[iscience02]

Welcome to my blog!

I'm a fan of Formula 1, The Pitt, Glen Powell, Top Gun, The Rookie, NCIS, and many other random things.

My side blogs are:

@ileclerc16 @forbradford

[seraphk1ss]

𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛, 𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑛 ☽˚.⋆(b.p.)

Plot | The great shark struggles with modern dating --- a bar so low he keeps tripping on it.

Tags | no smut, mentioned skin to skin intimacy, virgin!reader (for the plot!), yapper!reader, celibate!reader but not fully, waiting for marriage reader, bad experience with dating (not with park), cursing, traditional roles, age gap (15 years), endearments (babydoll, sweetheart, sweetie, baby),

[Inspired by this drabble <3]

Brendon Park is a good man.

He calls his mother every week. Sends his father the good whiskey every year on his birthday. And does good on his job no matter how much he hates the … socializing aspect of it.

A good son, a good surgeon, and a respectable member of society.

“When are you gonna give me some grandbabies, huh?”

Just … a little delayed in certain aspects of his life.

It wasn’t on purpose.

When he was young, he was so deadset on becoming a surgeon that everything else became an afterthought. He maintained relationships here and there (he wasn’t a saint) but by the time he was an attending none of his girlfriends managed to keep up with his relentless schedule, demanding workload, and emotionally reserved nature.

Truly, he doesn't blame them. He wasn't exactly carving out the time for them either --- too focused on being the best and too single-minded in his career to put any relationship as a priority.

Long story short – good surgeon, bad boyfriend.

And then he woke up and he was 40 years old with a very pissed off mother.

When he reluctantly asked his friends about it, the warnings were immediate and repetitive.

Dating in the modern century is different now. The women are different. Difficult.

Too demanding. Too clingy. Too much.

By the time Yolanda sidelined him quietly with a proposition, he was already dreading the worst and preparing himself to disappoint his mother for the first time in his life.

You were a welcome (gorgeous) surprise.

Yolanda’s friend of a friend of a friend that she set him up with. Something about a ‘sweetie-pie that could just soften you up, big guy’.

What she failed to mention was the noticeable difference in years between the two of you.

He was never one to go for someone young just to compensate for a void in his life or make himself feel better about getting older. Even though he saw the appeal, it was never a requirement. If you had asked him before the date, he would’ve thought dating someone younger was more trouble than it was worth.

But watching you beam as he waits for you by the door of the café he had reserved a table for today’s date, holding a fresh pink bouquet of flowers just because Yolanda mentioned that it was your favorite, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was too confident with that assumption.

“Flowers on the first date? You’re winning me over already.”

He couldn’t help but frown in confusion, remembering a coworker's quip about not coming on too strong. Already feeling an unfamiliar feeling of minuscule panic creeping up his throat. “Is it too much?”

Your eyes widened, head shaking, “No! No, they're beautiful. It’s just – men don’t really – it’s less of a thing now.”

He hums, deciding that that was stupid. Especially when he saw just how beautiful the flowers looked when you held them --- like they belonged in your arms. He opens the door for you. “That’s a shame.”

You laugh, head back and so carefree. It warms something in his belly. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

The two of you continued a casual conversation as you lined up for your orders, an official introduction of sorts. Thankfully, it wasn’t as awkward as he dreaded, your cheerful disposition perfectly counteracted his restrained one.

He couldn’t help but notice you intimately checking out the pastries bar but not ordering any when you got to the counter. Thankfully, he was quick enough to take note of those that caught your eyes for longer than half a second, ordering it along with his drink and swiping his card for both of your orders.

As he pulled back a chair, he noticed the few seconds of shock on your face before you sat. A small touch on his bicep and a bashful ‘thank you’ had him concluding that this was also no longer ‘a thing’ in this generation.

If he were honest, he'd admit he was dreading this. It's been a while since his last proper date. He wasn't sure if he could muster up enough topics to keep the conversation going or accidentally say something rude or stupid that would turn this date into a humiliation ritual.

But you were pleasant company and a surprisingly great conversationalist. Picking up where he was prone to awkward silences. You carried the conversation with an ease that he admired. To his surprise, the conversation shifted from one topic to another, and by the end of the night, you somehow even managed to get him actually interested in the New York sports team you were dedicated to. A sport he had never given a thought to his entire life.

“You live in Pittsburgh.”

“So?” you giggle at his obvious accusation.

“Now, that’s just treason.”

That got an adorably loud laugh out of you that embarrassingly puffs out his chest – he knew he wasn’t exactly the funny type so to have you genuinely throwing your head back at his banter felt good.

Three drinks, 6 pastries, and too much caffeine later, he realized it had already turned dark outside and your friend (probably Yolanda wanting all the details) was already texting you incessantly about dinner.

“So, how much do I owe you?”

He looks down at you in confusion as he helps you put your jacket on.

“For what?”

A respectful palm gently leads you by the curve of your back and into his car, which was parked just a few feet from the café.

“Lunch.”

He shuts the door, still confused even as he pulls out of the curb.

“I asked you out, it’s on me.”

“Technically, you didn’t ask me out. We were set up.”

He rolls his eyes at that, huffing out a laugh. Cheeky brat.

“I’m the man. I pay for dinner.”

“That’s very old-fashioned of you, Brendon.”

“Well, I am 15 years your senior, baby." It doesn’t escape him how you press your legs together at that statement. Interesting. “I get to be old-fashioned, don’t you think?”

You turn your body fully toward him, blessing him with a shy, sweet smile.

“Old-fashioned enough to not to kiss on the first date?”

He takes a deep breath, pressing on the gas.

“Old-fashioned enough to ask first."

‘Busy morning and tied up in surgery this afternoon. I’ve got about 30 minutes for a call at 11:30 if you're free?’

‘Sounds perfect. Can’t wait <3”

“👍”

“What’s this?”

You flip the thick piece of paper back and forth as if the words were written in hieroglyphics.

He watches you register what he had just done.

“Tickets. For the Knicks game this weekend.”

You stare at him as if he just popped out a second head so he sighs and continues. “You said you loved them on our first date.”

“Brendon.”

“It’s the Eastern Conference Finals.”

“Brendon.”

“What?”

“It’s in New York.”

He cocks his head at another pair of tickets sitting on his coffee table.

“Those are our plane tickets.”

“You bought plane tickets?!”

“Can’t exactly walk there, sweetheart.”

“You bought Knicks tickets, plane tickets, and planned an entire trip without telling me?”

“Well, such is the nature of a surprise.”

You actually let out a snort of laughter before jumping into his lap on the couch pressing kisses and ‘thank you’s’ on whatever skin you could reach. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You haven’t even heard of the restaurant reservation yet.”

Or the fact that he somehow tracked down a friend of a friend of a friend who is somehow dating someone working game day operations just to make sure the kiss cam landed on the two of you during half-time.

And they said he wasn’t a romantic.

It took Park 3 months in your relationship to realize … you have never truly slept over his place.

When you mentioned on your second date that you were a virgin and that you planned to wait until marriage, he was – for the sake of honesty – taken aback.

Not that there was anything wrong with it and you had bashfully admitted that you were willing to do some 'other stuff' as long as you didn’t go 'all the way'. Something about a vow with the women in your family that the only man who should be able to touch you is the one who is willing to commit.

It makes sense, in theory. But they never took into consideration that the man who plans to worship the ground you walk on is a stressed-out orthopedic surgeon in a trauma center whose only source of relaxation is in between your thighs.

So, yeah. He was a bit taken aback. And frustrated.

But he respected it.

(He was too far gone for you to let this minor complication stand in his way.)

Sucked it up like a man, met your parents, swore to them that this relationship would end in marriage once you were ready, and now added meditation to his workout routine so he wouldn’t pop a boner every time you lounged around his place in just his shirt.

“What are you doing?”

He asks from the en-suite bathroom’s door, finally ready for bed after a long day of bullshit in the hospital only to find his girlfriend quietly trying to book a taxi from his bed.

“Oh! I figured you’d be too tired to drive me back home so I was just going to book a car.”

He frowns in confusion. Quickly walking to where you were lounging in his bed to grab your phone and cancel it.

“Wha – hey!”

“I think we’re past asking permission to stay over.”

You open your mouth to protest before hesitating, choosing instead to crawl to the edge of the bed so you can sit by where he was standing. The fresh smell of his soap, body wash, and clean skin lights your skin on fire.

“I don’t have my skincare stuff in here,” you weakly protested.

He hummed, hands petting the back of your head.“Let’s go buy it tomorrow after brunch. It’s my day off.”

You beamed, gasping in glee. “Really?”

"Really." He can’t help but chuckle at your delight – so pleased with a couple hundred dollars of products. Seems he wasn’t doing quite a good enough job spoiling you, he plans to change that starting tomorrow. “Anything else I should know before our first official sleepover?”

You rubbed your cheeks into his hands like a cat before shyly nodding.

“I know you’re having a hard time with the … abstinence thing,” you pout your lips up at him, your chin digging firmly on his navel which definitely didn’t help.

He clears his throat, taking a beat to look up at the ceiling and collect himself before letting his hands cup your cheeks, “I’m a grown man, babydoll. I can handle sleeping next to my woman without pouncing on her.”

“I trust you, Bren,” you insist earnestly. “But it doesn’t mean I want to frustrate you any more than I already do.”

“Hey, where is this coming from? I’ll behave,” he pokes the tip of your nose to lighten your mood but you only bit your bottom lip in even more hesitation. “Or is there another reason?”

He wouldn’t want to push you if you were truly uncomfortable.

“The thing is,” you groan, cupping the hands holding your face. “I can only sleep naked.”

If he had to go back to the bathroom for five minutes to listen to the calming meditation exercise his therapist recommended to him, it would be something the two of you agreed to take to the grave.

“Alright, my eyes are closed, babydoll.”

He prepared as best as he could.

Lights are off, sleep mask on.

Now he just needs to not think about his girlfriend sleeping naked beside him for the entire night. His adorable, sweet, angel of a woman who is not wearing a stitch of clothing on her bo –

“Thanks for doing this, baby.”

He sucks in a sharp breath when he feels you press a kiss to his cheeks.

He grips the comforter so tight he swears his nails ripped through it. “Warn a man next time.”

Your giggle disappears under the duvet. He makes it a point to put a pillow between the two of you – for your sake and mostly his.

It’ll be fine. Everything will be –

-- fucked! He is so fucking fucked.

The nudity wasn’t the challenge – difficult, yes but manageable with the proper monk-like focus. What you have failed to disclose was that you slept like a possessed octopus. Something he himself only found out when he felt your entire body weight on top of him at 2:47 in the morning.

Once he felt the swell of your chest on his ribs his entire body instinctively flinched so quickly, he almost developed a cramp.

“S-Sweetheart,” he whispered, trying to see if he could jog you out of your sleep gently to save him from the suffering of having to push you back.

To his horror, you just whined, grabbing even more tightly to his biceps as you dragged your body up the length of his so you could push your face in the juncture of his neck.

The contrast of the warmth of your skin on his, the small puffs of air a siren’s call on his ear, and the plump of your lips grazing his neck as you sleepily mumble mindless nothings was torture to his already frazzled sense of self-control.

He grips his bedsheet tightly, knowing his willpower would snap if his hands ever got ahold of you.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“’luv yu’, Bren.”

He sucks in a breath. What the – did you just say – “Babydoll?”

“So nice to me,” you whimper the words on his neck. “Love you so much.”

That felt like a jagged knife of guilt to his heart.

The shame and responsibility you felt for what he could only believe other lovers saw as a drawback or a burden. It must’ve been a heavy weight to carry for his sweet girl.

He swears you won’t have to carry it anymore as long as he is here.

He holds his breath for 10 seconds and lets it out for 5. He thinks about surgical risks, antibiotics, anesthesia regulation, and proper post-op instruction. Thinks about Gloria on his neck, the pressure to live up to their expectation as the upcoming Chief of Surgery. He thinks about Robinavitch’s jealousy even though the both of them knew the pressure Brendon was in would eventually fling the ER attending from the roof he so often escaped to.

Anything and everything to keep his mind clear and disciplined as he refuses to be another weak man who resents your boundaries.

With a deep breath he finally gathers you in his arms, curling around you until his body threatens to swallow you whole.

Saying instead the words that always seemed to get stuck between his heart and his tongue whenever you looked at him. Reminding himself to repeat it tomorrow before you could say it first.

He’s an old-fashioned man, after all.

“I love you, babydoll.”

'Going to the gym but i'm gonna be busy all day. Text me '911' if it's an emergency and my assistant will track me down.'

'Go it. I'm planning to cook you steak for dinner tonight, can I use your kitchen?'

'DON'T SEND ME MONEY. It's my treat.'

'I know your fingers are hovering Brendon Park. Don't!'

'Fine'

'Fine <3'

'Check your jewelry box. I slipped a spare key to my place there.'

'Okay <3'

'Wait what.'

“Hi, babyyyy,” you jump into his arms as he drops his work bag unceremoniously on the floor.

Your text that said you were going to spend your day off going to the grocery store and preparing him a steak dinner genuinely was the only thing that pushed him through a long day of surgeries and consultations.

He lets you rope him into a kiss, sitting the two of you down on his couch as you continue to map out his face with your mouth.

“Missed you so much,” you mutter in between kisses. He smiles at your earnest confession. “Say you missed me too.”

You press a finger on his chest, and he glances down at it as if unconvinced. You squawk in offense and try to get off his lap but not before getting caught in his arms and flipped into the couch.

“You’re all I ever thought about all day, sweetheart.”

You hum, running your hand on his hair. “That’s a dangerous habit, doctor.”

“Don’t worry. I’m a professional.”

With one last deep kiss he lets you out of his arms and back into the kitchen. He prepares to stand up and set the table but you pressed a hand into his chest with an explicit instruction to go shower and relax.

“It’ll be ready when you’re out.”

By the time he was done, you were already getting the wine out of the chiller. “Oh, by the way, some important-looking envelope from your bank arrived.”

You point a finger at the side table by the door. He opens it, his eyes moving carefully with each line.

“Babydoll?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you give me your landlord’s bank details?”

A pause, he turns back to see you staring at him in bewilderment.

“Uh, what for?”

He drops the letter on the coffee table before walking towards you. “I need it to set up an auto-pay in my account.”

You blink up at him as he casually presses a kiss on your lips before sitting at his seat beside yours.

“Are you … moving?” You ask even though you had to admit how incredulous it was. Why would he switch his immaculate penthouse to your subpar building? Is he buying the building then?

“No, for your apartment, honey,” he continues patiently, taking your hand.

Your eyes widened, finally getting what he is implying. “What?! Why – you don’t have to do that! I-I know I complain a lot but I’m fine really!”

He presses a kiss on the back of your hand. “I know, sweetie. But I’m planning on moving you with me by the end of the year, and I want that transition to be as smooth as possible for you.”

Your mouth opens and closes in shock as he drops two bombs on you at once.

“Are … are you asking me to move in with you?”

He slices a piece of his steak before feeding it to you.

“By the end of the year,” he reiterates casually. “At least that’s the deadline I gave my realtor.”

You audibly swallow the barely chewed steak, pushing it down with large gulps of wine.

“I … I don’t want to make it seem like I-I’m a gold digger or something.”

His face hardens at that. “Don’t say that.”

“I’m serious. People talk.”

“Let them talk,” the reprimand was there but it was gentle. “I know why you’re here.”

That softens you.

“Because I’m funny and a good lay.”

You almost snorted your wine into your nose and he finally smiles hearing you laugh. He raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘see?’.

“Brendon –”

“Hey,” he takes your hand, pulling you closer and letting the chair screech in protest. “You’re allowed to like the things I do for you. I work hard, I make good money. And I’d rather spend it making you happy than letting it sit there in the bank.”

He holds your hesitant eyes, only letting a victorious smile appear on his face when you let out a resigned sigh.

You stand up and he automatically pushes his chair back so you can sit in his lap.

“Okay. Thank you. I love you and I will move in with you by the end of the year even though you technically didn't ask.”

“You’re welcome,” he whispers on your lips. “Also, that was your new credit card in the envelope.”

“Brendon Park –"

[eden031]

Betting board

Pairing: Brendon Park x R4!reader

Words: 1.9k

Summary: The biggest betting board in the history of the Pitt finally closes

Warnings: none, this is just funny and comedy tbh, a bit of angst maybe?, mentions of rough sex, maybe ooc Brendon Park

The betting board. It was one of the things that made working in the ED a lot more fun, it was almost like a bonding activity for the staff, guessing what was behind certain situations on the news or what was going on at other hospitals. That was at least the public betting board, the bets that were made without people blinking an eye at them.

Then there was the second betting board, the one that involved a bit more secrecy than the one everyone knew about, but it was also the one where the real money was in the end.

Mohan and Abbot: love confession in ambulance bay (Whitaker) 50$, make out session in supply closet (McKay) 80$, already in situationship (Santos) 70$, had sex once don’t talk about it (Princess) 50$, married by next June (Kim) 20$

Whitaker and Robby: Whitaker one sided (Perlah) 50$, Robby one sided (Shen) 40$, Idiots in love (McKay) 90$, already in a relationship (Princess) 110$, first kiss in supply closet (Ellis) 70$

-> Dana and Santos are BANNED from this bet

Santos and Garcia: toxic situationship (Princess) 100$ -> everyone agrees with Princess on that, except for Emma -> get in a happy healthy relationship, 60$

There was more on that board. It kept changing, moving like some ebbing and flowing eco systems of its own, bets were changed, new ideas were added, people collected wins or bets that were closed because they weren’t leading anywhere.

Still, there was one slot on that board that was a topic of discussion at least once per shift, everyone arguing about what would be the outcome of that bet. It was her relationship status, an R4 all smiles and good mood. The reason the bet had even started was because she kept rejecting advances from everyone that hit on her, may it be coworkers, patients or visitors, every time someone asked her out she denied politely, still smiling brightly. There was a wide range of opinions on that matter, not only from the day shift, but also from the night shift and some of the surgeons that came down for consultation frequently.

Married since med school (Whitaker, Javadi) 90$

Single and happy (Mohan, Santos, Garcia) 150$

Engaged (Shen, Ellis, Abbot) 160$

Dating someone in the hospital (Dana, McKay, Robby, Kiara, Princess, Perlah) 515$

Dating someone outside the hospital (Jesse, Donnie, Kim) 240$

Crushing on someone at the hospital (Larry, Antoine) 130$

….

There were over two pages worth of bets regarding that subject. Ahmmad kept the envelope with the money in a locked drawer at this point. Everyone tried to get some information, tried to see if they were on the right trek, but every time someone asked she would simply smile and shrug, like she knew why they were asking.

The bets shifted significantly for the first time after an incident that none of them would remember as pleasant.

“Okay,” Dana sighed, looking at her with mild worry, the curtain was drawn shut, shielding her from prying eyes. She was still a little shaky, a patient had shoved her against some equipment during a routine check up and probably broken one of her ribs. “Are you okay with lifting your shirt? The new policy-” She nodded, interrupting Dana.

“I know about the new policy of workplace injuries," she sighed, mildly annoyed as she shifted slightly on the bed. She knew that Dana would have to inspect her torso so that if this was to be taken to court as assault charges there was someone to verify the injuries. Theoretically they were also supposed to take pictures of the injuries, however she had vehemently told both Robby and Dana that she did not want that.

Sighing deeply she slipped out of the scrub top first, putting it beside her on the bed. Carefully and with a small wince she lifted the undershirt, the moment it hit the bed and Dana looked at her she could see the older woman’s eyes go wide in horror. At that exact moment she remembered that the state her upper body was in was not normal for most people.

“Sweetheart,” Dana said in a soft tone, averting her eyes from the nurse she shifted uncomfortably again. All over her hips and waist, as well as lower back were hand shaped bruises in various stages of healing as well as bite marks. Flushing slightly she scratched her neck, trying to not make this worse than it already was.

“Who is doing that to you?” Dana said in a gentle tone, at that moment it hit her that this looked like abuse. That the bruises in various healing stages and other marks left on her body would cause distress in someone that did not know where they came from.

“It’s not what it looks like Dana,” she hastily said, trying to stop the nurse from worrying too much, “My boyfriend and I sometimes-” she interrupted herself, wondering how to put it in a way that would not embarrass her even further. Dana’s eyebrow quirked upwards, the worry still evident on her features. Sighing, deciding that any amount of embarrassment was alright if it meant putting Dana’s worry at ease.

“My boyfriend and I are just a bit rough sometimes,” she looked at her hands, hoping that Dana would get the meaning of her words. For a moment there was silence then a quiet chuckle, Dana shook her head.

“You should put that in your medical file,” Dana smirked to herself as she continued checking out the broken rib.

——————

After that the betting board shifted, it didn’t stop, people started betting on who her boyfriend might be. Sometimes specific people, others decided to go for groups of people. The nurses were relentless in their effort to try and find out who she was seeing. Yet she remained quiet about it, deciding that it was after all none of their business.

Firefighter (Whitaker, Javadi, Mohan, Ellis, Shen, Abbot) 625$

EMT (Larry, Antoine, Kirara, Dana) 350$

Nick Barker (Dana, Robby, Princess, Perlah) 520$

Brendon Park (McKay) 60$

Police officer (Garcia, Santos) 130$

….

Leaning against the nurses station she looked at the board, wondering what to take care of next. There were some things that were mildly urgent and could wait a few more minutes if need be and some minor issues that had been waiting for hours. Sighing she reached into her scrub pocket as her phone buzzed multiple times in quick succession.

Is the seventh circle of hell treating you well? (11:43 a.m.)

We got one of your guys just now, what did Robby think by putting that leg into a splint like that? (11:43 a.m.)

Please tell me that it was Robby and not you (11:44 a.m.)

I have lunch for you btw (11:44 a.m.)

The last message made her smile. Quickly glancing around she saw that Robby was lurking nowhere and she typed a quick answer.

Swamped.

Robby’s idea, never saw the patient

Can you bring it down when you have time? I’m pretty sure Robby would kill anyone that as much as tried to get in a bathroom break

She slipped the phone back into the pocket of her scrubs, deciding that she would tackle the minor issues waiting for treatment now, maybe take along one of the med students and handle that as quickly and efficiently as possible.

Many days she wondered if people were not aware of the difference between an urgent care and an emergency room. She had grabbed one of the med students and taken her along to get those things off her plate. It cleared a few beds at least, people finished with the tests and sent home with care instructions, all discharged within an hour.

As she returned to the hub she glanced at the board again. It was not getting any less and slowly started to feel like a fever dream. Grumbling under her breath she decided to take the next best case.

A broken arm in a kid. She took the history, ordered an x-ray and some pain relief after palpating gently and was out of that room again in no time, thinking that she would have to ask one of the nurses to get some of the colourful cast wrappings. As she headed back towards the hub she cursed herself for forgetting to restock the stickers she kept in her scrubs for pedes patients.

It felt like people were pulling her in all different directions. New patients, old patients waiting for a bed upstairs to open up, people needing something. The entire day felt like an uphill battle that would not come to an end soon.

Staring at the chart she typed as quickly as she could, hoping that between patients she would be able to get in some of the charting done at least, especially for the patients that were waiting for a bed upstairs.

“Park, what are you doing here, we didn’t page for an ortho consult,” she heard Robby say, sounding vaguely annoyed with him. Glancing up she couldn’t help but smile as she saw Bredon standing on the other side of the hub.

“I wanted to talk to one of your residents, Robby, relax,” he sounded exhausted, looking at Robby with an expression of mild annoyance.

“Which one of them and why?” Robby questioned, acting like Park would be this relaxed if one of the residents seriously did something wrong. Rolling her eyes slightly she got up from the chair, walking over two of them.

The moment she approached, Brendon's eyes found her, shooting her a slight smile as he turned away from Robby.

“Hey,” she greeted softly, nodding at Robby, though he simply looked between them, slowly circling around the nurses station as he gained distance, still looking at them over the rim of his glasses.

“Hey” Brendon smiled at her, then reached into his scrub pocket, “I also found those on the table, thought you might want them,” he hummed gently, handing her the stickers she had forgotten.

“Thanks,” she gently squeezed his hand after taking the stickers from him, putting them in her scrub pockets. “And my lunch?” she asked, tone joking, though Brendon rolled his eyes slightly before holding up the metal lunch box she always used.

“Didn’t forget it,” he handed her the box as well. Smiling slightly while shaking her head, she tucked it under her arm.

“Thank you, you really are a saint,” she sighed, leaning up and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. With a soft huff, he reached for her hand, squeezing it softly.

“I gotta go back upstairs, need to be in the OR in twenty,” he sighed, shaking his head, like he was greatly disappointed about the entire situation.

“Alright, see you later then,” she bid him goodbye. As he was in the elevator on his way up she went back to the spot she had been occupying, putting her lunch behind the computer without really thinking about the interaction much. Though looking up she could see multiple pairs of eyes on her, all wide and apparently shocked. Smirking to herself she hoped that Cassie would at least give her some of the winnings, deciding to keep quiet about her having met Brendon and her in a coffeeshop about two and a half years ago when the biggest betting board of the Pitt started out for the first time.

[thefictionalmanswhxre]

Hi, I saw that your requests are open, so I was wondering if you could please do a Brendon Park x reader, where the reader is a bit self-deprecating and Brendon doesn’t accept any of that, gently reminding her that she’s good and that he adores her.

𑣲 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘴𝘮 𝘣𝘤 𝘪 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥

☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼☼

𝑩𝒓𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝑴𝒊𝒏𝒅

warnings! 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘭 𝘢𝘣𝘶𝘴𝘦 (𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯), 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘰𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧, 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵/𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘹𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘰𝘳, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 & 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘱𝘪𝘵𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘮, 𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘣, 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴, 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘸𝘤: 𝟏.𝟕𝑲+

“You? In the medical field? Don’t they want smart people for the job?”

The words make you want to recoil but you don't move. You don’t let the tears fall.

“All I can say is if you were to ever be a doctor, I wouldn’t want you fucking helping me. I don’t believe you’d be good enough at it.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You shake your head as a voice pulls you from the memory.

“Ready to go, sweetheart?”

Clearing your throat you turn to face where the voice was coming from.

“Yeah baby, I just have to grab my bag and shoes.” you say back as your boyfriend walks out of the bedroom, fixing his watch.

You and Brendon were headed to a dinner with most of the pitt staff.

As the pitt’s favorite nurse and their beloved friend, you were invited to all of the outings. Brendon always got an invitation as well and came to them as often as he could.

You always looked forward to spending time with everyone. It lifted your spirits every time, even on bad days, including today.

Brendon looks at you with a smile “Alright hot stuff, let’s get a move on then.”

His words cause your face to heat up as he places a hand on your hip and moves you towards your stuff at the front door.

Tonight was going to be exactly what you needed.

—-

The group sits in a large booth at the back of the restaurant. Appetizers and drinks had been ordered and now everyone was just in conversations of various forms.

You were in a small conversation with Dennis and Samira when Brendon starts talking and the conversation catches your attention.

“So,” he looks between Jack and Robby “what advice would you give someone wanting to go to medical school?”

You still at the question.

Oh Brendon Park you better not.

“You do know you’re already a doctor, right Park?” Robby says chuckling.

Jack tilts his head “Why do you ask?”

Brendon looks over at you a bit with a grin and you give him your best ‘shut your mouth right now’ face.

“Your favorite nurse takes the MCAT in a few months.”

You don’t notice how all conversation has died and everyone’s heads have all turned to face you.

“Is he serious, kid?” Jack asks with a heartwarming smile.

You nod slightly.

“Holy shit! Yes! You’re gonna be a doctor with us!” Trinity yells excitedly halfway up from her seat.

You huff out a breath with a smile “Well I hope I’m actually smart enough for it”

Brendon looks at you with a confused face, hoping you’re joking. You’re the smartest person he knows.

“Sweet pea, you’re such an amazing nurse. Of course you’re smart. You’ll kill it.” Dana reassures you.

Samira gently grasps your hand from across the table.

“You’re seriously talented. Literally the pitt’s best nurse.”

“Thank you Samira,” you say sincerely “god knows I barely made it this far. Barely passed the NCLEX. Would probably help if my brain worked more often” you joke.

Brendon has a tight lipped smile but behind it his heart is breaking at how you’re talking about yourself. The others don't seem to know your jokes aren’t jokes. He can tell you mean it and he can’t figure out why.

He’d get to the bottom of it tonight.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

A few hours later you arrive back to the apartment with Brendon following behind you.

You set your keys on the counter with your bag and let out a sigh.

“Tonight was so good. I needed that.”

Brendon nods as he makes his way in front of you.

His silence catches your attention.

“You okay, Bren?”

He grabs one of your hands and holds it in both of his.

“What was that tonight?”

Your eyebrows furrow at his question “What was what?”

“When I brought up medical school. Everyone had something nice to say and maybe they thought your responses were jokes but I know they weren’t. Why would you say any of that about yourself?”

You swallow hard and your chest gets tight.

You didn’t realize Brendon had been paying such close attention. That he noticed your insecurities speaking tonight in the jokes you made.

“I uh…I don’t know” you mumble, avoiding eye contact with Brendon.

He gently squeezes your hand.

“I think you do know. You know I love you. So much. I won’t make you but can you tell me why?”

You look up at the ceiling hoping he won’t see the tears in your eyes threatening to fall.

His large hand caresses the side of your face “Sweetheart…”

“Okay… c’mere” you whisper as you lead him to the couch.

You both sit and you keep his hand in yours as you turn to your side to face him.

“Did I ever tell you that I didn’t plan on being a nurse?”

Brendon furrows his eyebrows at the confession and slowly shakes his head. He thought you had always wanted to be one. You were a natural. Patients loved you as well as the whole hospital staff.

“I wanted to be a doctor. That was the dream.” you gently squeeze his hands.

“I had spent a summer interning in high school in the E.R. and fell in love with it. The stuff that they do in the pitt? What Robby, Jack and the rest of them do? That’s where I saw myself.”

Taking a deep breath you continue.

“When I got home after the last day of interning, I told my mom I wanted to be a doctor.”

Your lip trembles as you hold back tears. Brendon pulls you closer into his side.

“I’ll never forget her laughing in my face, like I had said the funniest joke. She said if I ever wanted to be a doctor that I’d have to be a whole different person. Because the person she was looking at would never achieve something that amazing.”

Brendon tucks your head under his chin as he silently listens.

“While it hurt, it didn’t kill my hope immediately. I still spent summers during college interning at the hospital. I got my Bachelor’s in Nursing so that I could have a better medical background before medical school. Three months later I was ready for the MCAT. I paid the fees, studied, and showed up early for the test. And before it even began, I walked out of the room.”

Brendon rubs up and down your back “What happened, baby?”

You take a shaky breath.

“I let the years of every terrible thing she said get to me. Do you know she didn’t even show up for my college graduation? Because I chose one in medicine and still wanted to be a doctor?” you laugh with bitter tears as you think back on the day you realized no one was there at graduation for you.

You sniff, cuddling closer into Brendon’s embrace.

“I worked myself up so bad I felt physically ill, panicked, and left. It took a year to get the courage to take the NCLEX. I love nursing, don't get me wrong, but being a doctor is where I want to be.”

Brendon gives you a quick squeeze before pulling you back a bit to look you in the eyes.

“Do you know how incredible you are?” he says gently

“You’re so kind, brilliant, talented, beautiful, and so much more. You’re a fucking great nurse and everyone knows it. You’re loved fiercely in the pitt. You’d make a great fucking doctor too. No doubt."

He kisses your forehead gently.

"I’m sorry your mom couldn’t recognize all your amazing qualities. She has no idea how amazing her daughter is. But I do. I know I can’t erase the damage caused but I promise to always remind you of all the good. I’m beyond proud to call you mine and I can’t wait to see you kill the MCAT.”

The tears had already started after the first few words he said.

Your family may not have supported you but Brendon did.

He showed up when it mattered and only ever encouraged you when you had an idea or goal.

Now you feel a little more brave to face your dreams.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

It’s been two months since that night and you had used Brendon’s encouraging words to take the MCAT.

You had been scared shitless that day. Waking up with a tight chest and a slight tremor in your hands.

Brendon had left early that morning so luckily he wouldn’t see you starting to panic.

You had gone to the kitchen to make a coffee and was met with a post it on the machine.

‘You’re gorgeous’

That brought a smile to your face.

You open the cabinet to grab your lucky mug and you’re met with another post it.

‘You’re incredibly brilliant’

Your heart melts while beating faster.

Next you grab your creamer from the fridge and there lies another post it.

‘You’re all the good in this world.’

A tear falls down your face.

Damn you Brendon and your big heart.

When you’re finally ready to leave you go to grab your keys from the bowl and see something under them. You grab it and flip it over, tears immediately forming.

It's a picture of the pitt crew cheering, making heart hands, giving thumbs up, and smiling.

‘We're so proud of you! Our favorite nurse forever!’ written across the top.

You held the picture to your heart for a minute before putting it in your bag.

Okay, I've got this.

—-

Now you stand at the kitchen island with your laptop, email open and your hands clutched against your chest in anticipation.

“C’mon sweetheart” Brendon says standing shoulder to shoulder with you.

You lean your head back “I know, I knowww. I’m just scared.”

“And that’s okay baby. I’m here with you no matter what.”

You let out a breath and click the ‘see results’ button on the email.

Your eyes scan the page for a few seconds and then it feels like your heart stops.

‘Pass’

“Oh shit! You did it baby! You fucking did it!”

You did it.

Your mom was wrong. So wrong.

Brendon engulfs you in a bear hug and rocks you back and forth.

“You brilliant mind you. I knew you could do it.”

You hug him tight and can only feel gratitude for Brendon and the pitt crew, giving you endless encouragement up to this moment.

“Thank you” you whisper against his shoulder.

“Thank you for everything, Bren.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉: @kmc1989 @zeynire @livlovesfastcars @lospy41 @annabellq @ilocuras24 @thehockeynerd30 @straykids1011 @gf4lwt @itzpixiebabe @darknessofhell666-blog-blog @barcelonaaababe

[thefictionalmanswhxre]

Can you do park reader who lives in his apartment building and has guide dog for whatever reason you want and the dog comes to his door when reader falls in the hallway thanks love your stories

𑣲 𝘪 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘰𝘰𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘢 𝘰𝘮𝘨 & 𝘪 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘪𝘵, 𝘪𝘧 𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘴 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘦 :,)

𝑯𝒐𝒕 𝑵𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒃𝒐𝒓 𝑻𝒐 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑹𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒖𝒆

𝘉𝘙𝘌𝘕𝘋𝘖𝘕 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘒 𝘟 𝘗𝘖𝘛𝘚!𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

warnings! 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘗𝘖𝘛𝘚, 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘱, 𝘴𝘺𝘮𝘱𝘵𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘺 𝘥𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘤𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴, 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘫𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘰𝘯 & 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘶𝘦, 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨!𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘣, 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴, 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘸𝘤: 𝟏.𝟕𝑲+

“Hey neighbor.”

You turn to your left and see your next-door neighbor.

Brendon Park.

He was stupidly handsome and such a nice guy.

You always see him at different times of the day because he’s a surgeon down the road at ptmc. It’s also a nice perk to live next door to a doctor, which he insisted you knock if you ever need him day or night.

“Hey Bren, going out or just getting back?”

He smiles as he leans against his door “Just getting back. A long nap is calling my name. Hopefully I’m up by lunch. Where are you and Meesh headed?”

Meesh, a nickname for Misha, is a 4 year old golden retriever. He’s also your service dog of almost three years now.

You had been diagnosed with POTS as a teenager and over the years it had gotten a little more intense. This had led to you passing out while out by yourself one day and had hit your head. Luckily a passerby called EMS and you were taken to the hospital and treated.

It happened more frequently after that and your parents decided a service dog was non-negotiable since you lived alone. 

You’ve lived next to Brendon for about a year now and even though he’s a doctor, you’ve never told him of your condition. You just didn’t want to seem incapable or weak around him.

Obviously he knew you had some sort of medical condition as you had Misha but he’d never ask unless you were to bring it up first.

“We’re headed to the new farmer’s market downtown. I’ve heard good things and I've been dying to check it out.” you laugh

“Oooo there's a jam stand there that sells raspberry peach jam, here–” he pulls $40 from his wallet “Could you grab me two jars? I’ve not been able to go with my schedule lately.”

You shake your head with a smile “Bren, I’ll get them. You don’t have to pay me.”

He raises an eyebrow and holds the money out.

“Uh uh, take this and keep the rest for the troubles.” 

You tap your chin dramatically “How about I’ll take it when I bring the jams back, fair deal?”

He tilts his head with a chuckle.

“You drive a hard bargain woman but okay, when you get back.”

You wave to him as you walk Meesh to the elevator.

Brendon watches you go even after the elevator doors close.

He bites his lip at the thought of seeing you again later.

Shaking his head he finally unlocks his door and walks in.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

After a whole day in the hot Pittsburgh heat, you’re finally making your way back to the apartment building.

You hold your tote bag on your shoulder, the two jars of jam securely tucked in it.

As you walk towards the elevator you notice a sign on the doors

‘Elevators out of service until tomorrow.”

“Fuck” you say quietly.

Guess you’ll be taking the stairs.

You’re on the sixth floor so it’s not terrible but the trek up there still won’t be easy.

After a few minutes you realize the air conditioning isn’t great in the stairwell and you’re starting to sweat a lot.

You end up stopping on the fourth floor to sit down for a few minutes.

You’re pretty out of breath and start to feel a little dizzy.

Just two more floors.

When you go to stand up Meesh is at your side and is trying to lay on your lap, keeping you sitting.

You then realize he’s alerting you to your fast heart rate. A potential episode starting. 

Normally this is when you’d stay seated and rest a bit but you don’t. Gently you pet him while trying to catch your breath.

“I-It’s okay Meesh. Just t-two more and I’ll sit w-when we’re upstairs.”

You knew better than to ignore him and not immediately take it easy but you were almost home.

Meesh whines a little as he desperately tries to get you to stay sitting but you get up anyway and continue up the stairs.

Finally you’re only a set of stairs away from the sixth floor door. As you go to take a step, it feels like the ground is shifting. Your movements feel sluggish as you take another step.

Shit. I need to sit right now.

Your hands shake as you try to grab your phone from your purse. Meesh is back at your side nudging you and again trying to get you to sit.

Without looking you take another step but the dizziness throws you off balance, sending you tumbling down the few stairs to the platform below.

Your bag hits the ground, scattering all your belongings somewhere you can’t see.

“M-Meeshhh” you try to call for him. He looks torn to find something to help and staying to help comfort you. 

Then in a split second he’s racing up the stairs to the hallway door. The inside of the door is one you push to open from both sides. 

Luckily, in training Meesh, he had been taught how to open a few different types of door handles for retrieving water, medicines, and other things.

It doesn’t take long for him to figure this one out and as soon as it starts to open he’s squeezing through the opening and runs to your apartment door.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Brendon’s enjoying his post-shift nap when a noise pulls him from his sleep.

He looks up from the couch and listens quietly.

There’s a scratching sound.

Are there rats in the walls?

He goes to lay back down when he hears whining.

“What the f—“

Then there’s a loud bark that sounds close by.

He then moves from the couch and towards the front door.

Cracking it open he sees golden fur by your door.

Brendon opens the door wider and sees Meesh scratching at your door.

“Hey Meesh!” he stays where he is since he’s well aware to not touch working dogs.

Speaking of working, where were you?

He walks out further and doesn’t see you but he notices Meesh’s frantic behavior.

“Where’s your mommy buddy?”

Meesh runs to Brendon and frantically paws at Brendon and then runs down to the door leading to the stairwell.

Brendon’s eyebrows furrow as he observes the dog's behavior.

Then it hits him.

Shit.

In a training seminar he was taught that if a service dog is alone, to follow them. That some dogs were trained to find help if the handler was injured or suffering a medical emergency.

You could be in trouble.

He immediately runs to where Meesh is and pushes the door open.

Peering down the stairs, his heart stops.

You’re at the bottom of the stairs on your side looking like you passed out. Your stuff is everywhere and Meesh is trying to comfort you and lay on your chest.

“Sweetheart, hey!” He yells as he makes his way to you quickly.

He notices your labored breathing and that your eyes are barely open.

“Hey sweet girl, what happened? Are you okay?” 

He gently feels around your head and takes note of a bump on the side where you likely hit your head.

“B-Bren?” you slur out a little

His hand engulfs your face as he looks you over.

“It’s okay sweetheart, we’re gonna head to ptmc right now.”

You shake your head as you try to sit up.

“Sorry baby you can’t get up. Just stay still.”

“No Bren,” you mumble “no ambulance.”

He grabs your attention, looking into your eyes.

“Hey, hey I know but you’re hurt. So either the ambulance takes you or I do.”

You squint your eyes at the pounding headache and try to curl into him “Take me please.”

——

Brendon had quickly gotten his keys and then grabbed you and Meesh, making his way to ptmc.

He wished he had a picture of Dana’s face when he had come in with you in his arms and a dog glued to your side.

The three of you were a sight to see amongst his friends and colleagues.

Quickly Robby had been called down to your room to assess you. 

Brendon stayed glued to your side with your hand in his as they evaluated you, taking in all the information Robby talked about.

You had POTS?

Fuck, he wish you would’ve told him so he could’ve helped better.

—--

About an hour later you were more coherent and able to register where you were.

“Bren?” you whisper as you see him to the side of you.

Your voice gets his attention and he looks over, his hand immediately stroking the side of your face gently.

“Hey sweetheart, you feelin better?”

You take a mental inventory of how you’re feeling.

“Yeah,” you nod “what hap—Meesh! Where is h-“

Brendon hushes you softly “He’s right here.”

He motions towards the dog that’s been attached to him and head in his lap since you guys arrived.

You nod shaky as you try to calm your racing heart.

“You had an episode, POTS. Guess you already knew but they think it was likely brought on by the heat and the exertion from climbing the stairs.”

You start to recall the events in your head.

“Yeah I-I remember it. Meesh alerted to the symptoms but I just wanted to make it to the apartment first. I should’ve listened to him. I’m sorry to drag you into all of this.”

Brendon squeezes your hand “Hey it’s okay. I’m glad I was home to help. But I’m gonna give you my number and next time the elevator is out or you don’t feel good, you use it and call me. I don’t care if I’m asleep or not home. You call me and I’ll come get you, okay?”

You shake your head “Bren, I can’t d-“

“Promise me sweetheart?” his face pleading with you.

You contemplate it and then nod, squeezing his hand.

“Okay, I promise “

He brings your hand to his mouth and places a kiss there.

“Perfect.”

You look around “Where’s my bag?”

Brendo turns and takes it off the back of his chair.

“I gathered what I saw on the stairs earlier but if something’s missing, tell me and I’ll go back and look for it baby.”

Rummaging through the bag you pull out what you were looking for, holding them out to him.

“You really got them?” his grin gets wider as he carefully takes the jars of raspberry peach jam from you.

“How could I forget?” you smile back.

He leans forward and kisses your forehead.

“You’re something else, sweetheart.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉: @kmc1989 @zeynire @livlovesfastcars @lospy41 @annabellq @ilocuras24 @thehockeynerd30 @straykids1011 @gf4lwt @itzpixiebabe @darknessofhell666-blog-blog @barcelonaaababe @deanwinchestersgirl8734

[thefictionalmanswhxre]

Hiiii!! 💗 Can I request a Brendon Park where it’s the day he’s going to propose, but he’s so nervous that he accidentally acts really quiet and distant all day. Then, just a few minutes before he’s about to propose, reader asks if he’s mad at her because she thinks she did something wrong. He brushes it off, tells her everything’s fine, and then goes through with the proposal a few minutes later please!! 🥹

𑣲 𝘰𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘸𝘸

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑴𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈

𝘉𝘙𝘌𝘕𝘋𝘖𝘕 𝘗𝘈𝘙𝘒 𝘟 𝘍𝘌𝘔!𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘋𝘌𝘙

warnings! 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴!𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘰𝘯, 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘭 !, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰 𝘪𝘯 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘣, 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴, 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘸𝘤: 𝟏.𝟐𝑲+

Today’s the day.

Brendon stares at his reflection as he gets ready.

His mind is thinking of the engagement ring he has hidden deep in your shared closet. 

The one you'll hopefully be wearing by the end of the night.

He’s nervous as he runs through how he wants it to go in his head.

You and him.

The location he spent weeks deciding on.

Your (hopefully good) reaction 

Probably some tears from himself.

And the apartment being set up for when you guys get back tonight.

Logically things were going to be fine but he couldn’t shake the nervousness that had been sitting since yesterday.

You were his world.

The love of his life 

This was going to mean everything.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You prop your head on your hand as you watch Brendon from the nurses station.

Something’s up with him.

This morning he barely said a word to you besides ‘good morning’ and a brief ‘see you later’ before you both parted ways for your shifts earlier.

He’s usually decently chatty with you and checking in throughout the day either by text or coming down to the pitt to find you.

But today? He’s kept his distance. There’s been a smile or two if you happened to catch his gaze but otherwise he’s been pretty reserved.

Is he mad at me?

Did I do something wrong?

Maybe it's a bad day?

You let out a breath as you pick up another chart.

Tonight you were having a surprise date night and while you were excited for what he had planned, you still worried about him.

—--

Later after work you had gotten ready for the date.

You had picked out a dress you had reserved for nicer dates and paired it with wedged heels. Your hair was in a new style you had seen online and you were very proud of how it turned out.

Lastly you had put in some medium sized hoops that had gorgeous crystals lining the outside of them. They matched your bracelet along with a few rings you slid on at the last minute.

They shine in the golden rays of the sunset that’s beginning as you walk hand in hand with Brendon.

The restaurant he chose was a beautiful steakhouse along the waterfront where you both ate to your heart’s content.

His demeanor was a drastic change from earlier today as he was very affectionate tonight and looked happy as he talked all through dinner.

You had been glad for the change since you hate to see him upset.

Then things reverted back after dinner.

He got quiet again but still held your hand as you both walked along the path beside the river, overlooking the city.

“Bren?” you tug on his hand gently

He turns his head to look at you and mumbles a ‘Hmm”.

“Is everything okay? What’s bothering you? Did I do something wrong? Are you mad at m–”

“No, sweetheart. Everything’s fine.” he says with a half smile.

He leads you over to a part of the path that has a great view near the river.

“Are you sure?”

Your question is met with silence as he stares across the water.

“Bren?”

He looks up and rocks back and forth on his heels a bit. “Baby,” you grab his hand.

“Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

You see his eyes start to water as he grabs your other hand.

“I’m so nervous. I uh,” He cracks a smile as a tear falls.

“I never thought in a million years I’d be lucky enough to find someone who would not only love me so fully but also accept me for me. Loving me despite my flaws.”

He pulls your hands against his chest and you feel how fast his heart is racing.

“Then I met you, my gorgeous, funny, and perfect girl. You’re everything I didn’t think I deserved or think I would find. And I’m grateful every day that when I choose you, you choose me too. When I think of my future, all I see is you in every part of it. I want you there for every part of it.”

Brendon wipes a tear from your face as it falls.

You hadn’t even realized you started crying.

“I love you so damn much. I love you in a way words will never fully convey.”

He takes a deep breath and falls to one knee, pulling a small black box from his pocket.

“I don’t want to do this life without you, sweetheart. Not a single day. So…. will you make my life complete and marry me?”

Brendon opens the box and you see the most beautiful ring nestled inside.

No way no way no way.

“Y-Yes. Of course I’ll marry you Bren.” Your voice trembles as tears fall but an unshakeable smile never leaves your face.

“Thank god” He mumbles as he gets up and kisses you like it’s the last time he ever will.

When he pulls away he leans his forehead against yours.

Gently, he slips the ring on your finger and kisses your hand as he holds it.

You attempt to wipe tears from your eyes as you stare at the ring.

“Is this why you were so off today, Bren?” you ask

His face turns a little red as he nods.

“I just wanted everything to go right and I… I know you love me but some small part of me was scared of you saying no.”

Your hand cradles his face, the stubble grazing your fingers.

“Brendon Park, I love you more than life itself. I’d say yes to you in every lifetime. Especially this one. And this was perfect, everything about it. It was so you, very thoughtful and special. It was everything.”

He kisses the palm of your hand.

“You deserve it all and more. Now let’s go celebrate at home.” he smirks.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Neither of you can wipe the smiles of your faces on the drive back to the apartment.

Brendon lets you in the door first and as he follows behind you he flips the lights on.

Your eyes are wide as you take in the scene.

There’s streamers and balloons everywhere.

The floor, the counters, the ceiling, etc.

Some of the ones near the ceiling have photos of you both over the years attached to the strings.

You hold one gently and can’t help but smile at the words written at the bottom.

‘ The night I fell in love with you ♡ ‘

Then you look up and see the big sign hanging across the room

‘𝘊𝘖𝘕𝘎𝘙𝘈𝘛𝘚 𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘊𝘙𝘈𝘡𝘠 𝘒𝘐𝘋𝘚’

You turn to Brendon “Who’d you get to do all of this?”

“Garcia and Santos” he says with a smile as he looks around at everything.

You walk up behind him and hug his waist.

“I love it, Bren.” 

His arms hold on yours “Well, there’s one more thing.”

He gently untangles himself from you and makes his way to the fridge.

There’s a white box that he pulls out and sets on the island counter in front of you.

He opens it and your jaw drops.

It’s a heart cake that says ‘engaged’ in gorgeous black cursive.

“Bren this is so cute, oh my god! Wait? So your friend’s birthday, that isn’t this week?”

To keep you from opening the cake box the last 2 days he had convinced you it was a surprise cake for a friend so that you would lose interest in it .

“No baby,” he chuckles “just had to make sure you didn’t sneak a peek.”

You grab forks and hand him one.

“You were that sure I’d say yes, huh? What would you have done if I said no?” you grin teasingly

Brendon looks at you with a smile and raised eyebrow.

“Would you have actually said no?”

You laugh as you feed him a bite of the cake.

“To you? Never.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉: @kmc1989 @zeynire @livlovesfastcars @lospy41 @annabellq @ilocuras24 @thehockeynerd30 @straykids1011 @gf4lwt @itzpixiebabe @darknessofhell666-blog-blog @barcelonaaababe

[thefictionalmanswhxre]

Hiii!!! I was wondering if you could do a brendon park x reader where they are dating and Bredon wants her to stay over but she's sacred to 'cause she afraid that she'll kick him or slap him in her sleep bc she's moves a lot when she sleeps? If not, totally okay!

𑣲 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘪 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘶!!!

𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒚 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑵𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆?

warnings! 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 & 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘣, 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴, 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘸𝘤: 𝟗𝟓𝟎+

You and Brendon had been dating for several months now and in all of that time you had never stayed the night at his place.

Sometimes you fall asleep for a bit on the couch during a movie night. But sleep in his bed? With him?

No.

You had been hesitant because you were a very restless sleeper.

On more than one occasion friends or family members had jokingly and not jokingly commented on how much you move in your sleep. Whether it was some kicking, sleep talking, or simply tossing and turning.

Due to that information you typically opted to sleep alone or keep a distance from others when sleeping over or sharing a sleeping space.

When it came to sleeping at Brendon’s, you didn’t want to scare him off with your restless movement.

He would ask often if you wanted to stay the night and you would avoid the invitation with an excuse of working early the next morning, early morning plans, not having any stuff with you, etc.

Brendon respected your answers but at the same time he just really wanted to fall asleep with you in his arms and wake up to you the next morning.

—--

Today you were having a pool day with Brendon. Both of you had the day off and what better way to beat the heat then take advantage of his apartment’s very expensive pool.

You guys had just gotten out and you go to lay out on your chair when Brendon pulls your arm gently.

He sits on his chair and lays back, maneuvering you to lay on top of him. Your face is squished against his warm chest as he runs his hands up and down your back in a soothing motion.

“I’m so sleepy” you mumble against his chest

You feel his chest vibrate from him chuckling.

“That so, baby?” 

“Mhm” you hum as you play with the necklace he’s wearing.

“Well,” he starts “How about I order dinner, you pick some movies, and thennn” he drags out the last word “you spend the night with me tonight?”

You stay silent as your heart races.

Of course you want to do all of that but you’re hesitant of staying the night, as always.

“C’mon sweetheart,” he hugs you closely to his body “just wanna have you wrapped around me in my bed. Then after I wake up with you in my arms I’ll make you the best pancakes you’ve ever had.”

Tucking your face into his neck you mumble something incoherently.

“Hmm? What was that baby?” he tries turning his head closer 

“I’m just scared.” you mumble again but a little louder

Brendon’s eyebrows furrow at your words.

“Why are you scared? Did I do someth–”

“No!” you cut him off abruptly “It’s nothing you’ve done Bren, I promise.”

You sit up and settle on his thighs, bracing your arms on his chest.

“I uh, I move around a lot when I sleep.”

You look up, avoiding eye contact with him.

“That's it? Is that why you’ve not stayed over before?” he probes gently

A tear rolls down your face “I know, I know, it probably seems fucking stupid of me t–”

“Hey, hey. Sweetheart, you’re not stupid. Don’t ever say that about yourself.” he rubs your arms soothingly.

“It’s okay to feel how you do about it but you do know that some moving around in your sleep isn’t gonna scare me away, right?”

“I hope not” you laugh a little as you wipe your tears.

He smiles up at you “You could have ten extra toes and I’d love you anyways.”

You gasp dramatically

“Ten?! Bren I promise I d-don’t” you laugh uncontrollably

He joins in with your laughter

“So… will you stay tonight?”

Letting out a deep breath you nod.

“Yeah, I guess I’ll steal your covers tonight.”

His fingers meet your sides “You little shit”

The giggles are uncontrollable as you wrestle with his hands.

He finally relents “Alright sweetheart, lets get a shower and some dinner.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Brendon had ordered dinner from an Italian restaurant that was devoured quickly during a small movie marathon.

The final credits were rolling and your eyes were barely open.

Brendon looks down at your head against his shoulder.

He gently runs his thumb across your cheek “ready for bed, baby?”

You nod against his shoulder, too exhausted for words.

“Alright pretty girl,” he stands slowly and picks you up in his arms “Let’s go.”

He walks to his bedroom and sets you down on the edge of the bed.

Brendon finds a t-shirt of his and stands in front of you.

Still a little awake you lift your arms up.

He helps you get your shirt and shorts off, putting his shirt on you.

Once you’re dressed you slowly get under the covers and get comfortable.

“I’m gonna turn everything off and get us some water and I’ll be back” he says from the doorway.

“Okay,” you mumble sleepily.

You try to stay awake for him to get back but quickly you’re nodding off until you’re dead asleep.

—--

Brendon’s gone for maybe ten minutes and then he’s back with bottled waters for you both.

The first thing he notices is your restlessness.

It’s almost as if you’re in a dream state or something’s plaguing your mind. You hadn’t mentioned nightmares or things troubling you so it’s not something he needs to wake you up from.

He flicks the lights off and gets in bed with you, immediately pulling you into his chest. When he said he didn’t mind the restless movement, he meant it.

Then he notices it.

As soon as he pulls you into his embrace and cuddles you close, you go still.

And you don’t seem to move a muscle the whole night.

Huh.

Maybe all of this time you just needed someone to hold you at night.

‘I can do that for you, sweetheart’ he thought.

I’ll do it forever for you.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉: @kmc1989 @zeynire @livlovesfastcars @lospy41 @annabellq @ilocuras24 @thehockeynerd30 @straykids1011 @gf4lwt @itzpixiebabe @darknessofhell666-blog-blog @barcelonaaababe

[thefictionalmanswhxre]

Can you do a park story about his wife being really shy and does crafts and baking and sales them online and gets hurt baking or doing a craft and comes to the emergency room nobody there knows she's parks wife thanks

𑣲 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘬𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦, 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘺!

༄˖°.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.࿔*:･༄˖°.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.࿔*:･༄˖°.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.࿔*:

𝑯𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝑨𝒔 𝑷𝒊𝒆

warnings! 𝘬𝘯𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘺, 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘱𝘩𝘪𝘤 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘫𝘶𝘳𝘺, 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘥, 𝘯𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴, 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘤𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦!𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘬, 𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘧𝘢𝘣, 𝘧𝘦𝘮 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘴, 𝘯𝘰 𝘱𝘩𝘺𝘴𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘸𝘤: 𝟏.𝟑𝑲+

To say you were busy was an understatement. As a small local baker, you didn't tend to get too many orders on a regular basis. But this week? Absolutely slammed for your business of one worker, yourself.

You started tackling orders at 6 a.m., briefly saying goodbye to Brendon as he kissed you on the cheek before leaving for his shift.

It’s now 10 a.m. and you're almost caught up on orders. Right now you’re working on a few apple pies. It’s not the worst thing but peeling and cutting apples? That’s the annoying part.

You’re scrolling through emails as you cut the apples, trying to manage orders while keeping up with the ones you’re working on.

One email snags your attention as you work

“Ten cakes for next weekend? Are they insane? That’s way too m–FUCK!”

Your mumbling turns into a scream as you glance down and see a deep gash in the palm of your hand, bleeding pretty bad.

“Shit, shit, sh–owww” you wince as you make your way to the sink.

I guess that’s what’s bound to happen when you cut an apple in your hand.

Brendon had warned you time after time to use a real cutting board and not sacrifice your hand as one.

Of course he’d eventually be right about this.

You find a clean dish rag and tightly wrap it around your hand as you turn off all the appliances before heading to the pitt.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You walk into the pitt nervously. You had never met anyone from the hospital and Brendon had kept you private from his work life. He just loved being able to unload the day’s stress in the safety of home, specifically in your arms.

You had been to the pitt a few times for friends, family, and a few injuries of your own. You didn’t really know who anyone was other than names and they definitely had no idea about you.

—-

After checking in you only sat in chairs for around 30 minutes before being called back. You sit on the bed and count to twenty in your head to try and distract yourself from the pain that’s now setting in.

“Good morning, I’m Dr. Langdon, what brings you in tod–oh!”

Your face warms in slight embarrassment. In your haste to make it to the hospital you didn’t check your appearance. One that consisted of being covered in flour, sugar and now some blood.

“Langdon, you know it’s rude to stare at our obviously injured patients.”

A man as you recognize as Dr. Michael Robinavitch ,or Robby, speaks as he follows Dr. Langdon in. You had seen him on the hospital’s website in the list of doctors when you had wanted to see who Brendon worked with.

The same voice draws your attention back.

“Good morning Miss…” he looks at your chart “Miss Park.”

You can tell he doesn’t make any connection to your husband.

“What brings you in today?”

You slightly lift your wrapped hand “Me vs. a knife and it's safe to say I didn’t win” you manage to say with a smile as a tear falls.

“Well, I hope you put up a fair fight.” Robby jokes to help ease your nerves.

He gently grabs your hand and unwraps the towel for a closer look.

You wince as it peels away and turn your head to the side.

“Sorry, sorry. Yeah, you got yourself pretty good here. It’s gonna require stitches unfortunately.”

You nod as you wipe your face.

“That’s fine. I should’ve known cutting things in my hand would end badly one day. My husband told me this would happen.”

Robby chuckles as he gathers the medical instruments.

“Smart man.”

——

The elevator dings as it makes it to the pitt floor and opens, revealing Brendon Park. He stalks towards the nurses station in search of information on a consult.

As he shuffles through some charts, he quickly glances up at the patient board and looks back down.

Suddenly his head snaps up and he reads the board again

‘Y/n Park’

The name makes his blood run cold and he moves quick towards the room listed, not even looking at the reason you’re there.

He comes to a halt at the doorway of your room. Robby is gathering supplies and Frank sits by the tray holding your hand out to examine it before numbing it.

“Get your hands off her.”

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Dr. Langdon or Frank, as Robby has also referred to him as, holds your hand out to look over it one more time before administering the numbing medicine.

He grabs the needle off of the tray and goes to inject it when a deep familiar voice grabs everyone’s attention.

“Get your hands off her.”

You look up towards the doorway and are met with the eyes of your husband.

Brendon stands there very still, frown in place, and eyes locked on you.

“Bren, I–” he cuts you off, repeating the same phrase to Frank.

“Get your hands off of her now.”

Frank looks over his shoulder as Robby looks at Brendon. “Park? What's going on? We didn’t ask for a consult. Nothing's broken.”

“Yeah Park,” Frank says as he turns back to you “This has nothing to do with you.”

Brendon’s eyes harden, as they shift towards Frank.

“She’s my wife.”

Everyone looks at each other. Then you. Then Brendon. Then back at you again.

“Your wife? You have a wife?” Frank questions in shock.

Brendon pulls out the ring attached to the chain around his neck.

“Shit” Frank mutters.

Robby steps forward “Look Park, you know the rule about working on family. You can be here but you can’t help.”

Brendon silently looks at you before nodding slightly.

“But only you or Abbot can do the stitching.”

Frank makes a face “Look I’m perfectly capable of—“

“No.” Brendon states firmly “She’s my wife and she gets the best care that’s available. You can put a bandaid on at the end if it makes you feel better but anything else is attending work. I won’t have anything less for her.”

He sits behind you on the bed and pulls you back against his chest.

“Hey baby.” you whisper over your shoulder.

He rests his chin on your shoulder and whispers to you.

“What happened, sweetheart? You okay?”

You laugh a little “I think I might take your advice on using a cutting board after today.”

“Cutting those damn apples in your hand, huh?” you feel him smile against your cheek.

You roll your eyes playfully “Yeah, yeah, yeah you were right, big guy.”

His hands come up to your face and gently wipe the last few tears away.

Your moment is interrupted by Robby grabbing your hand and administering the lidocaine.

Brendon holds you tighter when he hears you wince.

“Sorry, Mrs. Park” Robby cracks a half smile with you.

“No,” you smile. “I’m sorry about my husband and his oh so gentle words.”

That pulls a laugh from Robby. “No worries. He’s prickly because he cares. Can’t say I wouldn’t do the same if this happened to someone I loved.”

You blush as Brendon rubs your hip gently with one hand as he securely holds you around the waist with the other.

—-

Unbeknownst to you three, there's a small group at the nurse’s station watching the interaction.

“Who would’ve guessed the Park the Shark would have a wife. She looks like such a sweetheart too.” Trinity says to Dana as they both watch Brendon hold you.

“She is but him? What a fuckin peach.” Frank mutters with his head on his fist.

Trinity glances back at him with a teasing look

“You’re just mad because Park made you look like an intern compared to everyone else.”

“I’d say he’s husband material if you think about it. Very book trope coded” Samira says looking at the other two.

“Black cat x golden retriever.” Frank states.

“Mmmm, more like grumpy x sunshine. Only soft for her.” Trinity says.

They all three look at you and Brendon in the room.

“Yeaaaah.” they all agree in unison.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

𝓉𝒶𝑔𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉: @kmc1989 @zeynire @livlovesfastcars @lospy41 @annabellq @ilocuras24 @thehockeynerd30 @straykids1011 @gf4lwt @itzpixiebabe @darknessofhell666-blog-blog @barcelonaaababe @deanwinchestersgirl8734

[metal-armed-muse]

LOVE AT FIRST COFFEE? — brendon park

BRENDON PARK X F!READER | 4.6K

summary ⸝⸝ Brendon Park has built an entire career on being the smartest person in the room. Then he meets you, who makes him forget what he was about to say.

warnings ⸝⸝ coffee shop meet-cute, grumpy x sunshine (?), fluff, pining, brendon yearns, he falls first and harder, jealous! park, park the goldfish bc he can’t keep his mouth shut with her near? (one of my tamest fics tbrh), abbot and shen cameo bc I love them. no use of y/n.

notes ⸝⸝ first official park fic yaay! I do realise I’m supposed to be on a break, but look at him! I genuinely don’t know why it took me so long to write for him, mainly because I've been told that if there's an ortho bro within a five-mile radius, I'll somehow manage to find him? It’s unfortunate that they’re truly horrible tho 💔

⟡ READ ON AO3 ⚚ PITT MASTERLIST

Brendon Park had not looked at anyone twice. Not in his surgical practice, definitely not at a fucking coffee shop of all places. 

He'd had his thing in med school. Everyone did. Ill-advised entanglement with another type-A who wanted to win every argument and came close. It ended mutually around final year with shaken hands, which should tell you everything.

Ortho had a reputation and Brendon had leaned into it wholeheartedly. Fast, brutal, precise, and deeply uninterested in anything that didn't have to do with bone mechanics or operative planning. 

Park the Shark. He'd heard the name passed between residents in the corridor like a warning, and he hadn't minded. Warnings kept the noise down.

He was, all told, completely fine.

And then he met you. At the hospital coffee counter on a Wednesday morning, over a cup of black americano, and everything went sideways.

The barista set his coffee down and he was on his way to get it. Pretty normal stuff. Stuff that happened everyday. 

But before he could get there, there was you, his cup in your grasp, and then between your lips. 

He'd opened his mouth to say something. Sharply, probably. The same voice that made interns forget how to speak. But then, you drank. 

Your face did something spectacular. Nose scrunching up, eyes going slightly wide, mouth opened like a fish, as though you were offended, devastated, betrayed by a fucking beverage. You stared into the cup for a full second like you were waiting for it to apologize. "Okay," you said, to the cup, mostly. "That's — what is that?"

Brendon stared at you.

"What'd they put in this?" you continued, as if you were workshopping a complaint, a comical lilt to your voice. 

In the fifteen seconds of you taking his drink and drinking it, it didn’t occur to you that you’d just consumed something belonging to someone else. The coffee — he didn’t think you’d agree for it to be called a coffee, to be really honest — had shaken you so much that it took you a minute to compose yourself. 

When you did, you turned the cup in your hand, read the side and looked up, a sheepish smile on your lips. 

As you found him just standing there, gaze locked on you, your eyes dropped between him and the cup. "Oh, it's got your name on it." You had the audacity to look adorable — what the fuck did he just think? "Is this yours?"

Brendon nodded. Fucking nodded. 

Embarrassment should not have looked that good on anyone. How could someone look like that while questioning life decisions, evaluating choices that led to this moment?

"Right." You set it down on the counter between, like you were disarming a situation. "Sorry. I genuinely thought — mine's supposed to be a latte and I just grabbed it, I wasn't looking at the name. I'm really sorry."

Dark circles under your eyes, hair pulled back like it was done in thirty seconds without a mirror, lime green scrubs that had no reason looking good, no reason making you look good. Who even looked good in that colour? Who even chose that colour? 

You were somewhere between mortified and trying to hold it together, which was fair, because you had just walked up to a stranger's drink and had at it. "Can I at least — I'll pay for a new one, here—"

You were reaching into your pocket and Brendon, who had been on the verge of saying something very reasonable like it's fine, not a problem— "No."

Accidentally spoke in the voice. He didn't always mean to use, it just comes out that way by default, making fourth-year residents straighten their spines. And he’d used it. To you. 

You looked up at him with an expression he could only describe as a deer having second thoughts about the road.

He hadn't meant — he wasn't angry. He'd said no out of reflex. Most things he said were out of reflex, and now this person was staring at him like he'd personally threatened her. He had the strange and unfamiliar experience of wanting to walk it back. "I meant—" he started.

But you'd pulled yourself together, apparently deciding that whatever his problem was, it was his problem. 

"Okay, no." You held your hands up, like you were placating a toddler. "Noted. For future reference though, why would you get it like that, it's — is this fun for you? Like do you enjoy it?"

He blinked, heat rising up to his cheeks. He could only hope you didn’t notice it.

What you did notice was that he looked clueless and you clarified, "the coffee," you pointed to his cup. "There's nothing in it. I took one sip and I think my tongue is still reeling from it."

"That's what coffee tastes like," Brendon said.

"That's a very sad thing to believe." You stated, completely without malice, which made it worse somehow. A genuine opinion. To make matters worse, you were already looking back toward the counter, scanning for your actual order.

Brendon stood there holding his americano while everyone else and everything else continued their life, including you. 

The barista called your name. You went to get it, came back briefly into his sightline, and gave him a small, still-somewhat-mortified wave on your way out the door.

He watched you go and drank his coffee, the same one your lips touched. It tasted exactly like it always did, which was fine, he liked it fine.

Do you enjoy it?

He took another sip. It was objectively bitter.

Lime green. A colour he couldn't immediately place. It bothered him, sitting in the back of his head while he moved through his afternoon. 

PTMC colour-coded by department. He knew this. He just didn't have them all memorized, a gap he'd never needed to fill before.

He decided to ask his ward nurse, Delgado, at the end of his post-ops. Casual as he could make it, which for him was still pretty clinical — "lime green. You know which department?" 

Delgado looked up from her chart. "Lime green," she repeated, slowly, like she was checking the words for a hidden compartment.

“Yeah.” 

“Are we talking about scrubs here, Dr Park?” She had her eyebrows crossed like she was trying to read him. 

“Yes.”

“Neonatology,” she answered. 

Four floors up, the opposite end of the building, behind two sets of badge-locked doors and a hand-washing protocol longer than some of his procedures. He'd been in there exactly twice in his career, both times for consults that took fifteen minutes and ended in a referral elsewhere.

It made sense. You looked like sunshine incarnate, all airy and beautiful, effortlessly skilful — not that he’d seen you work, but he had an idea. 

"Right." He turned back toward the board.

"Dr. Park."

"Mm."

"Are you — Is there something involving neonatology that I should know about?"

A small, unwelcome lurch happened inside his chest. He kept his face the way he kept it in the OR — nothing on it, nothing to read — and he could tell, with horrible clarity, that it wasn't working.

“Something?”

“A case?” 

Brendon could see that she’d worded it carefully. "No."

"Okay," Delgado said. "No reason then." She didn't believe a word of it and had decided not to push, which was worse because he could’ve handled an argument. An argument had an end.

Without looking at her, he said, “you can go.”

"I'm charting."

"You can chart elsewhere."

"This is the nurses' station, Dr. Park."

She was smiling. He knew that without even looking. He went back to his board and did not say anything else, hoping this was the end of it. 

It was in no way shape or form, the end of anything. It only took him five minutes to look it up. Not you specifically, he wasn’t doing that. Yet, the back of his mind supplied. 

He was just reading about fellowship timelines, the NICU admission criteria for some reason? He also learned it’s two or three more years of training, all of it happening four floors above his OR in a unit he had approximately zero clinical reason to enter.

The fact that he even went down this road is embarrassing. But he went a whole another mile. 

Clavicular fractures were the most common birth-related bone injury. Unfortunately — now, he hated himself for even thinking the word — they were managed entirely conservatively. Swaddle the arm, follow up in two weeks. It wouldn't require an orthopedic surgeon, much less him, to stand in a NICU looking purposeful.

For about four seconds, he entertained inventing a reason. He got as far as picturing himself walking through those doors in his scrub cap with some flimsy excuse half-formed, and the picture was so stupid — so transparently, embarrassingly stupid — that he closed his laptop immediately.

The hospital was large and your departments were, in practical terms, on separate planets. 

You’d been in the coffee shop on Wednesday, which meant you probably used it, which meant theoretically he'd encounter you again just by existing in the building. He told himself he wasn't going to engineer anything, he was just aware of the possibility. That was all.

Two days passed. He did four surgeries including a complicated tibial nail revision that took three hours and came out beautifully, and one very satisfying conversation with a referring physician who had misread an MRI and needed correcting. Normal week, right? 

Next day, he got his coffee at six forty, same as every morning, and stood at the counter a beat longer than the transaction required, scanning the line behind him without meaning to. Nobody in lime green. He told himself that meant nothing, took his americano, and left.

Friday, same thing. He noticed himself doing it the second time, which didn't help — like catching his own reflection mid-expression and not recognizing the face looking back.

He didn't see you. Abnormal week. 

ER consult. Friday, mid-afternoon. A fracture dislocation that the ER attending had flagged as needing operative planning. Brendon came down at two-thirty, and found Abbot by trauma three looking over a film.

Coming down to the ER wasn't his favorite part of the day. Not the work — the work was fine, usually obvious, usually somebody else's problem until it became his — but the way the place ran, all motion and noise hot under his skin. Abbot, somehow, thrived in it.

They'd gotten through about two minutes of the consult — Abbot walking him through the case, Brendon pulling up the images, the two of them doing back-and-forth of people who'd worked a building together long enough to skip the preamble. Uneventful. 

But then the ER entrance on the left side of the bay opened and you walked through it.

Same lime green scrubs and a your Dunkin' cup in hand. Shen next to you, also holding a Dunkin' cup, saying something Brendon couldn't hear from this distance, and you were laughing. Brendon, to his disappointment, noticed it was not a poilte laugh. Your shoulder bumped into Shen’s with the force of it, a fully open-mouthed laugh, and you looked gorgeous.

The sight in front of him was only fogged by the fact that it was Shen who was at the receiving end of it.

The blush climbed before he could stop it, heat crawling up the back of his neck and into his ears. He thanked every god he didn't believe in, that Abbot was still looking at the film and not at him.

Brendon's jaw locked. Back teeth coming together, the muscle in his jaw pulling. He knew it’d give him a headache if he kept it up. 

He didn’t really know Shen, not really. Having entirely met him through corridors and in consultations. But in that moment he decided, with an immediate, total conviction usually reserved for diagnoses, that he didn't like him.

Because he didn’t want to stare, he looked back at the X-ray on the tablet. "So the fracture pattern —" he spoke.

"You okay?" Abbot cut in.

Brendon looked at him. Abbot looked like he already knew the answer and was just asking to pull his leg, like most ER attendings. 

"Fine," Brendon said. "The fracture is comminuted. Needs ORIF. I’ll book an OR, do it first case tomrorw morning."

Abbot nodded as he scribbled on the iPad. Didn't look fully satisfied with the fine but let it go. Brendon knew that about Abbot — the latter picked his moments.

Brendon looked back at the X-ray.

In his peripheral vision, you and Shen had stopped near the nurse’s station, still talking. You had the cup halfway to your mouth, nodding at whatever he was saying, and then you laughed again, smaller this time, shaking your head. Like whatever Shen had said was ridiculous and you were conceding it anyway.

His molars hurt from pressing down too hard. "ORIF tomorrow, first case," he said again, to the iPad at his hand, to no one.

"You already said that," Abbot noted.

He pulled up the next item on his consult list — a possible Montaggia fracture, a cakewalk for him, nightmare for others. "I'm confirming."

He was not confirming. He had no idea why he'd said it twice. 

You'd moved further into the ER now, past his sightline, and he found himself looking at the entrance you'd come through for a second before he caught himself and looked back at Abbot. The latter was watching him like he was trying very, very hard not to smirk.

"Do you need something?" Brendon asked.

"I'm just standing here," Abbot said.

"You're doing something with your face."

"I'm a person, Park, my face does things." Abbot tucked his hands in his pockets. Nodding towards the general direction of where you might be standing, Abbot said, "I didn't know you knew anyone in neonatology."

"I don't," Brendon interjected soon. Too soon. 

"Hm." Abbot’s head did a sweep of the ER, probably searching for you, and then looked back at Brendon. "Right."

Brendon put his iPad under his arm, said he'd have the operative plan by end of day and walked back toward the elevator, which took him directly past the nurse’s station, where you had apparently remigrated with Shen, talking to the desk coordinator about something.

He did not slow down.

But in the two seconds he passed within range, he did clock that you smelled like coffee and something warm underneath it, something sweet, vanilla maybe. You didn't notice him, but Shen did and nodded. Brendon nodded back and kept walking, very normal. Walk of a man who was fine.

The elevator took forty-five years to arrive.

He stood in front of it for all forty-five of those years, staring at the closed doors with his hands in his coat pockets, acutely, miserably aware that Park the Shark had just sped up his pace to get past a girl with a Dunkin' and was now standing at an elevator hoping it would hurry up.

Somewhere behind him, he was fairly sure, Abbot was still smiling.

It was a horrible week for the ortho residents. And it wasn’t even Tuesday. 

It wasn’t because of the caseload. The caseload was what it always was, a rotating carousel of fractures and dislocations and the occasional spectacular screw-up from another department who'd missed a bone scan. 

No, the residents had a terrible week because Brendon Park had decided, somewhere between Friday evening and Tuesday afternoon, that their technique was uniformly sloppy and their pre-op prep was an embarrassment to the profession, and he'd said so. Repeatedly. In front of each other.

It wasn't personal. He thought so and would tell you so, if anyone asked him. No one was brave enough. 

His residents just kept standing in his eyeline when he was already irritated, and that was their problem, really.

Delgado, to her eternal credit, had not said a single word about it. She'd watched him tear into a second-year over a chart — like who enters the date wrong? — and kept her face entirely professional. The kid went pale, stuttering through his apology, and Brendon didn’t care. 

He'd noticed it himself. The snapping. He was moving through the ward with even less patience than usual, which was saying something. He did a K wire banding, ate lunch at his desk, reviewed post-op films, and at six-fifteen found himself at the hospital coffee counter scanning the room before his order was called. It was mortifying enough on its own, and you weren't there, so it brought double the mortification. 

He went back Tuesday. Sat down, which was something he genuinely had never done. He had always taken his coffee to go. There was no reason to sit, the hospital was across the street, he drank it walking. 

But this time, he sat. Kept his phone out, drank his coffee and checked his messages. He absolutely did not look at the door every ninety seconds.

You weren't there Tuesday either. Which was fine. People had schedules. Neonatologists especially — the NICU didn't exactly run on a nine-to-five, he knew that much. He'd looked it up. For professional reasons, of course. For someone who’d prided himself for working 24/7, he was humbled real quick. 

Wednesday, he sat again. He had a consultation at nine, no reason to rush. He could drink his coffee like a human being who used chairs. He pulled up his post-op notes on his phone, found Abbot's message about a fracture dislocation follow-up, which Abbot didn’t have to do but does it anyway. Abbot was like that sometimes. 

When he looked up, his coffee was in front of him. And so were you.

Lime green scrubs, your own drink in your other hand, and you were sliding his cup toward him. The look on your face that said you'd been watching him not notice it for at least thirty seconds. He had been reading an MRI report. A fascinating one.

"I really should get you a coffee," you said.

Brendon laughed. It was him. That was his laugh. Coming out of his face, in a coffee shop, at seven in the morning.

It came out before he could stop it or do anything about it. Just a short, but real sound, surprising him enough that he almost looked around to check if someone else had made it. 

You were watching him with that same expression from the first time, like you found him interesting the way you'd find an unusual rock formation interesting. Curious but not unkind. It was doing things to his blood pressure.

"You're still doing that to yourself, I see." You nodded at his cup.

"It's coffee."

"Doesn't taste like it, though." Your nose scrunched up, just like the first time, just as adorable. Did he just say adorable again? 

He picked up the cup, took a sip purely out of spite, and looked back at you.

You sat down across from him. Which he had not expected and also had absolutely expected. Two things existing simultaneously, almost fucking him up. 

"You're here a lot," you said.

"The hospital's down the street."

"Is it?" You glanced at him, stirring your drink. "Because I've only ever seen you take it to go, and now you're sitting." You took out the stirrer and placed it on a tissue. "Three days in a row."

The back of his neck went warm, mouth opening to say something. Deny it probably, which was stupid and a waste of time. But you interrupted him. 

Brendon Park is not someone who’s interrupted. People let him talk, and only think about answering when they’re sure he’s finished. 

You, on the other hand, did not care. "You're kinda hard to miss with all the brooding going on."

"I don't brood."

You took a sip of your drink, watching him over the lid, expression doing a tremendous amount of work without saying anything. 

He held your gaze. You lowered the cup. "You totally brood. It's an ortho thing, right? Comes with it."

"You know I'm ortho?"

"Everyone knows you're ortho." You said it completely matter-of-factly. Like, yes Brendon, the sky is blue and you’ve got an Ortho bro vibe going on. "You have the whole —" You made a vague gesture in his direction, encompassing, apparently, all of him. "You've got the OR energy."

"Half the people here have OR energy. It's a hospital."

"No, see, ER people have this sort of —" you tilted your head, "— controlled chaos thing. They're always braced for something. But, you walk around like you’ve won everything already. It's very obvious, easy to pick out."

Pick out what? Him from a line-up?

He watched you say all of this with zero self-consciousness, just stating observations, a woman delivering a verdict. He realised his coffee was halfway to his mouth and he hadn't drunk it. You talked about him like he was a case study, and he was sitting there letting you, taking all of it.

"So where else do you brood," you asked, "besides here and the OR?"

"I don't brood."

"Besides here and the OR?" You prompted, dismissing his non-answer. 

"The ER… sometimes," he heard himself say it. See, he did not think of saying it, but said it anyway. Crystal-clear experience of a man who had just walked directly into something. He'd had five years of attendings trying to catch him out on rounds. None of them had managed it. You'd done it in under ten minutes, twice, while drinking a latte.

You made a sound. Not quite a laugh, more like an intake of breath with amusement in it. "The ER."

"Consults."

"Right." You traced the rim of your cup with one finger. "Were you in the ER last Friday?"

And… there it was.

He could've said he didn't remember. He could've been very busy, very unbothered, a man who passed through ERs constantly and didn't register the days. He was a surgeon. He was in various hospital departments routinely. There was nothing notable about Friday.

"Yes," his mouth admitted.

You nodded slowly, like something had confirmed itself. "I thought I saw you. You walked really fast."

He put his coffee down. "I had somewhere to be."

"Okay." The word stretched, like you weren’t entirely convinced. He wouldn’t blame it, he wasn’t exactly convincing. An infant could catch him in a lie, and you apparently were their queen. You went quiet for a second and then looked back at him, debating whether to say it or not. Affirmative won apparently. "You saw me with Shen."

It wasn’t a question. And he wasn’t exactly thrilled to answer it. He'd spent five days being awful to residents over it. A little late to play it cool.

"I figured." The amusement on your face was warm rather than sharp, which made the ache in his chest somehow worse. Whoa, whoa, what ache? "We have a thing going, me and Shen. Whoever lost the bet had to do the coffee run. I'd just lost." You paused. "For the fourth time. I'm apparently terrible at predicting admission numbers."

"The fourth time," Brendon parotted.

"In a month. I know." You shook your head, shaking the thought, a soft sigh leaving your parted lips. "I don't know why I keep agreeing to it. Every time I'm like, this time I'll get it right, and then the board goes completely feral and I'm standing at Dunkin' at two in the afternoon getting Shen's ridiculous—" You stopped to look at him, and he had his utmost attention on you. "Anyway. That was just the loser tax."

Loser tax. He sat with this for a second. The whole week reshuffled. Him being a monster to those unsuspecting residents — it’s not like it's unwarranted, but still. 

You and Shen, a bet. A coffee run. A losing streak that apparently had nothing to do with the bond between the two of you and everything to do with ER admission patterns, which, if he was being honest, were genuinely unpredictable, nobody could forecast those accurately, it wasn't —

"You walked so fast," you spoke again, this time interrupting his thoughts. He noticed you liked to do that, keep him on his toes. There was a laugh behind it now, delighted almost. "I didn't know an orthopedic surgeon could move like that without a reason."

"I had a reason."

"What was it?" You prodded.

I just couldn’t stand you bumping shoulders with Shen like you belonged together. 

His eyes dropped to his coffee at his hand and found you again. You looked back at him. You had the same ‘interested in rock formation’ thing going on, except closer now and clearer somehow. He had the increasingly urgent sense that you knew exactly what you were doing.

"You were with someone.” He sighed.

A smile adorned your lips like you’d won, finally beat him. 

Like your mind was displaying in neon, Sunshine neonatologist : 1. Big bad ortho guy : 0. 

You let it sit there between you while you took another sip of your drink. "I was getting Shen's order," you said finally. "Because I lost a bet."

"I know that now."

"But you didn't walk fast because of Shen specifically. Did you?"

His molars found each other again. What is with you and asking him impossible questions? Was this like your hobby? Hit the ortho guy until he falls over? At what point in medical school had someone taught you to do this, and could he have a word with them?

Without giving him a moment to recover, you spoke again. "So," you set your cup down, straightened up a little in the chair, met his eyes with an expression so direct it nearly made him blink. "When are you buying me a coffee?"

He stared at you. Staring was not his thing. He assessed, evaluated, and arrived at conclusions. What he did not do was stare, sit with his mouth slightly open like a fucking goldfish. 

"That's what you've been trying to do, right?" Your voice was mild, conversational, voice of a woman confirming a meeting time. "For three days. In a row. Sitting here."

The heat that climbed his face was complete, total and immediate, and there was absolutely nothing to be done about it. Park the Shark. Sitting in a coffee shop for three days like a golden retriever who'd learned to use a chair.

You laughed. It filled the air and came right back to him. And he thought, sitting there red-eared with his black coffee, that it was the best sound he'd heard all week.

Possibly longer.

He only remembered that you asked a question when you raised your eyebrows. Right. The question. Which he totally didn’t forget when he was staring at your lips and thinking about how they would feel pressed to his. 

"I have a nine o'clock," he said. "Seven works."

"That's very early."

"You work in a NICU. You guys are up since five."

You looked at him for a moment and he had no idea what you were looking at. But he sat very still, which was insane on his part. He only hoped he passed whatever test you were conducting. Apparently having looked enough, you picked your cup up, along with the tissue paper and the stirrer you discarded, and stood. "Seven," you said. "Don't brood while you wait."

He watched you walk out. He looked down at his americano. He drank it.

It still tasted exactly like it always did, and he liked it fine, and he was aware, in a dim and reluctant and completely inescapable way, that this was probably not going to be the last time he sat in this coffee shop.

Not by a long shot.

MY MASTERLIST !

extras ⸝⸝ lime green scrubs bc I was forced to wear them during my NICU postings

[totallynotashieldagent]

shit im dyinnnnng for part 2 oof shark's wife er visit!!! he was SO GOOOD, he left his shift without a word cause his wife is hurt? the MAN you are brendon

I'd been thinking of a followup!!! this gave me a reason to post it!!! <3333

follow up for this <33

"You're fussing." You sighed again, leaning back into the pillows.

"Am not-" Brendon said grumpily, trying to keep himself busy and moving.

"Yes, you are-" You laughed then groaned in pain softly.

That made him flinch and he slowly sat next to you on the bed. "How am I supposed to go back to work when you're still in pain?" His voice was softer, smaller than usual.

You held his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"I'll call every hour and-" He started and you shook your head. "Okay- Yeah- I can't promise that, can I?"

"I'll be okay." You assured him again.

"I know. I know you will but I still feel shitty for leaving you like this to look after other people." He groaned softly and moved to sit next to you in the bed.

"I won't be alone, Brendon." You reminded him and he nodded. You were right. He'd hired a nurse for the entire time he wouldn't be home.

"Still.." He moped a little and it made you giggle, then immediately wince in pain.

"Stop making me laugh-" You elbowed him gently, earning a soft smile from him.

"I can't help it if I'm sooooo smooth, honey." He drawled sweetly, making you roll your eyes. He gave a light chuckle and leaned to kiss your cheek, you moved your face a little and gave him a little peck to his lips.

He sighed softly and leaned back in to take a few more little gentle kisses.

"For every hour I'm gonna be away." He mumbled between the kisses. "And some for the road-" He added in a soft whisper.

When he pulled away, your chapstick was glistening on his lips that you carefully wiped clean.

"Can't have your stern reputation taking a hit." You teased him.

"Of course. Priorities and all." He joked back.

Brendon took a deep breathy groan and stood up. "I hate this- I'll miss you." He started to put on his watch and shove his phone into his pocket.

"I know- I'll be right here when you come back." You hummed and he leaned over for another kiss.

"I promise to not overstay a single second after my shift." He swore and you knew he meant it.

[totallynotashieldagent]

Park didn't wear a wedding ring. He wore a chain, hidden beneath his scrubs, that had a ring on it, but he didn't wear a ring on his finger. The amount of times he'd have to scrub for surgeries, it just didn't make sense to wear jewellery. Besides, there was a certain part of him that wanted to keep you all to himself.

It wasn't that his relationship status was a secret. Far from it. But people did question if he was really married or just making it up to keep hopeful doe-eyed interns off his case.

The only indication PTMC staff had that Park was actually taken was that his lunches had cute notes on it. But then again, he could write those himself, couldn't he? Really stick to the bit.

It didn't help that Park didn't correct them either. Not when he heard whispers of imaginary wife or when people gossiped that he probably writes his own love notes.

Currently, he was in the ED for a consult. Santos was leaning against the nurses' station, whispering to Robby.

"There's no way that man's married." She shook her head.

"He is." Robby chuckled. "Haven't you seen the lunches?" He pocketed his glasses and smiled at his Pittling.

"Rumour is that he writes them himself." Princess added with raised brows as she walked past them.

"See? That I can accept." Santos nodded, "But Shark being married? Who would even be crazy enough for that brooding man?"

"I went upstairs two weeks ago and apparently, he disappears for 8 minutes every day to have his lunch and then he looks at the note the rest of the day." Javadi sat down to do her charting.

"He's really trying to sell it, huh?" Santos shrugged and was just walking off when she saw Whitaker talking to a confused woman standing in the ED with an insulation bag in her hand, in a lovely sundress with strappy sandals.

"Sorry- I've never come down here." You smiled at the boy. "I was upstairs and they said that Dr Park is down here? Can you point me to-"

"Uhh- Why are you looking for Dr Park?" He asked, a little confused.

"He forgot his-" You began but then saw Park exiting one of the rooms. "Brendon!" You smiled brightly and walked away.

"Darling-" His eyes widened as he quickly sanitised his hands and walked over to you. "What are you doing here?"

"You forgot your lunch." You handed him the bag. "And you skipped breakfast, so I put in extra." You beamed at him.

"I was running late, honey-" He smiled and took the bag from you.

"Please- You're early to everything." You laughed, hand touching his chest and rubbing gently. "Promise me you'll eat?" You cooed at Park.

"I promise, darling." He put his hand over yours.

Santos and Javadi exchanged a look of disbelief. Meanwhile, Robby pretended to go over some reports but was fully eavesdropping.

"But you didn't have to come all the way down here just because I forgot my lunch- I would've gotten something from the vending machine or-" Park said softly.

"Don't be silly." You patted his cheek. "You need all your food groups."

"Honey-" He said warningly, a little red.

"Oh hush-" You giggled and leaned up to give him a gentle kiss. "I'll see you at home."

"Thank you, darling." He nodded. "Drive safe."

"I will! Remember to eat!" You added and left the ED.

Park turned and saw how the crowd had gathered around the nurses' station to gawk at him.

"You're actually married-" Whitaker murmured.

"Yes. I've mentioned it before." Park said sternly. Gone was the softness- All that was left was the Shark.

"Yeah but ... no one believed it." Javadi laughed nervously.

Park just glared and left the area. Dana joined them after a minute or so-

"What did I miss? Why's everyone just standin' around for? No work to do?" She scolded the lot.

"Shark is actually married-" Santos shook her head in disbelief. "To someone like that?"

"Oh? Y/N was here?" Dana frowned.

"You know his wife?" Robby asked, curisoty taking over as the other three leaned in to listen too.

"Yeah- He brought her to a medical conference when he was an intern. Hated how everyone gawked at her so he stopped bringing her." Dana shrugged. "Park's not the sharing kind. And given how you animals are acting, I'm seeing that he made the right choice." She gave everyone a look.

"Okay- Fair-"

"We deserve that-"

"I should be charting, anyway-"

The three dispersed and Dana looked at Robby. "And you- Stop encouraging them-"

"No promises." Robby gave a cheeky smile and walked off.

.

.

Drabble Masterlist.

[totallynotashieldagent]

Shark's wife makes an ER visit <33

“Hey, Dana? Got a sec?” Robby asked in a low voice, leaning over the counter. 

“Why?” She took off her glasses and looked at him.

“I got a patient in Trauma 2 and she’s… jittery. I need an ortho consult for her arm and hip but she doesn’t want to. She keeps asking to be transferred to Westboro or any other hospital.” He explained, “And she’s got bruises that aren’t from the accident.” 

Dana looked over at Trauma 2, where you were sitting, leaning back, staring at the ceiling. You were cradling your arm to yourself, the team had wrapped it but it still needed to be looked at once the X-rays came down. 

You smiled and nodded as someone administered medication and it was obvious that you wanted to leave even though you were being as polite as possible. 

“I’ll check it out.” Dana patted Robby’s shoulder and moved towards the room you were in. 

Meanwhile, you were sitting and hoping that someone would come with the good news that you were getting transferred. 

“Hey- I’m Dana.” She entered, closing the door behind her and drawing the curtain. “You got a minute to talk?” 

You smiled and sat up a little, then winced in pain. “Sorry- Just really sore. Am I getting the transfer?” 

“Uh- Not yet.” She looked over her shoulder then pulled a stool to sit next to the bedside. “Is there a reason you don’t wanna be here? At this hospital?” 

“Yeah, I usually go to Westboro or Sacred Heart. I was just near here so they brought me here and I wasn’t very lucid to advocate for myself.” You gave a nervous laugh. 

“And there’s no other reason?” She asked, eyeing you carefully. 

“No, ma’am.” You swallowed but she noticed you stiffening up a little.

“Okay… okay. Is there someone we can call or-” She started but you shook your head.

“No! I mean- I- No. I’m fine. I just wanna get out of your hair-” You said immediately. 

“Okay.” She nodded, watching you fidget with your wedding ring. “You married?” She asked softly. 

“I- Yeah-” You smiled, looking at your hand. “Three years now.” 

“He’s a good guy?” She asked.

“He looks mean but he’s-” You pause then sigh deeply. “Are you here to ask if I’m being abused?”

“Dr Robby saw bruises that weren’t related to the crash. We have to do our duediligence.” She explained with a gentle smile. 

“I’m not- It’s not abuse-” You flushed deeply. “We’re just very passionate and he’s stronger and gets very-” You cleared your throat as you shied away from explaining that your husband was an animal in bed. 

“Robby called for an ortho consu-” Park entered and stared at you, saw Dana, then turned and walked away. 

“That was new.” Dana mumbled then looked at you. You laughed nervously, trying to not show anything. “So, I’m gonna ask again, can I call someone for you?” 

“I- My husband is my emergency contact but I don’t wanna bother him.” You said quietly. 

“Honey, you might have a broken arm and a fractured hip. You’re gonna need to call someone.” She said softly, reaching to hold your hand and give it a squeeze. “Maybe a sibling? Or a parent?” 

You shook your head again. “No. They’d all call him immediately so-” You sighed. “I’m fine… Really.” You gave a small smile. 

A few minutes later, Garcia walked in, confused. “Shark refused the consult.” She whispered to Dana and gave you a smile to start your consultation as Robby came back again. 

Broken radius, and fractured ilium with a lot of bruising on your ribcage. 

You nodded through the diagnosis and then the explanation of how you may need surgery for the arm but everything else can be wrapped and heal on its own. And then once again, someone emphasised that you needed to call someone. 

The room was full of interns, student doctors and Robby, explaining your condition when Park walked back in. He was no longer in scrubs but the same jeans and shirt he’d been wearing when he’d left home in the morning. 

Robby raised a brow as he entered. No one had ever seen him on the floor in casuals.

“We good?” He asked slowly. 

“Good. Continue.” Park nodded and pulled a stool to sit next to your bedside, taking your hand in his. 

It took Robby a good thirty seconds to finally realise why you wanted to be transferred to another hospital. You were saving them from the Shark, not trying to run away. 

“Brendon- I was just-” You looked at Robby worriedly.

“I know.” He nodded, eyes still locked on Robby. 

The room that had been buzzing was now very, very silent. One intern was now focused on the IV pump, another found the curtains very fascinating. The student doctors were transfixed on the floor. 

“Okay.” Robby clapped his hands, “Learning moment’s over. How about everyone go so I can have a moment with our patient and… spouse?” He added carefully and Park nodded once. “Right…” 

Once the room was empty and only the three of you remained, Robby turned to you both again. 

“How bad?” Park asked. His voice was unwavering but he was obviously worried with how hard he was holding your hand. 

Robby silently pulled up the Xrays to show him. Park sighed deeply then looked at you. 

“You should’ve called me.” He spoke gently which made Robby’s brows meet his hairline. 

“I didn’t wanna pull you from your shift.” You whispered back.

“My shift?” Park hissed and Robby cleared his throat. “We’ll talk about this later.” He pouted and turned to Robby, shoulders dropping a little. “Garcia will do the surgery since I can’t.”

Robby nodded in agreement, looking over his shoulder, a small crowd was just walking past, constantly sneaking peeks of Shark and you, and whispering. 

“As soon as we’ve got an OR, we’ll move you up.” Robby explained. “And uh-” He paused. “Dana might wanna talk to you-”

“Dana? Why?” Park’s brows furrowed. 

“The bruises-” You whispered to him and he glares at Robby. 

“I am not explaining how I love my wife.” He was appalled at even the notion. 

“Right! Of course! But you know! Hospital policy.” Robby backed away with a smile and exited the room quickly. 

You turned to Park with a smile. “You really have a reputation, huh?” You laughed softly. “They have no idea how gooey you are at home.”

“Stop… I’m a tough guy.” He smiled a little. 

“The doctor before- The woman. She called you Shark. I never thought they seriously called you that.” You giggled some more and he rolled his eyes, leaning to kiss your forehead. 

“I told you I’m a scary guy at work.” He said softly.

“Sure thing, fish boy.” You mused. 

Outside the room, Robby was explaining the situation to Dana, whilst Whitker and Santos were eavesdropping. 

“What… is happening right now?” Mel asked Dennis as she too stared at the scene unfolding in Trauma 2. 

“Shark might actually be human.” Dennis whispered back. 

“Who would’ve thought.” Trinity nodded in surprise. 

.

.

.

Drabble Masterlist

[redsakura101]

Take The Bait

Dr Brendon Park x Wife!Reader, The Pitt x Reader

Find My Pitt Masterlist here Based off of an idea from @lunamoonbby blog which you can check out here Brendon Park's wife is a marine biologist that specialises in Sharks. One day she pops in to drop off some lunch for him. Being coy about her relationship with him she instead chooses to talk with those around her while waiting for him. One thing leads to another and somehow you get to talking about why Park is known as a Shark. The real question remains however is, just what kind of Shark is he?

Warnings: little bit of strong language, secret wife!reader, little knowledge about marine biology regarding Sharks. Just a bit of fun.

Word Count: ~2.1k

There was something about sharks that had always intrigued you. 

Even when you were younger. 

Bright eyed, eager to learn about the world around you. 

Grasping at all the new information you were presented with each and every day.

You were told that as a young girl your eyes practically sparkled when they had first caught sight of the sharks. 

Swimming around the tank. 

Out of all the exhibits in the aquarium, the sharks had lured you in. 

What others might’ve seen as intimidating and frightening. 

All you saw was its majestic beauty. 

Serene. 

When your mother tried to pull you to go check out the tropical fishes, you had dug in your heels. 

Unwilling to leave. 

Attention enraptured by the deep sea predators. 

So every few weeks as a kid you would beg to be taken back to the aquarium, all to go watch the sharks. 

Your intrigue only cemented further when a member of staff had taken the time to answer your questions. 

Telling you of all the fascinating ways sharks were important. 

And how they were cool. 

You were only made more excited when you were told there were over 500 different species. 

All of varying sizes, shapes and colours. 

Living all across the globe. 

So it was no surprise that your love for sharks had led you to pursuing a career in marine biology. 

It was an arduous journey. 

One that had taken you around the globe. Long nights spent studying and gathering data.

Studying sharks of all different kinds up close and personal. 

One of your particular favourites was your time spent off the coasts of Australia, as you researched the habits of Great White Sharks. 

It was simply exhilarating. 

Until eventually you had been led to visit Pittsburgh. 

You were just passing through the city, there to join a fellow researcher at the local college. 

It was in Pittsburgh where you met the love of your life. 

Just picking up a coffee early in the morning, when you had heard someone call out, “just grab me a long black Shark!”

Shark…

Glancing around you, your eyes are drawn to a tall broad shouldered man. 

He had the steely temper of the very aquatic animals that you loved. 

Chiselled features, pointed. Assured of himself. 

His eyes meeting yours, brows arching at the sight. 

Your eyes had widened in surprise, diverting them quickly. As your face flushes from being caught. 

Oh god. 

You just hoped your coffee would be called out soon. 

But before that could happen, you feel someone shift beside you. 

As he clears his throat. 

You look up to find him there. 

Eyes staring ahead of him. 

Almost as though he were…shy?

No, that felt ridiculous. 

Whatever you were picking up soon subsided, as he locked eyes with you once more. 

You ask the question floating around in your mind, “Why were you called Shark?” 

He sends you an amused smile, before answering to your curious nature.

And with that. 

That little meeting. 

A beautiful new relationship began to form. 

Leading to a first date. 

To a first kiss. 

Before developing into meeting the family. 

Moving in together. 

In a moment of bliss, Brendon had gone down on one knee. 

A beautiful ring. 

Followed by a more than beautiful wedding. 

Everything you could’ve wanted and more, all within the strong arms of Brendon. 

Whose funny little nickname had drawn you in. 

Luring you into his affections. 

So now. 

A few years after you had exchanged your everlasting vows. You both fell into a comfortable rhythm. 

One where he never failed to show you how much he loved you. 

Pulling you in and kissing you deeply. 

Showering you with affection and gifts. 

You took care of each other. 

In a way no one else could. 

With that in mind. 

All that caring had led you to now. 

Walking into PTMC, entering chairs as you tapped gently on the window to gain the attention of the reception on the other side. 

In your other hand you held a small box, containing the very food your husband had left behind this morning. 

Having discovered it once you’d gotten back from the aquarium. Where you now worked in conjunction with a local university. 

“Hello”

“Hi, Ma’am how may I help you?” she’d asked you. 

“I’m just here to drop off some lunch for Dr Park, is it alright if I go through?” 

Nodding, “No problem, just head on through I’ll have our nurse Mateo meet you on the other side” 

“Thank you” you smiled, walking through the doors as you’re buzzed in. 

“I’m told you’re here to drop off some lunch?” A young man, Mateo, greets you with a kind smile. 

Nodding, “Yeah, just passing through.”

“I’ll bring you to the hub where you can wait, and I’ll have someone page Dr Park down for you” he informs you. 

“Thanks for that”

He simply shrugs with a small no problem. 

Your eyes skirt around your surroundings. Enraptured by the constant movement as they all work in sync. 

Despite the unpredictability of their work. They made it look seamless. 

Effortless. 

Working within their own little ecosystem. 

All with their own part to play. 

“Who’s this?” An older woman asks, head tilted observing you, as her hands make their way onto her hips in question. 

“This is uh- I don’t think I caught your name?” Mateo asks. 

Introducing yourself, “I’m Y/N. Just here to drop off some lunch for Dr Park” 

“Good to meet you Y/N, I’m Dana, That was real nice of you to stop by, I’ll page Dr Park down for you,” she explains, “You can take a seat here while you wait” 

“Thank you, Dana” 

Taking a seat at the desk, you’re not left alone for too long as a new voice rings out. 

“So you’re here to see Dr Park?” A younger woman appears before you, an intrigued look crossing her features. 

Dr Santos you read her name was.

Nodding, “Yeah, I’m an old friend of his”

While not strictly true. 

It was partially correct…

You were both once friends before you became more.

You knew Brendon liked to keep his life private at work. Something about his image. 

And you respected that. 

Didn’t need anyone at work knowing he had the potential to be soft. 

Even if he did become putty in your hands. 

Feeling secure in your relationship with him. 

It didn’t bother you to keep this secret for a little longer. 

“An old friend?” she’d only probed further, almost disbelieving. 

But you didn’t waver, “Yeah. Just an old friend” 

“Is he intimidating all the time?” 

A new voice entered, eyes full of intrigue. A badge stating the name Dr Whittaker. 

Shrugging, you weren’t about to reveal all. 

“Only some of the time” 

A small smile creeping up on your face. 

“Oh no way, is that a key chain from the Pittsburgh aquarium of Pudge?” 

Hanging off your bag a cluster of keyrings hang and chime as they move. 

One in particular is of a very cute pufferfish. Pudge. A new addition to the aquarium. 

Humming as you confirm, “Yup, and I can confirm he’s a real cutie in person”

“Now I really need to go see him,” she adds, “Oh, I’m Dr King, but you can call me Mel” 

“Nice to meet you Mel, I’m Y/N” you smile warmly. “And if you ever want to visit I’d be happy to show you around, I work as part of their marine research department” 

She nods happily, as your attention is drawn back over to Santos. 

She complains. “Dana did Shark say how long he’d be?”

To which Dana only shakes her head. 

Choosing to have a little fun, you tilt your head in false intrigue. 

“Why do you call him Shark?” 

Now this was something you had learnt very early on. 

The very first time you had met, it was the same question you had posed to him. 

His own answer interested you enough to accept going on a first date with him. 

So it was interesting to hear why anyone else would call him that.

“They say he can smell blood,” Santos joked. 

“Have you seen those teeth? Just takes one look at those to know why he’s called a Shark,” A nurse, Princess, throws in. 

While Dennis states, “I heard its because his curt demeanour is as lethal as a shark’s bite”

You chuckle at their words. 

Thoughtfully, Mel’s mind drifts just slightly, as she asks aloud, “I wonder what kind of Shark he might be?” 

“That is a great question.” You agreed. “I’d bet $100 that he’d be a Great White Shark ” 

“Sure I’m game, I think he’d be a Bull shark.” Santos affirms quickly. 

Great….They had taken the bait.

Mel adds placing her hand on her chin in thought, “Really, see I could see him as a Mako shark”

“What about a Tiger shark?” Dennis suggests. 

“Whatever he is, he definitely isn’t a Nurse shark” 

You couldn’t help but laugh loudly at Mateo’s remark. 

“I’ve heard of these ones called Oceanic White tips, could be him?” Princess suggests.

“See I was picturing a Whale shark,” Dana voiced. 

Santos questioned as her brows raised, while the others similarly agreed, “Really? Aren’t they meant to be super docile”

With the smallest of shrugs, Dana simply states, “Somehow I think deep down Shark’s a bit of a softy. Intimidating on the outside but really has no bite behind his words”

And in your eyes, that was a very accurate description. 

And in a moment you glance over as the elevator doors open. 

Eyes crinkling at the corner of your eyes, as a smile slips onto your face. 

“Well now's the chance to ask” 

“Ask what?” His tone is gruff, clipped. 

Arms folded over his chest. Brows furrowed in a way that would make anyone nervous to speak.

Eyes softening just barely at the sight of you. 

Only for you would he be soft…

His only exception. 

“We were just wondering what kind of shark you’d be?” Dana had stepped up to the plate. 

Unafraid as one of the few who didn’t flinch at the idea of him coming down. 

Offering a look of annoyance. He licks his teeth before stating a short answer. 

“Great White Shark” 

You offer the packed lunch to him, as he nods with a small thanks. 

The most imperceptible smile flashing on his face before his steely gaze set back in. 

“Thanks”

About to leave he glances back at those around him. 

“Do you really have nothing better to talk about?” he gruffly commented. Shaking his head. 

Before stalking back to the elevator. 

Just barely able to catch you as you boast your winnings. A smile creeping on his face at your antics. 

With a grin splitting across your face you send them all a knowing glance as you state. 

“Pay up” 

Disgruntled remarks sound out as you’re paid your dues. 

Counting it as it adds up. 

“Fuck yeah, $500. Guess I’ll be eating out tonight”

“Come on, how’d you know that?” Santos groaned, reluctantly paying up. 

“What can I say, I just know that guy all too well” you smirk with a small laugh. 

Dana tilts her head observing you just a little more intensely, shaking her head with a laugh. 

Of course. You were fucking Dr Park’s wife…

There might not have been a ring upon your finger. 

Or on Park’s for that matter. 

But upon each of your necks respectively hung a chain, dropping down beneath your shirts. 

Dipping to conceal itself, were the beautiful rings you had chosen to vow yourselves to each other with. 

Both constantly working in fields where having it on your fingers were a liability. 

It was simply easier to hang them around your neck. 

A tiny little secret, held closely to your hearts. 

And as you laughed and teased Santos, Princess and Mateo. 

Offering Whitaker an ok to be paid another time. 

And reassuring Mel that you’d love to show her around the aquarium and even show her Pudge. 

The bright smile wide across your face, gleaming. 

And the small sliver of love she had seen crossed Brendon’s face just before.

Dana at that moment knew. 

Park was totally a Whale Shark….

The others might’ve assumed Park's response was generic. 

A reflex to respond with one of the greater apex predators. 

To determine that he was a Great White Shark, for the sheer fact that it was known to be powerful, ferocious, with razor sharp senses as deadly as their teeth.

But in fact. 

The reason for his response. 

His pick of shark he thought he most aligned with. 

It was because he knew.

The Great White Shark, was one of your favourites. 

And Brendon Park liked to believe that he was your favourite.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed my first Dr Brendon Park the Shark x Reader fic! 🦈 (Also what a great idea from @lunamoonbby it was just such a fun idea to explore, I couldn't resist) Hope I did the idea justice and that it was a fun one to read, (No second part planned for this one) let me know what you think! ✨

Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 Feel free to find my Dr Robby x Wayne!Reader Rinse & Repeat Series Masterlist here 🩺 Or check out my overall Masterlist here

Taglist: @justanothersadperson93

[redsakura101]

Bite Me

Dr Brendon Park x Reader, The Pitt x Reader

Find My Pitt Masterlist here This is a little fic for @domaystic Based on day 24: New Pyjamas You had a little habit of buying nautical themed items. And now that included Shark themed pyjamas. And Brendon can't help but love you for it. Softening day by day from your presence. It certainly shocks a few of his colleagues to discover this new development in his personal life.

Notes: wholesome fluff. just two people in love. established relationship. slight suggestive content (literally barely, like only if you squint tbh). slight secret relationship.

Word Count: ~2.4k

It had started out so small. 

Almost unnoticeable. 

Just small little things. 

Here and there. 

Growing overtime. 

Subtle. 

A mug broke?

Don’t worry, I have the perfect replacement, you would say. 

Just some pretty mugs, some pale blue, some light cream. But it certainly made Brendon raise a brow as he neared the end of his coffee. 

Noticing a small little ceramic figurine settled at the bottom. 

A small. 

Tiny little shark. 

Lifting his eyes to glance at you whilst you move around the room, a grin on your face as you slightly dance along. 

He simply sighs with a shrug, continuing his coffee. 

When you had said you bought new mugs he didn’t expect there to be little sharks at the bottom. 

Nevertheless he was slightly amused. 

But then there were other things. 

New pillows would appear on the couch. 

You would simply say, the others weren’t quite cosy enough, aren’t these cute though. 

Brendon would agree almost instantly, opinions bending to agree with you in a second. They certainly were far cosier than the previous ones. 

Plush and soft to the touch. 

Perfect for those evenings where you would lay against him, eyes drifting shut, soothed by his beating heart, hands clutching one of the new pillows to your chest. 

A new pillow that may or may not have had a little shark stitched upon it. 

And if one evening after Brendon insisted you buy more blankets, noticing there wasn’t enough around the home on those nights where you wanted to be snug. 

He didn’t realise it would result in you coming home with plenty of new ones. 

That might all be definitely ocean themed, deep blue with crisp white stitched edges. Not enough to be obvious. But enough to add to a theme.  

A theme Brendon had no idea you were curating. 

His house that had once been sterile. 

Clinical. Just a place for him to rest his head and house his things. 

Had now become a home, through those simple touches. 

Those little changes that softened his sharp edges. Warmth seeping into the home as soon as you stepped into his life. 

Before you. 

Brendon didn’t believe he would be in this position now. 

Where his mornings involved waking up to the sight of you. 

To the evenings spent lulled to sleep with the steady feel of you nestled in his arms. 

There were times where Brendon thought he would’ve had to live life alone. 

And at times, he was okay with that. 

Even in times where he would sit alone at his dining table, just the gentle scrape of his cutlery as he ate. 

House empty. Silent. Vacant. 

Even in times where all he wanted to do was share a story with someone. Share a funny little thought. 

There was no one beside him…

Even in times where he wanted to share his life.

He understood why it was far-fetched. 

Unreachable. 

Unthinkable.

That he was not an easy man. Not an easy partner. That he was often misunderstood – through not fault but his own. 

His life was difficult to share…

He was known as a Shark in his place of work for a reason.

With razor sharp words, biting remarks. 

Steely demeanor. 

Blunt. 

As cold blooded as the marine predators of the sea.

He had accepted his loneliness long ago…

Until you had come into his life. 

You had pulled him out of his drowned state. 

Had made him understand how he could be loved. 

How he was worthy of softness. Of kindness. 

Had made him realise.

He didn’t always have to be so strong. So tough. Peeling back his thick skin, until you carried his heart in your hands. 

And now. 

Brendon wouldn’t want it any other way. 

His house, no longer quiet. No longer empty. 

Now filled with warmth. With life. With love. With funny little trinkets, and pictures all along the walls, an illustration of a life shared. Of memories made together. 

His house was now a home.

All because of you. 

All thanks to you. 

Whatever made you happy. 

Was the promise he had made to himself, even if you didn’t know it. It was one he would keep and treasure as he held you in his arms, a smile gracing your features. 

And if that included small little nautical touches. 

Small items that paid homage to his funny little nickname. Then that would be alright with him. 

Most of these things, the small little items, he wouldn’t comment on its theme, wouldn’t make note of it. Simply smiling and sharing that it looked good. 

And that was enough to make you smile. 

But then one day. 

After a long day at work. After a day where all he wanted to do was face plant into the bed and pull you into his arms. 

He had wandered sluggishly through the hallways. 

Calling out, “I’m home”

The muffled sound of your reply, “Just in the bedroom!” 

He breathes a sigh, shoulders dipping as he drags himself to the bedroom, shoes, jacket and bag all left to hang neatly at the entrance.

A faint glow of light emanates from the ensuite. A small mist of steam. 

His eyes lift to meet yours as you step out of the bathroom, face glowing, the faint aroma of eucalyptus and lavender enters his lungs. Soothing him down to his very soul. 

Your evening body wash never failed to soothe his senses. Calming him. His eyes trace your figure, taking you in, taking his sweet time. 

Dark blue flannel bottoms just barely dragged against the floor. 

But what had made him raise his brows. 

Had made his eyes dart to you in question. 

Was your shirt.

One he had never seen before. 

A light creamy cotton. That looked soft to touch. Sleeves rolled up to your elbows. 

It wasn’t the colour or the style that had made him freeze. 

No. 

It was the print upon it. 

A shark, plastered across the chest. With two little words. 

Bite Me

“Hi honey,” you smiled, walking across the room to meet him, arms wrapping around his neck. 

As Brendon cranes his neck to look at the shirt once more, before lifting his eyes to meet yours. 

“Do you like my new pyjamas?” you asked. Fully aware of what you were doing. 

From the moment you had learnt about his nickname. You couldn’t help yourself whenever you saw something that made you think of Brendon. 

From the cute little mugs. To the blue soft blankets and the plush pillows. 

All of them in one way or another made you think of Brendon. 

And that was exactly how you came to own this shirt now. 

Catching sight of it in a shop window. 

Once you had set your eyes upon it you simply couldn’t leave without it. 

A grin forming on your face as you watch Brendon admire you. Growing even wider at his response, “I love it”

Pulling away you scramble to reach for your bag, “Great! Because I got you one too”

The small chuckle that slips from his lips, a sound reserved just for you. No walls up, just pure softness, all for you. 

Watching as you tug a shirt from your bag, a dark navy blue, with a shark imprinted upon it. 

The words. 

I Love You With All My Shark

Neatly written beneath it. 

“I will admit that it was mainly for my own amusement,” you say, passing it to him. “What do you think?”

“I love it,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to your head. “I love you,” Mumbling softer, a depth to his tone.  

His hands shift to glide along your figure, slipping just beneath the soft fabric of your new shirt, his lips trail along your neck, teeth just barely grazing. 

A small nip at the sensitive skin, makes you yelp in surprise. Biting your lip as you feel flushed. 

He growls lowly, “Let me show you just how much I love you” 

“Oh yeah?” you ask softly. 

Pulling back just enough for you to see the smirk on his face, a teasing drawl slips from his mouth “Afterall, your shirt does ask me to bite you” 

And in a moment you are embraced by him completely. 

As Brendon shows you just how much he loves you. 

Hands worshipping every inch of you. 

Relishing each sigh and gasp from your mouth. 

Brendon Park. The Shark. Would never be described as soft, or overly warm. 

But for you. 

That was a side he was willing to dive into. Plunging into the depths of love with you was easy. 

Was freeing. 

It made him feel alive. 

To the little quirky jokes you made. 

To your laughter as it filled his home. 

The brightness of your smiles. 

To the softness of your touches. 

Brendon relished in it all and craved it with a ferocity. 

He loved you. 

Without question. 

Without hesitation. 

And if that meant wearing a pyjama shirt with a shark on it. 

Then so be it.

Even if the change was small. 

It was clear to most at PTMC that Park had changed. That his demeanor had altered ever so slightly.  

“Wow good job Huckleberry, Shark didn’t bite your head off,” Santos quipped, leant against the desk as Dennis sanitizes his hands. 

“Yeah, it was weird. I even stumbled on something he had definitely yelled at me for previously, but he just corrected it, not a single glare,” Whitaker replied. Confusion colouring his features. 

Whitaker says aloud brows furrowed in thought, “Come to think of it–he hasn’t nearly been as cold as he used to be”

“Take the win, you can walk after crossing paths with him,” Javadi remarked tiredly. Just waiting for hand-offs to be over. 

“A few months ago I swear I saw him make an intern cry,” she added. 

Raising a brow towards her, “Crash, we know that was you”

“It could’ve happened to anyone!” she protested. 

A laugh cuts through the conversation. 

Santos cranes her neck, catching sight of Dana, Robby and a woman talking. 

Happily. Easily. 

A dark blue thermos in hand. 

Whilst you, the mysterious woman nod along to whatever story Dana is sharing. 

Noting the way you elbow Robby as you laugh from a joke he’d made. 

Santos’ eyes narrow at the sight, drawing Whitaker’s and Javadi’s attention to the trio on the other side. 

“Hey, who do you think that is?” 

“Who? Her?” Whitaker tilts his head. 

Santos slaps his arm, “Hey don’t be obvious”

“Sorry,” he mutters. 

“Well she seems pretty friendly with Robby, don’t think I’ve seen her around before–maybe she’s his girlfriend?” Javadi offers. 

Santos tugs on the arm of a passing Mohan, jutting her head, “Hey do you know who that is?” 

Mohan twists her mouth into a frown as she thinks, “Can’t say I do. But it could be anyone really, maybe from another department…” her words trail off, as her eyes widen. 

Exiting the lift. 

In stalks the infamous Shark. 

Eyes scan the space before landing on the very trio Santos had been talking about. 

“Oh my–” Javadi murmurs, mouth gaping. As they watch in shock. 

Brendon’s hand slipping around your waist, a chaste kiss pressed to your head. Your smile widening as he plants himself beside you. 

He offers the smallest of nods to the other two. Dana unable to hide the gleam in her eye from the sight of you both.

She was happy for you both. 

It was clear you were good for each other. 

And Robby would be lying if he said he didn’t see a shift in the way Park carried himself. 

No longer biting when it was unnecessary. Instead slightly, just slightly, a little more compassionate…patient. 

All because of you. 

And the effect you had on him. 

Murmuring softly in greeting, eyes filled with love, as you pass him the thermos. “I brought you some tea” 

“Thanks, sweetheart”

Turning your attention back to the others, “Well it was really nice seeing you both again, I’ll definitely have to have you over our house another time.”

“I look forward to it, hun,” Dana nods. 

As Robby agrees. 

Eyes lifting to glance at Park with a small smile, “See you tomorrow”

Park only offers a curt nod. Simply itching to go home, to curl up with you in his arms. 

Walking side by side, his arm securely wrapped around your waist. 

Passing by the huddled group of young doctors. 

Completely unaware of their speculations. Or just how you had shaken their very understanding of the very misunderstood Shark of PTMC. 

They catch a glimpse of the deep blue sapphire ring sparkling upon your finger. 

And as soon as you both leave their sight. 

They take a moment to have a break down. 

“What the fuck?”

“Did you guys know about this?”

“Are you kidding me? Even Park has a social life outside of work?” 

All sighing and muttering their shock. 

They all swarm around Dana and Robby. 

“Who was that?” 

Dana’s brows raise, while she shares a look with Robby who merely laughs with a shake of his head, leaving to continue hand offs. 

She mutters out the word traitor while he leaves. 

She feigns ignorance, “Who was who?” 

“You know, the woman! The woman that just walked out with Shark like it was no big deal!” Santos elaborated. 

“Oh that woman”

“Yes!”

“That was Park’s fiancee” 

“FIANCEE!!”

Dana nods with a small hum. “Yup”

“And we’re all just cool with that? No surprise there? Shouldn’t check on her to make sure she’s not being held against her will?” Javadi rambles. 

“We’re all cool with it,” she replies. 

“Cool, cool. Cool,” Javadi nods, as she and Mohan lose their cool. 

“She seemed nice,” Whitaker speaks up. 

“She is. Very nice.” Dana affirms. 

Mel interjects as she catches word of the conversation, “Is that why he hasn’t bitten any of our heads off lately?”

“Probably.” Dana responds, before her brows furrow, “Now don’t you all have other things besides gossiping, like, I don’t know, hand-offs?” 

They stand up straighter and scurry away. 

Leaving Dana to chuckle from their antics. 

It was true. 

Your presence in Park’s life has really changed him for the better. 

He was certainly a nicer colleague because of it. 

And you hosted great dinner parties. 

It was truly a win-win situation. 

And you wouldn’t change it. 

Nestled in bed, cosy and warm. 

Dressed in your shark themed pyjamas, that still brought a smile to your face each time you wore them. 

Small little love bites trailing your skin. 

Marks of his affection. 

Sighing as you sleep soundly in his arms. 

Well loved. 

And safe. 

In the arms of a Shark.

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little fic ♥️ it's always fun when Brendon's relationship can stun the hospital. But also just how sweet is the idea of him softening for his partner, and literally wearing a shark themed shirt to sleep! (ugh love it) - also you can bet that you insist on having some of Brendon's colleagues over for dinner, like Dana and Robby, and they totally watch him become absolute putty for you. Let me know what you thought. Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕 Help yourself and check out my other Pitt Works on My Masterlist Here!

some little photos that helped inspire this fic.

Taglist: @the-sassy-one @ilocuras24 @may-machin @hazydespair 

[satellite-evans]

favorite patient

Pairing: David!Clark Kent x reader

Summary: Overwhelmed and exhausted, you find comfort in your boyfriend’s quiet care and the safety of being held <3

Word count: 3.2k+

Warnings: fluff

A/N:

Hey guys! I hope you enjoy this little story 🤍 Just a small disclaimer: I am not a surgeon or someone who works in medicine in any capacity, so if I used any medical terms incorrectly or if a diagnosis/prognosis isn’t 100% accurate, please know I apologize, this is all purely fictional! I tried my best, with a little help (and maybe some inspiration 👀) from Grey’s Anatomy hahahaha

Also, I just wanted to say thank you so much for reading and supporting my writing this year, it truly means more to me than I can put into words. I hope you’re ending the year feeling safe, loved, and maybe a little bit soft, whether that’s with people you care about, curled up somewhere cozy, or finding comfort in stories like this one. Thank you for being here, and I’m wishing you all a gentle, happy New Year 🤍✨

Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and I hope you’ll like it!

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, talks, vents, recommendations or just simple questions are always welcome.

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

You’re not immune to distractions.

You tell yourself you are, because you don’t have a choice. Fourth year. Surgical track. The kind of exams that decide whether you get to touch a scalpel or spend your life answering pages at three in the morning wishing you had.

Your apartment looks like a crime scene.

Anatomy atlases are stacked in uneven towers. Loose papers litter the desk and floor, corners dog-eared and smudged with ink. Your laptop is open to a practice exam portal you’re actively afraid to refresh. Your whiteboard is crammed with half-erased flowcharts and arrows that only make sense if you’re already spiraling.

You need silence. You need focus. You need—

“Clark,” you say, standing in the doorway of the spare room you’ve officially claimed as your study space. Your voice softens automatically when you look at him. “Baby. Honey. I love you so much.”

That gets his attention immediately.

He stops mid-step in the hallway, keys still dangling from his fingers, glasses sliding just a little down his nose as he looks at you with instant concern.

“Okay,” he says carefully. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you assure him quickly. “I just—” you take a breath, already smiling despite yourself. “I need to study. Like, really study. For the next few hours.”

His brows knit together. “Oh. Okay.”

“And I’m begging you,” you continue, palms pressed together dramatically, “please do not interrupt me.”

He nods immediately. “Of course.”

“But,” you add, pointing a finger at him, “I mean it. No interruptions.”

“Right,” he says seriously. “No interruptions.”

You eye him. “Do you know what that looks like?”

He blinks. “I… think so?”

You sigh. “Okay. Let’s be specific.”

Clark straightens a little, like he’s about to take notes.

“No checking on me,” you say, ticking it off on your fingers. “No popping your head in to see if I’m alive. No whispering ‘sorry’ while handing me things.”

His mouth opens. Closes. “Even if it’s important?”

“What could possibly be that important?”

He hesitates. “…Hydration?”

You squint. “Clark.”

“Okay,” he says quickly. “No hydration.”

“And no—” you gesture vaguely at him, helpless. “—being adorable.”

He frowns. “I don’t know if I can control that.”

“Try,” you say firmly.

He nods again, so earnest it almost hurts. “I can do that.”

You narrow your eyes. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he says, hand over heart like he’s swearing in court. Earnest. Sincere. Devastatingly genuine. “Scout’s honor.”

You exhale, the tension easing just a little. You step forward, rise up on your toes, and kiss his cheek.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

“Of course,” Clark says immediately. Then, after half a second, “Quick question.”

You freeze. “…Yes?”

“If you need something,” he says carefully, “do I knock? Or do I just—write it down and slide it under the door? Or text you?”

You stare at him.

“Texting counts as interrupting,” you say slowly.

“Oh,” he nods. “Right. Got it.”

“And if the apartment catches on fire?” he asks.

“…Then you can interrupt me.”

“Okay,” he says, visibly relieved. “Good.”

You laugh despite yourself and shake your head. “I love you.”

He smiles, bright and warm. “I love you too.”

You exhale, step forward, and kiss his cheek again. “See you in a bit.”

“Love you,” Clark says immediately.

Before you can pull away, he cups your face gently, thumbs warm against your jaw, and kisses you—soft but sure, like he’s grounding you instead of distracting you. It lasts only a moment, just enough to remind you that you’re not alone in this.

Then he pulls you into a tight hug, arms wrapping fully around you, solid and steady.

“You’ve got this,” he murmurs against your hair. “You’re so, so smart. I mean it.”

You laugh quietly, muffled against his chest. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe,” he admits, squeezing you once more. “But I’m also right.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and serious all at once.

“Good luck,” he says softly. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

That’s when you finally step away.

When you shut the door, you lean your forehead against it for half a second—smiling now—before turning back to the desk.

Okay. Focus.

You sit, straighten your notes, and start reading out loud because if you don’t hear it, it doesn’t stick to your brain.

“Okay,” you mutter. “Patient presents with acute abdominal pain, fever, tachycardia…”

You pace as you talk, finger tracing imaginary diagrams in the air.

“Right lower quadrant tenderness, rebound, guarding. Differential includes appendicitis, ectopic pregnancy, ovarian torsion—rule out with imaging, labs—”

You stop, scribble furiously.

“Appendicitis: pain starts periumbilical, migrates to RLQ. McBurney’s point. Rovsing sign. Psoas sign.”

Your voice gets faster as your brain warms up.

“Management: IV fluids, antibiotics, surgical consult—appendectomy. Complications include perforation, abscess, peritonitis—”

Ten minutes in, the words are flowing.

Which is why you don’t notice the door opening until—

“Sorry—sorry,” Clark whispers.

You spin around.

He’s already halfway inside, holding your water bottle with both hands like it’s sacred.

“I know you said not to interrupt,” he says quickly, “but you’ve been talking nonstop and you didn’t have this, and dehydration affects cognition, and—”

He extends the bottle. “Stay hydrated, babe.”

You stare at him.

He looks apologetic and hopeful at the same time, like he knows he broke a rule but can’t regret it.

“…Thank you, honey,” you say, betraying yourself.

His shoulders drop in relief. “Okay. I’m going. I’m gone.”

He backs out slowly, like sudden movement might upset you.

You take a long sip, press your lips together, and turn back to your notes.

Focus.

“Next question,” you murmur. “Patient presents with jaundice, pale stools, dark urine—think obstructive. Courvoisier sign—pancreatic head tumor—”

Knock knock.

The door opens before you can answer.

“Clark—” you start.

“I swear this is the last one,” he says, popping his head in. He steps forward and sets a bowl on your desk.

Fruit. Neatly cut. Colorful.

“I noticed you skipped lunch,” he says softly. “And you get shaky when you forget to eat.”

You open your mouth to protest.

Nothing comes out.

He looks so earnest. Like this is his contribution to medicine as a whole.

“…You’re impossible,” you mutter.

He smiles, dimples flashing. “But not in a bad way?”

You sigh. “Go. Before I change my mind.”

He leaves, grinning to himself.

You eat a grape while reading about cholecystitis.

“This is fine,” you tell yourself.

Thirty minutes later, it’s not fine.

Your brain feels like mush. You’re pacing again, hands in your hair.

“Okay—trauma protocol,” you mutter. “ABCDE. Airway with cervical spine protection. Breathing. Circulation—hemorrhage control—”

You stop, rub your face.

“Why is this not sticking into my brain?”

The door opens quietly.

“Clark,” you warn without turning around.

“I know,” he whispers. “But you’re doing the thing where you tug your hair, and that usually means you’re overwhelmed.”

You turn.

He’s holding his hoodie. The soft one. The old one. The one you steal when you can’t sleep.

“It’s cold in here,” he says gently. “And you tense up when you’re cold.”

Your chest aches.

“I told you not to come in,” you say, but there’s no heat behind it.

“I know,” he says. He steps closer anyway, draping the hoodie over your shoulders like he’s afraid you’ll shatter. “I’m sorry. I just… wanted to help.”

You sit down heavily.

He panics instantly. “Oh no. You’re mad. I crossed a boundary, I shouldn’t have—”

You reach out and grab his sleeve.

“I’m not mad,” you say quietly. “I’m just exhausted.”

His expression softens completely.

“I can’t focus,” you admit. “Everything feels too big.”

He crouches in front of you, careful, hands resting on your knees like an anchor.

“You’re doing amazing,” he says. “You know this stuff. You just don’t see it right now.”

You swallow. “What if I blank?”

“You won’t,” he says, steady. “And if you do, you’ll recover. You always do.”

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his.

“You’re very distracting,” you murmur.

He smiles softly. “I can leave.”

“Please don’t,” you say, then groan. “Actually—go. Before I fail surgery because my boyfriend is too good.”

He laughs under his breath and kisses your temple. “I’ll be right outside.”

He finally leaves you alone.

For almost 3 hours.

When the knock comes again, you’re blinking back tears over a practice question that feels impossible.

“Babe?” Clark calls softly. “Time check.”

“Ten more minutes,” you say hoarsely.

“Okay,” he replies. A pause. “I’m really proud of you.”

Your throat tightens.

Ten minutes later, you open the door.

He’s there with dinner, eyes warm, posture patient, like waiting for you is the easiest thing in the world.

You step into his arms without a word.

His arm tightens around you, protective and warm.

Clark doesn’t say anything either. He just wraps you up, slow and sure, like he’s afraid sudden movement might crack something fragile inside you. One hand settles between your shoulder blades, the other warm and solid at your waist, anchoring you.

For a few seconds—maybe minutes—you don’t move.

You just exist there.

Your cheek rests over his heart, the steady rhythm beneath your ear a constant, grounding presence. It’s slow. Even. Confident. Like it has never once doubted what it’s meant to do. Your own pulse, frantic and jagged only moments ago, starts to follow it without you trying.

In. Out. In. Out.

You breathe him in—clean laundry, soap, something unmistakably Clark—and feel the tension in your shoulders loosen in small, reluctant increments, like muscles that forgot how to relax.

“I didn’t realize how tense I was,” you murmur quietly. Your voice sounds different now. Lower. Less brittle. “Until just now.”

He hums above you, thoughtful, chest vibrating slightly beneath your cheek. “You were holding yourself together with sheer willpower.”

You let out a small, tired sound that might almost be a laugh. “That sounds… unhealthy.”

“Temporarily heroic,” he corrects gently. “Long-term unsustainable.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. “Figures.”

His hand keeps moving along your back—up your spine, slow and steady, then back down again. He never rushes it. Never stops. Like he’s afraid if he does, all the panic you’ve been holding at bay will come flooding back in.

And maybe he’s right.

Your eyes drift open, unfocused at first, then land on the dining table.

Your notes are still there. Stacks of paper, flashcards, printed questions. Colorful tabs jut out at uneven angles—pink, yellow, blue—each one marking something you told yourself you had to remember. Seeing them now doesn’t make your chest tighten the way it did before, but there’s still a dull ache beneath your ribs.

“I kept mixing things up,” you say softly, more to the room than to him. “Like, I know the difference between hypovolemic and septic shock. I know that. But suddenly my brain was like—” you huff quietly, “‘What if we simply forget everything we’ve ever learned?’”

Clark lets out a quiet laugh against your hair. Not mocking. Fond. “Brains love dramatic plot twists.”

You nod, pressing your cheek a little more firmly into his chest. “I started doubting things I’ve known since first year. Like… basic anatomy.” You pause, embarrassed even now. “I was halfway through saying ‘the femoral artery’ and then panicked because—what if it’s not there? What if I just… made it up?”

“It’s definitely there,” he says immediately, voice warm with certainty. “I promise.”

You scoff softly. “Thank you. Very reassuring.”

He shifts slightly, tilting his head so his cheek rests against the top of yours. It’s a small, intimate gesture, protective without being possessive.

“You’re allowed to not be perfect all the time,” he says quietly.

Your throat tightens.

“I don’t want to be perfect,” you admit. The words come out softer than you expect. “I just don’t want to fail.”

His hand stills.

Not because he’s pulling away—just enough to make you notice.

“You won’t,” he says quietly.

There’s no emphasis. No dramatic reassurance. Just calm, unshakable certainty.

You lift your head and look at him. “You don’t know that.”

He meets your gaze without hesitation. His eyes are steady, sincere, impossibly kind. “I know you.”

Something in your chest pulls tight, sharp and aching all at once.

“You’ve handled patients at their worst,” he continues gently. “You’ve stayed up all night studying things most people couldn’t pronounce, let alone understand. You’ve walked into exams terrified and walked out stronger.” His thumb brushes a small circle at your side. “One test doesn’t get to erase all of that.”

Your vision blurs. You look away quickly, blinking hard, jaw clenched.

Clark notices immediately. He always does.

“Hey,” he murmurs, shifting so you’re fully facing him now. “Come here.”

You go without thinking, melting into him again, forehead pressing into the warm curve of his neck. His hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair.

“I don’t want to disappoint anyone,” you whisper. The words feel heavy, like you’ve been carrying them for weeks. “My attendings. My family.” A pause. “You.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, brows drawn together—not with worry, but with something firmer. Protective. Certain.

“You could never disappoint me,” he says. “Not like that. Ever.”

Your voice wobbles. “Even if I mess up?”

“Especially if you mess up,” he replies without missing a beat. “Because that means you’re human. And you’re learning. And you care.”

A shaky breath leaves you. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not simple,” he says honestly. “It’s just… true.”

Silence settles again.

But it’s different now.

Softer. Safer. The kind that wraps around you instead of pressing in. You don’t feel the need to explain yourself further. You don’t feel like you’re wasting time by resting here.

Clark shifts first, slow and careful, like he doesn’t want to break the moment.

“Come on,” he murmurs. “Sit with me.”

His hand stays warm and steady at your back as he guides you toward the couch, easing you down beside him. You go willingly, legs folding beneath you as you curl into his side without thinking, like this is where you’re meant to be.

Only then does he reach for the plate on the coffee table.

“Okay,” he says gently. “Eat something.”

You groan, burying your face briefly against his shoulder. “You sound like a nurse.”

He smiles, unmistakably proud. “I’m dating a future surgeon. I’m adapting.”

You accept the fork, take a bite, then another. Each one feels like it grounds you a little more, anchoring you to the present instead of the spiral in your head. When you’re done, you lean back into him automatically, your head resting against his chest.

Clark sets the plate aside and reaches for the blanket draped over the back of the couch. He pulls it over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders with almost comical care, smoothing it down like you might disappear if he doesn’t.

Your eyes flutter shut.

“I should go back,” you mumble, guilt creeping in despite yourself.

“Not yet,” he says softly. “Your brain needs rest to consolidate memory.”

You crack one eye open. “Is that real, or did you just make that up?”

He shrugs, entirely unapologetic. “Little of both.”

You smile, too tired to argue, and let yourself sink fully into him.

Time passes. You’re not sure how much. Enough that your breathing evens out. Enough that the tight knot in your chest loosens into something manageable.

Then Clark clears his throat thoughtfully.

“Actually,” he says, voice carefully neutral but with a hint of mischief curling underneath, “I might have another case for you.”

You lift your head, squinting at him. “Clark. I’m off duty.”

“Just a quick consult,” he says, clearly enjoying himself now. “Patient presents with sudden onset tachycardia.”

You sigh, playing along. “Symptoms?”

“Rapid heartbeat,” he continues solemnly. “Shortness of breath. Mild dizziness.”

You narrow your eyes. “Triggers?”

“Occurs almost exclusively when patient sees his girlfriend,” he says, lips twitching. “Especially when she’s exhausted and wearing his hoodie.”

You stare at him.

Then you laugh—really laugh. The sound bursts out of you, bright and unguarded, like something unclenched inside your chest.

“That’s ridiculous,” you say, smiling up at him. “Sounds psychosomatic.”

“Highly possible,” he agrees. “Chronic condition.”

You tap his chest lightly, right over his heart. “Prognosis?”

He leans in, forehead resting against yours, voice dropping warm and fond.

“Lifelong,” he murmurs. “But manageable. Especially with close contact.”

Your smile softens, heart aching in the best possible way.

“Well,” you say quietly, curling back into him, “I suppose I’ll allow it.”

His arms tighten around you, smile pressed into your hair.

“Good,” he whispers. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

You let out a slow breath. It leaves your chest in a long, shaky exhale, like something finally unclenches. His words don’t feel dramatic or overwhelming. They just settle. Sink in. Find a place to rest.

You shift closer, tucking your face into the hollow of his shoulder. His arm adjusts instantly, tightening just enough to keep you there, fingers curling at your side like muscle memory. Your hand finds his shirt without thinking, fingers curling lightly into the fabric.

“Stay,” you murmur, even though you already know the answer.

“I am,” he says easily, without hesitation. “Right here.”

For a while, neither of you speaks.

The apartment has gone quiet in that late-evening way—no notifications chiming, no pages of notes rustling, no ticking clock demanding productivity.

It’s grounding. Reassuring. Almost hypnotic.

Your thoughts drift—inevitably—back toward your notes, toward the exam waiting for you tomorrow morning. The facts, the lists, the pressure. But the panic doesn’t spike the way it did earlier. It hovers somewhere farther away now, dulled by warmth and closeness, like a storm you can see but don’t feel trapped in anymore.

“I might fall asleep,” you admit quietly, your voice already softer.

“That’s okay,” he says at once. “I’ll wake you up if you drool.”

You smile faintly against his chest. “How noble of you.”

He laughs softly, the sound vibrating through you. His hand starts tracing absentminded patterns along your arm—slow, soothing, repetitive—like he’s not even thinking about it. Like he’s memorizing you in this moment: exhausted, wrapped in his hoodie, curled into him like this is where you belong.

You tilt your head slightly, peeking up at him. “So,” you murmur, teasing creeping into your tone, “what did you do all day while I was banishing you from my study room?”

His brows lift, innocent. “Wow. ‘Banishing.’ Harsh.”

“You were exiled,” you say solemnly. “For the sake of medicine.”

“Well,” he says thoughtfully, “I took my exile very seriously.”

You hum. “Oh?”

“I did laundry,” he starts, counting on his fingers. “Cleaned the kitchen. Made sure you ate something resembling nutrients.” His mouth curves into a small smile. “And I might have spent a little time worrying about you.”

You snort softly. “A little?”

“Okay,” he admits. “A lot.”

Your chest warms at that. You shift, resting your chin lightly against him so you can look at his face properly.

“The food was delicious,” you add. “Thank you. Really.”

His expression softens instantly. “Of course.”

“No,” you insist gently. “I know it seems small, but… it helped. More than you know.”

He shrugs a little, embarrassed but pleased. “I just wanted to take one thing off your plate.”

You smile at the phrasing. “Even surgeons appreciate good support staff.”

He laughs quietly. “I’ll take that as high praise.”

Silence settles again, comfortable and unhurried.

After a moment, he speaks, voice quieter now. “You scared me earlier.”

You blink. “I did?”

“Yeah,” he admits. “You looked like you were carrying the whole future on your shoulders. Like you thought if you stopped for even a second, everything would fall apart.”

You swallow. “It felt like that.”

He nods, thumb brushing gently over your wrist. “I know. I just… wanted to remind you that you don’t have to carry it alone.”

You look at him then, really look—at the concern in his eyes, the steadiness, the way he never tries to fix you, only support you.

“You’re really good at this,” you say quietly.

“At what?”

“At loving me,” you answer honestly. “Even when I’m… like this.”

His brows knit together slightly. “Especially when you’re like this.”

Your throat tightens again. You duck your head, pressing a small kiss to his collarbone like it’s the only place that makes sense right now.

“Tomorrow’s going to be hard,” you admit.

“I know,” he says softly. “But it’s also just one day.”

You nod slowly. “One day.”

“And after,” he continues, “you come home. And we eat something comforting. And you tell me everything you remember—or nothing at all.”

You smile. “That sounds… really nice.”

“It will be,” he says with quiet certainty.

Your eyelids start to feel heavy. The blanket, his arms, the steady rhythm of him—it all conspires gently against your remaining resolve.

Just before sleep fully claims you, you feel him press a careful kiss to the top of your head.

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper, “you go in there and show them exactly who you are.”

Your lips curve into a faint smile.

And for the first time all night, the future doesn’t feel so frightening.

taglist : @kristine13 @rogersbarber @mollymal @fire-joestar @writerreal

[elyonholic]

Kaoru Hana wa Rin to Saku OP

[rylandsgrace]

#Let them be besties, please 🤸‍♂️