MareenaAuditore

I am trapped in the abyss of your absence. 26/ Somewhere in the world. Battling grief, depression, and anxiety.

[mareenaauditore]

Mara's Masterlist:

Brendon "The Shark" Park x reader:

Code: Baby Shark.

Part 1 / Part 2

Code: Little Moments.

Part 1

The Shark's Debt.

Part 1 / Part 2

The Resonance of Him.

The Shark's Sanctuary.

The Shark's overprotection.

Doll, you're my final destination.

The Shark's Desire.

The Edge of the Abyss.

The Shark's Property.

The Tiktok Lift Challenge.

Claimed in Ink.

Into the deep blue.

Clay Spenser x Original Female Character:

Echoes of the past, masterlist.

[mareenaauditore]

I'm so sorry.

Due to some personal family matters, I won't be able to upload new fanfics. All requests and sequels will be put on hold for now. I'm really sorry about this, but I'm going through a very difficult time and spending a lot of time in the hospital.

I'm really sorry, but my head isn't in the right place to write.

[mareenaauditore]

Rapid request From your Editor

So, recently my dear writer has had some problems, and need to take a small break from writing so i was hoping for our readers to not take it personal and try not to ask her or do for her more petitions since she's not in the state of writing. We will see soon and with news. All love your dear editor

[mareenaauditore]

Sorry for being so disconnected, I've been drawing instead of writing. And doing homework and stuff. I just finished part of a gift today. And I would appreciate your opinion on this.

The original photo/The box where I drew

What do you think? Should I give it to the person or should I get rid of it?

[mareenaauditore]

This is just a question that I will most likely delete later. I started this sketch (I emphasize that it is a SKETCH) because I am absolutely obsessed with them.But my imposter syndrome is hitting me hardWhat do you think? Should I continue or leave it?

[mareenaauditore]

Into the deep blue

Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x Rocker! S.W.A.T! reader

Summary: A "routine" SWAT mission takes a disastrous turn, and Brendon only finds out when he's called to attend to the injured agent. The worst part is that the agent is his wife, a fact no one knows. Warning: ANGST, HURT. Swearing, explicit descriptions of physical injuries, emotional distress and brief mentions of past miscarriages. Reader discretion is advised. Words: 4050 Taglist: @my-whole-brain-is-crying @leksi-rae @chelle-1515 @minienix @mythologicallyversed @mxtokko @zuzulia @susp3ndedindusk @helenaellie @rei-scorpio @ivy-stuffs @dutch3-10 @catharticdesire @sidneysidney123 @fics-from-the-dead @eddiemunsonguitar @sharkssiren @mynameisbaby9 @simply-lovley44 @dr3obsessed @mayabbot @bbblackmamba @harryswizzle @alphafemale-15 @rabbotseatcarrots @b38596012 @lipsunsmokedcigarette @pastlecow @kingtitus @stevieharrington71 @asfaraslifegets @noyaisasimp @loki-trickst3r @miahelen @xoxoloverb @brown-eyes-cello-and-books @seitmai @boricuas-fic-recs @outpostsworld @ohheyitssj @thedragonsrose @justanothersadperson93 @hcrm @vastscoutweapon @multifandom301 @travelingmypassion @carson1gg @mintoblobo @redhooduwu @twdhtgawm @annabethboleyn @ichibella @ramenblutte @happyendingarentreal @gardeniarose13 @jgoose13 @ilocuras24 @noxytopy @kmc1989 @ilocuras24 @littlewolfbird @charmmetormentme @thehockeynerd30 @kyky9103 @closelyinsanewave @beebeechaos

You didn't understand what had happened.

One moment you were running alongside Max, your partner, chasing a couple of meth cooks through a park while the rest of your SWAT unit was tasked with securing the lab, when something exploded beneath your feet. For a fraction of a second, there was only blinding agony and searing heat.

Then, an absolute, crushing silence fell before your ears began to ring sharply. You felt your head spin violently, a wave of suffocating nausea rising up your throat while the world refused to stop turning on its axis. Then, Max's voice cut through the haze.

"—Rocker, fuck!"

The scream reached your ears like a distant, ghostly echo, distorted by the relentless, deafening buzzing. You felt his desperate, trembling hands cradling your cheeks gently as he turned you onto your back... Was I on my side? you thought, utterly confused, struggling to piece together how you had ended up in that position.

"Open your eyes, Rocker, come on," Max insisted. His voice sounded fractured, weighted with a volatile mixture of terror and adrenaline that you had never, in all your years serving alongside him in SWAT, heard before. It was precisely that note of raw panic that made you understand the situation was much worse than your numbed senses could feel, while the chemical rush took complete control of your system, mercifully anesthetizing the disaster.

You made the monumental effort for him, for your team... and for Brendon. God, your Brendon. Your eyelids were heavy as lead, but with a desperate fight, you finally managed to open them. Max's image was split in two; his face, covered in ash, blood, and sweat, wavered frantically in front of you. You felt as though you were trapped on a ship, tossing to the rhythm of a dizzying, violent sway.

"That's right... Stay with me, baby, it's going to be alright," he whispered, though his gaze drifted frantically down to your legs. That single gesture struck a chilling chord of terror deeper than you could admit; what the hell was wrong with your legs?

"—Officer down! I need an ambulance here now! It's Rocker!" he roared into his radio. The fleeing cooks no longer mattered; his entire universe had shrunk down solely to you.

"Max..." you managed to articulate between your gritted teeth, although the name escaped more like a broken sigh than a word. You fixed your eyes on those ice-blue eyes that reminded you so painfully of Brendon's.

You could only think of one thing: not being taken to his hospital. He shouldn't see you like this. He would lose his mind with worry, he would completely unravel... And you loathed the thought of scaring him. You had both been through too much before: too many physical scars earned in the line of duty, and the silent, haunting grief of three miscarriages that still weighed heavily on the souls of both of you. You couldn't bear to see that look of sheer terror on his face again. Not today.

"Rocker, baby, I need you to listen to me carefully, okay? I have to put a tourniquet on your left leg and it's going to hurt like hell, but if I don't do it, you're going to bleed out."

The mention of the tourniquet hit you like a physical blow, slicing clean through the thick fog of shock. You knew what that meant. If Max, who always maintained an iron composure, was resorting to that, it was because your femoral artery was an open faucet right now. Or worse...

"—Max... It's very bad, isn't it?" Your voice was just a fragile thread, a broken whisper seeking a truth that your body already intuitively understood.

"Don't worry about that right now. Just breathe and stay awake for me," Max muttered between his teeth, a tear slipping through the grime on his face. "Now, bite into this."

He wedged a piece of rolled gauze between your teeth, but you didn't even have time to protest. He tightened the tourniquet with brutal, uncompromising force.

The pain was a blinding white explosion that instantly erased the park, the screams, and your partner's face. Your fingernails tore into Max's arm through the fabric of his uniform, and a dull, strangled moan was caught in the gauze as your back arched violently off the ground. Every single beat your heart was straining to produce seemed to belong to a cruel countdown, and the coldness that was beginning to numb your fingers wasn't just from the rapid blood loss—it was the sheer, terrifying fear of leaving Brendon all alone in this world.

"If something happens to me... can you tell my husband that I love him? Please?" Your voice sounded small and utterly terrified, stripped of all the fierce authority you used to carry as an officer.

"You'll tell him yourself, baby, because I'm not going to let anything happen to you," Max replied. His words tried desperately to be firm, but you felt a warm drop fall onto your cheek. It was a tear. He was weeping silently.

But you knew the grim truth. You were part of SWAT; you knew ballistics, you knew the devastating ruin that shrapnel left behind. And if what had happened was a mine, you knew what that did to a human body. You knew it was quite possible that you would never see your husband again. That Brendon, the man who always had a plan for everything, might have to face the one variable he couldn't control with all his medical knowledge or a scalpel: your death.

The agonizing thought of making him a widower pressed down on your chest more heavily than the physical pain itself, which began to hit in relentless waves. You thought about your bedroom, about the comfortable silences shared after grueling shifts—in the operating room or in the barracks—and about the unbearable emptiness you would leave in his bed. Even worse, you thought about the shattering of your future. There would be no more quiet mornings trying to find hope after each heartbreak; you would no longer be able to try for that rainbow baby you had yearned for so deeply after the three miscarriages that had almost sunk you both.

If you left now, you would take with you the very last chance to give him that family you had so desperately longed to build together.

"No... don't let me die, Max," you begged, and this time you didn't hide the raw terror bleeding into your voice. "He can't... not again. He can't lose anything else. He has already lost too much..."

"It's not going to happen, Rocker. Listen to the sirens, they're here." Max squeezed your hand with crushing force, his eyes fixed on the ambulance coming to a screeching halt just a few feet away. "Here! Massive trauma to the lower extremity post-explosion! Uncontrolled bleeding!"

You felt them hoisting you onto the stretcher, the sudden movement causing blinding stars to burst across your eyes. As you were being loaded into the sterile, metallic cubicle of the ambulance, the final thought you managed to hold onto before the darkness began to devour the edges of your vision was entirely for him.

Forgive me, Brendon. Please forgive me for not coming home tonight.

The next time you opened your eyes to the world was to the metallic clanging sound of the ambulance's back doors bursting open. The cold Pittsburgh afternoon air hit your face, but it did nothing to clear the heavy fog suffocating your mind. The world was spinning wildly around you, a dizzying spiral of flashing lights and blurred faces moving with frantic, terrifying urgency.

"—Traumatic amputation of the left leg below the knee, caused by a mine. Tourniquet-controlled bleeding in the field!" a voice shouted over the frantic, rhythmic beep of the monitors. "Regaining partial consciousness!"

Amputation? The word bounced off the walls of your skull like a stray bullet, shattering your reality. Had you lost your leg? No, it couldn't be. Your career, everything you had fought so hard for, your teammates... You were going to lose everything. You tried to sit up in a panic, but a firm, small, gloved hand pressed you gently but unyieldingly back against the gurney.

As you looked up through the thick fog of pain, you recognized Perlah; you were at the PTMC. Your heart skipped a beat that had absolutely nothing to do with medical shock. Brendon was working just a few floors up, probably in the middle of a difficult surgery, completely unsuspecting that his entire world was violently falling apart in the emergency room below.

"Lie down, honey," Perlah whispered, adjusting the flow of the IV, her eyes filled with profound compassion and dread.

"I need Ortho down here now!" Dr. Robby roared, completely ignoring the exchange. "Her blood pressure is through the floor! Bring two units of O-negative, now!"

"I'm on it, boss," Donnie said, speaking hurriedly into the red emergency phone on the wall. "Dr. Brennan just went into surgery ten minutes ago. Shark is finishing an arthroplasty in operating room 4."

Shark. That damn nickname by which your husband was called at the hospital, and which had always made you laugh, now seemed to weigh three times as much. Don't let him come down, don't let him see this, you thought, hot tears flooding your eyes as you struggled not to succumb to utter panic. You preferred any other doctor, any total stranger, over seeing the horror and devastation in the eyes of the man you loved.

"I don't care if they're operating on the Pope himself! Tell them to get the hell down here right now!" Dr. Robby roared, shooting Donnie a look sharp enough to freeze hell itself.

The chaos in the trauma room amplified from that moment on. For you, everything became a blurred nightmare; the harsh sound of metallic instruments crashing against steel trays mixed with the incessant, high-pitched warning beeps of the monitor. Your body felt impossibly heavy, as if you were sinking deep into fresh, suffocating cement, but your mind remained anchored to that single nickname: Shark.

Park "The Shark" to the hospital staff; but just Bren to you. PTMC's star orthopedic surgeon, the man who worked with broken bones every single day—your husband—was only a few floors away. If Donnie managed to locate him, Brendon would come downstairs believing he was coming to save the life of an anonymous police officer, only to find your face, pale, bloodied, and broken.

You should have stayed in bed with your Doberman puppy, Anubis. That bittersweet thought struck you just as the heavy hiss of the automatic doors announced that destiny had been fulfilled.

Brendon entered the room like a predator looking for his next prey, completely ignoring the utter chaos of Trauma 1. He stopped dead at the foot of the stretcher, his eyes scanning the catastrophic wound with his trademark mechanical efficiency as the entire emergency team awaited his verdict in a deathly, suffocating silence. It was then that Ogilvie, completely unable to read the terrifying tension vibrating from the surgeon's body, decided it was time to speak up.

"The patient is just SWAT cannon fodder anyway," Ogilvie muttered dismissively, turning around just as Brendon finished digesting the fact that the bleeding woman in front of him was the exact same one he had left that morning, asleep and warmly snuggled with Anubis. "It's a shame about her leg, she was a very beautiful woman..."

The air in Trauma 1 froze instantly. Donnie stopped checking the monitor and Perlah let go of the gauze, both of them staring at Ogilvie in sheer, unadulterated horror. He had crossed a line from which there was no return. Meanwhile, a shudder of pure revulsion racked your fragile body.

Brendon turned to him. The Shark's silence was infinitely more terrifying than any scream. He approached Ogilvie with a predatory, agonizing slowness until the medical student was forced back against the wall, practically chest-to-chest. The raw fury burning in Brendon's eyes was entirely unprofessional; it was something primal, wild, and murderous.

"Out of my sight," Brendon whispered. His voice was a lethal hiss, so low and venomous that only you and Ogilvie could catch the tremor of pure, unbridled hatred in his tone. "If you make a single sound again, or if you ever look at this patient again, I will personally make sure that the closest you ever get to a hospital for the rest of your life is because you are a permanent ICU patient."

Brendon didn't even wait for him to leave. He spun around and, for a fleeting microsecond, his eyes locked onto yours. The detached star surgeon was nowhere to be found in that look; there was only the husband who had promised to protect you always, completely crumbling inside. And yet, he allowed his hardened expression to soften just for you; I got you, his deep blue eyes seemed to plead in the middle of the storm.

"—Operating room three. GET MOVING!" he roared, and this time the scream was so visceral, so torn from his soul, that it made even Dr. Robby jump instinctively.

That was the last thing you heard as the world began to bleed out at the edges. The sound of stretcher wheels racing across the floor and the hiss of automatic doors became a distant echo, drowned out by the heavy tide of blood loss and shock. Your body, utterly exhausted by the trauma, finally surrendered to the darkness again.

As the overhead lights faded into a single, blinding white blob above you, your last conscious thought wasn't about the excruciating pain in your leg or the roar of the mine that had rewritten your destiny. It was for him. Your Brendon. You hoped with all your might that you would wake up—not only because you didn't want to die, but because of the desperate, aching need to see those blue eyes again, always overflowing with love for you, to feel his massive hand protecting yours, and to hear your secret nickname from his lips as soon as you woke up, his voice beautifully hoarse from sleep.

You wanted to come home, to the peace of your shared mornings, to the warm weight of Anubis at the foot of the bed, and to the absolute shelter of Brendon's arms.

You felt heavy, as if your entire body had been forged of lead and submerged in thick honey. Your mouth was dry and pasty, with a rancid, metallic taste clinging to the roof of it, and there was a rhythmic, monotonous beep piercing through your ears. You tried to open your eyes, but your eyelids felt heavily stitched shut. Yet, even through that dense, suffocating haze of drugs and exhaustion, you heard it. It was a voice you knew in all its facets: that of the brilliant surgeon, that of the man who loved you with all his heart and soul, and now, that of a wounded shark defending his territory with vicious desperation.

Brendon was fighting with someone.

"I fully understand that, under any normal circumstances, I shouldn't have operated on her because she's my wife, Gloria." Brendon's voice reverberated with barely contained, trembling fury, and then you noticed his large hand grasping yours—vulnerably delicate despite his anger. "But I wasn't going to let her suffer a single second longer, nor was I going to let her bleed to death waiting for another attending to deign to come down. I wasn't going to risk wasting the precious time needed to save her life!"

You heard an impatient, clinical sigh, and the sharp snap of a leather folder. It was Gloria Underwood, the hospital's medical director.

"Doctor Park, conflict of interest rules are there for a reason. You know this better than anyone. You have put the accreditation of this entire center at risk."

"The rules?" Brendon let out a dry, humorless, utterly disdainful laugh that sounded entirely broken. "A mine has shattered her life. She has lost her leg and has a agonizing path of rehabilitation ahead of her that most people could not even begin to comprehend. And you come here to lecture me about administrative protocols?"

You desperately wanted to say something, but from your parched throat came only a dry hiss, a harsh, empty exhalation that barely brushed your cracked lips. You tried to squeeze his hand with every ounce of strength you had left, but your fingers refused to respond.

"Doctor Park," Gloria insisted in a stern, cold tone.

"Do you want to suspend me? Go ahead. Take away my surgical privileges, report me to the board, punish me however the hell you prefer." Brendon's voice dropped into a dangerous, terrifying whisper—the tone of a apex predator who has absolutely nothing left to lose. "But this is not the time or the place to talk about it. Not when my wife is lying here, unconscious, trying to survive a traumatic amputation and major surgery. So I'm going to ask you, one last time and in the kindest way I am capable of right now, to get the hell out of this room."

There was an icy, suffocating silence. You heard the sharp sound of heels pulling away and the heavy, definitive sigh of the door closing shut.

"Damn it, baby," he whispered, immediately bringing your hand to his lips, and this time his strong voice broke completely into a thousand agonizing pieces. "Don't do this to me again. Don't you dare."

His rough, calloused fingers traveled gently up your arm until they cradled your face with infinite, trembling delicacy. You could feel his hot tears spilling onto your skin, moistening your cheek as he rested his forehead heavily against yours. In the crushing privacy of the ICU, he was no longer the untouchable star surgeon or the most feared man in the PTMC; he was simply a man utterly terrified, completely broken by the horrific idea of a world where you no longer existed.

"I know you hear me, precious," he insisted, his thumb caressing your cheekbone with extreme tenderness. "Open those beautiful eyes for me. Please, I need you to look at me. I need to know that you're still in there."

You made a Herculean, agonizing effort. The heavy haze of morphine seemed to recede at the sheer urgency and despair in his voice. Your eyelids trembled, fighting the weight, and eventually fluttered open. The very first thing you saw was the deep, endless blue of his eyes, bloodshot from exhaustion and heavy crying, staring down at you with a shattering mixture of profound relief and unbearable agony.

You tried to articulate a word, but your gaze fell instinctively toward the end of the bed, where the weight of the heavy blankets felt... completely different. The hollow emptiness on your left side became a physically cruel, devastating reality in that exact instant.

Brendon noticed the sudden panic in your breathing right away. His hands held you tighter, instantly trying to be the heavy anchor that would keep you from drowning in the horrific realization of what you had lost.

"Look at me, baby," he pleaded desperately. His voice, once broken, suddenly regained that fierce firmness he used to command the operating room, but his eyes were filled with a desperate, crying plea. "Only me. Don't look down. You're alive. You're right here with me. That's the only thing that matters now."

But you couldn't help it. Through the heavy numbness of the morphine, you felt a phantom, mocking tingling where your leg should be—a cruel, haunting echo from a part of you that was gone forever. You couldn't hold back the dam of tears, which began to overflow, tracing hot, painful furrows down your cheeks.

You wept bitterly for your career in SWAT that had just been blown to pieces by that mine, and for the suffocating fear of never being the strong, fierce woman he fell in love with. Everything you'd have to learn to do all over again—walking, balancing, relying on a cold, metal-and-carbon prosthetic—felt like an impossible, agonizing mountain to climb.

"It's gone, Bren," you managed to choke out, a raw, heart-rending sob tearing violently from your throat. "Everything is gone."

At your words, Brendon closed his eyes tightly for a moment, gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw tightened visibly. Seeing the strongest, bravest woman he knew completely crumble in his arms was worse than any thirty-six-hour shift, a profound pain no medical textbook had ever taught him how to handle.

He carefully climbed onto the hospital bed, completely ignoring all clinical hygiene and safety protocols. He moved with an agility you would never expect from a man of his massive size, making absolutely sure not to brush against your fresh wounds or the tangled wires attaching you to the monitors, and he wrapped his arms tightly around you. He buried your face deep into his broad, muscular chest, creating a protective shelter of fabric and human warmth so you wouldn't have to look at the terrifying emptiness beneath the blankets.

"Listen to me," he murmured into your hair, his voice vibrating with a fierce, burning determination that soaked straight into your shattered bones. "I'm not going to tell you that the road will be easy, because that would be lying to you, and you deserve better than that. But I make a living rebuilding what others believe is completely unsalvageable. I've made people walk again when they were told it was a miracle. I'm the best at this, baby, and I am not going to let you sink. I'll get you the absolute best prosthesis money can buy, I'll take you to every single rehab session, and if I have to, I will carry you in my arms until you can run again."

He squeezed you a little tighter against his chest, letting his own heavy tears get lost in the strands of your hair, completely allowing himself to be vulnerable just because you were the only one in the world who could see him like this.

"What makes you you wasn't in that leg, nor is it what makes me love you with everything I have," he continued in a thick, choked voice. "Now all I care about is that you're alive. You're here, with me, and I am never going to let you go."

You sank entirely into his chest, clinging to his surgical scrubs with what little strength your trembling hands had left, inhaling that familiar, grounding trace of antiseptic soap mixed with his expensive cologne and that warm, homey scent that had always brought you back to safety. The silence of the room was only interrupted by the constant beep-beep of the heart monitor—which now beat a little quieter, calmed by his presence—and the rhythmic, steady pounding of Brendon's heart under your ear, reminding you that against all odds, you were still here.

In that ICU room, the outside world ceased to exist. It didn't matter how much of your leg was lost, how much of your career was fading away, or what administrative punishment Gloria would throw at him. Brendon cradled you with an almost religious devotion, resting his chin on your head as he tightly closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to let out the air he seemed to have been holding since he first saw you bloodied in Trauma 1.

"Sleep, baby," he whispered, his deep voice vibrating heavily against your chest as he wrapped you in an embrace that promised to rebuild every single broken piece of your soul. "I'm not going to move. I won't let anything else hurt you."

You let yourself be carried away by the heavy fatigue and the painkillers, feeling how the immense heat of his body fully protected you from the coldness of the world. For the first time since the explosion, the crushing fear felt a little lighter, entirely stifled by the presence of the man who, in the eyes of the world, was a relentless, terrifying shark, but who, for you, was the only refuge capable of keeping you whole through any trial fate decided to throw at you.

Eeeeeditor here!! Sorry for the extreme delay, it's not easy have three jobs, and one of them being the editor of such a creative girl, aaaanyways, we heve something special prepared for the 1000 followers, so keep up reading us and maybe soon you'll have your reward.

[mareenaauditore]

Into the deep blue, preview.

Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x Rocker! S.W.A.T! reader Brendon turned to him. The Shark's silence was infinitely more terrifying than any scream. He approached Ogilvie with a predatory, agonizing slowness until the medical student was forced back against the wall, practically chest-to-chest. The raw fury burning in Brendon's eyes was entirely unprofessional; it was something primal, wild, and murderous.

Taglist: @my-whole-brain-is-crying @leksi-rae @chelle-1515 @minienix @mythologicallyversed @mxtokko @tears-of-acid-and-sluts @susp3ndedindusk @helenaellie @rei-scorpio @ivy-stuffs @dutch3-10 @catharticdesire @sidneysidney123 @fics-from-the-dead @eddiemunsonguitar @sharkssiren @mynameisbaby9 @simply-lovley44 @dr3obsessed @mayabbot @bbblackmamba @harryswizzle @alphafemale-15 @rabbotseatcarrots @b38596012 @lipsunsmokedcigarette @pastlecow @kingtitus @stevieharrington71 @asfaraslifegets @noyaisasimp @loki-trickst3r @miahelen @xoxoloverb @brown-eyes-cello-and-books @seitmai @boricuas-fic-recs @outpostsworld @ohheyitssj @thedragonsrose @justanothersadperson93 @hcrm @vastscoutweapon @multifandom301 @travelingmypassion @carson1gg @mintoblobo @redhooduwu @twdhtgawm @annabethboleyn @ichibella @ramenblutte @happyendingarentreal @gardeniarose13 @jgoose13 @ilocuras24 @noxytopy @kmc1989 @ilocuras24

[mareenaauditore]

Petitions are now open for Off Campus

Please note that English isn't my first language, and this needs to be translated and edited by @lulascr007, who also has a life of her own. So it won't be quick. So if that sounds good to you, go ahead.💜💜💜

[mareenaauditore]

I have a problem

He's the problem. I got hooked on the "Off Campus" TV Show and now I can't get that damn Garrett Graham (The sexy Belmont Cameli) out of my head. Would anyone want me to write for him? Please say yes. I'm absolutely obsessed!

[mareenaauditore]

Wait, on little moments, is one of the babies adopted? Because is not posible to have a new born and a 3 month baby

Yes, Willow is their biological daughter, Cordelia is Baby Jane Doe, whom they adopted. To understand it, you need to have previously read Code: Baby Shark and Code Baby Shark [Part 2] because Code: Little Moments is just that, small moments in the lives of Brendon and Sunshine as parents of two daughters.

Taglist: @my-whole-brain-is-crying @leksi-rae @chelle-1515 @minienix @mythologicallyversed @mxtokko @tears-of-acid-and-sluts @susp3ndedindusk @helenaellie @rei-scorpio @ivy-stuffs @dutch3-10 @catharticdesire @sidneysidney123 @fics-from-the-dead @eddiemunsonguitar @sharkssiren @mynameisbaby9 @simply-lovley44 @dr3obsessed @mayabbot @bbblackmamba @harryswizzle @alphafemale-15 @rabbotseatcarrots @b38596012 @lipsunsmokedcigarette @pastlecow @kingtitus @stevieharrington71 @asfaraslifegets @noyaisasimp @loki-trickst3r @miahelen @xoxoloverb @brown-eyes-cello-and-books @seitmai @boricuas-fic-recs @outpostsworld @ohheyitssj @thedragonsrose @justanothersadperson93 @hcrm @vastscoutweapon @multifandom301 @travelingmypassion @carson1gg @mintoblobo @redhooduwu @twdhtgawm @annabethboleyn @ichibella @ramenblutte @happyendingarentreal @gardeniarose13 @jgoose13 @ilocuras24 @noxytopy @kmc1989

[mareenaauditore]

Code: Little moments [Part 1]

Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x Wifey Sunshine! reader

Summary: A small insight into everyday life with two babies: Brendon and Sunshine’s trip to the supermarket and an intervention by a rude unpleasant woman. Previously: 1/2 Warning: None, I think (Let me know if I'm wrong). Words: 1287. Taglist: @my-whole-brain-is-crying @leksi-rae @chelle-1515 @minienix @mythologicallyversed @mxtokko @tears-of-acid-and-sluts @susp3ndedindusk @helenaellie @rei-scorpio @ivy-stuffs @dutch3-10 @catharticdesire @sidneysidney123 @fics-from-the-dead @eddiemunsonguitar @sharkssiren @mynameisbaby9 @simply-lovley44 @dr3obsessed @mayabbot @bbblackmamba @harryswizzle @alphafemale-15 @rabbotseatcarrots @b38596012 @lipsunsmokedcigarette @pastlecow @kingtitus @stevieharrington71 @asfaraslifegets @noyaisasimp @loki-trickst3r @miahelen @xoxoloverb @brown-eyes-cello-and-books @seitmai @boricuas-fic-recs @outpostsworld @ohheyitssj @thedragonsrose @justanothersadperson93 @hcrm @vastscoutweapon @multifandom301 @travelingmypassion @carson1gg @mintoblobo @redhooduwu @twdhtgawm @annabethboleyn @ichibella @ramenblutte @happyendingarentreal @gardeniarose13 @jgoose13 @ilocuras24 @noxytopy @kmc1989

This was someone's idea, I don't remember who it was, so if you're reading this please leave me a comment. The header is thanks to @lulascr007, my translator and editor (I have her enslaved, poor thing)

It had been a few weeks since little Willow was born and baby Cordelia had been folded into the fabric of your lives. Becoming parents to both a newborn and a three-month-old was... utterly cathartic. The attic had been transformed into a sanctuary cluttered with varying sizes of clothing, mountains of diapers, and the omnipresent scent of milk and talcum powder. The girls were polar opposites in every way, from the pitch of their cries to the specific way they sought solace in your arms. Your world had ignited with their arrival; it was now infinitely louder and overflowing with fleeting moments you wished you could sear into your memory forever.

Even the most mundane errands, like a trip to the supermarket, had evolved into a genuine Odyssey. Yet, despite the crushing exhaustion, you wouldn't have traded the chaos for the world. It was a sight worthy of a master’s canvas: to see your imposing husband—your Brendon—rendered completely paternal, strapped into a baby carrier. There was something profoundly moving about watching him navigate the aisles with a sleeping infant pressed against his chest, his massive frame shielding that fragile, tiny life as he meticulously scrutinized the grocery list.

"We need more wipes," you noted, adjusting Willow against your chest in her own sling. Brendon had insisted on carrying Cordelia, doing so with a natural grace that made the infant appear as though she were a permanent extension of his forearm.

He nodded with that calculated gravity he applied to everything, from a complex femur fixation to the logistics of infant hygiene. He paused before the shelves, sifting through brands to find the specific wipes you’d both deemed superior for your daughters.

"And size two diapers for Cordelia."

"Definitely," Brendon agreed, glancing down at the baby’s plump thighs protruding from her tiny dungarees. "Your milk must contain some anabolic compound I’m unaware of, Doll. She’s thriving better on you than she ever did on formula."

You let out a soft laugh, feeling Willow’s rhythmic, sleepy sighs against your skin. It was true; since you had decided to breastfeed Cordelia as well—to bolster her immune system and forge the bond that had been denied to her at birth—the little one had transformed from a frail infant into a robust creature full of vitality. She looked so radiant in Brendon’s arms that it was occasionally difficult to reconcile her with the sickly, fragile soul she had been on the Fourth of July.

"It’s liquid gold, Big Guy," you teased, gently stroking Willow’s back through the fabric. "Besides, she has a father who never stops stimulating her motor skills. It’s only natural she’s burning through energy and demanding more."

Brendon’s lips quirked into a half-smile—that signature, arrogant expression of satisfaction you loved so much. He drifted closer, allowing Cordelia to reach out a tiny hand and grasp the collar of his linen shirt, while he wound his free, heavy arm around your waist.

"I’m not complaining. Seeing her grow this resilient because she has the finest mother in the world is one of the greatest privileges of my life," he murmured. His voice dropped to a low rumble as he pulled you against him, his gaze lingering on Willow. "But at this rate, we’re going to need a new wardrobe; I think half her closet is already obsolete."

You shook your head, amused, though you knew he was right: Cordelia seemed to flourish with every blink of an eye. However, your moment of domestic complicity was punctured by an elderly woman who approached with a pryingly curious smile.

"Oh, how marvelous," the woman chirped, leaning in uncomfortably close to inspect the infants. "Two babies? You must have your hands quite full, dear."

Brendon didn't move, but you felt the muscles in his arm tighten around your waist. His territorial instinct—the one that made him look like an apex predator even in the baby aisle—was instantly triggered by the stranger’s intrusion.

"Full and very busy, ma'am," Brendon replied. His tone wasn't overtly rude, but it carried that razor-sharp edge of clinical courtesy he usually reserved for difficult relatives in a surgical waiting room.

The woman, oblivious to the silent warning flashing in Brendon’s steel-blue eyes, let out a shrill giggle and pointed a finger dangerously close to Cordelia’s chubby cheek.

"They are... remarkably different, aren't they?" she said, squinting as her gaze darted between the baby on your breast and the one in Brendon’s arms. "The one you’re carrying, dear, is the spitting image of her father... but this other one—" The woman paused dramatically, seeking an explanation she wasn't entitled to. "Which of the two is actually yours? Because it’s quite obvious they aren’t twins. Though I suppose I can guess the answer."

You were stunned by the woman’s audacity. A knot of indignation tightened in your throat; you couldn't fathom the casual cruelty with which she questioned the legitimacy of your family in a grocery aisle.

Brendon didn't allow the silence to linger long enough for you to swallow your anger. He drew himself up to his full, towering height, forcing the woman to crane her neck back just to maintain eye contact. Anyone with a modicum of intuition would have recognized the simmering fury in his gaze.

"Both," Brendon said, his voice dropping to an icy register—the tone he used to dismantle an incompetent orthopedic resident.

The woman, failing to register the danger, adjusted her spectacles. "Oh, don’t take offense, young man. I’m only saying that genetics are fickle, but there's no mistaking the lineage here. I’m just curious as to what the—"

"They are mine," Brendon interrupted. He didn't raise his voice, but the words landed with the finality of a gavel. "Absolutely and entirely mine. Both of them."

He adjusted his hold on Cordelia with possessive tenderness, letting the infant’s fingers tangle in his shirt directly over his heart.

"There are no degrees of 'truth' in this family, ma'am," he continued, pinning her with an intensity that forced her to take a staggered step back. "I have two daughters and a wife. That is the only biological and legal reality that concerns you. If your curiosity is rooted in physical traits, I suggest you consult an anthropology textbook and allow us to finish our shopping in peace."

The woman’s mouth fell open in offense, but Brendon was already finished with her. He nudged you forward, his body acting as a shield for you and Willow.

"Come, Sunshine. We’re wasting precious time, and our girls have better things to do than serve as a stranger’s social experiment."

He didn't slow his pace until you reached a much quieter aisle. Only then did he exhale a sharp breath of irritation, searching your face to ensure you were alright.

"Don't let someone like that steal your voice again, Doll," he murmured, his tone regaining that rough warmth he reserved solely for you. "Cordelia isn't 'this other one.' She is a Park. And if anyone has a grievance with how our family looks, they can take it up with my legal department—or my fist. Whichever they prefer."

He pressed a firm, lingering kiss to your temple, his jaw still tight with residual adrenaline.

"Next time," he added, a hint of his usual swagger returning, "just tell her that genetics are so brilliant they decided to give us the best of both worlds twice. Now, let’s find a bottle of wine. I think I’ve earned it."

He gave you one last possessive kiss, reminding you that even when the world outside was a chaotic mess of judgment, within the ecosystem of your family, he was the pillar that held everything together.

[bbfwrites]

Goodnight Moon

A word (or many) from the author: so I decided to make an account for my non-Bucky Barnes fics to live. I am trying to keep @mixedfandomfics and @buckybarnesfic as reblog accounts as much as possible.

Anyways, this is my first fic for Brendon Park. I wrote this when I was supposed to be working. For some background: Brendon and Reader are the same age (about 40) to keep it fairly canon. They do have two additional off-screen children.

I don't know how to write toddler speak without the child sounding dumb so use your imagination there.

Word count: 580

Summary: Brendon gets a call in the middle of surgery.

Brendon wouldn't say he was 'janming out' during the surgery but he was enjoying the music playing overhead while he worked. This was not a routine scheduled knee or hip replacement; this was an unfortunate individual who had been trying to get home when someone else decided to drive recklessly and caused a massive accident. Brendon didn't worry about the clock but he knew he'd be here another hour at least.

A voice interrupted Brendon's focus, "Dr. Park, your wife is calling," the circulating nurse, Emily, called to him.

He had texted you before the surgery not to expect him home anytime soon. "Go ahead and answer it," he responded, looking over to the nurse for her nod that he could speak. "Hey sweetheart, you're on speaker phone."

His family was no secret to the staff of the OR. He had photos in his office of his family. The only ones that were ever surprised were the new students or anyone from another department that happened to come into his office.

"Sorry to interrupt but uh … it's time for Goodnight Moon," you said hesitantly.

Brendon paused his movements before letting out a small sigh. "No reasoning with the enemy?"

"I tried, baby. I knew you were tied up. But he's three."

Brendon nodded despite you not being able to see it. Three year olds didn't see reasoning or logic at times. He knew you would have done anything else to have avoided calling while he was working. Texting was different; he'd respond when he could. "Alright, let's go."

As you switched to speaker phone on your end, he heard you say, "Daddy's on the phone. He'll read the story."

Brendon chose to ignore the looks exchanged between the staff. He had read Goodnight Moon every night for a solid year. Other books were often in addition to Goodnight Moon, but it was a mandatory read. He could recite it in his sleep.

"HI DADDY!" a loud voice exclaimed.

"Shh," you said. "Daddy can hear you without yelling."

"Hi, buddy. You got your book?"

"Yeah and Bunny," he said referring to the bunny plush that came with the book.

"Good. In the great green room, there was a telephone and a red balloon, and a picture of -"

"Cow jump over the moon!" His son said happily. Brendon wasn't the only one who had this book memorized.

"Hey, who's reading this story? Me or you?"

"Daddy!"

"That's right," Brendon said. "And there were three little bears sitting on chairs, and two little kittens-"

"And a pair of mittens," the little voice wasn't quite so loud now as he listened to his dad's voice.

Brendon continued on. "And a little toy house, and a young mouse. And a comb and a brush and a bowl full of mush." Brendon paused to see if there would be an interruption. "And a quiet old lady whispering 'hush'," he said the last word in a loud whisper.

"Goodnight room, goodnight moon…" Brendon recited even though the other side of the phone had gone very quiet. Finally he finished and he listened for any stirring.

"He didn't make it past 'goodnight bears'" your whispered voice came over the line. "I'll see you when you get home. I love you."

"Love you too, give the kids a hug for me," he nodded to Emily to end the call. After the phone call ended, it was business as usual. Gone was Brendon the Dad and Dr. Park returned.

[mareenaauditore]

Claimed in Ink

Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x Wifey! reader

Summary: Princess, Perlah, and Trinity gossip after hearing rumors from the Ortho floor about Park The Shark and some... tattoos? Warning: None... I think? Words: 1213 (Short one, sorry) Taglist: @my-whole-brain-is-crying @leksi-rae @chelle-1515 @minienix @mythologicallyversed @mxtokko @tears-of-acid-and-sluts @susp3ndedindusk @helenaellie @rei-scorpio @ivy-stuffs @dutch3-10 @catharticdesire @sidneysidney123 @fics-from-the-dead @eddiemunsonguitar @thedragonsrose @mynameisbaby9 @simply-lovley44 @dr3obsessed @mayabbot @bbblackmamba @harryswizzle @alphafemale-15 @rabbotseatcarrots @b38596012 @lipsunsmokedcigarette @pastlecow @kingtitus @stevieharrington71 @asfaraslifegets @noyaisasimp @loki-trickst3r @miahelen @xoxoloverb @brown-eyes-cello-and-books @seitmai @boricuas-fic-recs @outpostsworld @ohheyitssj @thedragonsrose @justanothersadperson93 @hcrm @vastscoutweapon @multifandom301 @travelingmypassion @carson1gg @mintoblobo @redhooduwu @twdhtgawm @annabethboleyn @ichibella @ramenblutte @happyendingarentreal @gardeniarose13 @jgoose13 @ilocuras24 @noxytopy @barnes70stark

Hello! I'm back, more or less, I feel a bit better. I know this is a short one and it's not much, but I needed to start gently. I hope you like it. Tell me what you thot in the comments.💜💜💜💜

The murmur in the Hub was the usual one for the late hours of the afternoon: a mix of monitor beeps, hurried footsteps, patient complaints, and the latest gossip of the day. You were typing quickly in the South 16 chart, focused on leaving everything spotless before the shift change, but your husband's name cut thru the air like a scalpel.

“Did you hear? Park the Shark has a tattoo” Princess said, leaning toward Perlah and Santos with a mischievous smile.

You stopped the movement of your fingers, but you didn't look up. You knew perfectly well which tattoo he was referring to; after all, it was your hands that were inked on the skin of his broad shoulders.

“Park?” Santos let out an incredulous laugh “But that man takes care of his body more than any of us. I highly doubt that's true. Where did you get that from?”

"One of the Ortho residents saw it in the locker room," Princess insisted in a whisper that echoed down the hallway. “He said they are fingerprints. Tattooed hands on his shoulders”

“Hands?” Perlah whistled, impressed “How... specific. I didn't imagine that from such a serious man. So we assume he's married? Because I don't think he would have tattooed the hands of a stranger.”

You felt a sudden warmth rise up your neck. "Yes, it is, and I'm less than two meters away from you, nosy," you thot with amusement. If they only knew what Brendon was like outside the hospital...

You finished the record and left the tablet next to the others, catching the group's attention.

“South 16 is already ready for the relay” you said in a steady tone, although inside you were dying of laughter.

“Honey, what do you think?” asked Princess “Do you think Park hides ink under his uniform? Or that he's married? I don't know if any woman would put up with his humor. It seems he enjoys biting”

“I don't get involved in those things, Princess. You know perfectly well. I will only say that he is an excellent surgeon, mood swings included” you replied with rehearsed neutrality “What he does with his skin or his private life is his business.”

You walked toward the locker room, feeling their curious gazes. Just then, the elevator doors opened and the imposing figure of your husband emerged. Brendon, impeccable in his surgical scrubs, with that severe and biting expression that had earned him his nickname.

You shared a single glance that said it all.

He didn't stop, but his blue eyes lingered on yours a second longer than professionally acceptable. You noticed how his jaw subtly tightened, a signal only you knew how to interpret: he was hiding a smile.

“Doctor L/N," he said with his deep voice as he passed by your side. It was just a brush of shoulders, but enough to make your skin crawl. Your husband knew perfectly well how to provoke you with the least effort.

“Doctor Park” you replied without your voice trembling.

You entered the locker room and leaned against the lockers, sighing before you started changing out of your uniform and into your street clothes. Barely two minutes later, the door opened. You didn't need to turn around; you would recognize the cadence of his steps anywhere. Brendon locked the bolt and crossed his arms, blocking the exit.

"So the rumor about your mark on my body has already spread, huh?" he said with that icy sharpness that terrified the residents. “I heard Princess as soon as I got off the elevator. Our "little secret" is starting to show cracks”

“I told you the residents have hawk eyes and that our colleagues are professional busybodies with a gambling problem” you teased, approaching him to gently tug at his stethoscope “Now everyone knows that the great Park the Shark has an owner. Does it bother you?”

Brendon took you by the waist, pulling you against him with a possessiveness that would have left the entire hospital speechless. His hands slid down to your hips as he sought your neck with his lips.

“It annoys me that they think it's just ink” he whispered against your skin, before biting you gently “I should tell them that these hands are real and that I have belonged to their owner for years.”

“Brendon, we're at work” you reproached weakly, although your fingers were already tangled in his neck.

“Then finish tidying up and let's go home” he growled with a dangerous urgency “Because if I have to endure another question from Santos about "my wife," I'm going to end up kissing you in front of everyone so they have something real to talk about.”

You let out a small laugh as he pressed you harder against the door, reminding you who was in control right now. You reluctantly pulled away, finishing closing your locker while he watched you with an intensity that made your legs weak. That look in his eyes promised a nite of passionate and unrestrained sex, good thing tomorrow was your day off.

You both left the locker room a couple of minutes apart. In the Hub, Princess and the others continued their bets on the "mysterious Mrs. Park," but when they saw Brendon pass by with his usual predatory stride, a deathly silence fell; Ahmad had the sense to quickly hide the bundle of betting money. Your husband didn't even look at them; he walked straight to the exit, but just before disappearing thru the automatic doors, he brought a hand to his shoulder and deliberately pulled aside the fabric, revealing part of the tattoo while giving you a fleeting glance full of promises.

Minutes later—after handing over to the nite shift—you found him in the parking lot, inside his BMW X-6 with the engine running. As soon as you closed the passenger door, Brendon didn't wait; he leaned over you, capturing your lips in a kiss filled with urgency, love, and all the words that couldn't be said in the halls of the PTMC.

"Tomorrow," he whispered against your lips, with breathless excitement and that fiery blue gaze he reserved just for you, "I plan to make the most of every minute of our day off to remind you why you married me and why I carry your hands etched on my skin, baby. You're not going to want to get out of bed.”

“I never want to get out of bed, Bren, not when I have you fucking naked next to me” you joked, leaning your head back against the seat “I love you, Big guy”

His hand moved from your cheek to squeeze your thigh with a silent possessiveness before starting the car.

“And I love you, my fucking beautiful, perfect, and intelligent wife”

You left behind the hospital, the mystery of the tattoo, and the "secret wife," while you sank into the leather seat, sighing with satisfaction. You touched your lower lip, still sensitive from his kiss, knowing that in your next shift Ahmad's bets and Princess's whispers at the Pitt would be the least of your worries; the truly interesting thing would be hiding the new marks Brendon planned to leave on you that nite and the next.

[mareenaauditore]

The Testaments Au:

I shouldn't say that I started watching The Testaments and began to get an idea about Brendon being a Commander (who is really a spy for Mayday) And they end up marrying him off to the reader who, ironically, is also a spy, and neither of them knows it about each other. Not when I have 17 pending requests, 3 more ideas to carry out, and 2 sequels… All this while I'm struggling to even sit down to write… I'm fucked. And poor @lulascr007 , instead of telling me to slow down, she encourages me and drops a brainstorm on me. If you see this, don’t act innocent in the comments, Lulu; it doesn't suit you, you Tasmanian devil.

[mareenaauditore]

Status: The Shark requests.

Hi everyone. I’m so sorry for the radio silence regarding the Brendon 'The Shark' Park requests. I wanted to apologize for the delay. My mental health hasn't been great lately—between grief, anxiety, and depression, everything feels like a mountain. I’m doing my best to get back to a functional state, but it’s taking time.

I want you to know that it’s not that I’ve stopped writing—I still have plenty of ideas—but carrying them out has become an uphill battle. It’s taking me so much longer than usual to finish anything. I feel terrible because I feel like I’m disappointing you all, and it’s hard when I'm barely feeling functional.

Thank you for being such a supportive community and for ypur patience while I try to navigate this.

Taglist:

@my-whole-brain-is-crying @leksi-rae @chelle-1515 @minienix @mythologicallyversed @mxtokko @tears-of-acid-and-sluts @susp3ndedindusk @helenaellie @rei-scorpio @ivy-stuffs @dutch3-10 @catharticdesire @sidneysidney123 @fics-from-the-dead @eddiemunsonguitar @thedragonsrose @mynameisbaby9 @simply-lovley44 @dr3obsessed @mayabbot @bbblackmamba @harryswizzle @alphafemale-15 @rabbotseatcarrots @b38596012 @lipsunsmokedcigarette @pastlecow @kingtitus @stevieharrington71 @asfaraslifegets @noyaisasimp @loki-trickst3r @miahelen @xoxoloverb @brown-eyes-cello-and-books @seitmai @boricuas-fic-recs @outpostsworld @ohheyitssj @thedragonsrose @justanothersadperson93 @hcrm @vastscoutweapon @multifandom301 @travelingmypassion @carson1gg @mintoblobo @redhooduwu @twdhtgawm @annabethboleyn @ichibella @ramenblutte @happyendingarentreal @gardeniarose13 @jgoose13 @ilocuras24 @noxytopy @barnes70stark

[mareenaauditore]

The Tiktok Lift Challenge

Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x Wifey Sunshine! reader

Summary: Sunshine's back at it with TikTok ideas, Brendon's offended that she’s questioning his strength, and one of the babies decides to crash an intimate moment. Warning: Swearing, Brendon Park himself, Age difference, Height difference. Grumpy and Sunshine. Words: 1471 Taglist: @my-whole-brain-is-crying @leksi-rae @chelle-1515 @minienix @mythologicallyversed @mxtokko @tears-of-acid-and-sluts @susp3ndedindusk @helenaellie @rei-scorpio @ivy-stuffs @dutch3-10 @catharticdesire @sidneysidney123 @fics-from-the-dead @eddiemunsonguitar @thedragonsrose @mynameisbaby9 @simply-lovley44 @dr3obsessed @mayabbot @bbblackmamba @harryswizzle @alphafemale-15 @rabbotseatcarrots @b38596012 @lipsunsmokedcigarette @pastlecow @kingtitus @stevieharrington71 @asfaraslifegets @noyaisasimp @loki-trickst3r @miahelen @xoxoloverb @brown-eyes-cello-and-books @seitmai @boricuas-fic-recs @outpostsworld @ohheyitssj @thedragonsrose @justanothersadperson93 @hcrm @vastscoutweapon @multifandom301 @travelingmypassion @carson1gg @mintoblobo @redhooduwu @twdhtgawm @annabethboleyn @ichibella @ramenblutte @happyendingarentreal @gardeniarose13 @jgoose13 @ilocuras24 @noxytopy

The nighttime silence had taken over the attic; an absolute contrast to the synchronized cries of your daughters, which had only calmed down after a diaper change, breastfeeding, and several minutes of rocking. The stillness was so profound that one could hear the slow breathing and calm suckling of the babies thru the monitor on the kitchen countertop.

Brendon was standing with his back to her, taking a bottle of water out of the fridge. He was wearing a gray cotton t-shirt that fit snugly over the breadth of his shoulders and sweatpants that hung low on his hips, just the way you liked it; especially when he wasn't wearing anything else and you could see the "V" of his abdomen. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him. Then, you remembered that TikTok trend and had an idea: you wanted to see if he could lift you without grunting from the effort.

"Bren" you called him in a whisper.

He turned slowly, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. His blue eyes, somewhat tired, fixed on you. A spark of curiosity crossed his face upon noticing the mischievous expression on yours.

"Tell me, Doll. What's going on in that pretty little head of yours?"

"It's just that... I have a question. A very specific question" you took a step toward him, closing the distance.

You stopped just a few centimeters away, forcing him to lower his gaze to meet yours. Brendon placed the bottle on the countertop and crossed his arms, a pose that made his enormous biceps visibly tense under the gray fabric.

"I'm all ears. What doubt torments my sexy and perfect wife?"

"I want to know..." You paused, trying not to blush at his words, scanning his broad torso before returning to his precious blue eyes "if you can lift me up. Right now."

Brendon raised an eyebrow, incredulous at the fact that you actually doubted his ability. A lopsided smile, laden with that arrogance you liked so much, appeared on his face.

"Can I lift you?" he repeated with a hoarse laugh. "Doll, I'm an orthopedic surgeon. I spend the day manipulating bones and relocating joints. I weigh ninety-five kilos and my body mass index is almost all muscle. Are you really asking me if I can handle you? Precious, to me you weigh the same as a wet blanket."

"I don't know," you ran a finger slowly across his chest, enjoying the firmness of the muscle. "Maybe paternity leave has softened you up. Maybe your muscles aren't what they used to be after skipping so many gym sessions."

Your words were the trigger. The spark of amusement in his eyes transformed into something much darker and possessive. He took the last step toward you, invading your personal space and enveloping you in his scent of cedar, sandalwood, and that subtle trace of baby cologne that already seemed part of his DNA.

"Softened? " he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerously low register, almost a growl "Come here."

Before you could react, his large, warm hands slid under your thighs, squeezing with both tenderness and firmness. He lifted you effortlessly, as if you were a feather. Your feet lifted off the ground and, instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck.

There were no complaints or sounds of effort. There was no hesitation. Brendon held you in the air, pressing you against his body with that overwhelming strength of his. Your breasts, sensitive from breastfeeding, pressed against his torso, and the friction ignited an immediate spark.

It was then that you heard it.

It wasn't a sound of physical effort. It was a deep, guttural growl, trapped in his throat. A sound of pure masculine excitement at feeling your weight, your warmth, and your surrender to his strength.

You shuddered at the feeling of the vibration against your own chest.

Brendon buried his face in the hollow of your neck, inhaling your scent of citrus, breast milk, and baby—a combination that excited him more than he would ever admit—while holding you even tighter. His hands gripped the back of your thighs.

"Don't ever question my strength again, Doll," he growled against your ear, his hot breath making you shiver. "I could carry you like this all fucking day. And the whole damn nite."

He took you a few steps back, cornering you against the kitchen wall without letting you go. He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes; his expression was a mix of triumph and wild desire.

"Are you satisfied with the demonstration, Babydoll?" he asked in a raspy voice. "Because I'm not. Not after that sound you made me let out."

The electric tension filled the air, but mischief returned to shine in your eyes. You felt his erection pressing against you, hard and obvious. You let out a nervous giggle.

"Bren..." You murmured, trying to catch your breath "I have to confess something to you"

He raised an eyebrow, still with that dark and dominant look.

"If you're going to confess to me that you want me to carry you like this to bed, I already knew," he answered smugly.

"It's not that. Well, not just that. It was a TikTok challenge. I'm supposed to see if my partner grunts when I get up to check how much effort it takes..."

The silence that followed was absolute. Brendon's expression went from pure excitement to total disbelief.

"Are you telling me... "his voice dropped an octave, becoming dangerously calm, with a hint of amusement "that you have used your husband, a renowned surgeon who instills terror throughout the hospital, as a social media experiment?"

"It was a success! "you exclaimed, amused by his indignant expression "You didn't grunt from the weight, but that other sound you made... Bren, I'm going to have to change my underwear... because you've left me completely wet."

"I guess I'll have to fix it then."

The atmosphere was charged with a dangerous and exciting electricity; Brendon had already started marking your neck with hungry bites while his hands squeezed your thighs with need, as if he wanted to remind you who you belong to. But, just as one of his hands left your thighs to slide under your shirt, a sharp sound cut thru the air, breaking the bubble of desire and intimacy between you.

Waaa... Waaa...

Willow's cry echoed thru the kitchen monitor with an urgency that only a hungry or cuddly baby can have.

He stopped dead in his tracks, his forehead pressed against yours and his breath erratic with excitement. Brendon closed his eyes tightly, letting out a sigh that was half resignation and half frustration. It wasn't the first time this had happened, nor would it be the last.

"Tell me it's a hallucination and go back to sleep," he growled, still not letting you go, although the tension in his body had shifted from predatory husband to overprotective father.

"I'm afraid not, Big Guy. It's your Baby Shark claiming her daddy" you whispered with an apologetic smile, even tho you were also dealing with the frustration of the interrupted moment; however, you wouldn't change it for anything, and you know he wouldn't either.

He slowly lowered you, allowing your feet to touch the cold kitchen floor, but he didn't let you go immediately. He planted a chaste but firm kiss on your lips, a kind of "to be continued" that left you trembling.

"It's incredible," he murmured, straightening up and running a hand thru his tousled hair. "They have radar. Above all, Willow; she knows exactly when I'm about to fuck her mother... MY wife" He interrupted himself, looking at the monitor with resignation "I'll take care of it. Unless she's hungry, in which case I'm afraid she'll want you and your precious breasts..."

You watched him walk toward the stairs, those sweatpants still dangerously low and that broad back you had just scratched. Despite the exhaustion and the cries that filled the house, you couldn't help but think that your husband looked even more imposing and fucking sexy carrying a baby in the middle of the nite than he did at work in his surgical uniform.

Seconds later, the crying stopped. Silence returned to the attic, but this time it was filled with the image on the baby monitor: Brendon rocking one of your little ones in the dark while the other slept peacefully in the crib.

Brendon feared being like his father, when he was actually the complete opposite. He would give anything for his girls, at any moment. He was the best father in the world, the little ones didn't know how lucky they were to have him.

Not yet, but they would in time, as they grew.

[mareenaauditore]

I’ve come up with an x reader idea featuring a hostage situation based on Season 4, Episode 19 of Chicago Med. The question is who... do we want it to be a sort of post The Shark's Debt scene? Keeping in mind that you'd have to wait for me to finish writing Part 2 and for Luna to translate it. Or do we want the reader to be with a different 'hottie' from ER? P.S. I’m sorry if I’m not uploading as much as usual; I’ve been having some pretty bad and difficult days lately.