cry for him. Yeah- dude has toys.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Not at first. At first he’s not nearly as much of a shit as he could be- he doesn’t keep you stuffed with his cock while he does nothing but rub your clit slow and with barely any pressure until you’re crying frustrated tears. He doesn’t tie you to his bed while he grabs your one loose hand and uses it to jerk himself off into your tits. He doesn’t have your legs held locked in one position with the spreader bar while he uses your wet pussy lips to give him some friction- cumming on your swollen cunt with a few slaps until you’re begging him to fuck you.
Nah- not at first. At first he’s sweet and only teases with a little smile- asking if you want him. It’s not teasing- it was just foreplay. You hadn’t begun to understand the level of Brendon’s teasing yet.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
The first few times you fucked he wasn’t silent- but he just wasn’t very vocal either. Soft little grunts in your ear and the occasional mumble of “fuck,” under his breath but that was about it. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy himself it’s just that he’s been known to lose himself in the feeling of someone- will groan and growl even. One partner even covered his mouth while they fucked so- he just learned to control it better.
“Do you- are you having a good time?” you finally asked him once- noticing the way he’d bite his lip and bury his face in your neck when he felt you clench around him. Pushing on his chest because you’re having an amazing time but if he wasn’t- “yeah I just- didn’t wanna ruin the mood,” by moaning? Oh- yeah that didn’t work for you. No you wanted to hear him- you needed him to groan and growl in your ear while he fucked you so you made it your mission to get those sounds out of him.
And now? Park doesn’t shut the fuck up. Heavy breathing- nasty words in your ear while he fills you up over and over again- “feel that baby? You like that? Yeah- yeah I know you do. Get s’fuckin tight when I do that- more?” Biting your jaw- licking your neck and groaning in your ear like it’s his fucking job. Laughing even- sometimes he laughs while you fuck because you can’t respond to him other than a little whimper and a soft- “Brendon, baby please.”
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Brendon didn’t get his “Park the Shark” nickname because of sports- or because of the way he circles a room and eyes everyone like they’re a threat. No he earned the nickname in college- because he was the only one who’d eat pussy even if the girl is on her period. What’s a little blood gonna do? Stop him? Nah.
And you learned quickly that when Brendon wants you- he wants you no matter what. “W-wait Brendon! No I’m-” eyes half lidded- in a daze when he looks up from his spot on the floor, knelt down where you sat on the couch with his fingers digging into your waistband to try and tug your underwear down. “What? Do you not want-” I mean if you don’t want him to then obviously he’ll stop but- “no it’s not that I’m- um, I’m on my period,” god you were embarrassed, face hot and trying to avoid eye contact but- “okay?” well- orgasms did help cramping, headaches, sore muscles- so you’ve heard anyway.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Look at him- he’s not a small man and neither is his dick. Big enough to make you gasp the first time you saw it- hand on his chest with a little “woah- wait a minute,” because there was no way it would fit. He made it fit.
8.5 inches, uncut and just a little darker than the rest of his skin- thicker in the middle. The tip gives you a false sense of hope that he’s not that big but after the first inch? Thicker- wider and stretches you just on the side of almost painful, enough to feel for the next few days at least. Heavy- too heavy to stand up when he’s hard.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Did you know that men who work out a lot have increased testosterone- and increased testosterone means their sex drive is stronger? Wilder? Yeah- you didn’t know that. Park’s sex drive is high. You honestly can’t keep up sometimes- barely able to get through the door and there’s a giant man in your space, picking you up over his shoulder to take you to his big, orthopedic bed and spread you open for him.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Honestly? Near immediately. He works long and odd hours some weeks- being on call or just back to back surgeries like when there’s multiple MVCs or when the senior citizen center has a party and the next day everyone’s hip is out. The man is tired and after he exerts his energy in you? After he gets his dose of intimacy with you that’s he’s been missing out on? And made sure that you’re hydrated, fucked properly, and cleaned up? Man is out. If he’s not on call then that phone is on DND and you’re trapped underneath him for a few hours.
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You expected Brendon to be bad at it- maybe a little selfish- to slap your ass and give you a “good game champ” before he called you an uber and showered. But dammit- he was fucking good at aftercare. Even the first time you fucked- he didn’t pull away immediately or even pull out, he slowed his movements to allow you a moment to get acclimated to earth again. Brendon didn’t stop kissing you- there wasn’t the urgency or desperation like while you were fucking but all the heat and passion was still there.
He gave you a moment to breathe again- letting you melt back into the mattress or sag against his body if you were on top, mumbling praise into you lips while his large hands massaged the sore parts that he knew would ache later. Brendon would ask if you wanted to shower- if not then he’d get a warm rag to clean you up gently before pulling you to lay on his chest or even completely on top of him. Large hand soothing down your back- warm and heavy- grounding you back to reality.
B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)
Brendon loves his hands. Large, strong, the precision he needs to carry out delicate nerve transfers while having the strength he needs to do a double hip replacement surgery on grandma. He loves his hands- soft and delicate precision he needs to gently coax an orgasm from you with slow strokes of his thick fingers inside your pussy- lazy circles around your clit while he muffles your moans with his lips against yours. Strong when he needs to force your thighs open because you’re trying to shut him out- four orgasms deep and so sore and raw but your pussy looks so pretty he wants to give you another. Gentle when he holds your hand- large and heavy to keep you grounded when he fucks you, sliding deeper with a sloppy tongue in your mouth and slurred praise. Strong when he delivers devastating slaps to your ass or, god forbid, your puffy cunt- handing out some punishment he warned you about.
His favorite on you? God he loves your eyes. The color isn’t basic to him- there’s flecks and changes depending on the light. Even when you’re excited he swears the get brighter and bigger- looking up at him with love and a devotion he’s never felt before. He loves when you have some tears- fat drops collecting in the corners of your eyes when he bullies his cock deep into your cunt over and over again. Big eyes shiny and wet- looking up at him with a soft “please Brendon- baby, I can’t-” when he asks if you’ll give him one more orgasm. The way your eyes get half lidded with lust when you ride him- trying to keep them open to look at him but he feels so fucking good you start to cry again and- “look at me baby, lemme see those pretty eyes, yeah?”
C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)
He actually tastes pretty good- all things considered. His diet is better than most guys- lots of protein and fiber, very little carbs and so much water. He works out- takes care of his body and in turn that means his cum isn’t as bitter or disgusting as most guys. You actually look forward to him cumming on your tongue- pulling away at the last moment to open your mouth and jerk him fast so those hot spurts drip onto your tongue and you can show him. Mouth open, tongue flat and out- smiling and nodding when he asks- “taste good baby- yeah?”
It’s so good- that Brendon likes to taste himself on you. Like to swirl his tongue around yours after he finishes on your tongue- not letting you swallow until he explores your mouth. Or after he fills your needy pussy up with his spend- immediately pulling out to crawl down your body and shove his tongue into your cunt so he can taste how sweet you are mixed with him.
D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)
He loves eating your pussy after you work out. Or after a long day? God Brendon loves burying his face between your thighs- inhaling your scent and moaning at how your natural smell floods his senses. He’ll beg if he has to- but usually he tries to coax you into joining him in the shower after going to the gym. Not knowing he has an ulterior motive because before you even get a second to wash the sweat and day from your pussy he’s on his knees in front of you- nose at your mound and tongue poking your clit with a moan as he deeply inhales you. “Wait! B-Brendon lemme- n-no wait,” stuttering but he’s too fast- hand throwing your leg over his shoulder and tongue diving in to work you open for him.
And if somehow he’s not able to taste you after the gym? He’s been known to grab your panties and wait until you’re asleep or busy so he can inhale you and fuck his fist.
E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)
Brendon is very experienced- Park the Shark fucks. That became painfully aware the first time you found yourself underneath him- expecting him to be some ortho jock asshole who uses you like a fleshlight but you were so fucking wrong. And happy to be wrong- because he wasn’t selfish like you expected.
He took his time with you, spent a good hour at least on just kissing you alone- sat in his lap while you buried your hands in his surprisingly soft hair and tangled your tongues together. Only pulling away to breathe before he drags your lips back to his with a strong grip on your jaw- moaning when you feel him grind up into you. Takes his time stripping you- like he’s peeling wrapping paper off the best gift he’s ever been given before he licks and kisses at the skin of yours that he’s exposed. Spends another half an hour with his face buried between your thighs- licking and exploring you to make sure you’re thoroughly wet and ready for him. Yeah- Brendon fucks.
F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)
Park is a big man, strong- definitely in his prime. He likes fucking you against the wall sometimes. When you’re showering together or against the giant glass windows in his expensive apartment and you’ve spent more time playing with his cock than actually bathing? Strong hands gripping your ass- legs thrown over his elbows to force you open for him while your back is flush against the icy tiles- can’t do anything but let him use his grip to force you up and down on him cock over and over again.
He’s also a fan of reverse cowgirl- but he likes to sit up while you ride him. He likes to suck on your neck and bite your shoulders- thick fingers circling your clit- groaning in your ear when you go too fast and he slips out of your leaking cunt. “You don’t want it there do you? Want my cock here?” Guiding his tip a little farther back to where you’re tighter- ass spread open for him and whimpering like a whore when he shoves the head of his cock into your ass. You’re stuffed- Brendon’s cock sinking into your hole while three thick and long fingers stretch your pussy open and sound so obscenely loud from how wet you were.
G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)
Honestly it depends- Park can mostly be a bit serious when it comes down to sex. When you first started landing in his bed it was a serious event- the concentration on his face was apparent because he wanted this to be good for you.
But after you’ve been dating? Brendon is actually a goofy idiot- only around you though. Only in the comfort of your arms can he strip that Shark personality off and be yours. Where he will laugh during sex because you both just came from a date night- he’s fucking happy and comfortable and you make eye contact with him and you both break into a fit of giggles from how unserious it was for a second. When you’re desperate to feel him and the second he gets home from work you’re on him- stripping him so fast and needy that you accidentally scratch him and he laughs because of how much you want him. When you both wake up at 3 am and decide to make out because there’s nothing to hinder you in that moment- smiling and laughing when you both roll each other all over the bed without a care in the world.
H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)
It’s slicked back- no jk he only slicks his hair back for surgery. It’s easier to maintain. But as for below the belt? It’s trimmed. Neat and tidy- sometimes he’s exhausted and will let it go for a bit. Soft and fluffy curls that are similar to the hair on his head.
I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)
Park is a serious man- and with all that seriousness comes a deep longing for intimacy. Even when you first started fucking- it was intimate and consuming. Your senses were on overdrive from how Brendon felt around you- needing this to be good and wanting you to feel just how much wanted this. Lights off- or definitely has some low/soft light setting in his lavish apartment to just barely illuminate your bodies. Eyes half lidded and nearly in a daze from how good he fucking feels around you- warm body covering yours and soft lips taking your breath away.
And after you’re exclusive? God there’s candles- soft scents that help relax your mind and just let you give into the pleasures of him. There’s whispered love and mumbled out confessions of earnest desire and devotion- “feel s’good baby, so- s’fucking good- love you- I love you so much,” because he’s not good with words but he can ramble and stutter out his love when he’s fucking you a lot easier.
J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)
Yeah- he does. Sometimes stress and pent up frustration gets the better of him and he can’t take it out by hammering rods into someone’s leg so he’ll go into the showers at the hospital- wrap a heavy hand around his cock and stroke himself fast. Biting his fist to stop himself from groaning too loud- hearing the little whimper he let out echo and bounce around the cold shower tiles. He doesn’t like taking his stress out on you so- yeah he jerks off.
K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)
Bondage (Giving): Tying you up- wrist restraints to keep you stuck to the bed or leg restraints to keep those pretty legs open so he can focus on licking your pussy or fucking you stupid. The feeling that you have complete trust in him- relinquishing control and giving it to Brendon so he can use your body for his own selfish desires. He likes being needed by you- hearing you cry his name feeds some sick part of his ego to know that it’s him that has you like this.
Bondage (Receiving): Don’t be fooled- Brendon will hand you the reins from time to time. When he’s had a long week with making decisions and sometimes saving a life with his own bare hands he just needs a fucking moment to let it go. He loves and trusts you- wants to relax and let you take over so- yeah, he lets you tie him up. He lets you secure his wrists so he doesn’t get the urge to grab your body and move you how he wants. He lays on the bed and lets you ride him or suck his dick the way you think he needs- mind fully going free and empty because you feel so fucking good and are praising him- “Fuck you’re so big- too big baby- feels so fucking good I’m already gonna cum.”
Biting: Okay okay- yes part of his nickname is because he likes to bite. Brendon Park the Shark likes to mark your body up- leaving indents and teeth marks all over the softness of your skin also feeds his ego. No one else makes you feel this good- no one else gets to bite your heaving chest while you ride them. No one else gets to leave a mark in your shoulder- smirking when he presses on accident the next day to feel you shudder and tense. No one else leaves mark on the inside of your thighs- pressing into them on purpose the next day and even taking a picture.
Choking: Again- it’s about trust. Loving him so much that you nod with excitement when his heavy hand slides up from its place between your legs- feeling him cup your breast and pinch at your nipples before continuing up until you feel his thumb and fingers dig into the sides of your throat with an experimental squeeze. Feeling your walls tighten around his cock when he does so- begging him for it. Your vision going a little fuzzy sometimes when he squeezes his hand around your throat while diving deeper into your cunt- pussy leaking all over him until you cum from the lightheadedness. And sometimes? He likes when you do the same to him.
L = Location (favorite places to do the do)
Anywhere as long as you’re the other party in the situation- that being said, Brendon has a particular fondness for your bed. It’s nice- it smells like you, your sheets are soft and in a light color that he would never get for himself but they immediately feel like home to him. You thought he’d prefer his bed with those black silky sheets and orthopedic comfort that helps his old sports injuries but now- he prefers your space. You bring color into his life. There’s a softness- a light about your apartment that he likes. Your bed is smaller- he’s always pressed up against you in some way and it makes him smile when he feels you cuddle closer into him. He likes the way you look in the morning when you ride him- your sheets bunched around your hips and the sunlight catching the way your face is scrunched up in pleasure while you chase your orgasm.
He’s also a sucker for some good car sex too- crammed together in his tiny sports car where there’s barely any room to move about so you’re reduced to grinding against each other for pleasure. Unable to bounce in his lap like you want because there’s no overhead space so you’re writhing in his lap like a whore- rolling your hips back and forth where his abs can rub against your clit and help you cum on him. Steering wheel digging in your lower back or you’re bent in half with your knees grazing your ears because it’s the only way you’ll fit in the back seat. And it’s so fucking good.
M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)
After a good workout or successful surgery? All that adrenaline pumping through Park’s veins? Goes straight to his cock. Texting you to be ready when he gets home- not even caring to elaborate because even he doesn’t know what he’s about to do. Nearly stumbling through the door to try and find you- praying you’re on the couch so he doesn’t have to walk far and try and find you. Groaning in almost pain when he sees you wearing nothing but he’s shirt and legs already open for him- asking what’s gotten into him when he drags you into his lap and all but tears the shirt off your body. “Do I need an excuse for wanting to fuck my girlfriend?” Already pushing through your walls- twin moans echoing through the apartment when you feel him inside you, strong hands gripping your hips and using that leverage to help him fuck you until he flips you over and hammers you into the couch.
N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)
He won’t share- no threesomes. Sex is intimate to Brendon- something that should only be shared between you and him and the idea of someone else touching you makes him sick.
He hates the fake pornstar moaning- has broken up with girls for it because they thought he liked that and all it did was irritate him. He wants your genuine love and sounds- if you’re not into it don’t fake it. Tell him and he’ll adjust.
He’s not really into sexting or phone sex- he can visualize it just fine but he wants it tangibly and to hear you without the crackle of the shitty cell reception sometimes. He wants to hold you and feel you.
O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)
Park loves when you suck him off- he loves to see you get on your knees for him the second he gets home. Needy and shoving him against the front door before reaching in his pant to pull out his half hard cock- soft lips wrapping around the head of him to tease and lick the precum he’s leaked because you texted a little sneak peek of what’s to come when he gets home. Keys forgotten- thrown to the floor so he can empty his hands and grab at your hair to ground himself before he cums down your throat in mere seconds. “Miss me baby?” choked off moan- cumming when your hand reaches up to cradle his balls and tug just a little with a smirk because you feel him immediately tense and groan when he spills down your throat.
Park loves to eat your pussy. It’s another stress reliever for him- letting himself get lost in your taste and the pretty sounds you make. Closing his eyes and just letting his senses be overtaken by you- the whimpers and moans you cry out when he presses his tongue inside your pussy. The sweet tangy taste of your juices- flooding his tongue with every orgasm you give him, or that he gives you really. Loves making you clench and cry around his tongue- licking up into you and letting his tongue rub along that soft spot that has you pulling his hair and weakly crying his name. He doesn’t even use his hands on your pussy- Brendon’s hands stay rooted on your hips or thighs to keep you open, his mouth doing all the work.
P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)
Both- and yes that’s a cop out but it truly depends on his mood and how his day had been. Is he tired after doing his third knee replacement? Then he’s slow- soft and gentle when he rocks into you earnestly, giant body thrown on top of yours- keeping you underneath him with just the weight of him and the slow strokes he fucks into you.
Is he on call? And his phone can ring at any second to drag him back to the hospital for an MVC where the kid’s spine is in multiple pieces? He’s fast- fucking you hard and rough because he’ll be damned if he’s called away from your sweet pussy before he gets to feel you cum around his aching cock. Hasn’t fucked you in days because of his schedule- you’re asleep by the time he gets home and in the morning he needs to run out the door before he’s late so he doesn’t have time for anything more than a kiss.
Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)
He’ll do them- they’re just not his preferred method of making you cum. He likes to take his time breaking you apart but dammit if you don’t turn him on sometimes- wearing some tight dress at some stupid fucking event where he’s wearing a bow tie and smiling with a little “thank you,” because he won an award and- god you just look good enough to fucking eat.
Brendon’s quickies are usually about getting you off- kneeling in front of you in so tucked away corner that anyone can walk in on and see you both but you don’t fucking care. His tongue is hot and stiff and licking the entire expanse of your pussy- your hands messing up the slicked back hair that you hate because you like the soft curls he has.
Or when you’re bent over in those leggings that he swears he can see the outline of your cunt in- he gets the urge and just needs to have you now. Large hand over your mouth to keep you silent while the other works quick circles over your clit like the pace he fucks into you from behind- hands scratching at the tree in front of you for stability because you think you’re about to fall from the force of him behind you. Hiking seemed like a good idea at the time but who knew nature turned him on so much.
R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)
Even though he sees what risk can do to people on a daily basis- Park likes a little risk in his life. He’s a little more kinky than you expected and when you bring up the subject of a new toy or something to try in the bedroom he’s always game. Food? He’ll lick chocolate off your body or let you suck whip cream off his dick. Outdoors? He’ll find the safest route away from the hiking trail and check for snakes or spiders before he bends you over a good looking rock. Semi-public? Just give him a look and he’s grabbing your hand and shoving you on your knees to feed his cock into your open mouth with a smirk and a- “just couldn’t fucking wait until we get home huh?” lightly slapping your cheek before grabbing your hair to set a pace that he likes.
S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)
Brendon was built for endurance- he was built to last out opponents on the opposite team and to be strong and effective. One hit and they’re out. Of course that means he can last a long time in bed as well- three to four rounds that last about 10 to 15 minutes each is his usual. Maybe a few minutes between rounds to catch his breath or stretch out an impending cramp because he’s not in his 20’s anymore and can’t just go without taking a beating for it- but Park can go.
T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)
Brendon is a bit of a kinky asshole- you find out the hard way after you’re both decided to be exclusively together. Toys? Yeah- he has them. Uses them most of the time- his favorite is a spreader bar, keeps your legs wide open for him to fuck you after he’s had a long day. Has wrist restraints that easily lock onto his headboard to keep you still underneath him when he licks you clean. A few plugs that he likes to try out on you- making you wear it throughout the day and if you’re spending the day at home he’ll periodically ask you to show him. He likes to ties you up to his bed when you’re being a brat- knelt over you while he uses a fleshlight on himself and makes you watch and cry for him. Yeah- dude has toys.
U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)
Not at first. At first he’s not nearly as much of a shit as he could be- he doesn’t keep you stuffed with his cock while he does nothing but rub your clit slow and with barely any pressure until you’re crying frustrated tears. He doesn’t tie you to his bed while he grabs your one loose hand and uses it to jerk himself off into your tits. He doesn’t have your legs held locked in one position with the spreader bar while he uses your wet pussy lips to give him some friction- cumming on your swollen cunt with a few slaps until you’re begging him to fuck you.
Nah- not at first. At first he’s sweet and only teases with a little smile- asking if you want him. It’s not teasing- it was just foreplay. You hadn’t begun to understand the level of Brendon’s teasing yet.
V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)
The first few times you fucked he wasn’t silent- but he just wasn’t very vocal either. Soft little grunts in your ear and the occasional mumble of “fuck,” under his breath but that was about it. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy himself it’s just that he’s been known to lose himself in the feeling of someone- will groan and growl even. One partner even covered his mouth while they fucked so- he just learned to control it better.
“Do you- are you having a good time?” you finally asked him once- noticing the way he’d bite his lip and bury his face in your neck when he felt you clench around him. Pushing on his chest because you’re having an amazing time but if he wasn’t- “yeah I just- didn’t wanna ruin the mood,” by moaning? Oh- yeah that didn’t work for you. No you wanted to hear him- you needed him to groan and growl in your ear while he fucked you so you made it your mission to get those sounds out of him.
And now? Park doesn’t shut the fuck up. Heavy breathing- nasty words in your ear while he fills you up over and over again- “feel that baby? You like that? Yeah- yeah I know you do. Get s’fuckin tight when I do that- more?” Biting your jaw- licking your neck and groaning in your ear like it’s his fucking job. Laughing even- sometimes he laughs while you fuck because you can’t respond to him other than a little whimper and a soft- “Brendon, baby please.”
W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)
Brendon didn’t get his “Park the Shark” nickname because of sports- or because of the way he circles a room and eyes everyone like they’re a threat. No he earned the nickname in college- because he was the only one who’d eat pussy even if the girl is on her period. What’s a little blood gonna do? Stop him? Nah.
And you learned quickly that when Brendon wants you- he wants you no matter what. “W-wait Brendon! No I’m-” eyes half lidded- in a daze when he looks up from his spot on the floor, knelt down where you sat on the couch with his fingers digging into your waistband to try and tug your underwear down. “What? Do you not want-” I mean if you don’t want him to then obviously he’ll stop but- “no it’s not that I’m- um, I’m on my period,” god you were embarrassed, face hot and trying to avoid eye contact but- “okay?” well- orgasms did help cramping, headaches, sore muscles- so you’ve heard anyway.
X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)
Look at him- he’s not a small man and neither is his dick. Big enough to make you gasp the first time you saw it- hand on his chest with a little “woah- wait a minute,” because there was no way it would fit. He made it fit.
8.5 inches, uncut and just a little darker than the rest of his skin- thicker in the middle. The tip gives you a false sense of hope that he’s not that big but after the first inch? Thicker- wider and stretches you just on the side of almost painful, enough to feel for the next few days at least. Heavy- too heavy to stand up when he’s hard.
Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)
Did you know that men who work out a lot have increased testosterone- and increased testosterone means their sex drive is stronger? Wilder? Yeah- you didn’t know that. Park’s sex drive is high. You honestly can’t keep up sometimes- barely able to get through the door and there’s a giant man in your space, picking you up over his shoulder to take you to his big, orthopedic bed and spread you open for him.
Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)
Honestly? Near immediately. He works long and odd hours some weeks- being on call or just back to back surgeries like when there’s multiple MVCs or when the senior citizen center has a party and the next day everyone’s hip is out. The man is tired and after he exerts his energy in you? After he gets his dose of intimacy with you that’s he’s been missing out on? And made sure that you’re hydrated, fucked properly, and cleaned up? Man is out. If he’s not on call then that phone is on DND and you’re trapped underneath him for a few hours.
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@velvetmel0n @flamingdisputes @flofaiiry @nyxmoretti @silversprings-mp3 @thatfanficstuff @diasnohibng @userhotd @abzidabzy @thedamnqueenofhell @happyendingarentreal @phoenixhalliwell @artsymaddie @pjo178 @xoxoloverb @flyinglama @angelbunny222 @llovekats @wayytoocooll @lostgirllulu @scarlet-nerded @pascalsryissa @fortjackson @blackrose53666 @celiaiscaterpillar @rae4725 @dr-yapper @loverwrites @redhooduwu @momdancingtomcr @cerberus101 @realwhoreforfictionalmen @mamabearnoelle and @ovaryacted because she hates to love him.
divorced couple, THEY HAVE A KID, just imagine park donated his sperm or something, no allusions to motherhood! 18+ SMUT, sorry this took so long, angst
more shark fics at the bottom of my masterlist
"Dr. Park? Your phone is ringing."
Park didn't let his gaze drop from the leg in front of him, muscle and sinew unfolding in a gruesome mess of red and white.
"What did I say about interrupting me?" he growled, resisting from rolling his eyes. "Scalpel," he muttered to the surgical tech next to him, who immediately handed him the tool without question. At least someone here was competent.
"But--"
"It's your emergency contact, Park," a familiar voice stated. When he looked up, his favorite OR nurse was practically glaring at him, the baby nurse who interrupted looking cowed at her side.
"Why the fuck didn't you start with that?" No one answered, predictably. "Go find the other attending. Wake her up if you have to." A flurry of movement occurred, pagers buzzed and scalpels handed off. Within ten minutes, Dr. Stevenson appeared to take over, and Park had the fastest scrub out of his life.
"Here." His phone appeared in his hand, two missed calls from you on his screen.
He pressed respond immediately, heart pounding more than it had in months. You never called, let alone twice. Perfunctory texts were the norm now, only about the custody agreement for the divorce papers that were signed twelve months ago, ink as black as the cloud that hung over his head on a daily basis. The tone clicked, and suddenly it was you on the other side.
"I'm downstairs," you said, voice steady. "You're in the ED?" he asked, already turning to find the nearest exit. Elevators were, of course, in the farthest direction, so stairs it was.
"They moved us to a room, I think..." you pulled away, seemingly to step out to check, then returned with a whoosh, "North 15."
"We?" Blood rushed in his ears as metal stairs clanged, the eight flights of stairs between Ortho and the ER feeling impossibly like 100. "Is Bug there? Are you okay?" An echo of what he'd asked you a year ago, coming home to white paper on the table and a stone-cold face. This time, though, you didn't stay silent.
"Don't freak out, Brendon, we're fine." You must have said something else, but he opened the floor-level doors with such a bang that he couldn't hear. Gurneys passed, with one frightened intern looking his way, but Park ignored all as he passed the hub to find North 15.
"Dr. Park? The arm in South 8 has been waiting forever." The med student's voice (Ogland? Olive? Park didn't care to know) jolted him like a pat to the shoulder, irritation climbing under his scrubs.
"Who is in North 15?" Park growled, whirling past Dana to continue his path.
"Um, let's see, five-year-old with allergic reaction at after-school program. Came in with the ambulance, but we gave her some epi and we're keeping her under observation before next steps." Oscar (?) shook his head, that ever-present know it. "Parent just got here, can't believe people don't know their own kid's allergies--"
Park stopped then, outside of North 15. "Say one more word, and you won't see this ER again." Olliver (?) gulped, eyes wide enough to be medically impossible, and promptly vanished. Park turned on his heel and pushed through the curtain before he could think twice.
Bug's too small for that bed.
His first thought echoed through his mind as he took in the scene before him, his heart ricocheting through his ribcage. You, eyes red and face wet, looked up at him, and for a moment, it was as if the past year hadn't happened. It was the same look you gave him after he came home from an on-call shift, having abandoned your bed at some inane hour to go fix a limb. Bright eyes and a soft smile, like you were genuinely happy he was here.
"Daddy!" A little voice broke him out of his reverie, turning his attention back to the bed. His daughter made grabby hands at him, and he couldn't help but scoop her into his chest, cognizant of the pediatric IV in her arm. Bug giggled into him, squealing when he pretended to bite her ear. "Bad shark!" she yelled, whacking his shoulder with her free arm. He let her go with one more kiss to her hair, scanning her face and neck for injuries as he let her go.
"Turns out she's allergic to pomegranates. Who would have thought?" you murmured, drawing his attention straight back to you. You hated pomegranates. Something about the acidity, the texture of them bursting, so they'd never been in your house. He hadn't eaten them in nine years.
Despite your calm tone on the phone, it was clear you'd been holding it together out of sheer will. Your lips twisted and pursed, a telltale sign of impending tears. The universe knew how many times he'd seen that face, had been the cause of it more than once.
The curtain squeaked open, bringing back the blinding light of the ED. "How are we- oh! Dr. Park!" It was Perlah, one of the only ED staff members whose name he cared to remember, since she was actually competent at her job. The nurse in question seemed to take in the scene rather quickly, most likely due to Bug's matching eye color to his own, or the protective hand he had on her shoulder.
"Just here to check on some vitals and deliver this." Perlah pulled a sticker pack out of thin air, one of those small ones they gave out at restaurants. When Park looked back at you, your eyes glittered, and his heart felt like it had been carved to pieces.
"Perlah, do you mind staying here until we get back?" The nurse nodded with a smile, and when he turned to look at his daughter, she was already reaching for the stickers. Typical.
"What do we say, Bug?" Park murmured, catching your eye and nodding to the door.
"Thank you!" Bug shouted gleefully, already depositing a sticker on his arm, uncaring of the hair there. Perfect.
You followed him outside without comment, arms wrapped around your waist. Your work shirt was a light blue, a new one he hadn't seen before. It nipped in at your waist, currently covered by your fingers, and he ached to replace them with his own.
He found you a quiet hallway, and the moment he stopped and turned, the story seemed to burst out of you.
"I was at work and they called me and said there had been a change in the snack because of some substitute caretaker and Bug broke out in hives and the school nurse was gone because it was 5:30 so they called the ambulance and she was taken here and-" Tears leaked down your cheeks and past your chin, turning the sky-colored fabric a stormy sort of blue. Park wrapped you in his arms, tucking you under his chin as your tears soaked his scrubs. He rocked you slowly, one hand cupping your head to him while the other found the small of your back.
He hadn't touched you in so long that your warmth seemed more like embracing a furnace. Twelve months, three days, and four hours, to be exact. Your conditioner still smelled the same, a coconutty scent he hadn't been able to get out of his nose, even when he'd move to the soulless apartment that was now his home.
“It’s okay, baby, Bug’s fine. She’s probably covered the whole room in stickers by now,” Park assured you, pulling back to kiss the top of your head before tucking you into him again. Your sobs turned into sniffles, but neither of you separated even once the tears stopped.
“Were you in a surgery?” you mumbled, unwrapping from his hold to wipe at your tears. Park shook his head, the white lie coming easily as to assuage any guilt. You sniffled, a little clearer now, and focused on the plum-colored scrubs in front of you instead of his face.
Something left your lips, but it was too quiet for him to hear, like you were talking to yourself rather than him. "What?" he coaxed, hands still around your waist, playing with the belt loops of your slacks. You shook your head, hands twisting in the space between your bodies, before tipping your chin up again.
"I asked if you wanted to stay at the house tonight? Bug only has an hour left of observation, and now that she's seen you, I'm not sure if she can let you go. Or wait until it's your week with her, even if that starts in 48 hours." Park nodded, already thankful his gym bag was in his locker with a clean pair of clothes. He hadn't been inside the house since the papers were signed, but he'd do anything to wash that destroyed look from your face.
-
The house was just like he remembered it. Bug's artwork on the walls, little shoes next to adult ones by the door, and the scent of lavender candles recent burnt in the air. Bug shifted in his eyes, clearly ready to stop being worried over and eat the dinner she usually devoured by now. He had her most of his off days, the closest he could get to a 50/50 arrangement without scrambling her schedule too much.
Consistency was important, the therapist had said, but when his daughter blew a raspberry into his shoulder, it was much easier to reminisce back to when the three of you were a family. When he didn't have to worry about neutral pickup spaces, or how you wouldn't look him in the eyes whenever he asked how you were at drop off.
"C'mon, sweetheart. Let's wash our hands before we eat dinner," you said. Park let his daughter scramble to the kitchen sink and her butterfly stool while he detoured to the bathroom, quickly changing out of his scrubs into the shirt and gym shorts in his bag.
Dinner was a silly affair. Bug requested cheeseburgers to solve her illness, and he couldn't help the burst of warmth that sat in his chest as the three of you sat around the breakfast table, sharing fries and napkins.
Bedtime was a quick event, and before he knew it, he was standing in front of his old couch with a pillow in hand. The same couch he'd made love to you on the day you moved in, the same couch you'd first felt Bug kick in your womb, moving his hand to cover your belly to feel it. Slightly battered, a piece of furniture that held more stories than he could recall.
"All settled?" When he turned, there you were, silhouetted by the nightlights plugged into the wall. Warm light lit your white t-shirt up, and for a moment, he imagined an angel.
"How are you?" he asked instead of answering. There were many things he could fix: all four limbs, an intern's mistake, an incorrect diagnosis. But he couldn't fix the frown on your face, or the way you scratched your foot up and down your calf, looking like you wanted to bolt as soon as possible. To his surprise, you made your way down the stairs, coming to stand at the bottom one. His feet moved without permission, pillow still in hand, and delivered him to stand in front of you.
"I'm fine, Bren," you answered, eyes more on the ground than on the man in front of you. Despite the answer, he wasn't at all satisfied with it. One steady hand found your chin and tipped it up, forcing you to look at him. To see him, for once, when it felt like you hadn't in a year. He felt you inhale sharply, the tensing of your neck muscles, the wide-eyed look plastered on your face. "You don't seem fine," he murmured.
Several things happened at once.
You batted his hand away from your chin, stepping back to leave his grip. Unfortunately, you forgot the stairs directly at your heel, and before he could blink, you tipped backward. Instinct kicked in quickly, Park catching you before you could even make it halfway down.
And then you started crying.
He moved the two of you to the floor, unsure of how much comfort you would allow him to give you. But the tears didn't stop after the first few seconds, and it seemed like the lines were already crossed enough. Park tucked you into the crook of his neck, running a gentle hand down the flank of your thigh, his other hand on your back.
It seemed to work for a moment, the tears slowing slightly. And then you stiffened in his grip, already pushing him away before he could let you go. "Stop it, stop holding me," you muttered, scooting away on the ground as he let you go. "I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable," he apologized, arms still warm with the memory of your presence.
"That's just it, isn't it?" you lashed out. "You're just so sorry, and you're doing fine, and you can take Bug whenever. Suddenly wondering how I am and what I'm doing and how work is. Where was that a year ago, huh?" You shook your head, eyes still on the floor as his skin prickled with goosebumps. "You, you never asked how I was, then. When I didn't see you for days, Bren, and when I did, all you did was grunt! You stopped being the man I married two years ago, and now you're him again. How am I supposed to deal with that?"
He moved without thought, turning to cradle himself in between your thighs, splayed on the floor. "I'm sorry," he murmured, cupping your face. You grabbed one of his hands by the wrist, anger laced in your every movement. "Prove it," you ordered.
Park spit in his hand, then moved downwards, under your cotton shorts. "I'm sorry," he said again, finding that sweet spot between your legs he hadn't felt in ages. "I'm sorry," he murmured against your jaw, slipping two fingers into your waiting hole. You clenched around him reflexively, and he didn't move until you relaxed again. He fingered you slowly, using his years of knowledge of your body to make sure every motion brought you pleasure.
"Brendon," you whined as he kissed your jaw, mouthing at your soft skin that tasted like sugar. His cock pressed against his shorts, but he didn't pay it any attention, content to move his fingers in the way you liked. You tightened around him faster than any time before, your thighs squeezing him closer into you.
"I got you," he promised, smiling against your skin as you came, a little moan leaving your throat, just for his ears. Perhaps this meant you were pent up too, hadn't gotten with anyone else after the divorce. He certainly hadn't, and even now, he wondered if this was just a cruel dream.
Your thighs loosened around him, and he took his fingers out of your shorts, taking time to stroke your skin as long as you would allow it. "Let me try again," he requested, kissing the soft skin below your ear. You didn't nod, but you didn't shake your head either.
"Maybe," you replied, tightening your thighs around him until he got the message. "Maybe."
summary: an accident with a familiar, brooding ortho surgeon has you exploring an unlikely connection.
contents: 18+ minors DNI fm reader, no use of y/n, power imbalance (nurse reader/attending ortho surgeon), unspecified age gap, mentions of head trauma/concussions/medical procedures, jack abbot using pet names, swearing, drinking, oral (f/m receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk, reader has a praise kink, use of the pet name ‘bunny’, slight choking, reader is fairly nondescript besides mentions of having long-ish hair. nasty and self indulgent bc i need that big mean man!!
wc: 7.6k
dividers by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏼
a/n— this is not yet proofread, please excuse any typos pls!
You were almost certain this wasn’t the right hallway.
Realization crept in somewhere between the identical looking beige walls and the third “Authorized Personnel Only” sign you’d passed in the last two minutes. Everything looked the same. Same floors, same lights. Directional signs all ran together, and suddenly your head was spinning.
You’d been working at PTMC for right at a year, but venturing out of the ED was rare. Each time you had to do it ended up the same— an extra ten minutes added onto whatever trip you were taking because you got lost. You were far more familiar with small, rural hospitals.
Your ID badge bounced lightly against your chest with every hurried step, teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheek. A familiar nervous habit. It didn’t help that it was nearing four in the morning and the familar buzz of caffeine in your system from the energy drink you’d chugged thirty minutes prior had you moving a little faster than normal. You were jittery and starting to panic a little and oh! Familar double doors came into view and you immediately thanked your lucky stars you hadn’t had to ask anyone for help to get back to the ED, shoulders dropping as you visibly relaxed.
Picking up your pace, you nervously tugged at your badge reel. Surely Abbot was about to send out a search party for you if you didn’t return in the next five minutes.
Hurrying through the wooden double doors, you turned down yet another corridor, finally familiar with where you were. Your eyes fell to your feet for just a moment. Only one more door until—
WHAM!
You’d been walking too fast to hear the click of the handle, or register the large stairwell door swinging open.
You only feel the sudden, stinging impact of metal meeting your head, followed by a delightfully ungraceful stumble backward that somehow manages to be both dramatic and deeply humiliating. You’re on your ass in less than a second, your right hand flying to your face as a string of profanities spew from your chapped lips.
“Jesus Christ.” A familar voice mumbles, and then he’s on his knees next to you, tugging to pull your hand away from your face to check for bleeding. “You alright?” He asks, voice tense. Park.
Certainly there were other people you’d have rather hit you with a large metal door than him. But it wasn’t everyday that something brought the six-foot-something ortho surgeon to his knees.
You blink hard, trying to orient yourself through the pain, your ears suddenly ringing. “Do I look alright?” You hiss, snatching your wrist from him, hot tears suddenly threatening to fall. You manage to meet his eyes, his expression emotionless as usual. Lacking any visible concern or regret.
“You look like you’re about to pass out, actually.” He replies sarcastically, gripping a shoulder to steady you as you sway a little. And admittedly, you are a little more dizzy than you’d like to be because this could definitely be a concussion or intracranial hemorrhage or—
“Hey.” Park’s voice cuts through your racing internal monologue and fuck you’re annoyed. He’s painfully aware of the panic in your squinted eyes and the way you’re growing paler, cheeks burning red from embarrassment. “Can you stand up? You need to get checked out.”
“Yes, I can stand up.” The words come out harsher than you mean them to, and as big and bad as you sound, your actions unfortunately don’t hold their end of the bargain. You’re slow to fully stand, clumsily swaying as you smack a hand against the wall for leverage. And there’s the nausea.
“Alright, up you go.” Park huffs, sweeping you into his arms in a quick motion, surprisingly not earning any protest from you— only a pained sound. “Don’t even think about vomiting on me.” He says quickly, carrying you with ease through the short corridor until a door opens and you’re met with the familiar sounds of the ED.
You slump against his broad chest, the beaming fluorescent lights only making you feel sicker. That and the strong smell of antiseptic.
Park is desensitized to the looks of fear he usually gets when he marches into the ED for a consult. But these— the ones he receives when he enters with a nurse in his arms.. were very different.
“What the fuck?” Abbot calls, slinging his stethoscope around his neck as he rushes over to Park. “What happened?”
“She walked into the door I was opening— smacked her head pretty hard.” Park grumbles, clearly unamused. He’s still cradling you, his expression almost cracking when you sniffle, clearly in a lot of pain.
“What the hell, hun?” Abbot taps your leg but you avoid his eyes, stuck somewhere between pure embarrassment and searing pain. “Let’s get her to a room.”
So, Park follows, avoiding the many eyes on him as he carries you with ease through the bustling ED.
As soon as you’re sat on the stretcher, you whine. “I feel sick.”
“Okay, okay.” Jack’s voice is soothing as he reaches for a emesis bag, handing it to you quickly before he snaps a pair of gloves on. Your heavy eyes meet his own as he leans over you, fingers prodding at the growing bump on your forehead. “She lose consciousness?” He asks Park who’s leaned against a nearby wall looking annoyingly nonchalant as he mumbles a quick ‘nope’.
Jack reaches for his penlight, retrieving it from his shirt pocket in a quick motion. “Let’s see those eyes, sweets.” The nickname settles deep in your stomach, nearly making you smile a little. You wince at the bright light, following his instruction as he raises a finger and urges you to follow it with your eyes. He shakes his head after, dropping the light back into his pocket as he looks at you. “Pupils are a little sluggish. I don’t like that.” He clicks his tongue. “Let’s get you a head CT, yeah? Make sure nothing is happening that we can’t see.”
You groan, letting your head fall back onto the stretcher, and regretting it immediately when pain shoots through your skull.
“I’m gonna handle this consult real quick.” Park speaks up, starting for the door. “Let me know how she does.”
Jack nods, sitting on the edge of the stretcher as the monotone surgeon exits the room. He glances over his shoulder to make sure Park is gone, then back at you with a goofy look on his face.
“Didn’t think I’d ever see him walk into my ED with one of my nurses in his arms.” Jack chuckles, and you muster a weak laugh that turns into more of a whimper.
“I hate him.”
Jack smiles. “He means well. And I don’t think you hate him.. You don’t look at him like you hate him...”
“Jack, don’t.” You huff. “He seemed more inconvenienced than worried.”
“Yeah, well, that’s just Park.” Jack pats your shoulder, sympathetic.
The next few hours blur together. Between the steady pounding in your head and the way you keep replaying the painfully embarrassing accident in your head, it’s hard to focus on anything. It’s nearing shift change when your head CT results finally return, and thankfully Abbot says you’re all clear. No fractures, no bleeding, no swelling. Just a gnarly bruise forming on the right side of your forehead— and on your ego too, probably.
All is well for a while. You’re accepting the day off tomorrow that Jack mentions you’ll have out of precaution. The embarrassment eventually starts to ease, along with the pain. You’re waiting to be discharged, curled up on the stretcher when you hear footsteps. Heavy footsteps. You almost flinch because you know it’s Park. It’s almost as if he sensed your moment of peace and had set out determined to ruin it.
You meet his eyes, and when he doesn’t talk you give him a look that says ‘I’m waiting’..
He steps closer, letting the door close. “CT clear?”
“Yeah.” You mutter, turning towards him a little. “Thankfully you didn’t give me a brain bleed.”
You notice the way his jaw clenches. “I could’ve left you on the floor you know. Walked away.” He seethes. “I’m not responsible for you not watching where you’re going.”
Rolling your eyes, you fake a smile. “Thank you for saving me in my time of need Dr. Park.”
“Everytime I’ve seen you down here you’ve always been so cheerful. Interesting to see your true colors now.” He nods, returning the sarcastic smile. And you think it’s the first time you’ve seen any sort of expression besides a blank stare from him.
You let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m just having a bad night.”
“And you’re taking it out on me?” He asks, leaning up against the wall.
“Coming from the person who is constantly a dick during consults.” You retort.
Thankfully, Abbot entering the room ends your playful pissing match. He’s holding a few papers, and raises a brow at the sight of the two of you clearly having some sort of moment. “Right— you ready to go?”
You start to slowly sit up. “Dying to.”
“Well, you two be safe and I’ll be texting you to check in.” Jack says, pointing a finger at you.
You blink. “You two?”
“Park is taking you home right? He offered.” Jack smiles a little. “Surely you didn’t think I’d let you drive with a possible concussion, sweets.”
Something bubbles up in your chest. It’s not anger, but rather something you can’t exactly put your finger on. You close your eyes for a second, looking up at Park next with furrowed brows. He shrugs. “You were too busy fussing at me— I didn’t get the chance to mention it.”
“I can take an uber.” You protest, shaking your head.
“Let me take you home.” He sounds annoyed, but then again— that seems to be his normal. “It’s the least I can do since apparently I intentionally hit you with the door, right?”
And you unfortunately laugh a little at that. The sound eats Park alive, and he’s suddenly mentally cursing himself at the feeling. He’d always seen you. Noticed you more than the other nurses or residents. Not only were you clearly quite a bit younger than him, but you were bubbly— a stark contrast to himself. You seemed fearless, and maybe that alone intrigued him a little. Though, having only spoken to you a handful of times, he didn’t truly know you. And he didn’t expect that to change.
So, at the sight of you climbing into his SUV, he’s interested. Observant. You take in your surroundings, straight faced as your eyes rake over the spotless interior of his Porsche Cayenne. He hands you his phone without a word, clearly wanting you to put in your address.
You glance at him after, smiling a little when you hand it back to him. “This is somehow exactly what I pictured you driving.”
“Yeah?” He looks both ways as he turns a corner in the parking garage.
“Mhm.” You hum, eyeing his side profile before you turn your gaze forward.
“How are you feeling now?” He eyes you for a second next, and you’re genuinely surprised the typically cold surgeon is making small talk. You’d pictured a silent drive, uncomfortable even. But then again, he was probably just asking questions out of pity.
“Better.” You confirm, voice soft. “Head still hurts a little but that’s to be expected I guess.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you weren’t paying attention and I opened the door fast.” Park says, and is he smirking a little?
You chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re such an ass.”
“So they say.” He half-smiles, long fingers moving to flip the turn signal. Your eyes shamelessly rake along his hands. His livelihood. Large and thick. Prominent veins on top. You blink, averting your eyes back to the road yet again and leaning your head on the headrest.
“Thank you for driving me.” You speak up, following a few moments of silence, your apartment building coming into view.
“Where should I park?” He asks, slowing the car. Your hands are busy gathering your belongings, and you don’t even look his way when you mutter “You can just stop at the front, I’ll get out there.”
“Where should I park for a few hours, genius.” He corrects, meeting your eyes.
You shoot him a confused look. “Hours?”
“I’m not leaving you alone with a concussion.”
“Possible concussion.” You correct, just wanting to be in your bed already. “I probably don’t even have one and I’m fine. You don’t have to stay. Plus I have very nosey roommates.”
“Abbot told me not to leave you alone.” Park stares at you blankly, convinced he’s going to win this. He’s pulled the car to the curb now, one hand still on the steering wheel.
Fucking Jack Abbot— he absolutely did this shit on purpose.
You sigh, exasperated. “I’ll be fine.”
“Either you let me stay, or you go pack a bag and you come stay with me.” He commands, and you’re about to bust a fucking blood vessel.
“Okay, okay.” You huff. “You can’t stay here. We don’t have an extra bed and someone’s crashing on our couch for the weekend.”
“So go pack a bag.” He says simply, shooing you. “Do I need to walk you up?”
“I’ve got it.” You grumble, carefully climbing out of the car and hoisting your bag over your shoulder, trying not to slam the door even though you’d love to right now.
It isn’t until you’re in the elevator that you fish your phone from your pocket, cursing into the empty space as you type a message to none other than Abbot.
You: Why did you tell this man not to let me stay alone!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I HATE YOUUUU
He replies almost immediately.
Jack: Well that’s easy. Because you don’t need to stay alone 🙂
You: I think I’m gonna block you 🤭
Jack: Have fun sweets!
It was well past seven in the morning now, and closing in on seventeen hours that you’d been awake. Not to mention the head trauma. You had minimal energy left and you weren’t gonna spend it arguing with Park. You’d get a few hours of sleep and then he’d take you to pick up your car. It seemed manageable.
And so, you watched with sleepy eyes a half hour later as his black SUV pulled into the driveway of a large brick house, nestled in a quaint neighborhood outside of the city. You could tell he was just as tired, both of you silent as he parked in the garage.
You followed him in without a word, watching him toss his keys in a nearby basket. His home was modern, but cozy. Exquisitely neat. Nothing looked out of place. It even smelled clean. You glanced around, impressed.
“I’ll show you the guest bedroom.” Park said lowly, words laced with exhaustion.
You nodded simply, following him up a flight of stairs.
“Bathroom is here.” He pointed, still walking. “There’s clean towels on the rack and some of my sister’s products in the cabinet you can use if you want or need to. Spare toothbrush in the drawer— Oh, and Tylenol too. If you need anything else just let me know. And if you don’t feel good, call me.” As he finishes, he swings open the door to a large spare room.
“Thank you.” You smile politely, offering him a small nod.
He acknowledges you with a hum, heading down the hallway, itching to get out of his scrubs.
You decide on a quick shower, hoping the steaming water will relax your aching muscles. And then, you’re crawling into cool linen sheets, sighing at the feeling of the soft mattress. It’s not your bed, but boy is it doing the job. Such a good job in fact, that you don’t even recall drifting off.
When you come to hours later, the sound of distant thunder greets you, gloomy skies allowing a slight darkness to fall over the room, rain tapping softly against a nearby window. Then, you smell coffee. You stretch a little, wincing when your forehead brushes against the pillow, a reminder of what you’re sure has turned into a nasty bruise. Your bare feet meet the cool hardwood as you stand up, tugging on some leggings before heading to the bathroom.
Crossing the hallway, you immediately head for a mirror, and audibly groan when you flick the light on and catch a glimpse of your head. Bruised indeed. A nasty purple and yellow bruise at that, one that thankfully wasn’t too large but was absolutely noticeable. You run a hand through your hair, sighing as you begin to pad down the stairs. And there was Park, looking much more presentable than yourself, on the couch with some sort of medical journal because ofcourse he reads those. A pair of dark glasses perched on his perfect nose. He looked edible. So painfully domestic.
You can’t help the nervousness that blooms in you when he looks up, eyes following you as you walk towards the opposite end of the sectional he’s seated on.
“Sleep good?” He asks, eyes locking onto your bruise.
“Feel like I just woke up from a coma.” You chuckle. “So yeah.”
“Any dizziness? Nausea? Blurred vision?” He inquires next, sitting his book down.
“No, Dr. Park.” You hum, tone dripping with sarcasm. “I feel fine. Just sore.”
“Fair enough.” He nods, moving to stand up from the couch. “I’m gonna cook dinner. You okay with pasta?”
You just look at him for a moment. “And when are you going to take my back to my car?”
“It’s about to storm pretty heavy. Staying another hour or two won’t kill you, you know?” He looks back before he disappears into the kitchen. You huff, moving to follow him.
“I feel like I’m overstaying my welcome.” You say as you breach the doorway, voice wary. His kitchen is beautiful, one you could only dream of cooking in. Gorgeous marble countertops and dark cabinets. Sparkling appliances.
He plants his large hands on the kitchen counter, looking at you with that look he frequently sports at the hospital. One that typically strikes fear in people. “You are not overstaying your welcome, nor are you bothering me in any way. So can you let me be nice to you?”
You nearly physically recoil. “Not used to you being nice, but I guess I’ll take it.”
He nearly smiles a little at your reply, eyes softening. You can’t help the way your eyes float along his sharp features, then along the broad expanse of his clothed back when he turns toward the refrigerator.
“Glass of wine?” He offers.
“Will that help my alleged concussion?”
You hear him chuckle as he retrieves two crystal stemless wine glasses from a nearby cabinet. “You claim you don’t have one, so why do you ask?”
Darn him for being just as much of a smartass as you are and darn you for enjoying it.
You bite at your lip a little, fighting a smile as you watch him place a glass of red wine before you. Settling onto a barstool, you pull the glass closer, humming a quick ‘thank you’.
“You cook often?” And now you’re the one fueling the small talk.
“I try to.” He says, shuffling around to gather ingredients from the fridge, then a pan and some utensils. “It’s one of the few things that keep me sane.”
You laugh a little, taking a swig of the wine, playfully swirling the glass afterward. “And what are the others?”
“Mmm, the gym.” He starts. “Running. Reading. Hitting people with doors…”
And you’re giggling, the sound making something twist deep inside him. He switches on the stove, turning to lean on the counter and watch you afterward. He drinks you in. Your slightly messy hair that dances along your shoulders. Oversized teeshirt, clearly worn for sleep only. Gnarly bruise on your forehead that somehow you make look good. It’s different here. Out of scrubs. Out of a bustling hospital. He’s never gotten the chance to truly look at you, and he’s starting to hate the way you fit in so effortlessly in his kitchen. In his house.
“I like seeing you like this.” You admit sheepishly, a playful smile tugging at your lips. Almost as if you’d read his mind.
He blinks, crossing his arms. “Like what?”
“Not so mean.” You chuckle. “Relaxed. Making jokes. Trying not to smile even though you want to.”
“Maybe I like everyone thinking I’m mean.” He teases in return.
You lick your lips after taking another swig, and he can’t help but notice. “Seems like you’re just misunderstood.”
Park shrugs, smiling a little as he turns back to the stove, trying to silently convince himself that you aren’t having any effect on him. Because fuck, you’re cute. You’re clever and funny and so easy to talk to.
You keep talking, feeding your want to know more about the mysterious surgeon. And it doesn’t stop there. The conversation flows through dinner and beyond. When you’re watching him wash dishes (ones he wouldn’t let you help with because you’re a guest..) and when you take to the couch afterward. When he learns you’re afraid of storms because you jump at a crack of thunder, despite how loose you feel from the wine.
Before you know it, it’s totally dark outside and you’re still talking. The bottle of wine is long gone, and you’re purely giddy. It had been too long since you’d opened up to someone the way you did with him. Your roommates weren’t much for talking, usually retreating to their rooms as soon as they arrrived. To be fair, you’d met them in a ‘searching for Pittsburgh roommates’ group on Facebook and nobody bothered to really get to know each other. You’d spent so much time alone recently that you were shocked how euphoric it felt to simply hang out with someone. Park the Shark of all people, at that. The two of you were an unlikely combo, yet surprisingly had a lot in common.
Once you’d covered work, college, family, siblings, hobbies, etcetera— you retreat to the bathroom, slightly buzzed and accepting the fact that Park hadn’t mentioned anything else about taking you home. Likely due to the storm and he obviously wasn’t going to drink and drive now.
So, when you return to the living room to all the lights dimmed and the sounds of hockey flowing from the tv, you sit closer to him without a second thought. After all, your view was better there— or atleast you told yourself that. He doesn’t mention it, but he notices the way you’ve inched closer, sprawled out next to him now, reaching for a nearby throw blanket.
And for the first time in a while, he’s truly content.
Content enough to fall asleep apparently. The long hours of shift work that frequently rotate are a pain, and Park has mastered the art of falling asleep just about anywhere. But he can’t remember the last time he fell asleep infront of the tv. When he opens his eyes he starts to stretch, mind in a sleepy haze. The TV is still playing Pens highlights, even though the game is long over. Rain is still falling outside. And you— you’re curled up next to him, head resting on his leg. Chest rising and falling every few seconds, mouth partially open. He blinks, just watching you for a moment, reaching a hand out without thinking to push some hair from your face. That alone makes you stir. You’ve always been a light sleeper.
You twitch, breathing in as your eyes blink open. It registers quickly, the way your head is resting on the soft material of his sweatpants. Sucking in a breath, you move to start sitting up, hand flying to where your head is aching. Likely from where you’d been laying on your bruise.
“You okay?” Park asks, sitting up and adjusting his shirt.
“Yeah.” You breathe. “Sorry, I don’t remember falling asleep.”
“Stop apologizing.” He chastises. “I don’t either.”
Tapping at his phone, his eyes are met with the time. 1:47.
“Want to get in bed?” He doesn’t mean the way it sounds like an invitation.
You rub your legs together, still cozy beneath the blanket. “I’m comfy.” You groan. It’s a weak protest, but not a lie. You can’t help the way you shamelessly itch to lean back into him, and for once you don’t fight yourself. Without a word he lifts his arm, accepting your presence as you curl into his side. He kicks his feet up and leans his head back, something happening in his chest at the feel of you pressed against him. Fuck.
Letting out a long relaxed breath, you look up at him, eyes meeting his jawline and neck, then locking with his own when he moves to look down at you. Your stomach flips, heat ripping through you at the proximity of his face to yours. Then his eyes flicker down to your lips, and that’s when you know. You know he wants to kiss you. Everything feels heavier, especially the way his hand rests on your back, fingers starting to trace over the soft fabric of your teeshirt.
Neither of you dare speak a word, eyes saying everything that needs to be said. Park watches your tongue peek out to wet your lips, and he immediately starts to move in, giving you ample time to pull away even though he’s sure you won’t. And when you grab at his shirt, moving in a little yourself, he seals the deal.
Your lips meet, pressing firmly together, neither of you in any rush. Just taking in the feeling. Inching closer, you don’t dare pull away. His hand moves to slide against your jaw, holding firm as your lips leisurely move with his. When his tongue slides against yours you can’t help the way your thighs press together. You let out a small whine into his mouth, one that does not go unnoticed. Infact, the oh so pretty sound starts playing on a loop in Park’s head and he’s a goner.
He hadn’t dreamt of stopping until you moved to climb into his lap. Raising a hand, he pulls back to look at you.
“We shouldn’t.” He says softly, his rational side taking over.
But then, you’re pressing a kiss to his jaw. Then another. One leg sliding along his lap as you climb onto him.
“But do you want to?” You breathe.
He swallows. “You know I want to.”
“So yeah, we probably shouldn’t— but what if we want to?” You say softly, pressing yet another feather soft kiss to the spot right blow his ear. He groans a little, moving a hand to gently grab at the back of your neck and pull your lips back to his.
The way you move together is effortless, but growing increasingly messy. Teeth starting to clash. Tongues fighting. And when you roll your hips against his, the noise he lets out against your lips is sinful. Breaking apart, he runs his hands through the hair on the side of your head.
“You’re trouble.” His voice is deep, taunting. “Grinding against me all needy, huh?” Lips dancing along your ear as he speaks. Chills roll over you, heart fluttering. You move your hips against his lap again, relishing in the way his hands fly to your sides, your lips meeting yet again. The feeling of him hard beneath you only spurs you on, whimpering into his mouth when your clothed core slides directly over the length of him through his sweats.
“Shit.” He spits, deep voice floating around you. “You’re determined, huh?”
“Maybe I wanna torture you a little.” You purr, forehead pressing to his, careful to avoid your bruise. “As payback.”
“This isn’t the same kind of pain, baby.” He chuckles. “You should be focused on your head injury, not me.”
“Can you stop being responsible Park for twenty minutes?” You look at him, that sweet little smile doing a number on him.
“Which Park do you want right now then?” He teases, shifting beneath you, painfully hard.
“The one that fucks me.”
He’s nearly choking at your words, tangling his hand in your hair and yanking your head back in response. “Used to getting what you want, aren’t you? Stubborn little fucking brat.”
You mewl at his harsh words, eyes fluttering when he drags his teeth along your throat, hot lips leaving wet kisses along the sensitive skin. He’s so much stronger and bigger, hands ghosting wherever they touch, keeping you right where he wants you. Watching you as you helplessly grind over him again. He grips your hair tighter. “Use your words or we’re done here.”
“Want you, please.”
“Want me how?”
You sigh at the feeling of his lips on your pulse point. “Want you to touch me.”
“M’ already touching you, baby.” He reminds you, so fucking annoying.
You grunt, frustrated, and he releases his tight grip on your hair. Returning to his waiting gaze, your eyes are soft, lips plush and swollen from his kiss. “Want you to make me cum.” You say next, voice timid. “Please.”
He pushes some hair behind your ear. “Yeah?” His tone is laced with faux pity, almost mocking. Hips steady as you continue to rock against him, your breaths unsteady.
“I think you can cum like this.” He counters, grip tight on your waist. Neither of you had yet to shed any clothing, and you didn’t mind. He was right, the friction was delicious. “Think you can, baby? Think you can cum from rubbing that pussy against me?”
You clench around nothing, heat bubbling in your chest as you whine. “Just want you.” And you’re begging so pretty, calm little voice filling his ears, thick with want. Before you can form a coherent thought, you’re being lifted. Park’s hands cradle the underside of your thighs, letting you wrap your legs around him as he starts to venture toward the stairs. Your arms snake around his neck, giggling a little as he stumbles around a table.
Moments later when you’re being gently sat on the edge of his bed, you can’t help but glance around at his room. Neat and spacious. Black out curtains. Dark comforter beneath you. It’s so him. His familiar scent dances around you, your eyes floating up to watch him yank at his shirt.
“Lay back.” He instructs with ease, so used to being in charge. Spitting commands and watching everyone obey. You want to playfully object just to see where it gets you, but you listen instead, and his long fingers are gripping at the waistband of your leggings. He makes quick work of dragging them off, sighing in defeat at the sight of your simple grey panties, the obvious dark patch of wetness on the crotch mocking him.
“You wet from just a little teasing, bunny?” Between the tone of his voice and the pet name that came out of nowhere, you think you might actually pass out. He taps at your knee, urging you to spread your legs. Warm hands slide along your thighs and you watch him settle onto his knees on the floor, yanking you with ease until your ass is right at the edge of his bed. The look in his eyes is sharp enough to kill, eyes cloudy with pure lust. Jaw tight in concentration as he runs a finger along the damp crotch of your panties. You hiss and whine at the contact, hips raising to chase his touch.
“Please.” You whimper, begging. “Want your mouth.”
“There she is.” He praises, satisfied with your communication. It takes no further persuasion, and he’s working to drag your panties down your legs, revealing you to him fully.
“Fucking perfect pussy.” He growls, pressing a kiss to your pubic bone. “Pretty little thing. You’re so pretty.”
“Park.” You plea, barely able to stay up on your elbows to watch his motions. Body weak with need.
“Brendon.” He corrects immediately, hot tongue flattening to lick a thick stripe up your pussy, and your head falls back. The sound that leaves you goes straight to his cock. So do the ones after it. He’s skilled in more ways than one, clearly. Experienced. You’re blissed out from his mouth alone, fingers gripping at the comforter beneath you. He watches your every movement, working with delicate precision, and it’s been so long that you’re embarrassingly close already. He can sense it by your breathing and movements, deciding to push his middle finger into you with ease. One finger shortly turns into two and your mouth is hanging open, eyes closed. When you start to squirm, he holds you down by your waist, mouth still working and two fingers plunging deep, curling up to hit the spot that nearly has you in tears.
“Ohmygodddd.” You mewl, reaching to claw at his forearm that’s pinning your hips to the bed, but he moves it to intertwine your fingers. It’s thoughtful, the way he tends to you. “S’ so good Bren.” The words leave you in a choked sob and his response is a long, deep hum against your pussy— and you’re done. Breath hitching, you wiggle a little, legs starting to shake as you helplessly dangle over the edge and he knows. Somehow he can read you. Sense exactly what you need. His fingers curl once more, oh so deep, and you’re crashing beneath him, a high pitched squeal leaving you and he’s totally entranced. Working like a starved man and not daring to stop as he drinks in the way you look when you fall apart. All by his doing. He swears it’s the hottest thing he’s ever witnessed, actually.
And when you’re trying to push him away because it’s all too much, he presses a sweet kiss to the inside of your thigh before he moves to stand up. You watch him in awe, and if you weren’t completely at his mercy before you definitely are now.
He laughs at little at your blissed out face as you eye him. “What?” He asks.
“I hate you.” You murmur. And it’s a lie, you both know it. A playful lie you’re just throwing around because how fucking dare he be so good at everything. Good looking and polite and considerate and talented. It’s not fair. Nothing about it is fair.
“You don’t hate me.” He smiles— a true smile as he starts to work at his sweatpants. You don’t try to tease any further, and he watches as you move to kneel infront of him, your hands moving to stop his. Then you continue his work, yanking at the stretchy material and leaving him in his dark briefs. You nearly salivate at the outline of his hard length through the material. That’s gonna hurt. The thought is there and gone, because you’re tugging them down next, eyes meeting his thick cock. He watches intently, teeth gnawing at the inside of his bottom lip as your much smaller hand wraps around the base of him. You press a kiss to the underside of the tip, eyes locked on his as you lick a stripe up the side teasingly.
He shakes his head a little because you’ve got him right where you want him and he knows it. When you take him into your mouth he groans, the sound rumbling from his chest and only spurring you on. You wanted to make him do it over and over again. A large hand brushes over the side of your face as you take him to your limit, starting to gag against him. “You’re so fucking good.” He breathes, moving to tangle his fingers into your hair again. Holding your hair up, he lets you work at your own pace, one that has him weak in the knees and muttering curses.
You’re relentless, taking him slow and deep until tears are brimming in your eyes and spit is starting to trickle down your chin. It’s a fucking sight. And he’s committed it to his memory forever, though a mental picture would never do the real thing justice. He pulls you off, admiring the string of spit that draws from your mouth that still connects you to his cock.
Up until now, you’d been pleasantly surprised at how soft he was being. The Park you’d shamelessly thought about more than a few times was far from a gentle lover. Though, your thoughts are interrupted by a rough manhandle that nearly has you squealing. He tosses you back onto the center of his bed, watching you bounce a little— and when he crawls over you next, he’s making quick work of your teeshirt that he wasn’t exactly sure why he hadn’t taken off of you yet.
The sight of your tits has his head spinning. Every part of you he’s gotten to see is perfect to him. He works his palm against one before pinching at the pebbled nipple. You writhe beneath him, so whiny. “Want you to fuck me, Bren.”
“You’re fucking bad.” He moves to growl in your ear, kissing at the lobe. “Dirty little fucking mouth on you. Took my cock so well, didn’t you?”
You nod a little, suddenly bashful at his praise. Pulling his face to yours, you kiss him. It’s rushed and messy, but you don’t mind a bit. Your manicured nails move to claw at Park’s biceps, and he hums against your mouth at the contact. When he pulls away, he just looks at you for a second, totally bare beneath him. Before you realize, he’s leaning down to your forehead to press a soft kiss to the dark purple bruise there.
Then, he’s adjusting himself between your legs, smacking the length of himself teasingly against your wetness. You just watch, gnawing at your lip when he lines up at your entrance. “Please be gentle.” You mumble out quickly, already wincing in preparation. His brain short circuits for half a second, and he silently curses himself for being too drunk on you to reach for a condom, but he trusts you and god— he wants to feel it all without any barrier.
“M’ not gonna hurt you, baby.” He promises. “You can take it.”
He starts to push in, aided by how soaked you were for him. You’re gripping at his arms, tense and eyes clamped shut at the stretch. He lowers himself, pressing his lips to your cheek. “That’s it, let me in.” You pulse around him at his words, leaning into his touch. He peppers your cheek and jaw with kisses as he continues to push in, slowly coming to a stop when he’s fully inside. It’s so fucking much you think you might just fall apart right then and there. Deep. Full.
“Mmm— there we go.” He coos, moving up again to admire the way you wrap around him when he slowly pulls out almost fully and then sheathes himself back inside.
You squirm, moans and whimpers flowing freely. “Fuckfuckfuck, s’ so big.”
“Yeah?” He presses his palms to the backside of your thighs, urging them higher until your knees are nearly up against your chest. “Taking it so well. I knew you would.” When he starts truly fucking into you, you’re a whining mess, fingers tangling into his comforter for leverage. He watches your hair scatter around you, painting the prettiest picture of you beneath him.
“Talk to me, baby.” He mumbles, urging you yet again to use your words but you’re so fucked out already you can hardly think.
“Feels so fucking good.” You cry, voice sounding pathetic.
“Yeah it does, bunny. You feel so good. Such a good fucking girl for me. Taking me like this.”
You never want him to stop talking. He speaks so eloquently. Fucking filthy and you’re obsessed.
His hips rock into yours at a devastating pace, a large hand reaching up to hold your throat. He presses gently, experimental almost, not enough to fully constrict your airway. Your eyes are lidded, blinking slow and he notices the tears in your eyes. He moves his hand to soothe against your cheek, worried for only a second until you offer him a weak smile to ease the concern on his face. And something about you feeling so good that you’re about to cry nearly makes him explode.
He lets go of your legs, feeling the warmth of your skin when you wrap them around his waist. Moving to kiss you, his hips continue to smack against you, the sounds of your wetness putting on a show. Your nails dig pretty little crescent moons into his large biceps, and you clench around him as you start to shatter. “Gonna cum on my cock, sweet baby? Huh?”
Your eyes nearly roll back in your head, his pace quickening when you nod, clinging to him. “Bren—”
“I know, bunny. I know.” He coos, smoothing your hair back. “Cum for me. Cum on my cock.”
You arch against him, body feeling like it’s suddenly shattered into a million tiny pieces. Hot tears rolling down the side of your face as you let out a long, broken whine. Vision blurring and hands clawing.
“There it is.” He drawls his words out, tone full of praise and admiration as he continues to slam into you, chasing his own high that’s burning through the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, Good fucking girl.”
You’re wrecked, absolutely spent as you cling to him, pulling him in for a long kiss, tongues thrashing.
“Where—” He starts to mumble, the rhythm of his thrusts growing messy.
You cut him off immediately, whimpering against his lips. “Inside.” You breathe. “Inside please, I’m on the pill.”
He groans, letting you hold him as he offers one more particularly hard thrust before he stills, fully burying himself deep inside, the warmth of him filling you. The sound he makes is otherworldly, a broken sounding growl. “Fuck, baby.” He whispers, staying buried in you as you both fight for air.
He lays there for a moment, skin sticking to your own. Breathing ragged. Then he presses one more sweet kiss to your lips before he slowly removes himself, exhaustion filling him as he heads for the bathroom, returning a few moments later with a damp rag. And he cleans you softly, the sight of it tugging at your heart. It’s so simple but it means so much.
“Go pee.” He nudges you next, the command swimming around your head.
With weak knees, you ease up and follow him into the bathroom.
You freshen up alongside him, neither of you speaking but rather finding comfort in each others presence alone.
And when you’re wrapped up in him again moments later, legs brushing along his as you settle beneath the cool sheets, you’re smiling. Smiling up at him, as sweet as honey.
“You alright?” He checks, hoping your head wasn’t bothering you again.
“I’m fine.” You assure him. “In fact, I think you healed me.”
“Oh, whatever.” He chuckles, pulling you closer.
It’s four days later when you see Park again. This time though, he’s marching into the ED for a consult. You were standing at the nurses station, and manage to spare him a quick glance before he disappears into Trauma 2. You’d spoken everyday, mostly by text. He’d promised to cook you dinner tonight, as it was the last day of a 3 day stretch. A proper date, he called it. He’d brought up a fancy steakhouse downtown, but you’d much rather watch him cook and share a glass of wine in his kitchen. Just be alone with him. He gladly agreed, assuring you that the day would go by quickly. That however, had not been the case.
The ED had been slammed, and though that usually makes for a quick day, maybe the anticipation eating at you had turned it into the opposite.
You speak briefly to Dana about the patient in South 16 that you’d just finished up suturing, and when you turn to round the counter again to check on another patient, you’re face to face with Park.
He’s sporting his typical intimidating demeanor, but you see right through it. For the sake of the rumor mill you know the ED can be, you offer him only a quick casual smile. “How’s your head?” He asks, voice low. And ofcourse, his extended presence has already conjured a few questioning glances.
“It’s fine.” You squeak. “Bruise looks more nasty than ever, though.” His eyes meet the mark, and it’s definitely gnarly. Yellowing and splotchy. But that’s normal for healing.
“It’ll get better.” He hums, his lips threatening to turn up into a smile but he fights it. One hand reaches up to tug playfully at the end of your messy braid, and then he’s turning to head back toward the elevators, leaving you biting your lip— cheeks rosy.
You blink, snapping back to reality and noticing far too many eyes on you as you start to walk towards your next patient in Central 14. Heart pounding in your chest as you scurry out of sight.
Dana stands still, having seen the entire exchange, and she’s nearly shook to her core. Surely not… She hadn’t worked with you much, as you were usually on nights, but she would’ve heard about this right? The infamous, brooding Park— and a sweet little ED nurse?
Robby slaps a hand against her shoulder, making her jump a little.
“I might be mistaken.” He starts, eyeing Dana. “But I think someone tamed the Shark.”
Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x (female) R4! Stripper! reader
Summary: What happens when "The Shark" finds out that one of the hospital’s most promising residents also dances at a strip club to pay off her student loans and rent?
Warning: Swearing, Brendon Park himself, Age difference, Height difference, he calls her Doll and Good Girl. NSFW. Oral sex. Vaginal sex.
Words: 6,155.
Taglist: @my-whole-brain-is-crying @celestephung @leksi-rae @chelle-1515 @minienix @mythologicallyversed @mxtokko @tears-of-acid-and-sluts @susp3ndedindusk @helenaellie @rei-scorpio @ivy-stuffs @dutch3-10 @catharticdesire @sidneysidney123 @fics-from-the-dead @eddiemunsonguitar @thedragonsrose @mynameisbaby9 @simply-lovley44 @dr3obsessed @mayabbot @bbblackmamba @harryswizzle @miichelleswriting @alphafemale-15 @rabbotseatcarrots @b38596012 @lipsunsmokedcigarette @pastlecow @kingtitus @stevieharrington71 @asfaraslifegets @noyaisasimp @loki-trickst3r
I wasn't sure if you wanted me to tag you in this. But here you are.
Walking through the hospital doors that morning weighed on you more heavily than usual. The sterile, frantic air of the ER struck you like a physical blow—a sharp slap of reality after the lingering trail of cheap perfume, stale alcohol, and tobacco you could still feel clinging to your skin.
The night before at Dixie’s—the club where you worked three nights a week to fund your way through medical school—had been pure chaos. It was a typical, rowdy Thursday, yet your mind remained anchored to a single, haunting spot at the bar.
Of all the colleagues you could have imagined encountering at a strip club, Dr. Brendon Park was dead last on the list. He lived for perfection: impeccable surgical scrubs, a notoriously acerbic wit, and a hard-earned reputation that left no room for nocturnal vices. Yet, there he had been, shattering your perception of him from the velvet shadows of the lounge.
You tried to convince yourself that the dim lights and the hazy smoke of another dancer’s set had played tricks on your eyes. But the way his jaw had tightened the moment he saw you left no room for doubt: the recognition was mutual. He hadn't looked away once during your performance. He had scrutinized your body with the gaze of an apex predator, sipping his whiskey languidly, clearly savoring the view while utterly ignoring the companion at his side.
"Hello, honey. Did you lose sleep again?" Dana asked as you approached the Hub to grab a tablet for rounds. "You have shadows under your eyes."
You forced a smile, taking a tentative sip from your thermos of hot chocolate; ironically, coffee was a taste you had never acquired.
"Too many hours of studying, Dana. You know how fourth year is. I’m ready for rounds," you lied, still feeling the phantom weight of the previous night’s wig against the nape of your neck.
"Start in South 20," Dana instructed, gesturing with her head. "Sixteen-year-old female, acute pain in the lower right quadrant."
The following hours were a blurred montage of cases: appendicitis, rapid sutures, debriding burns, and an elderly couple suffering from smoke inhalation. The ER hummed at its usual frenetic pace, oblivious to the storm of secrets raging inside you. You moved on autopilot, your lower back beginning to ache from the dual toll of the hospital tiles and the stage at Dixie’s.
An hour before your shift ended, a Trauma Code was called. A motorcyclist with an open fracture was wheeled in, his screams for the operating room echoing down the hall. As you worked alongside Langdon and Javadi to stabilize the limb, Robby barked the order you had been dreading all morning.
"Jesse, page Orthopedics for an immediate consult."
The senior nurse reached for the red phone while you performed an abdominal ultrasound, desperate to focus on the grainy screen rather than the frantic hammering of your heart. Not ten minutes later, he crossed the threshold. His gait was intimidating, a silent power that made Javadi instinctively step back to clear a path.
He didn't look like the man from the night before. Here, under the unforgiving fluorescent lights, he was "The Shark." He approached the gurney without glancing at you, his focus locked on the patient. As he snapped on his latex gloves, he stood directly beside you with a calmness that was both hypnotic and terrifying.
"What do we have?" he asked, his icy voice cutting through the ambient noise.
You swallowed hard, your throat feeling like sandpaper. "Male, twenty-eight, high-speed motorcycle accident. Grade III open fracture of the tibia and fibula. Hemodynamically stable, FAST exam negative..." Your voice wavered for a mere millisecond at the end.
He leaned in to check the ultrasound, his fingers sliding dangerously close to yours on the control panel. The proximity made you hold your breath. For the first time since he entered the room, his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. The chaos of the ER and the rhythmic beeping of the monitors seemed to vanish.
In that silence, your mind betrayed you. You remembered his hungry gaze on your scantily clad body just hours earlier—the way he watched you spin, the sweat glistening under the neon lights, his attention following every curve and descent. It was clear he hadn't been there for the general spectacle; he had dismissed your coworkers with cold disdain when they approached him, unimpressed by the glitter or the private dance offers. But from the moment he realized it was you on that stage, he hadn't blinked. He had devoured you with an intensity that made your skin burn hotter than the stage lights.
"Well, we’re taking him to surgery," he announced, shattering the trance with his signature abruptness. "Robby, I’m borrowing Dr. L/N. It would be beneficial for her to see this reconstruction up close."
Robby nodded, completely unsuspecting. To him, it was just an elite surgeon mentoring a promising resident. "Sure, Park. She’s all yours."
You were forced to follow in Dr. Park’s wake toward the elevator. The silence within the metal walls was so heavy you could almost hear the phantom echo of the club's bass vibrating in your ears. He didn't look at you, but his massive presence seemed to swallow the small space, making you feel exposed—naked—knowing he had already seen every inch of you that mattered.
As the lift began its ascent, he broke the silence in a low, dangerous murmur.
"Doctor L/N... I never imagined you were capable of moving that way," he whispered near your ear, his breath ghosting over your skin. A spark of forbidden excitement raced down your spine, making you shudder. "I suppose I finally understand why you always refuse to join your fellow residents for drinks after a hard shift."
You didn't try to deny it. It was useless. "I had no idea Dixie’s was to your taste, Dr. Park," you finally managed to reply as the elevator passed the second floor. "I assumed someone of your... statuses... preferred environments that were more refined."
"It was a colleague’s suggestion," he replied smoothly. "But I’m glad I attended. The headlining act was far more... captivating than I anticipated."
Before you could retort, the doors hissed open. The chilled air of the surgical floor hit your face, but the heat in your cheeks remained. You felt like a seal cornered by a Great White—one that had already decided you were to be his dinner.
You walked beside him toward the scrub room, the weight of his confession settling over you. He hadn't just seen you; he had relished it. Your traitorous imagination flared, picturing him returning home that night, your image etched into his mind as his hand slid down his own body.
Inside the scrub area, the only sound was the hum of the ventilation. You reached for the soap dispenser, but before you could react, he blocked your path with a predatory agility. His body, solid and radiating a heat that defied the hospital’s chill, forced you back until your spine collided with the cold, stainless steel of the sink.
"You know what I liked most about the show, Doll?" he murmured, closing the distance until your breasts nearly brushed his huge chest with every shallow breath you took.
He reached out, trailing the back of his fingers ghost-light against your jawline before reaching for a surgical cap. His blue eyes didn't deviate from yours for a single millimeter; he hardly blinked, watching you like a predator stalking cornered prey. With agonizing slowness, he began to don the cap, his fingers gently tucking your hair away with a practiced familiarity that made your knees falter.
"Despite the lights and the noise, it seemed as though you were dancing only for me. You had that look—" He paused deliberately, his gaze dropping to your lips before snapping back to your eyes with a smirk. "The same one you have right now. Like you’re waiting for me to give you an order."
Your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't an invitation; it was an absolute command, as precise and sharp as his scalpel. His thumbs finished adjusting your cap with a possessive firmness that stole your breath for a second longer than you’d ever admit aloud.
"So, now, you are going to finish prepping for surgery. And when we’re done, you’re going to gather your things and wait for me in the parking lot. Do you understand me, Doll?" His voice dropped to a register so low it made you shudder to your core.
He didn't wait for a response. He stepped away with utter indifference, moving with a slow, deliberate grace. He unfastened his Rolex—the same one you’d seen gleaming against the dark, stained wood of the bar at Dixie’s—and set it on the counter. He stepped on the water pedal, letting the jet drench his hands before he began scrubbing with antiseptic soap. You stood there, his command echoing in your mind. The parking lot? This game was only just beginning.
"Dr. L/N," he interrupted your train of thought, never breaking his rhythm. "Stop thinking and start acting. I won’t have you entering in my OR with your mind elsewhere. Wash your hands. Now."
His bark made you jump. You began removing your rings awkwardly, placing them next to his Rolex. The contrast was painful; your cheap jewelry looked pathetic next to a timepiece that screamed wealth. How much did a watch like that cost? Ten thousand? Twenty? It was likely more than you earned in a year of grueling double-shifts.
Park didn't blink at the clatter of your rings, but you noticed his blue eyes drift for a millisecond to your bare hands before returning to the water.
The surgery was a litmus test. For two hours, Dr. Park reconstructed the biker’s leg with a precision that kept you enthralled. Watching him operate was like watching an artist devoted to a masterpiece—a bloody, perfect masterpiece. Every time he requested an instrument in that deep, authoritative voice, you felt an unprofessional jolt of electricity. He tested you constantly, firing off technical questions as he worked: insertion angles, screw types, embolism risks. His eyes remained locked on yours above his mask, assessing not just your knowledge, but your ability to remain unshaken under his scrutiny.
"Suture, Dr. L/N," he ordered suddenly, stepping back to make room. "Let’s see how you handle those stitches."
You took the needle holder, a cocktail of exhaustion and adrenaline surging through your veins. You felt his massive presence right behind you, watching every millimeter of your technique as you closed the incision. The precision he demanded was unparalleled, but you finished with a cleanliness that seemed to surprise even him, judging by the low grunt of approval he gave.
"Passable, Doll," he muttered dangerously close to your ear—a tone meant for you and you alone—before he turned and strode out of the OR.
You stood for a moment, processing his words before following with a lingering clumsiness. When you entered the scrub room, he was already snapping off his gloves. He turned, catching your gaze as the water rushed again.
"Be a good girl. Don't keep me waiting in the car," he whispered, his arm brushing yours as he reached for paper towels. He dried his hands, retrieved his Rolex, and walked past you toward the locker room.
You stood frozen, the skin on your arm bristling. That "good girl" had sounded like a claim. As if he had already decided you were his, whether you consented or not. And truth be told, you wanted it more than anything.
Fifteen minutes later, you stepped out into the cool afternoon air. Dr. Park’s BMW X6 was idling in its reserved spot—one of the many privileges of being a star surgeon. As you approached, the window glided down, and he gave a minimal gesture for you to get in. The interior smelled of expensive leather and that intoxicating sandalwood-and-cedar cologne you’d noticed in the elevator.
You sank into the black leather seat, the central locking system engaging with a heavy thud. He didn't drive away immediately. He sat in silence, his large hands resting on the steering wheel, letting the tension thicken until the air felt scarce. You shuddered, not from the cold, but from sheer excitement. You hated to admit it, but you had been turned on for hours. You didn't know if it was the secret, the nickname, or the way his knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel to restrain himself from touching you.
"You look exhausted, Doll," he blurted out, his voice carrying a sharp, possessive edge. "I imagine dancing in a pole until three, starting a shift at seven, and assisting in a reconstruction at ten isn't the 'healthy lifestyle' they recommend in med school."
He turned slowly toward you, resting a muscular arm on the back of your seat, invading your space once again. His blue eyes swept over the dark circles under your eyes before settling on your lips.
"Tell me something... how much exactly do you have to pay off the student debt that forces you to parade yourself in front of men who don't even know who you are? Because that’s what this is about, isn't it?"
You swallowed hard. Hearing the raw reality of your financial ruin coming from him made it feel even more humiliating. It made you feel... vulnerable.
"You work at that club because you can't survive on an R4's paycheck," he continued, and this time his hand left the wheel to clamp onto your thigh. His grip was firm—the kind of possessive pressure that would surely leave a mark by morning. "And you have no idea how insulting it is to me that one of the best residents at this hospital is wasting her talent in a seedy dive when she should be focused on her residency."
"I don't—" you tried to protest, but one look from him silenced you. His pupils were dilated, darkening that icy blue into something feral.
"$96,000," you confessed, the words feeling like lead. "Happy? I’m drowning. I pay as much as I can, but the interest just keeps climbing."
Feeling his hand squeeze your thigh as you admitted your ruin made you feel small, but his gaze wasn't one of pity. It was one of absolute ownership. You couldn't bear the silence, or the way his mind seemed to be racing a thousand miles an hour, calculating.
Before he could speak another word, you lunged. You had to shut him up. Your hands tangled in the collar of his linen shirt—absurdly expensive—and you pulled him to you with a desperation that shocked you, sealing his lips with a hungry kiss that tasted like hot chocolate, black coffee, and pure, unadulterated danger.
It was like kissing your executioner.
He let out a guttural growl—a primal mix of surprise and triumph. His free hand surged from the steering wheel to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair and pulling back just enough to force your head up. The kiss wasn't tender; it was a collision of wills, a violent meeting between the absolute power he wielded and the desire you’d been suppressing since the moment you saw him at Dixie’s.
He pulled back just a fraction of an inch. With his forehead still pressed against yours, his ragged breathing fanned across your face in the gloom of the BMW.
"That number just disappeared, Doll," he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with the promise of consequences. "But from now on, whenever you feel the urge to show off, you’ll do it for me alone. Consider your contract bought... and your exclusivity guaranteed. You’re mine now. I don't share. It's just not in my nature"
He didn't wait for you to process his words. He shifted into gear with a sharp, aggressive motion, and the BMW X6 roared out of the PTMC parking lot, devouring the asphalt as he headed toward his penthouse.
During the journey, the silence was a living thing, broken only by the weight of his hand, which didn't leave your thigh for a second. He squeezed possessively every time traffic forced him to brake, his fingers brushing dangerously close to your center until he felt the damp heat that betrayed your composure.
"You can’t just..." you began, finally realizing he meant to wipe out your six-figure debt in exchange for your total surrender.
He slammed on the brakes in front of the gate of a private underground garage in one of downtown Pittsburgh’s luxury towers, the tires let out a sharp screech. He turned to you, and the mockery was gone, replaced by an icy determination that made the hair on your arms stand up.
"You’re wrong, Doll. The moment you locked eyes with me from that stage while you were undressing, you gave me permission. The moment you let me adjust your surgical cap and shuddered under my touch, you gave me control." His hand rose with predatory slowness, trapping your chin to force your gaze to his. "I’m not buying a fourth-year resident; I’m removing the distractions that keep you from being the doctor I know you can be. If the price of you being mine—and mine alone—is a six-figure check, it’s the easiest one I’ve ever written. Understood? From this moment on, your body belongs to me. If you want to dance, you’ll do it in my living room. If you want someone to look at you, it’s me. If you need money, you come to me—not the owner of Dixie’s. ME."
"Got it, Dr. Park."
"Brendon," he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he maneuvered the car into his private stall. "When we’re alone, you call me Brendon, Doll. No 'Dr. Park,' no 'Daddy,' no 'Sir.' Just Brendon. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Brendon. I understand," you gasped. When you had woken up that morning, you had prepared for every disaster—administration finding out, being fired, being shamed—but never this.
"Such a good girl when you listen," Brendon murmured before killing the engine.
The silence that followed wasn't a calm; it was the eye of a storm. He didn't say another word. He simply rounded the car and opened your door, his grip on your hand firm and non-negotiable.
He led you to the private elevator. As the steel doors slid shut, sealing you off from the world, the air seemed to ionize with tension. Brendon cornered you against the mirrored back wall, his blue eyes alight with a triumphant, predatory hunger.
Before you could catch your breath, his hand—massive and skilled—descended with impetuous confidence. You felt the button of your trousers give way under his thumb. Without breaking eye contact, he slid his hand beneath the fabric, seeking out the heat that had betrayed you during the drive.
A muffled groan escaped you as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. His large, rough fingers finally found what they were looking for: the soaked silk of your lingerie.
"You're dripping, Doll," he growled, sounding utterly amused. "How long have you been like this? My poor, beautiful little doll..."
Brendon didn't hesitate. He slid two fingers deep inside you, stretching you with a determination that stole the air from your lungs.
"So tight. So fucking perfect. And all mine"
The invasion of his wide, expert fingers drew a sob from your throat, which he immediately stifled by crushing his lips to yours. It wasn't a kiss of comfort; it was a claim. The scent of cedar and sandalwood mingled obscenely with your own musk in the cramped space of the elevator.
"Brendon," you gasped, unable to fight the sensation as he began to fuck you with his fingers right there, in the middle of his building. "Fuck... I..."
"What about you, Doll? Finish the sentence," he demanded, his thrusts gaining a relentless strength that made you dig your nails into his forearms.
You were balanced on a knife's edge; your climax was hanging by a single thread. Your inner walls twitched desperately against him, growing wetter with every motion.
"Cum for me, Doll," he commanded against your ear, his voice a whip-crack as the elevator vibrated against your spine. "I want to feel you come on my fingers. Be a good girl for me."
His hand moved hungrily, claiming every inch of you, as if he were physically erasing the memory of every other gaze that had landed on you at the club. You couldn't take any more. The orgasm hit with a violence that sent your head back against the mirror with a dull thud. A scream died in your throat, muffled by his mouth, as your body buckled and soaked his hand.
Brendon didn't pull away. He held you—one hand firm on your neck, the other still buried deep within you—feeling the tremors of your surrender.
"Brendon..." you sighed as he rewarded you with a sharp, possessive nip to the sensitive skin of your neck—leaving a mark that promised you were his.
"Such a good girl. From now on, no one but me sees this body. Not these tits, not this ass, and especially not this perfect, tight pussy. Right?"
The elevator chimed, finally reaching the penthouse. He withdrew his fingers and, with an insulting slowness, brought them to his mouth to savor the taste of your climax just as the doors slid open.
"God, Doll... you're exactly how I imagined you'd be," he whispered, his voice an animalistic growl.
"How long?" you managed to ask, watching him lick his lips with a leisurely, dark satisfaction. "How long have you been imagining this?"
Brendon didn't deign to answer yet. He rested that heavy hand—the one that had just ruined you—at the small of your back and guided you firmly into the apartment. He engaged the electronic lock, the heavy door sliding shut with a final, metallic click.
He tossed his keys onto a dark wooden console, taking his time to watch you as you shed your jacket and surveyed the luxury of his home.
"You asked me how long?" he said finally, his voice echoing through the foyer as he began unbuttoning his linen cuffs. "Since the first time I walked into the ER for a consult and saw you there, splattered with a patient's blood. Your ponytail was crooked, and you were struggling to hold a lead while the residents sedated a pacer. I remember the patient even scratched you. I've wanted you since that very moment."
You froze, your jacket still clutched in your hands. You remembered that shift perfectly: an aggressive psychiatric patient who had leaped from a third-floor balcony when her caregiver turned away. There had been blood everywhere—on your scrubs, your skin—amidst the frantic, sensory overload of the ER. But you had no memory of him watching you from the doorframe.
"You stood there, your cheek marked by that scratch, and you didn't even blink," he continued. He took a slow, calculated step toward you as he finished rolling up his sleeves, revealing the powerful forearms you’d admired so many times during his consultations. "I watched you wipe the blood from your face with the back of your hand and keep working. It was in that moment I knew you had to be mine. Seeing you last night in that seedy club... it incensed me. You should never have been driven to such extremes over a debt."
He closed the remaining distance in one long stride, his hand snaring your waist. He forced you to drop your jacket; it hit the floor with a metallic clink as the zipper struck the hardwood. With his other hand, he traced the nearly invisible line of the scratch on your cheek with his thumb.
"And I thought Trinity was joking when she said you were softer with me than with the other residents..." you whispered, your voice barely audible in his proximity.
"I wasn't joking, Doll. What Dr Santos didn't know was that every time you stood beside me to get a better look at my work, I was fighting the urge to drag you into my office and lock the door," he confessed, his blue eyes darkened with a lust that seemed to devour you. "I treated you gently because you are the only thing of value I want to keep. But seeing you on that stage last night... undressing for pocket change... it made my blood boil. So, I’m going to show you exactly who you belong to. Starting with this..."
In a reflexive surge of insecurity, you tried to press your legs together, your hands reaching for his shoulders to steady yourself as he knelt before you.
"Oh, I see... No one has ever worshipped you properly, have they, my sweet little doll?"
"I... my ex didn't like it," you whispered, your voice breaking as you looked away. "He said... he said it took too long, and that his jaw would get tired..."
"It’s a mercy you left him, then, because the man was an imbecile," he murmured with thinly veiled contempt. "I’m certain he had no such complaints when he made you suck his cock until he finished in that pretty mouth of yours, right?"
Your silence was the only confirmation he needed. Brendon let out a low, dangerous growl—a cocktail of fury at your past treatment and possessive satisfaction that he would be the one to right the wrong.
"I am nothing like him. You’re going to spread those gorgeous legs, and you’re going to let me taste you until I decide I’ve had enough. Are you going to be a good girl for me?"
His hands tugged firmly at your trousers and lace; he didn't wait for you to find your pride. He slid them down your thighs, parting you with an authority that made you gasp, before forcing you back until your bare skin met the edge of the wooden console. You were utterly exposed under the foyer lights, pinned by his hungry gaze.
"Look at me, Doll," he commanded. His voice vibrated in the narrow space between your bodies, his warm breath ghosting over your skin. "I want you to see exactly who the man is who is going to spend as long as it takes between your legs until you ache. That idiot didn't know what he had; I do."
Without warning, he buried his face between your thighs. The first contact of his tongue was an electric shock—a long, firm stroke that made you arch your back and cry out. He savored the sound, his lips curling into a smirk against your innermost flesh. It wasn't subtle; it was a claim. His movements were deep and rhythmic, possessing the anatomical precision of a man who knew every nerve ending by heart.
"Was his jaw tired?" he murmured against your wet folds, his hot breath sent a fresh wave of shivers down your spine. "I could stay here until dawn just to hear you beg for more."
You clung to his shoulders, your fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt as the world outside the apartment faded into nothingness. The hospital, the rotations, the debt, Dixie’s—none of it mattered. There was only the pressure of his tongue, the firmness of his hands holding you open, and the overwhelming certainty that Brendon wouldn't stop until he had erased the memory of every other man who had ever dared to touch you.
The pace intensified. His fingers worked in tandem with his mouth, dragging you toward an abyss you had no desire to escape.
"Let it go for me," he growled against you. "I want you to see me in the ER tomorrow and still feel my tongue taking you to the edge."
"Brendon!" You screamed his name as you came with a violence that stole your breath. He didn't pull away, even as your muscles began to slacken; he remained there, savoring your surrender, ensuring every drop of your pleasure belonged to him alone.
"There it is, Doll. Do you see the difference when someone actually cares for your pleasure?" he muttered against your inner thigh, his breath warm against your sensitive skin.
He rose slowly, his towering figure looming over you as you slumped against the console, your legs trembling. He ran his tongue over his lower lip, catching the trace of your climax with a dark, leisurely satisfaction that made you blush to your roots. There was no fatigue in his expression—only a triumphant, predatory hunger.
"That man was an amateur. A nuisance who didn't deserve a second of your time, let alone your body," he said, taking your chin in his hand to force you to meet his eyes.
He pulled you flush against him, forcing you to feel the rigid length of his arousal through his dress slacks. Even in his state of obvious excitement, he maintained that iron, terrifying control. He held you there for a few seconds, enjoying the post-coital closeness, before delivering a firm, resounding swat to your bare hip. The impact drew a sharp gasp of surprise from you—a final mark of ownership.
"Into the bedroom, Doll," he whispered, lifting you effortlessly. To him, you weighed nothing at all.
You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, hiding your face in his neck as he strode toward the master suite. Every step was a statement of intent. As you crossed the threshold, the scent of sandalwood and clean linens enveloped you. He set you down in the center of the king-sized bed with a delicacy that stood in stark contrast to the storm in his blue eyes. You felt small against the expensive Egyptian cotton, pinned by his gaze as he stepped back to undress.
Each garment he discarded—an uncharacteristic mess for a man so meticulous—revealed a new expanse of taut, powerful muscle. When he finally stepped out of his underwear, the sheer magnitude of him claimed your full attention. He was imposing, thick, and intimidating; compared to the power of his anatomy, your previous experiences seemed like a distant, fragile memory. Your ex certainly would have had much to envy in Brendon Park.
He stood proud, his skin taut, a single bead of moisture glistening at the tip in the dim light. The sight made you swallow hard, acutely aware that this man was a force of nature about to claim every inch of you.
"Take off your shirt and bra, Doll."
Your hands shook, but you obeyed. You felt the weight of his darkened eyes roaming over every inch of exposed skin. When the clothes fell away, you were left vulnerable on his sheets—your chest rising and falling with your frantic breathing.
Brendon didn't move immediately. He stood at the edge of the bed, savoring the sight of you offered up to him while he slowly stroked himself.
"Perfect. Even better than you were on that stage," he whispered, the possessiveness in his tone shaking you more than a shout ever could. "I’ve spent so long imagining you like this. I wondered if you’d be as soft as you looked in those black scrubs."
He climbed onto the bed, crawling over you until you were trapped in his shadow. The heat radiating from him was visceral—a scorching promise of what was to come. His hands—the hands of a surgeon, capable of both breaking and mending—snared your wrists and pinned them above your head, forcing your chest to arch toward him in a silent, desperate offering.
"Brendon, please..." you whimpered, unable to contain the longing a moment longer.
His lips caught yours in an overwhelming kiss, a seal that told you from this moment on, you were his. His tongue claimed your mouth with the same dark authority with which he had claimed you in the hallway. His body, heavy and burning, pressed into yours, forcing you to feel every inch of his impressive anatomy against your own fragile frame.
"Now you're going to learn the difference between a boy who gets tired and a man who knows exactly what to do with every inch of the jewel he’s acquired," he growled. He brushed the tip of his erection against your slick folds, where the moisture he had coaxed out first with his fingers and then his tongue now overflowed. "And I promise you, Doll, by the time I'm done with you, you won't even be able to stand for the shift change tomorrow morning."
He lowered his head to capture one of your nipples between his lips, sucking with a force that drew a hoarse gasp from your throat. Simultaneously, he began to drive inside you, his weight pressing your pelvis deep into the mattress, reminding you that in this territory, he was the only rightful owner.
"You're so perfect... so tight," he muttered against your skin, his voice vibrating through your chest. "And best of all, you're entirely mine. My perfect little doll. Right, Doll?"
"Yes..." you managed to gasp, your voice breaking into a high-pitched whisper as you arched your back, instinctively seeking more contact as he began to thrust with a relentless, forceful rhythm. "Yours, Bren. I'm yours. Please... don't stop."
Your nails dug into his broad shoulders, tracing the tense muscles you'd so often imagined beneath his surgical scrubs. The contrast of his brute strength against your vulnerability created an electric surrender unlike anything you had ever experienced.
"I wouldn't dream of stopping," Brendon growled, his voice a low vibration between your lips. His hips struck yours with a merciless cadence, increasing in speed as he searched for the exact depth that made you shudder. "This is what you missed while you were with a child seeking his own pleasure. You needed a real man. And this is what it feels like when that man has been lusting after you for months and finally claims what is his."
"I... fuck... I'm going to..." You gasped, hiding your face in his bicep as you felt the orgasm surging. You sunk your nails into his shoulder blades even harder, leaving frantic scratch marks in his skin.
"Good girl, Doll. Leave your mark on me, so tomorrow I can feel exactly where you touched me every time I move in my uniform."
The pace became frenetic. Brendon gripped your thighs with a force that would surely leave prints, lifting you so he could drive deeper, colonizing every bit of you. The pleasure was so acute, so wild, that your eyes rolled back in your head.
"Bren!" You shouted his name, your body tensing like a violin string pulled to the snapping point. Your legs trembled in his grip, your toes curling at the overwhelming sensation.
The first wave of your orgasm hit—one violent contraction after another that squeezed him with desperate force. He didn't stop; instead, he accelerated, using every spasm inside you to propel you further across the abyss.
"That's it, good girl! Come for me! Come all over my cock!" he roared, his own control shattering as he reached his breaking point.
He sank into you one last time with a power that drew a sob of pure pleasure from your lips. He stayed there, buried at your absolute limit, as he finished heavily, filling you completely. His body, sweat-slicked and heavy, collapsed on top of yours, pinning you to the mattress as you both fought to find the breath that had seemingly vanished from the room.
The silence that followed was thick and heavy, broken only by your synchronized, ragged breathing. Brendon buried his face between your breasts, inhaling your scent mixed with the trail of your combined heat and his cedarwood cologne. Before pulling away, he pressed a lingering, possessive kiss right over your heart—claiming that heartbeat, and every one that would follow, as his own.
"You're mine now," he whispered, his voice regaining that cold, authoritarian edge that usually intimidated you in the ER. "I will settle your debts. You are never stepping foot in that club again. There's only you, me, and the fact that I have a hip replacement scheduled for eight o'clock tomorrow..."
"You're an idiot, Brendon Park," you murmured, a soft smile touching your lips as you gently stroked his natural curly hair, amused by his clinical way of breaking the post-coital quiet.
"What a shame for you, Doll. You’ll have to put up with this idiot for the rest of your life," he replied, settling his weight comfortably over you. He made no move to withdraw or lift his head from your chest. "Because now that you're mine"
"I’m never letting you go. Doll"
HIIII! Luna here! hofully you arrived at the end and you liked this post since it was really hard to translate and edit so everyone liked the story (it was even harder for me since it was really hot in here while edditing)
Give a thumbs up and comment this post if you want more of the daddy sharky
Of all the colleagues you could have imagined encountering at a strip club, Dr. Brendon Park was dead last on the list. He lived for perfection: impeccable surgical scrubs, a notoriously acerbic wit, and a hard-earned reputation that left no room for nocturnal vices. Yet, there he had been, shattering your perception of him from the velvet shadows of the lounge.
Quite the surprise to see him there I'm sure
You tried to convince yourself that the dim lights and the hazy smoke of another dancer’s set had played tricks on your eyes. But the way his jaw had tightened the moment he saw you left no room for doubt: the recognition was mutual. He hadn't looked away once during your performance. He had scrutinized your body with the gaze of an apex predator, sipping his whiskey languidly, clearly savoring the view while utterly ignoring the companion at his side.
Oh 👀
In that silence, your mind betrayed you. You remembered his hungry gaze on your scantily clad body just hours earlier—the way he watched you spin, the sweat glistening under the neon lights, his attention following every curve and descent. It was clear he hadn't been there for the general spectacle; he had dismissed your coworkers with cold disdain when they approached him, unimpressed by the glitter or the private dance offers. But from the moment he realized it was you on that stage, he hadn't blinked. He had devoured you with an intensity that made your skin burn hotter than the stage lights.
Ohh I just know that stare is INTENSE
You were forced to follow in Dr. Park’s wake toward the elevator. The silence within the metal walls was so heavy you could almost hear the phantom echo of the club's bass vibrating in your ears. He didn't look at you, but his massive presence seemed to swallow the small space, making you feel exposed—naked—knowing he had already seen every inch of you that mattered.
Its a different way of being exposed, the knowledge makes one vulnerable 🫣
"Doctor L/N... I never imagined you were capable of moving that way," he whispered near your ear, his breath ghosting over your skin. A spark of forbidden excitement raced down your spine, making you shudder. "I suppose I finally understand why you always refuse to join your fellow residents for drinks after a hard shift."
Well great observation I guess
You didn't try to deny it. It was useless. "I had no idea Dixie’s was to your taste, Dr. Park," you finally managed to reply as the elevator passed the second floor. "I assumed someone of your... statuses... preferred environments that were more refined."
Fair
"It was a colleague’s suggestion," he replied smoothly. "But I’m glad I attended. The headlining act was far more... captivating than I anticipated."
Oh that has become clear 👀
You walked beside him toward the scrub room, the weight of his confession settling over you. He hadn't just seen you; he had relished it. Your traitorous imagination flared, picturing him returning home that night, your image etched into his mind as his hand slid down his own body.
Oh he probably found his new favorite sight and inspiration for lonely hours🤭
"Despite the lights and the noise, it seemed as though you were dancing only for me. You had that look—" He paused deliberately, his gaze dropping to your lips before snapping back to your eyes with a smirk. "The same one you have right now. Like you’re waiting for me to give you an order."
Damn 😮💨
He didn't wait for a response. He stepped away with utter indifference, moving with a slow, deliberate grace. He unfastened his Rolex—the same one you’d seen gleaming against the dark, stained wood of the bar at Dixie’s—and set it on the counter. He stepped on the water pedal, letting the jet drench his hands before he began scrubbing with antiseptic soap. You stood there, his command echoing in your mind. The parking lot? This game was only just beginning.
Oh this is gonna be interesting 👀
His bark made you jump. You began removing your rings awkwardly, placing them next to his Rolex. The contrast was painful; your cheap jewelry looked pathetic next to a timepiece that screamed wealth. How much did a watch like that cost? Ten thousand? Twenty? It was likely more than you earned in a year of grueling double-shifts.
I dont even wanna know, to pay so much money for this one thing makes me dizzy lol
"You look exhausted, Doll," he blurted out, his voice carrying a sharp, possessive edge. "I imagine dancing in a pole until three, starting a shift at seven, and assisting in a reconstruction at ten isn't the 'healthy lifestyle' they recommend in med school."
You dont have to be a doctor to know that that's not healthy 🫣
"You work at that club because you can't survive on an R4's paycheck," he continued, and this time his hand left the wheel to clamp onto your thigh. His grip was firm—the kind of possessive pressure that would surely leave a mark by morning. "And you have no idea how insulting it is to me that one of the best residents at this hospital is wasting her talent in a seedy dive when she should be focused on her residency."
Why is it hot that he finds it insulting???😮💨
"$96,000," you confessed, the words feeling like lead. "Happy? I’m drowning. I pay as much as I can, but the interest just keeps climbing." Feeling his hand squeeze your thigh as you admitted your ruin made you feel small, but his gaze wasn't one of pity. It was one of absolute ownership. You couldn't bear the silence, or the way his mind seemed to be racing a thousand miles an hour, calculating.
His love this non verbal response of him to her to confide about her debut, very respectful and not belittling 👏🏻
Before he could speak another word, you lunged. You had to shut him up. Your hands tangled in the collar of his linen shirt—absurdly expensive—and you pulled him to you with a desperation that shocked you, sealing his lips with a hungry kiss that tasted like hot chocolate, black coffee, and pure, unadulterated danger.
Element of surprise surely used 🤭
"That number just disappeared, Doll," he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with the promise of consequences. "But from now on, whenever you feel the urge to show off, you’ll do it for me alone. Consider your contract bought... and your exclusivity guaranteed. You’re mine now. I don't share. It's just not in my nature"
Oh damn 👀
"You’re wrong, Doll. The moment you locked eyes with me from that stage while you were undressing, you gave me permission. The moment you let me adjust your surgical cap and shuddered under my touch, you gave me control." His hand rose with predatory slowness, trapping your chin to force your gaze to his. "I’m not buying a fourth-year resident; I’m removing the distractions that keep you from being the doctor I know you can be. If the price of you being mine—and mine alone—is a six-figure check, it’s the easiest one I’ve ever written. Understood? From this moment on, your body belongs to me. If you want to dance, you’ll do it in my living room. If you want someone to look at you, it’s me. If you need money, you come to me—not the owner of Dixie’s. ME."
I love how he explains his reasoning👏🏻 he clearly in a position of power but it genuinely feels like he wants this arrangement but respects her boundaries
"Brendon," he growled, his voice dropping an octave as he maneuvered the car into his private stall. "When we’re alone, you call me Brendon, Doll. No 'Dr. Park,' no 'Daddy,' no 'Sir.' Just Brendon. Do you understand?"
So interesting and specific 🤔
"Cum for me, Doll," he commanded against your ear, his voice a whip-crack as the elevator vibrated against your spine. "I want to feel you come on my fingers. Be a good girl for me." Brendon didn't pull away. He held you—one hand firm on your neck, the other still buried deep within you—feeling the tremors of your surrender.
😮💨😮💨😮💨
The elevator chimed, finally reaching the penthouse. He withdrew his fingers and, with an insulting slowness, brought them to his mouth to savor the taste of your climax just as the doors slid open.
Hot 🤤
"You asked me how long?" he said finally, his voice echoing through the foyer as he began unbuttoning his linen cuffs. "Since the first time I walked into the ER for a consult and saw you there, splattered with a patient's blood. Your ponytail was crooked, and you were struggling to hold a lead while the residents sedated a pacer. I remember the patient even scratched you. I've wanted you since that very moment."
Ahhh he was pining after her all this time!!
"And I thought Trinity was joking when she said you were softer with me than with the other residents..." you whispered, your voice barely audible in his proximity.
It did not go completely unnoticed 👀🤭
"I wasn't joking, Doll. What Dr Santos didn't know was that every time you stood beside me to get a better look at my work, I was fighting the urge to drag you into my office and lock the door," he confessed, his blue eyes darkened with a lust that seemed to devour you. "I treated you gently because you are the only thing of value I want to keep. But seeing you on that stage last night... undressing for pocket change... it made my blood boil. So, I’m going to show you exactly who you belong to. Starting with this..."
That almost feels like a love confession 👀🤭
In a reflexive surge of insecurity, you tried to press your legs together, your hands reaching for his shoulders to steady yourself as he knelt before you. "Oh, I see... No one has ever worshipped you properly, have they, my sweet little doll?"
Oh he surely is about to change that 🙂↕️
"I am nothing like him. You’re going to spread those gorgeous legs, and you’re going to let me taste you until I decide I’ve had enough. Are you going to be a good girl for me?"
Heck yes 🙂↕️
Without warning, he buried his face between your thighs. The first contact of his tongue was an electric shock—a long, firm stroke that made you arch your back and cry out. He savored the sound, his lips curling into a smirk against your innermost flesh. It wasn't subtle; it was a claim. His movements were deep and rhythmic, possessing the anatomical precision of a man who knew every nerve ending by heart. "Let it go for me," he growled against you. "I want you to see me in the ER tomorrow and still feel my tongue taking you to the edge."
🥵🥵🥵
"There it is, Doll. Do you see the difference when someone actually cares for your pleasure?" he muttered against your inner thigh, his breath warm against your sensitive skin.
Its fucking hot if someone cares for you and your pleasure 😮💨🤤
Your nails dug into his broad shoulders, tracing the tense muscles you'd so often imagined beneath his surgical scrubs. The contrast of his brute strength against your vulnerability created an electric surrender unlike anything you had ever experienced. "Good girl, Doll. Leave your mark on me, so tomorrow I can feel exactly where you touched me every time I move in my uniform."
I love that he wants to be marked up 🤭
"What a shame for you, Doll. You’ll have to put up with this idiot for the rest of your life," he replied, settling his weight comfortably over you. He made no move to withdraw or lift his head from your chest. "Because now that you're mine"
"You're mine now," he whispered, his voice regaining that cold, authoritarian edge that usually intimidated you in the ER. "I will settle your debts. You are never stepping foot in that club again. There's only you, me, and the fact that I have a hip replacement scheduled for eight o'clock tomorrow..." "You're an idiot, Brendon Park," you murmured, a soft smile touching your lips as you gently stroked his natural curly hair, amused by his clinical way of breaking the post-coital quiet.
Urgh I'm such a sucker for calm and silly post sex moments 🥰
