I am in my mid 20s and in law school! I rejoined tumblr after "growing up" on this website. I deleted my old blog a while ago as I was completely unable to immerse myself back in the space my 16-year-old self occupied (seeing my thoughts was harrowing). I am happy to be back and ready to embrace this space in whatever ways I want.
I don't entirely know what I want to do with this blog. I have goals of evolving my creativity and slaying harder in school. Therefore, this blog will be doing that. AND it will be interacting with the fandoms that I am obsessed with. Right now, The Pitt, COD, and AKOTSK (randomly, lowk haven't even seen lol -- but then again, I haven't played COD) have my full attention hehe.
Links
Jack Abbot (The Pitt):
Untitled Jack Abbot x neighbor!reader drabble
Brendon Park (The Pitt):
A Court Date P.1 Brendon Park x lawyer!reader
Verdict in Your Favor (A court Date P.2) Brendon Park x lawyer!reader
Can't Cramp the Shark's Style Brendon Park x AFAB!reader SMUT
Doctors, Depositions, and Desire Brendon Park x female!lawyer !reader
Untitled Brendon Park x AFAB!reader SMUT
To Love Me Is To Suffer Me Brendon Park x AFAB!reader SMUT
My Kink Is Karma P.1 Brendon Park x AFAB!reader
My Kink Is Karma P.2 Brendon Park x AFAB!reader SMUT
In the process of writing a slowish burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity trope for Brendon Park x Female!reader. Nowhere close to done but I want to gauge if people prefer one complete fic or multiple parts that come out periodically (as I continue working on the fic)
In the process of writing a slowish burn, enemies to lovers, forced proximity trope for Brendon Park x Female!reader. Nowhere close to done but I want to gauge if people prefer one complete fic or multiple parts that come out periodically (as I continue working on the fic)
I fucked up a job interview so bad today they asked me why I wanted to work at this fast food restaurant and I blanked and said that when I was little I liked their fries and wanted to be the French fry queen
f!reader, smut mdni, PIV, blood, mentions of violence, size kink.
You only notice it because your hand slips.
It had been curled at the back of his neck, fingers buried in his hair beneath the edge of his mask, holding on until your knuckles went bloodless because there is nothing else to do when Simon Riley is above you like this; one forearm braced beside your head, your knees spread and pulled back to your chest, his weight pressing you into the mattress with his hips grinding slow and mean like he has all the time in the world to ruin you.
You’re boneless under him - open-mouthed, shaking, letting him take you apart more and more with each of those deep, deliberate strokes that make your thoughts scatter into useless little pieces.
All is perfect until your hand slips, and you feel your thumb drag over something tacky.
You blink up at him through the haze, thinking maybe you’re imaging things - but then you see it. There, smeared dark along the thick column of his neck, just under his jaw.
Blood.
Your mouth moves before your brain catches up. “Simon—”
He stops, buried balls deep inside you. His eyes lift to yours from beneath the black smear of his paint. Brown eyes gone flat and dangerous.
“What?”
Your fingers swipe at his throat, and then pull back to show him your now candied fingertips. “You’re bleeding.”
For a second, he just stares at you.
Then his mouth shifts beneath the mask. “S’not mine.”
The room seems to go airless around you. For a moment, your brain does not know what to do with the words.
Not mine.
They land somewhere distant - muffled by euphoria and the heat of him still seated inside you. They should mean something immediately - they should send you upright, sober you, sharpen you. But you’re too gone beneath him, too pliant and overheated and pinned, your thighs trembling around his waist while he stays buried deep enough that every breath you take has to move around him.
So you just stare at him.
At the dark paint around his eyes, at the blood smear, at the shape of his shoulders above you. You stare long enough that the unusual details begin arranging themselves in whatever clear space you’ve got left in your mind.
His gloves, first.
They’re clean. Fresh black tactical gloves, one of them still gripping your hip as he stares down at you in pause. You can’t shake the feeling that they’re different - you know his kit. You know the worn seams, the scuffs, the little frays on the knuckles from use. These aren’t the pair he wore earlier.
Your gaze flicks lower.
His shirt, too.
Not the one from briefing. Not the one with the faded shoulder seam and the dust at the collar. This one is clean, dark, newly pulled on in a hurry. You catch a faint whiff of barracks detergent and bathroom soap with every move he makes.
He cleaned up.
The thought comes through the haze in pieces.
Simon cleaned himself up before he came here but somehow, he missed this. One dark smear beneath his jaw.
You swallow. Your voice comes out thin. “What happened?”
Simon watches your mouth form the words.
Your breathing sounds too loud now, while his somehow stays perfectly even - like he isn’t pressed into you to the hilt - like he isn’t the reason your thighs are shaking around his waist. Like he didn’t come to your room with another persons blood still drying in the place he forgot to wash. He lowers himself closer and the mattress dips beneath the weight of him.
His masked mouth brushes the corner of yours, not quite kissing you but just hovering there - dragging the rough fabric against your skin as he speaks.
“What happened was,” he pauses. “Graves opened his fuckin’ mouth.”
A cold thread winds through the heat in your stomach.
You go still beneath him, even though your cunt is still fluttering helplessly around the thick of him. The name alone does something ugly to the room. Sours the air. Pulls the world back in around the two of you.
“What—” you have to stop to breathe. Your nails dig into his shoulder. “What did he say?”
Simon’s hand slides slowly from your hip.
His palm moves over your waist, up your ribs, dragging goosebumps in its wake. He maps you like he already knows every reaction he is about to get - like he can feel the exact second your pulse jumps. His gloved fingers skim the base of your throat and settle there.
Thumb resting over your pulse. Counting it.
“He said he’d wondered what you sounded like when you begged.”
Your breath locks. You blink at him, stupidly.
For a second, you can’t reconcile the sentence with the room you’re in. With Simon above you. With Graves’s name in Simon’s mouth and blood under Simon’s jaw and your own pulse hammering against his thumb like it wants to betray you.
But Simon says it like he has had the words sitting behind his teeth for hours. Like he has been waiting to put them somewhere. Like he needs you to understand exactly what happened to the man who said them.
“He said,” Simon continues, each word dragged low through his teeth, “that a mouth like yours would be wasted on 141.”
Your nails bite into his shoulder.
“I-I—“ you whimper. “Si—“
His hips move before you can say anything else.
A slow, devastating thrust that punches the air out of you and leaves the rest of his name caught uselessly in your throat. He watches you take it. Watches your face twist. Watches the thought you were trying to form scatter completely.
“That Price needs to put you in your place,” he hisses through his teeth. “That he’d have had you on your knees by now.”
Your stomach twists.
You shake your head, but you don’t even know what you’re denying. Graves. Simon. The heat blooming under your skin. The fact that the words should disgust you cleanly, but Simon’s voice saying them like a death sentence makes something dark and shameful coil inside you.
He pulls out just to thrust in again.
Harder this time - hard enough to break the breath right out of you. Enough to make the headboard creak traitorously behind you. Enough to make your thighs tighten around his waist before you can stop them.
Simon feels it.
“Then he looked at me,” he says, voice dropping into something ruined and vicious, “and asked if I’d taught you to take orders.”
Your heart slams so hard you feel it in your throat, pulsing viscously under his palm. The room narrows to three things - Simon’s eyes, the blood on his neck, and the place where he is still holding you down.
There is blood on him.
Someone else’s blood.
Graves’s blood.
The realization comes slowly at first, then all at once.
You see it too clearly: Simon standing there silent while Graves ran his mouth. Simon listening. The moment the Ghost stops being a man in a room and becomes a consequence. You see the gloves he must have taken off. The blood on the old pair. The careful cleanup after. The way he must have washed his hands, changed, checked himself in the mirror, decided he was clean enough to come to you.
Clean enough. Except for the one place he missed.
Simon watches the realization move across your face.
“Oh God.” You force the words out. “What did you do?”
Your voice is barely a whisper.
His answer is immediate. “I hit him.”
The answer is too simple, too small for the blood under his jaw and the hell in his eyes and that is only because you know Simon.
You know the careful economy of him - the terrifying restraint. The discipline carved into his bones so deep it has become part of his breathing. Simon does not hit men because he is angry. He does not waste movement. He does not lose control unless something in him has already decided the consequence is worth it.
He ends things because he has weighed the cost and found it acceptable.
Your fingers curl tighter in his shirt. “How bad?”
For the first time, something almost like satisfaction passes through his eyes.
His hips roll in one slow, merciless stroke and your back arches before you can stop it. You spread your legs and take him deeper; helplessly, embarrassingly, betraying every sensible thought trying to form in your head.
“How—“ you try to ask again, but the question fractures halfway through another thrust.
Simon lowers his mouth to your ear. “Bad enough Price had to pull me off him.”
Your stomach flips in something stupid. Fear should come first.
It doesn’t.
It should be horror. Concern. Anger. Maybe all three. You should shove at his chest. Demand to know if he’s lost his fucking mind. Tell him he can’t do that, can’t put his hands on Graves over his disgusting mouth and a half-formed threat. Can’t turn command into a blood sport. Can’t risk his place, his rank, Price’s trust, your trust, just because another man said something deserving yet ultimately meaningless.
But what blooms under your ribs is not sensible enough to be outrage - it is hot. It is fucking shameful.
It is dark and possessive and awful in the exact shape of him.
Because he heard another man talk about you. Heard Graves put his hands on you in theory. Heard him degrade you, heard him imagine you on your knees, your mouth, your begging, and decided violence was the only answer he trusted.
Your body betrays you before your pride can stop it - a tight little clench around him.
Simon feels it. Of course he does.
He stills above you, and somehow that is worse than movement. He’s pressed to the hilt again, the pressure of him so intense now it leaves your breath caught uselessly behind your teeth. His eyes narrow in something that sees the betrayal before you can hide it.
Your face burns.
“No,” you whisper, before he even says anything.
His mouth shifts beneath the mask. “Oh.”
The sound is low. Cruel in its understanding.
Your pulse kicks under his thumb. “Simon—”
“There she is.”
Your breath stutters, caught somewhere between a moan and a denial, and you hate that he hears both. Hate that he can read you so easily. Hate that your body has already answered him before your pride can even get its feet under it.
Simon looks down at the place where your legs have tightened, then slowly back up to your face. It’s a deliberate act; he is taking inventory of every betrayal.
“You liked that.” He croons.
You shake your head, but it’s weak. Useless. Barely more than the brush of your hair against the pillow.
“N-no.”
His thumb presses against your throat, not hard, just enough to feel the wild little flutter of your pulse.
“Liar.”
Your mouth opens but nothing comes out. You can’t find a single defence, a single outrage. No clever thing you can throw between you and the truth and it is all because he is still inside you. Still wearing fresh gloves like he thought that would be enough to keep you from knowing. Still carrying that one missed smear of Graves’s blood under his jaw like a secret he failed to bury properly.
And now he has caught you reacting to it.
Caught the hitch in your breath. The clench of your cunt. The heat climbing up your neck. The way your whole body went soft and greedy around him the second you understood what he had done.
Simon’s eyes go darker. Hungry in a way that feels worse than anger.
“You should be pissed at me,” he murmurs.
His hips pull back an inch - just enough to make you feel the loss before he sinks back in, slow and devastating, until your hands shift to grab at his shoulders because there is no dignity left in you. No clean line of thought. No clever answer.
“You should be callin’ me reckless.”
Another thrust. Your eyes squeeze shut.
His hand leaves your throat and for half a second, you think he is letting you breathe. That is until both of his hands find your own wrists and pin them firmly above your head.
Your eyes snap open to meet his, expecting full satisfaction, but what you see is worse.
It’s all of him - the width of his shoulders blotting out the dim light, the black of his mask, the hard set of his jaw beneath it, the blood under his neck, those steady eyes watching you like he has already decided exactly how much of you he is going to take apart before he is finished.
“You should be asking what the fuck I was thinkin’,” he says, and you can almost hear the grin in it.
You swallow. “You can’t—”
He moves again, and the words break apart in your mouth.
Your back arches and your fingers curl helplessly against his grip. Your knees shift higher around his ribs, dragging him closer instead of pushing him away, because apparently your body has no interest in helping you survive this with any pride intact.
Simon’s eyes drop to your mouth, then back up to the glass in yours.
“I can’t what?” He murmurs.
You try.
You really do.
You drag the sentence up through the wreckage of yourself, but he is too deep, too thick, too much. The stretch of him keeps interrupting every thought before it can become language.
“You can’t just—” your breath catches on a thrust. “You can’t hit him because he—”
“Because he talked about fucking you?” Your whole body jolts. His eyes burn into yours. “If that’s what you mean, say it proper. Like you fuckin’ believe it.”
You can’t.
Your mouth parts, but all that comes out is a broken little sound when he grinds deeper, cockhead bullying your walls slow enough to make you feel every inch of him, cruel enough to leave you trembling closer to the edge. Any sensible thought is drowned out by the wave of bliss washing over you.
Simon makes a low sound. A rough breath leaves him.
“Too far gone to scold me now?”
You glare at him, or try to. It doesn’t land.
And it didn’t stand a chance, either. Not like this - not with your lips parted and your eyes glassy and cunt stretched pathetically around him. Not with your wrists trapped above your head and your hips still trying to meet him every time he gives you another devastating inch.
“I’m, mmff—serious,” you whisper.
“So am I.”
“Simon—”
“No.” His voice cuts low through the room. “You don’t get to say my name like that while you’re grippin’ me tighter for it.”
Your breath leaves you in a gasp.
He feels the way you clench again, and you see it hit him. See the slight flare of his nostrils beneath the mask. The way his eyes flutter for just a second. The way something brutal and possessive moves through him before he can smooth it down.
“Mhm. Yeah.” His voice drops into something rougher. “Fuckin’ problem, you are.”
Your face burns hotter.
You want to deny it - you want to shove at his chest and tell him he’s wrong. Tell him it’s just your body. Just the position. Just the fact that he has you pinned and overstimulated and too cockdrunk to think straight.
But it’s useless because Simon would know it’s a lie.
He moves again, slow and deep, and the denial dies somewhere behind your teeth.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Nothing clever now?”
“Mmff.” Your nails dig into your own palms where he holds your wrists down. “Shut up.”
His eyes flash. “There she is.”
“I mean it.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do.”
He gives you another measured thrust, and your voice breaks around a gasp. Simon watches it happen with only the most intent focus.
“Try that again.”
You hate him a little. You want him too much for it to matter.
“You’re—” you inhale sharply when he pulls out almost all the way and then back presses in hard enough to make the mattress shift beneath you. “You’re going to get yourself benched.”
“Probably.”
“Price is going to—”
“Already did.”
You blink up at him, breathless and stupid. “What?”
His thumb drags once along the inside of your wrist.
“Read me the riot act.”
Your nerves jump at that. “And you came here?”
“Yes.”
Something in your chest tightens. “Why?”
Simon looks at you for a long second and the room almost seems to shrink around his silence. Your head swims with all of it; the blood under his jaw, the fresh gloves, the heat of him still locked between your thighs.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter. “Because I had to see you.”
God. You think he’s lost his mind.
“Simon—“ your back arches and his mouth falls to your neck. “That’s not—this isn’t—“
He lowers himself closer to you, folding you deeper into the mattress.
“You think I lost it because he insulted you?” You don’t answer. His thumb strokes once over the pulse flying at your wrist. “No, sweet’eart.”
His hips move again, slow enough to be cruel, deep enough to make your eyes flutter.
“I lost it because he thought about touching what’s mine.”
The words hit you low and you make a sound you do not mean to make. Your cunt pulses at the word. Mine. A catastrophic vulnerability to a word you will never ever tire of hearing him say.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “That’s what you like, yeah?”
You squirm under him, helpless. “Simon—”
“He said your name like he had a right to it.” His voice roughens. “Like he’d survive putting his hands on you.” The next thrust punches a feral moan out of you, and the pace turns to something almost vicious. “I had to let him know what mine felt like first.”
You moan, eyes shut. Helpless and needy as a whore.
He pauses again. One hand leaves your wrists and grips your jaw. “Look at me.”
You do.
“Another man touches you like this,” he whispers, a lethal rasp through his teeth, “and I’ll break every finger he owns.”
You shiver. His eyes flick down over your face, your mouth, the wrecked shape of you beneath him.
“And if he talks about you like that again?”
You barely manage the whisper. “What?”
Simon presses his forehead to yours. “I won’t stop at his face.”
For a long second, neither of you moves. Then he rolls his hips, and the whole world narrows back down to him - his body over yours, his hand at your jaw, Graves’s blood drying on his neck, and the awful, devastating tenderness in the way Simon kisses you like he is still trying not to become the worst version of himself.
One of your hands slip out from under his to touch the smear of blood again. Simon catches it and pins it back beside your head.
“Leave it.”
Your breath trembles. “Why?”
His eyes darken. “Because I want you to remember what happens when a man forgets who you belong to.”
And in the back of your mind, you think maybe you should argue. Maybe you should tell him you don’t belong to anyone or that this is crazy or that he’s going to get you both transferred - but then he does what he always does and starts fucking you deep and hard and mean - and your body reacts before your pride can save you.
Simon huffs a quiet, humorless breath. “That’s what I thought.”
Then he kisses you - filthy, possessive, furious, and fucks you like Graves is still in the room and Simon needs the whole world to understand it.
You’re Simon’s for as long as you’re both breathing.
Now that my kink is karma is over I need to write some nasty Brendon park smut but I’m always so nervous bc I don’t have as much experience writing smut (or fanfic in general) and I have such specific taste in smut. Like I hate reading the word “hole,” idk it irks me fr. I enjoy the explicit stuff but not like… that level of descriptive smut
Find part one here and part two here. Brendon Park x AFAB!female!reader
WC: 2.6k
CW: breakup angst, power imbalances, confrontation, harsh langugage, explicit language, alcohol and cannabis use, Crashtos in this because I said so, lots of comfort.
A/N: Dividers by @chrisssiren. Thank you all for reading this short series! I am so gagged by how many of you interacted with this. Love yall bad!!!!! Thank you guys for over 250 followers... I legit am shocked. Also, i'm sorry for the wait on this, I've had a harrowing two and a half weeks but I'm back baby!!
You were completely drained and left numb after the scary moment with the little girl followed by forcibly talking with Robby in the stairwell. It didn't help that after your discussion, he was terse when talking to you. Additionally, the motherfucker made it impossible to avoid him. Of course he was doing this. You'd hoped he'd heed your warnings, maybe listen to how angry you were with him but of course, he couldn't leave well enough alone. It wasn't just with you either. Robby was snapping at everyone, raising tensions, emotions, and anxiety throughout the Pitt. You knew that you weren't to blame for Robby's actions, yet you couldn't help feeling responsible for what was turning into an incredibly taxing shift.
You really didn't want to ask Brendon to come down and comfort you but you had been on the verge of tears for 10 minutes with no relief in sight. Although asking for things you needed was difficult, you knew he wanted to be there for you. So, with trembling fingers, you texted him, asking him to meet you in the on call room when he had a moment. You let out a deep exhale, not even realizing you had held your breath.
23 minutes later he said, "coming." And just like that, you were already beginning to feel soothed. But of course, nothing compared to when he opened the door and immediately, wordlessly, gathered you in his arms. Safe. Naturally, you began crying on him once again. Frustrated and humiliated by Robby's overt and pointed actions towards you; you were beyond hurt that someone you once loved was hell bent on exacting retaliatory pain. Plus, you were disgusted with what he said to you in the stairwell. The totality of emotions and the foundational unfairness and injustice of the situation were smothering you.
You weren't one to be a damsel in distress. You were independent, competent, and brilliant. That didn't mean you didn't need to be taken care of. To be comforted. Which is exactly what Brendon was doing. He was holding you tightly and gently swaying the two of you while his lips were pressed to the top of your head. He was even cradling your head against his chest. After a few minutes of that you let out a watery laugh.
"We have to stop meeting like this"
He let out a snort of laughter and said, "No I like meeting like this."
"Oh you like when people cry on you? You're kind of a sadist."
"No, I like being there for you when you need me." You could hear the frown in his voice. The rational part of you knew any disdain was directed at the situation and not at you, yet you couldn't help but worry you asked for too much from him.
Feeling like you wanted to address that insecurity, you replied, "I feel bad though. Like you have to keep dealing with me when I'm sad and crying on you."
Park leaned his head back and tipped your chin up to look at you when he said, "I'm not dealing with you. I need you to understand that I like comforting you. I like that you need me. Obviously I don't want you to be sad. But I'm glad I can be someone who you feel safe with."
His words brought on a new wave of tears. Being allowed to lose restraint for a little and truly feel your feelings while a reassuring, strong, trusted man comforted you was doing wonders for your emotional state. You had buried your face in his chest again and now, Brendon was slowly and absentmindedly rubbing your back. The tear streaks had dried on your face and your breathing returned to normal.
You weren't sure how long the two of you were wrapped together in the on call room. You couldn't bring yourself to step out of his embrace and return to your shift, which was decidedly less pleasant than being held by a hot, emotionally intelligent surgeon. Unbeknownst to the two of you, the reality waiting outside the on-call room included a very irate Robby.
Shaking his head and smiling in disbelief, Robby paced the hallway. Dana, who had been looking for Robby, walked up to him with her arms crossed.
She asked, "what's the matter with you?"
Unable to contain his aggravation, Robby said, " I've got two doctors fucking or fooling around in an on call room." His emotion was coming off of him in waves: palpable and dangerous.
Immediately realizing what was actually happening, a sympathetic expression formed on Dana's face, causing Robby to say, "no, don't look at me like that."
Not one to let Robby be hypocritical, Dana pressed him more. "Come on, you know you wouldn't care if it was anyone else. You're just angry because she's in there with Park. I know you don't want to hear this but tough shit. Let it go. You and I both know you got no leg to stand on here."
"Yeah well, regardless of what I did, it doesn't excuse this kind of behavior at work."
"What behavior? Having a partner come dry your tears after your boss yells at you in front of everyone? Sounds pretty reasonable to me."
Before Robby could respond, you and Brendon emerged from the on-call room. You, dewy-eyed and fresh-faced from all the tears were feeling better until your gaze landed on Robby. Fuck. Just as soon as Brendon built you up, Robby was about to tear you down. The only problem with that outcome were two very determined people: one Dana Evans and Brendon Park.
Dana broke the charged silence with a command for Robby. She said, "Ok, why don't you go cool off in the ambulance bay. Or go check on Myrna, huh?"
Ignoring her, Robby shook his head with that humorless smile and said, "I've gotta run my ER. Which I can't do when my residents are fucking surgeons in the on call room when they're supposed to be in triage."
Prepared to fight back against Robby again, you took a deep breath and.... and nothing. Because Park was pushing you, not unkindly, behind him. Shielding you and effectively putting himself between you and Robby.
"I've seen you lose your head before but this is a new low Robinavitch. Listen to Evans and cool off. I don't want to hear about you talking down to her or any of your staff for that matter." Brendon took another step towards Robby, trying to get him to back off. All in vain of course.
Robby's face was red and he was looking down with his hands on his hips. "Well this is just unbelievable." He leaned his back against the wall.
Brendon replied, "no, you're unbelievable and quite frankly should have stayed on that sabbatical."
Robby couldn't let that be. He looked up at him and said exactly what he shouldn't have said. "Yeah? Have fun with my sloppy seconds. This'll wear off."
As much Brendon wanted to pummel Robby into the ground, he knew he couldn't. He had to be the better man. One that actually had emotional regulation and didn't act on pure impulse without thought for consequences. Instead, Park said, "Yeah, keep being an immature little shit. See how far that gets you and your department. You'll be seeing me later, after my afternoon meeting, which happens to be with Gloria." Fuck. Something about a self-possessed man was so hot to you.
Scoffing, Robby stormed out of the hallway. Your chest heaved as you let out a breath you'd been holding in. Brendon was rubbing his hands up and down your arms. Dana smiled at the sight and said, "see you love birds later" She winked and left, leaving the two of you alone.
"I'd ask if you're alright but I don't like asking stupid questions."
You let out a snort of laughter and he grinned, victorious.
"Seriously though, if you aren't feeling like finishing your shift, go back home." Home. Brendon's brownstone: clean, familiar, lovely, wonderful.... As much as you wanted to be there, with him, you knew sticking it out would be better in the long run. Robby didn't get to have the last word and he certainly didn't get to have the power to reduce you to something small. No. You'd stay.
So you looked up at him through your lashes and said, "I know. I'm gonna stay though. I'll see you after the shift ends and my charting's over."
Park rewarded you with a warm smile, affection written all over his face. "There's my girl. Let me know if you want me to come down again or if you want to come up to me." He wrapped you in another hug and you breathed him in, savoring the moment and relishing the fact that he called you his girl. You knew you were but god... those words really did something for you.
"Thank you so much Sharkie." Without looking at him, you knew he was blushing again. He'd always blush when you called him "Sharkie." It was possibly the most endearing thing about the hulking man.
"Anytime sweetheart." He meant it. You knew he meant it.
You kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his arms before you finally let him go and returned to triage.
The thing was, deep down, Robby knew he had crossed the line and was being unreasonable. He couldn't seem to stop himself or reign in his reactions. He definitely couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of the two of you in the hallway after Dana left.
Robby's stomach felt like it had fallen into his ass and his chest tightened as cold dread flooded his body. This was the moment he truly knew it was over between the two of you. Even as you were clearly upset over the day's events (Robby's actions), you looked genuinely happy with Park. Sure, he'd seen you happy before. But this.... this was different. You seemed brighter, more sure of yourself. Even Park, known to be stoic and brooding, looked happy. Robby'd never seen the Shark so much as smile and now he was watching him comfort and support you. To make it all worse -- Park was comforting you because of Robby's dumbassery.
He knew he should look away. But he couldn't. Not when Brendon smiled at you and not when you kissed him on the cheek. It felt like someone had taken hold of Robby's heart and dug their hand in his chest and squeezed as hard as they could. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.
But... Robby had no one to blame but himself. He had so many opportunities to fix things with you. The countless times you asked, then begged, him to see a therapist and psychiatrist. Not to mention all the times you tried to talk to him but he shut you out. He'd built this reality, he paved this path. That's what was fucking him up.
And now he had to watch. Watch as you loved and were loved in return. Watch as you grew into the person he always knew you'd be -- he'd never considered that it would hurt so much to see you become this version of yourself that didn't include him.
5 months later
Brendon was hosting a game night for you and your friends (aka you and the Pittlings drink wine, smoke weed, and talk as loud as possible). As lovely as your new place was, it could never compare to Brendon's home. At least is was only three and a half blocks away from him!
Brendon refilled everyone's wine glasses before he took his seat next to you. Dennis had explained the rules at least two times but it didn't stop him and Trinity from getting into disagreements about the rules.
"God Huckleberry, you'd think we weren't on the same team the way you keep policing me and my plays!"
"I'm just trying to get you to play this correctly!"
"Yeah? Well what about when I ask you not to leave your nasty --"
"Guys!" Victoria butted in, hoping to steer them away from their argument.
"Sorry that I want us to play the game according to the rules! I don't see how that's--"
"It's so lame Fuckleberry."
You interrupted before the basically-siblings duo could keep arguing in circles and asked, "does anyone wanna smoke with me outside?"
"Fuck yes!" Trinity got to her feet and you quickly followed her, grabbing the joint and lighter as you two made your way to the patio space. You closed the door after you both stepped outside, the cool night air waking your warmed skin.
"Sooooooo..." Trinity said as you lit the joint.
"Yeah, Trin?" You said with it between your lips, words stifled by the joint.
"How are you and the Shark?"
Exhaling out smoke, you pondered her question. You guys were doing well. It was scary, as all relationships can be when vulnerability terrifies you. You'd never loved anyone the way you loved Brendon. He loved you unashamedly, unabashedly, loudly, proudly, and with no games and no keeping score against you. It was terrifying because you felt like you had so much to lose. Still, he made you feel secure and safe. Despite your fears, insecurities, and "baggage," you knew that he loved and cared for you. It was evident in his actions, his words, and his consideration of you and your needs or desires.
"Honestly really good. I don't know.... he makes me so happy and... I don't know. I love him a lot."
"God, you're sickening. Love sickening! Barf!" She proceeded to mime out gagging and you laughed, the weed and wine making everything sillier and funnier than it should be.
Handing the j to her you said, "as if you and Victoria are any better. You guys have been together for what? Like 3 months and you're worse than we are!"
"That's lesbianism for you. We're moving at the speed of molasses compared to other lesbians because we aren't living in the same place."
Laughing, you replied, "fair, fair. It is nice seeing you both so... like content and joyful." You smiled at Trinity and she bumped her shoulder against yours.
After finishing the joint, you two reemerged into a totally different atmosphere. Victoria, Dennis, and Brendon were laser-focused on a game. Not just any game -- Catan, which happened to be both Brendon and Dennis's favorite board game.
"Great. Now we're gonna be here all night."
Victoria sent a warning glare to her girlfriend and said, "what? Do you have somewhere else to be?"
"Careful crash." Javadi playfully rolled her eyes and returned to being locked in on the game.
You sat back down, next to Brandon of course and practically glued yourself to his side. Dutifully, he wrapped an arm around you but it wasn't enough. You laid your head on his legs and closed your eyes for just a minute. So, you fell asleep at your own game night. It didn't matter though. Brendon was entertaining your friends and stroking your hair while you slept. Hours later, you came to as everyone was getting ready to leave.
"Sleeping beauty has awoken!" Trinity teased you from the doorway.
"Shut up" Even though your limbs felt entirely too heavy, you managed to get up and hug your friends goodbye. Brendon closed the door and then you leaned into his chest. He pulled you in close, engulfing you in his embrace. Perfect.
"Thanks for hanging out with my friends while I slept."
"Hey I'm always down to play Catan."
You snorted into his shirt. All jokes aside, Brendon made an effort with your friends and the important things in your life. It was something you would never let go unnoticed.
"I know, I know. I'm just... grateful that you do all of this," you motioned around to the snacks he had prepared and the alcohol he provided, "I want you to know I appreciate it."
"You are probably the most grateful person I've ever met. You're welcome baby, even though you don't need to say thank you. I like your friends but more importantly I like and love you. I do these things because I want to."
You hummed into his chest: content, happy, tired, safe.
"Come on sweetheart. Let's get you to bed."
"Sounds like you want to get in my pants."
"Those are my sweatpants actually. And we'll revisit that idea in the morning when you're not so tired."
robby rats you out for calling jack a "daddy figure" during a father's day joke
MASTERLIST | RULES | PINTEREST
PAIRING jack abbot x reader
WARNINGS implied age-gap, sexual innuendo / 'daddy' kink language, public teasing and humiliation, flirty jack, caffeine levels that qualify as a controlled substance, threatening elders with sub-par retirement homes
WC 0.8k
REQUEST here!
Jack manages to intercept you before you’ve even made it to your third iced coffee.
You’re standing at the desk with a chart half-open in your hands, whispering to yourself as you read, because sometimes the information only becomes real if you say it under your breath in a running little stream of nonsense commentary.
To be fair, this is not remotely out of the ordinary for you.
At hour thirteen of a double, very little about you resembles a person operating under regulated conditions. Your ponytail is in the late stages of collapse, your notes look like they were taken mid-exorcism, and your whole body has that bright, fried, over-caffeinated buzzing to it, like if someone touched your shoulder right now you might either diagnose a patient or burst into glitter.
What is out of the ordinary is the shit-eating grin Jack is wearing when he steps up beside you and drops his forearms into the space to your left.
“Y’know,” he says, entirely too pleased, eyes skimming your face while his spoon clinks a slow waltz through the mug, “I had a really interesting handoff this evening.”
Your pulse skips a beat, already bracing for impact. “Did you?”
“Mm.” He takes an appreciative sip. “Robby’s a great storyteller.”
You had known, in the aftermath, that what you had said in a moment of fun might come back to bite you. You just hadn’t expected it to boomerang back this quickly. Or with Jack looking downright delighted to wield it.
Slowly, like it’s made of nitro, you lower the chart to the counter. “It was a joke.”
It’s not a good excuse, but it’s all you have on such time constraints.
“Was it?”
You lift your gaze to find him already studying you, lip curved in that infuriating almost-smirk, just enough teeth to say jackpot. Luxuriating in your discomfort. Wallowing in it, even.
“It was funny in context,” you insist, defensive squeak slipping out.
“Then by all means,” he says, lifting one hand. “Give me context.”
You skewer him with a glare. He merely idles, waiting like he has all night.
And yes you technically have the entire shift to burn, but unlike him you’ll be spending it duck-and-covering through live psychological artillery if the story’s made it to any of your other co-workers.
It started near the end of your first twelve, right as the ER tends to slide into a carnival of cranky zombies.
Espresso counts climb, call lights chorus, and every resident sprints on whatever’s left in their IV of vending-machine sugar and unfiltered determination.
Robby was hunched at the nurses’ station, glasses slid halfway down his nose, peering over Santos’s shoulder with that chronically jet-lagged look he wears like a spare ID. You shambled past, juggling a granola bar and a dog-eared chart, when the date finally flicked.
So you paused, gave the counter a jaunty little tap, and chirped, “Happy Father’s Day, Robby!”
He glanced up, weariness sharpening to confusion. “I’m… not a father.”
“Right, but you still do the whole dad-energy thing, so… honorary title.”
Santos snorted from behind the monitors. “Wouldn’t Abbott make more sense as your father figure substitute? He enforces nights like a walking curfew.”
You flicked her away with a granola-crumbed hand.
“Jack is… a daddy figure. Totally different classification. No offense, Robby.” Robby only blinked, owlish and exhausted. So, naturally, you plunged the shovel deeper, aiming a finger right at him. “And before you tell him, remember I’m technically one of the few people in this hospital who’d be willing to choose your nursing home.”
“I’m not that old.”
“You are to me.”
And then you had floated away thinking, stupidly, naively, beautifully, that maybe the moment had passed.
It had not passed.
It had apparently been preserved in amber and delivered word-for-word at handoff to the one man on earth who would enjoy it most.
Now Jack parks his coffee, arms cinching across his freakishly broad chest.
“So,” he deadpans, “daddy figure?”
You make a mental note to reserve Robby a retirement home where ‘recreation’ is a single dusty puzzle and reach for anything coherent you can muster, ignoring the impeding lump in your throat.
“Strictly taxonomy, Jack. Think kingdom-phylum-class. Father figure is, like, sensible minivan and Roth IRA energy. Daddy figure is an entirely different genus — high-performance emotional support with optional leather interior. Totally complimentary, I swear.” His eyebrow arcs; your hands start semaphore-panicking. “Not, like, kink compliments — just, you know, admiration for your, uh, management style.”
He’s silent for a second, eyes making slow work from your mouth to your nose to your own eyes. He leans in closer.
You try to dampen the fiery feeling prodding at the tips of your ears until his intense gaze. It’s hard to do.
“For the record, kingdom-phylum-class is an incomplete taxonomic ranking. You skipped order, family, genus, species. If I’m your daddy genus, what does that make you? Under the same umbrella, or something considerably more… subordinate?”
You sputter. Suddenly it’s a hundred degrees and you’re a busted radiator.
“That’s, um, well… I think we’re, uh, past my flash-card set.” You laugh-hiccup, cheeks on fire.
You wonder if he can feel the heat emitting from them.
Jack’s smile unfurls into full smirk. One finger hooks under your chin, tilting until panic meets espresso-dark amusement.
“Thought so,” he murmurs, stepping back. “Now run along, kid — Daddy’s got rounds to patrol.”
MARIA NOTE happy father's day to any who celebrate and especially mr dr jack abbot... clock out and come home, babe; the kids miss u ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋🌼🧺˚˖𓍢ִ🌿˚.
Hi guys! Sorry for the delay in my kink is karma pt 3 — I got a stress fracture in my foot and had my first week of work but in another city 😭😭 needless to say it’s been the longest week ever but I will be writing this weekend and hopefully have the last part up soon!
just Pitt or Hatosy characters fics that I love and re-read randomly ; most of them are smutty! NSFW!
Brendon 'The Shark' Park
Hooked by @rr-after-dark
After transferring to the Pitt in the middle of your fellowship, you manage to impress PTMC's meanest surgeon with your bubbly confidence, leading to you both catching feelings.
Love their dynamics and the smut is S+++++++
Dog eat Dog by @seraphk1ss
Big shark and little shark in the PTMC.
Felt like I got smacked hornily (is that even a word?) while reading miammmm
My Kink is Karma Part 1 & Part 2 by @novemberaster
In the midst of Robby's downward spiral, he ended your relationship and proceeded to be immature and treat you poorly. After time, healing, and reflection, you find yourself believing in something, or someone, again. Only this time, it’s with Brendon Park. This fuels Robby's lashing out at people as he finally gets his karma. Inspired by the Chappell Roan song
I wanna be taken care by Brendon too, also love the slight angst with Robby. CANT WAIT FOR MORE PARTS AAHHH
Cold Heart, Hands, and Aptitude by @seraphk1ss
Brendon is...
Very controlling Brendon just does something to me mannnn... Wish we had more toxic!Brendon on Tumblr
Jack Abbot
Artificial Lover by @opulentpeony
to make ends meet, you fix up old electronics and sell them for rations. one day, during a dig, you find a military grade android still completely intact, minus half a leg. it would go for a lot if you broke him down for the parts. but…you can't seem to get yourself to destroy him. even though all he wants is to die. because this whole time, the android has been sentient, waiting for the day his power supply finally gives out. until you give him purpose again. and now he'll do anything to remain valuable to you.
Such an original and interesting world build and the cnc is chef kisses. Story gives me a bit the same vibes as Eve & Adam by Michael Grant.
Juno & Bed Chem by @bambiiette
Porn snippets with Jack
Nothing else to say except for #délicieux
Whatever it Is by @popecodysgirl
Ever since you kissed your attending, Jack, he’s been avoiding you. On a night out, you decide to confront him, which leads to both of you confessing your true feelings for each other.
I love the idiots in love trope like YALL KISSSSED HELLOOO?? 10/10
Squirting with Jack by @ickology
Younger girlfriend squirting with jack abbot
Straight up delicious smut miammmm
Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch
House Rules by @dirtyb1rdy
when robby leaves pittsburgh for a three month sabbatical, you’re left house-sitting his apartment. what starts as the occasional check-in text quickly becomes part of your daily routine, and somewhere between late night phone calls, shared photos and thousands of miles apart, neither of you realise you’re falling until it’s far too late to stop.
Love how their relationship builds and the explanations behind it. Very delicious smut
Emery Walsh
Me to Use by @sapphicswph
Just porn with Emery
Wish I was her house wife :(
Andrew 'Pope' Cody
Pope & his possessive girlfriend by @sugartalkingwrites
Pope has a possessive girlfriend who's jealous of Cath and find icky tactics to make sure that Cath doesn't forget who Pope loves
LOVE THIS DYNAMIC I NEED MORE POSSESSIVE & ICKY READER FICSSSSS
Can you Feel the Tension by @polaris-daydreams
You like watching pope with his gun, so you convince him to use it on you
Gun play + Pope + obsessive & mean ? = I'm salivating
Samuel 'Sammy' Bryant
Sweethearts by @opulentpeony
You're Samuel's childhood crush but he never had the balls to pursue you until now
Not a fan of infidelity but this fic is so fucking good my gooooooddddddd and gun play makes me salivate
Multi
Sub Pet Play Part 1 & Part 2 by @loves-alibi - Dana/Jack/Robby
Dana and Jack have pet subs but unfortunately for you Robby is not well behaved
No comment except that I wish I was involved in these dynamics
Mama's gonna give you love by @annsfics - Baran/Robby
hardly able to take her eyes or attention off of you for months, baran finally takes the initiative to break the ice you seem so intent on keeping frozen between you. when she proves herself to be someone you can finally trust your heart with, she makes an offer to robby as well to join her in loving you, as she only wants for you to be happy and content.
Didn't see Baran this way until I read this fic and now I'm obsessed. The way she takes care of reader make me wanna flip my shit I love it so much
Like you Mean it by @thatfanficstuff - Rabbot
Jack and Robby don't go out much and when they do it's certainly not to the trendy new bar that opened a short walk away from the hospital. But when a patient promises Jack free drinks for him and a friend well... They weren't expecting much, then they saw you. When drinks end in the best sex of your life, you weren't complaining. And when they want to see you again how could you ever say no?
OBSESSED CANT WAIT FOR MORE the angst makes me wanna kms but it hurts so good
Threesome with Rabbot by @buckygasm - Rabbot
Straight up delicious porn
10/10 no words needed I wish I was involved in this :p
Dr. Brendon Park x AFAB!female!reader; ex!Robby x AFAB!female!reader (but like they aren't anything)
Summary: In the midst of Robby's downward spiral, he ended your relationship and proceeded to be immature and treat you poorly. After time, healing, and reflection, you find yourself believing in something, or someone, again. Only this time, it’s with Brendon Park. This fuels Robby's lashing out at people as he finally gets his karma. Inspired by the Chappell Roan song 🩷 This is going to be the first part of at least two, if not three part fic. I'll see where the story takes me!
CW: minimally edited/reviewed, discussion of depression, explicit language, breakup so angsty but also lots of comfort, reader has hair, suggestive language/scenes so MDNI, making out (mwah!), like not smut but almost, reluctant(?) proximity
WC: 3.9k
A/N: this isn't meant to be a complete dunk on Robby because he deserves healing and happiness too but that doesn't excuse the way he treated his staff! This was lowk inspired by me being peeved that Noah Wyle refuses to give us a night shift season and said that its primarily mothers going to the ER at night and its "boring." My friend's husband who is a night shift ER doctor would beg to differ. Anyway! Hope you enjoy. Also thank you for 76 followers!!!
It shouldn't have been a shock to you, not really. You'd just never thought that Robby would do this to you. He knew that kicking you out when you had nowhere to go was cruel but he did it anyway. As a resident, you were making crumbs while under a crushing amount of medical school debt. That’s why you were sniffling in the stairwell; overwhelmed, upset, and scared. Maybe you could pull a Whitaker and live in the hospital…. what the fuck had your life come to?
Overcome with more emotion, a new wave of tears rolled down your cheeks. You tried, unsuccessfully, to sob silently but to no avail. You wished more than anything you could cry at home but you didn't even have one of those anymore. Suddenly, a door above you opened and heavy footsteps were headed your way. You quickly wiped away your tears and prayed to every deity possible to make it look like you hadn’t just been crying. All too soon, you were peering up at Dr. Brendon Park, who had stopped moving the moment he saw you. Great. The least sympathetic person in the entire hospital walks in on this pitiful scene. He'd probably lose any respect he might have had for you just given the state you were in.
He stared down at you and slowly continued to approach. “What happened?”
You really didn't want to share the sordid details of your breakup with the Shark. Naturally, a fib fell from your lips. “Nothing.... I just, um, I have really intense allergies.”
He stared at you, silent, not even entertaining your obvious lie. Anyone could tell you’d been crying your eyes out because your eyes were watery, red, and your whole face was puffy.
Much to your surprise, he lowered himself on the stairs to take a seat next to you. This time when he spoke, he used a softer voice and asked, “are you ok?” You really weren’t expecting that. Which is how you found yourself sobbing again, but this time, into Park’s chest, wetting his scrubs with tears and snot. Park absentmindedly rubbed your back while you were calming down. It was grounding and soothing -- it felt nice.
You both sat in silence for a little longer before you finally spoke up. You figured he deserved a little explanation since his scrubs were ruined for maybe the rest of his shift. Plus, he didn't have to comfort you. He could have just as easily ignored you and went on his merry way. You wouldn't have even held it against him.
You cleared your throat and with shaky breath, you explained, “Robby, uh, robby just broke up with me and told me to get my stuff out of his place by tomorrow night. It would be fine if I had a place to crash but I’ll figure it out. I’m just… really fucking sad and mad at myself for letting this happen. I knew it was going to end soon, I just didn't think.... I'd hoped he wouldn't do something like this.”
You didn’t see it, still buried in the warmth of Brendon’s chest but his jaw clenched at your admission. What stupid asshole breaks up with their girlfriend at work and kicks her out?
“If you’re going to be mad at anyone, be mad at Robinavitch. That’s beyond fucked up.”
You weren’t sure why but that made you laugh. Maybe it was mania setting in or the ridiculousness of the situation but it was suddenly very funny to you. Your laughter bubbled up out of you, uncontrollable and bright. You still couldn't see his face, but he was smiling a bit to himself at the sound, grateful you had a momentary reprieve in sadness to laugh.
Brendon started to stroke your hair as you laughed and asked, “what’s so funny?”
Turning your head to look up at him, you said, “I just never thought the Shark would be the one to comfort me.”
He gave the slightest smile and said, “hey, I’m full of surprises.” Finally extricating yourself from him, you replied, "yeah, I guess so. Thanks by the way." Before you could start to get up, his warm hand gently wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.
"You can crash at mine if you'd like. I have a guest room."
You were sure your eyes were as wide as saucers. The Shark was offering his home to you? Were you dreaming?
"Yeah, that would be--," unable to help yourself, you asked him the obvious question, "why? Why would you offer your place, you don't know me very well and you're comforting me as I'm a wreck and I ruined your shirt--"
Brendon swiftly cut you off as he heard emotion rising in your voice again, threatening to bubble over. He looked you square in the eyes and said, "because that's what you need."
You were speechless. Who knew Park the Shark could be so kind? You rushed forward and slammed into his chest, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.
"Thank you so much!" Before he could respond or even hug you back, your pager went off and you ran out of the stairwell and back to work.
After your shift from hell, Trinity, Javadi, and Whitaker all provided moral and physical support by helping you gather your things from Robby's. Luckily (or depressingly), all you had were clothes, toiletries, books, your laptop, a few trinkets, and a couple random kitchen items, which all fit in the back of Javadi's car with room to spare. At least Robby hadn't come home while you emptied his place of the evidence you ever existed in it. Needless to say, you were choking back tears all over again.
Once the car was packed, you stared at the outside of his house for maybe the last time. Reality sunk in again and your mind swirled with aching thoughts. It was an end of an era, of a relationship, of a life with someone you loved. How could it be taken away so quickly and without remorse or concern for you? Your friends must have noticed you were on the verge of tears because you were quickly wrapped in a bear hug from all three of them. It wasn't like you guys to not bicker and tease -- you must have been in a really bad spot to garner harmony and support from the group. Once more, you allowed yourself to let go, lose yourself in your sadness, and cried into the hug, shaking and exhausted.
With a teary smile, you pulled away and said, "let's go see the Shark's lair."
Javadi laughed and said, "yeah, I still can't believe he offered to let you stay with him."
"Me either. But beggars can't be choosers."
Trinity sent a smirk your way. "Oh please, I think if you had another option you'd still chose to stay with Park, what with the fuck-me-eyes you give him during consults."
Your mouth dropped open. "I do NOT give him fuck-me-eyes!" Trinity simply kept her smirk plastered to her face and muttered under her breath, "whatever you say."
Truthfully, you did find the surgeon attractive. Come on, you clearly had a thing for older men. But he was.... something else with his imposing stature, mean stare, and big fucking muscles. But until now, you hadn't really thought about it all too much. He was eye-candy, off-limits while you were in a relationship. But now, you found yourself very much not single.
Huffing, you pushed the absurd idea out of your mind. The man was offering a place to stay -- it was against so many morals to be sexualizing the poor guy. You'd respect him and his home and absolutely wouldn't think about him that way.
Yeah fucking right.
The first hours at Brendon's was... awkward to say the least. Neither of you were sure how to interact with the other or move in the now shared space. Currently, you were sitting on the guest bed, attempting to scrounge up some courage to go back downstairs. You couldn't stay in your bedroom forever, no matter how tempting hiding away was.
Before you could stop yourself, you got to your feet and made your way downstairs. The closer you got to the kitchen, the stronger a wonderful aroma of garlic and olive oil became. Brendon was preparing something, you weren't sure what, but it smelled fucking delicious. Your stomach grumbled, effectively announcing your presence to him.
Brendon turned, and much to your mortification, said, "I'd ask if you were hungry but I think I know the answer to that." You dropped his gaze in shyness, unable to figure out how to respond. You should be grateful, and of course you were, that he was allowing you to stay and offering you dinner after what was arguably one of the worst shifts of your life. You couldn't help but feel burdensome and once that was added to your already full plate of emotions, you weren't sure what to do with yourself.
Noticing your internal distress, Brendon's brows knitted together in concern. Setting the spatula down, he completely turned to face you. "Hey, I didn't mean anything by that --"
Before he could get further into an absolutely unnecessary apology, you interrupted him, saying, "no, no, please don't apologize. I just, I feel like such a burden right now and I don't know when I'll be able to get out of your hair and I just feel bad that you're letting me stay and now you're making dinner. I feel useless and burdensome I guess." Wow. You weren't expecting this radical honesty to pour out of you, but clearly, you couldn't help it. It had been a long day and it was simply too tiring to try to jump through the hoops of deciding what to share and what not to share.
"You're not a burden. I offered to let you stay and I'm offering food because I want to -- I don't do things I don't want to do. I'm a surgeon, I'm not hurting for cash." Blunt, but true. He owned a gorgeous brownstone that would have Architecture Digest salivating at the opportunity to film. Natural light poured into the kitchen and because the sun was setting, it bathed everything in a beautiful orange hue.
Feeling a bit more comfortable, you truly took in his place. It was impeccably clean (of course) and thoughtfully decorated. Brendon watched you take in your surroundings, oblivious to his assessing gaze and clear desire to know what you thought of it etched on his face.
You smiled as you spotted some family pictures on his wall. It was sort of odd to see him smiling in the picture since it was so different to his intense no-bullshit vibe at work. "Woah, you have a huge family." You turned to look at him and he had his back to you once more, back to stirring whatever was in the saucepan.
"Yeah. I'm grateful for them, especially my sisters."
You hummed in response, continuing to browse but very much filing that piece of information away. A man with sisters tended to be such a green flag. God, you were like a dog with a damn bone. Your relationship with Robby hadn't even been truly over for more than 10 hours and here you were, noticing Brendon. But if you were honest, your relationship with Robby had been dead for a long time. He'd stopped giving affection long ago and foolishly, you stayed, clinging to the tattered remnants of what used to make you happy. There was a part of you that couldn't help it: you were a lover girl through and through, even at times to your detriment. You knew that the relationship was on life support, you'd basically been his emotional punching bag, but still. you hoped for better. Like a fucking fool.
As you mentally chastised yourself and got lost in your relationship rumination, Park's voice cut through the air again. "The two of them actually designed my place."
"No kidding. Gosh, they're talented. You'll have to tell them my compliments to the chef."
He chuckled and said, "they know it too. They actually co-own an interior design business. I'm lucky they put this place together for me." Fondness and affection seeped through his voice, obvious and unhidden. In one fell swoop, Park had completely undone the idea you had of him in your head. You'd unfairly characterized him as an unfeeling ortho bro, which he clearly was not. Maybe it was better or easier for him to be intense at work. After all, a great deal of responsibility and expectations fell to him.
Wanting to broach the subject of your stay again, you said, "so about my staying here...." Park turned around and gave you his attention, which felt heavy and set your nerves on fire.
"Yes?" Oh. He really wasn't going to make this easy. Upon seeing you floundering, he expanded on his short response, "I need you to use words and ask what you want."
His command, the sureness of his tone, made your thighs clench together. Jesus fucking CHRIST get a hold of yourself. You hoped with every cell in your body he didn't clock that reaction.
"I just mean, I'm not sure how long it will take for me to find a place I can afford that is safe and close enough to the hospital. Of course if you need me out of here by a certain time, I'll go. I just wanted to know if you had a timeline."
"No. It takes how long it takes. And you don't need to rush. You should be in a nice, safe, convenient, and affordable apartment. Don't worry about how long it takes." You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in. You felt relieved and reassured, which is honestly better than you felt even this morning, pre-breakup.
"Ok, soup's on. I made my grandma's minestrone." Brandon handed you a bowl full of steaming food and you knew it was going to hit so different just based on the smell and the family recipe of it all.
"I -- thank you." You were filled with emotion again and god, you wanted to stop crying in front of him and stop crying period, but he was just being so nice and caring. You knew you wanted to repay him somehow, eventually, but you didn't know what that would look like. No one had ever been so selfless and kind to you, especially someone who barely knew you.
You both tucked into your dinner and as expected, the minestrone was amazing. It was truly a comfort dish for you in this moment. Wanting to lighten the mood, mainly your mood, you said, "a surgeon, a cook, and a shoulder to cry on? What can't you do?"
He gave you a smile and replied, "like I said, I'm full of surprises." Now you knew that you would keep stumbling on these surprises, uncovering who he really was, transforming the way you saw Brendon Park.
After three weeks, you'd entered into a sort of routine with him, where you'd trade off chores. At first, Brendon vehemently protested, saying you were his guest and shouldn’t have to help, which you met with your own claims against being a freeloader. Reluctantly, he started to let you help prepare meals and clean. But grocery shopping... well that was a dual task. It was sickeningly domestic and even more disgustingly, you'd come to enjoy it. It was a sacred time with Brendon, where he was relaxed and sometimes teasing, which you ate up and relished. You enjoyed it so much you didn't even think about how you'd never done this with Robby until you were in the cereal aisle and Brendon put in your honey-nut Cheerios without needing to confirm you wanted them. It dawned on you how strange it felt to be... noticed. That really sucked to realize because of all the people who should pay attention and remember things about you, you'd expect it to have been your boyfriend.
After that, you couldn't help but continue to compare living with Brendon vs Robby. With Robby, everyday tasks were never shared. You'd actually preferred it that way because it felt natural with him and it seemed efficient at the very least. But with Brendon, even if it wasn't your night to cook, you were in the kitchen, keeping him company. Sometimes you two didn't talk; you simply fell into a comfortable silence and rhythm. Of course, you weren't in a relationship with Brendon but it felt so much simpler and lighter than mundane tasks with Robby. You didn't feel like you were constantly trying to please him or gauge how he was reacting to something. No. Brendon was blunt, honest, and didn’t like to play guessing games. It was incredibly refreshing.
At times, you felt guilty for how much you enjoyed staying with Brendon and seeing this unguarded, intimate version of him. The constant comparison between him and Robby didn't help either because no matter what it was, Brendon was always coming out on top. Fuck. This couldn't be healthy. You shouldn't want him, hell, you shouldn't even be thinking of him this way. Shame curled in your chest, sharp and demanding. You needed to get out of his house and fast.
As soon as you could, you opened your laptop to look at apartment listings while Brendon put away the groceries. You were spread out on the couch, pinching the bridge of your nose as you scrolled Zillow. So far, anything remotely in your price range was either in a questionable part of the city or too far from the hospital to be considered a reasonable commute. Park walked into the living room and sat next to your head, peering over you to look at the listings.
"Can't live there, that's where half the GSW victims come from."
Huffing, you complained, "I know, its hopeless to try to find a place on resident salary. I need to look into housing assistance or something."
Brendon hummed in response and you continued your efforts, in vain, to try to find an apartment. Absentmindedly, he started to play with your hair and it felt.... really fucking nice. You weren't sure when the two of you crossed the threshold to such comfortability but his casual touches and attention were more than welcome.
"I can ask my sisters if they know anything about that, they have a lot of connections with relators and landlords because of their business. And not slumlords, local landlords who are the most ideal form of landlord you can get."
You leaned your head back to look at him and said, "that would be really great, thank you so much."
Halfheartedly, you resumed your scrolling and he continued to play with your hair, which was making your heart beat out of your chest. Clearing his throat, he said, "you don't need to keep thanking me for everything."
Sitting up, you turned to face him on the couch. "I'll stop thanking you when you stop giving me reasons to be grateful."
Smirking he shot back, "is that a challenge for me to be an asshole?"
"Well, don't challenge my manners."
The air was charged with tension and now your heart was truly thumping in your chest so hard, you were convinced he could hear it. His beautiful blue eyes were sharp and alert but also two shades darker than normal. He licked his lips and your eyes hungrily tracked the movement. When you locked eyes again, you knew, god, you knew that he caught you.
"Wouldn't dream of it sweetheart."
When did you two get so close? You could practically feel his body heat radiating off of him. Your knees were touching and even that burned. You felt like a teenage girl again, like she was with her crush, alone for the first time. What's worse is that he seemed annoyingly, unfairly calm. He was relaxed into the couch, breathing completely normally. The only indication that he was affected were his eyes, which were now low and lidded.
You brought your hand to cup his jaw, feeling the stubble and savoring its friction against your skin. Your eyes traced his face, taking him in. To your delight, he had the faintest blush on his cheeks and you felt like the cat that got the cream. You felt like you were in a trance, a fog of desire that dictated what you did.
"I never thought I'd see the Shark blush."
Something dangerous flashed in his eyes at your teasing. You felt pretty pleased with yourself, rendering him into a blushing mess. Little did you know, you'd only have the upper hand for about two more seconds. Brendon nuzzled his face into your hand and kissed your wrist, pulling a gasp from you. Then he leaned ever so close to your face, lips brushing along your jaw, so, so, so close yet so achingly far from where you wanted them.
"Yeah? Well lucky you." He had the self-assured tone you'd heard from him so many times but now, it was making your thighs push together. Impatiently, you moved your head to finally capture his lips in a kiss. It started off gentle and exploratory, but soon enough, he had weaved a hand into the nape of your neck, pulling your head back to deepen the kiss with better access. You couldn't help it, you fucking moaned. He devoured the sound; devoured you. He was kissing the life out of you and you fucking loved it.
When you pulled away for some air, he chased your lips. Before he could reach you, you decided to climb into his lap. He groaned as your hips met his and placed his hands on your waist, squeezing you there oh so nicely. Your hands were everywhere, on his shoulders, then his chest, messing up his hair, and then gripping his biceps.
Neither of you knew how much time passed. You were lost in the moment, lost in him -- how he felt, smelled, and touched. You were no stranger to kissing, clearly, but... it was safe to say no one had kissed you like this before. You weren't sure if you could remember your name. The only thing you were sure of was that Brendon Park was taking you apart at the seams and you were only too happy to let him do so.
"Please, please, please..." You could hardly recognize your whiny voice and you weren't even sure what you were begging for.
"What, baby, what?" God, he was so sweet.
"I need you."
"You have me."
"No I need more of you."
At that, he cupped your jaw holding you away from him to look you in the eyes. "Are you sure?"
And because he always gifted you his honesty and bluntness, you knew you needed to return the favor. "I've never been more sure of anything. Yes."
"Fuck." It sounded like it was punched out of him, like he was in disbelief with what was happening. He gave you another sweet kiss and then he was pulling you up and leading you to his bedroom.
Brendon Park x AFAB!female!reader, ex!Robby x AFAB!female!reader (but they are sooooo broken up)
Find part one here.
WC: 3.7k
CW: discussion of depression, breakup angst (only a little), reader has hair, medical inaccuracies, explicit language, people yelling at each other, suggestive language and steamy/smutty scenes so MDNI please!!
AN: Thank you all so much for all the love on part one; it truly made my week from hell (finals week) much brighter! Sorry for the wait, after finals I was at a lake house that had no wifi lol. Once again, I feel compelled to say that Robby is still deserving of compassion, healing, and love but that doesn't negate being held accountable for his actions and words. Lowk that scene between Meredith and Derek inspired a little bit of one of the scenes. You'll know it when you read it!
A little over one month had passed and you were still staying at Brendon's. Each time you attempted to look at potential apartments, he'd ask you if you wanted to go on a walk, watch a show, or do literally anything else. You certainly weren't complaining, still, you wanted to be mindful of your burgeoning romance with him. You worried what other people might think about you jumping into (and on) something with Park. Of course, he dutifully reminded you that other people's opinions didn't matter.
Still, a traitorous seed of insecurity couldn't help but be planted within you -- what if he got tired of you? What if one morning he woke up and decided that he'd had enough? It wasn't like you had a whole lot of say over when Robby ended your relationship and kicked you out.
In fact, the circumstances were eerily similar: you, a subordinate with little financial independence were relying on your professional superior for a place to stay while being romantically intertwined. Deep down you knew that the two men couldn't be any more different. Where Robby gave you empty words and forgotten promises, Brendon showed you how much he valued you.
Even if things were going well with Brendon, you still wanted your own space. One that was entirely yours, a sanctuary from work and an escape from reality. Additionally, as much as you loved hanging around Brendon, you knew that you still needed to heal from Robby. That work and reflection should be done in your space and on your terms. You promised yourself the next time you perused Zillow in the living room and he inevitably asked you to do something else, you'd politely decline. Enter one stubborn man.
Brendon was at the gym and you were sprawled out on his couch, lazily looking at places while your laptop sat in your lap. You heard the door open and in walked a very sweaty, sexy Brendon. You loved him like this; disheveled, panting, wet with sweat -- you knew it was kind of disgusting to want him post workout but god, he looked so ..... biteable, kissable, fuckable. You were doing a poor job at hiding the fact you were checking him out. He smirked and stalked towards you.
With a rough voice he asked, "how about you join me in the shower?"
Mustering up as much self-control as you could, you said, "as tempting as that is, I really need to actually look for a place. So I can you know, get out of your hair." He grumbled at that and said, "I like you in my hair." You playfully rolled your eyes in response and tore your eyes away from him, very reluctantly, to continue half-heartedly searching for a place.
At this point, Brendon could sniff out your insecurities due to your former relationship a mile away. He hated that you thought you were a burden, an inconvenience and unwanted. He had no choice; he was going to pull out the big guns.
Taking off his shirt while maintaining eye contact, he tried once again. "You sure about that sweetheart?"
Well... no, you weren't sure. Now your discipline was wearing thin, as all you could think about was how much you wanted to climb that man like a tree. And the bastard knew, of course he knew the effect he had on you. It was written all over your face, with your glassy eyes and parted lips.
Determined to stay focused, you weakly replied, "I... I...um, no. I really need to find a place."
Leaning forward over you, arms bracketing the couch, Park started kissing down your neck. Hook, line, and sinker. What little restraint you had left was gone, gone, gone. Your eyes fluttered shut as you leaned into his touch. Then, his lips found your earlobe, gently sucking on it, eliciting a soft gasp from you.
With a husky whisper, Brendon said, "You don't need to search right now baby." He'd already had you at this point; he knew it and so did you. But he wasn't the kind of man to simply stop once he won. So, he kept going and what he said next killed you.
"You're not gonna make me beg, are you?" Heat flooded to your face, your heart jumped out of your chest, and most of all, you felt yourself clench around nothing. Almost effortlessly, he had you wet, desperate, and wanting.
Taking his bait, you breathily replied, "I'd like to hear the Shark beg."
At that, he rounded the couch, stepping in front of you. Practically in a trance, you moved your legs so you were sitting in an upright position. He then stepped in between your legs. You looked up at him and were met with his darkened eyes, blown with desire.
Slowly, he kneeled in front of you and you briefly wondered if he'd be able to see your desire through your flimsy pajama shorts. Any thoughts left your brain as he put his hands on your knees and started kissing up your legs. You watched with lidded eyes and lips parted in anticipation. No matter how many times you had been intimate with him, he always managed to make you feel desired, wanted, and needed in ways you'd scarcely felt before. He looked up into your eyes and with the most affected voice, said, "baby, please join me in the shower." Your breath hitched. And he continued reverently kissing your legs.
"Please." Another kiss. "Please." Dangerously close to your center, Brendon placed another kiss high up on your upper thigh. He lifted your shirt and you pulled it off completely, leaving you topless in your pj bottoms. For a moment he just stared at you, looking as if he was seeing you bare for the first time again. In a wrecked voice, he whispered out, "beautiful," causing your heart to twinge with affection. You knew you were beautiful but right now, he made you feel it.
Park's hands trailed up your abdomen, only stopping when they cupped your breasts. His thumbs rolled over your nipples, bringing them to stiffened peaks. Your head was thrown back, chest arching into his touch when you finally acquiesced, "shit, shit, yes I'll join you in the shower." Fuck your pride, fuck your restraint, and fuck anything else right now.
Despite finally accepting his invitation, Park didn't stop his ministrations. He started kissing your chest but never giving you the attention where you so desperately needed. He was a horrible, wonderful, patient, teasing man. No stranger to staying focused for hours on end, he could quite literally do this all night. You whined impatiently, and he finally took a nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue over you. A mewl fell from your lips and your hips canted up, chasing friction -- chasing him.
When your gazes locked again, an ineffable feeling hung in the air. It was more than desire, lust, or anticipation for what was to come. For a moment, everything was still. He was looking up at you, making you feel powerful and drunk on desire, drunk off of him. You brought your hands to his short hair and tugged, pulling a shaky breath from him. He loved when you got whiny, desperate, and a little bratty. It made his pants tighten all the more because he relished the opportunity to correct that attitude.
He got to his feet and offered a hand to pull you up. Lord knew you had wobbly legs at the moment. Still holding hands, the two of you made your way to his bedroom's en suite bathroom. Just before you entered his room, he stopped you both in your tracks. He'd had that look in his eye. The one he got when he was about to say something devastatingly hot to you.
"Now it's my turn to hear you beg."
And beg you would.
Later that night, your head on his chest while you both laid in his bed, you absentmindedly traced patterns on his skin. There was something you needed to bring up to him; something that was making you nervous in a way that caused your stomach to swirl. You knew Brendon appreciated honesty and straightforwardness but it could be overwhelming and daunting to speak your mind. You knew it was now or never though, so you cut through the silence.
"Brenny?" You loved to call him that. The first time you did, you were rewarded with sight of the tips of his ears turning pink. Brenny, Sharkie, and baby were your favorite nicknames for him. One time, Whitaker thought he could call Brendon "Sharkie" and found out the hard way that only you could call him that.
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"I uh, need to talk to you about something. I'm kind of scared to do it." At that he fully sat up in bed, putting his phone screen-side down on the nightstand, ensuring you had his full attention. He looked to you, silently encouraging you to continue.
"So Whitaker told me that Robby came back early from his sabbatical and is working again, which means he'll be back for both of our shifts in two days. I don't know... I'm worried about his reaction to us."
Brendon exhaled out of his nose and nodded. "First of all, I completely understand where you're coming from. I know this is the first time you'll be seeing him and working with him after the breakup, which is bound to be difficult." He grabbed your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of it. "Second of all, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Moving on is allowed. You're allowed to be happy. Whatever his reaction will be is entirely reflective on him -- not you or us."
He continued, "I know that you are more than capable of fighting your own battles but don't be afraid to page me if he gives you a hard time. Robinavitch can take out whatever angst he has on me, not you."
You don't know how you got so lucky with Brendon. Emotion swelled in your chest, gratefulness the strongest of all. But you weren't done being brave with honesty. Taking a big breath, you faced your fears head on again.
"That's not all. I wanted to be honest about the living together situation. Obviously, I am incredibly thankful to be staying with you. But I worry about you getting tired of me, or relying on another man for housing, or it being too much and too soon."
He looked down at his hands and panic rose within you, lighting your nerves on fire. Great. This was it -- the straw that broke the camel's back. Blood rushed through your body and you felt sick. Finally his gaze returned to your eyes.
"Shit, I'm sorry baby. I didn't even think about how you wouldn't want to be in the same position as you were before with relying on someone else for housing. I'm an idiot. But I want to get one thing clear. Even if, god forbid, we ended things tomorrow, I would still let you stay until you found a place that you liked."
Cue the waterworks. In a good way of course. This was the reassurance you wanted, needed from him. Your bravery and honesty paid off, as it always would with Park. Wrapping you arms around his body, you cried into his chest, just as you had in that stairwell many moons ago. He soothed you by engulfing you in his embrace and stroking your hair.
Still holding you tight, he spoke again, saying, "I'll reach out to my sisters tonight about those housing options we talked about. Something nice, affordable, safe, and near the hospital."
Your response came out muffled in his chest, "I can't thank you enough."
"You don't need to keep thanking me."
Looking up at him, you replied, "but I want you to know how grateful I am for you and everything you're doing."
"I know, trust me baby, I know. I just hope you remember that I do it for you, not for anything in return. There is no score to be settled here."
Fuck. Tears welled up in your eyes all over again. Attempting to lighten the mood, you said, "who made you so emotionally intelligent?"
"I gotta give my mom credit for that."
You smiled into him, taking another deep breath to calm down. Crying was exhausting. So you fell asleep in the Shark's arms, feeling safe and comforted.
Almost in the blink of an eye, it was time to go back to work and you found yourself getting ready for the day with a pit of dread sitting like a brick deep in your stomach. Brendon already had to go in for a scheduled surgery. He left you this morning with a kiss on your forehead and a text that read, "I'm here if you need me." Despite all of that, you were still nauseous, overthinking about what was to come. The only way out is through.
Taking a deep breath in the ambulance bay, you attempted to steel your nerves. Maybe that wouldn't work but you'd fake it until your shift was over. You walked into the E.D. without fanfare and your head held high. Dennis, Victoria, and Trinity were on shift with you and you knew they had your back. They'd cover you if you needed a moment of stillness.
With her glasses perched low on her nose, Dana called out to you, "about time you got here doctor. You're needed in triage." Thank god for Dana Evans, giving you something easy but that would keep your hands and mind busy. Of course she'd be looking out for you on a day like today. She was knowingly smiling at you as you walked up to her at the nurse's station.
"You are heaven-sent. An angel, truly. Thank you Dana."
She put her hand on your shoulder, squeezing you in support.
"You know I got you kid. And if it gets to be too much, if he so much as looks at you wrong, you let me know." With words failing as emotion caught in your throat, you simply nodded and headed to triage.
For the first three hours of your shift, things were blessedly fine. You could hear Robby but you were able to avoid him by taking any questions to Dr. Al-Hashimi. But by 10:12 A.M., your luck had run out. Your patient, a 3-year-old girl who had possibly swallowed a toy, suddenly began presenting with pulmonary distress. You jumped into action by securing her airway and screamed for assistance to administer oxygen. Robby came barreling in and his attitude caused tensions to run even higher in the room. Jesse came bounding in on Robby's heels.
Informing them what was going on, you urgently explained, "3-year-old girl who may have swallowed a foreign object began suddenly presenting with pulmonary distress." Her grandmother looked on in pure panic with guilt stretched across her face. She had told you she was her sole care-taker but it was extremely difficult at her age and energy level to watch such a young child.
"Forceps!" You requested from Jesse, which he quickly passed to you.
Aggressively cutting in, Robby spit, "no, we should get an urgent chest x-ray to see where the object is!"
Ignoring him you replied, "no, if she swallowed a plastic toy it likely wouldn't show up on the x-ray. We need to get out whatever is blocking the airway now!"
Robby looked like he was about to push you out of the way until you yelled out, "got it," as you pulled out a small toy that looked like a littlest pet shop figurine. The little girl, Julia, was coughing but thankfully breathing. Julia's grandmother sagged in relief and cried as she hugged her granddaughter.
"Oh thank you, thank you, thank you." Julia clung to her grandmother, who was giving you a teary smile that you returned. Although, with Robby's presence causing you anxiety, you feared it looked more like a grimace. He looked pretty pissed off for someone who just witnessed their resident save a 3-year-old with a medically accepted maneuver.
Breathing heavily out of his nose and a fire burning in his eyes, he seethed, "can I talk to you outside?" Your intuition told you this was about to get ugly but you couldn't refuse your boss. It was unfair and a million other things but you knew you had to follow him out.
"Julia, I have to step out but you're in great hands with Jesse." Jesse smiled at you and then Julia, trying to ease the tension in the room. With that, you followed Robby to what felt like your doom. For all you knew, it very well could be.
Robby led you to an empty stairwell with his arms crossed, anger and frustration rolling off of him. Once the door shut, he whirled around and asked, "what the fuck was that?" The thing about Robby was that it was impossible not to match his energy, stoop to his level and bite back just as hard.
Laughing without humor, you said, "that was me saving a little girl's life." Robby rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"Oh-ho-ho, no, no, that was you directly defying your attending's orders."
"She could have DIED if I hadn't done what I did. You're pissed that I was right."
Robby looked at you incredulously. "I guess fucking the Shark has boosted your ego. How long did you even wait to start warming his bed? I gotta be honest with you, I thought you were better than that. But this wouldn't be the first time I was wrong about you."
What. The. Fuck. The injustice of Robby's words boiled your blood and anger seared through you, scorching and burning you in the worst way. He had no right, absolutely no right to talk to you like that. What's worse is that he thought he had any authority to speak on who you were.
"You're fucking kidding right? YOU broke up with ME and kicked me out, fully knowing I had nowhere to go! How dare you try to slut shame me at all but let alone considering the way you treated me as if I was nothing! I fucking loved you, I tried so, so, so hard to make you happy while you hurt me beyond measure. You fucking discarded me as if I was garbage." Robby's chest was heaving, still furious, maybe not even absorbing your words. But you wouldn't be stopped. You finally found your voice again and he was going to fucking hear it.
Robby stepped closer to you, crowding your space in an attempt to intimidate you. "How much could you have loved me if you started fucking the first man who looked your way?" Although he was trying to get a rise out of You weren't going to defend your actions. You didn't have to. Now, you were going to choose peace instead of matching his energy. You stood your ground, tipped your chin up and had a challenge in your eye.
As calmly as you could, you said, "I expect you to treat me with respect and professionalism at our place of work. If you don't, I'm getting HR and Gloria involved. I mean it."
His face reddened in anger. "So now you're threatening HR and Gloria on me if I give you orders which you don't listen to or I give you directions you don't agree with? That's fucking pathetic."
"No, what's pathetic is you masking this as anything besides your anger at me for moving on. You knew I made the right call with Julia or else you would have pushed me aside. You're soaking in this vindictiveness for absolutely no reason. The only person you have to blame for me being with Brendon is yourself. So go back to being the 7-week-itch Robby and terrorize some other woman in this hospital with your emotional bullshit."
You don't know what came over you; words were pouring out of you. He needed to hear it, more importantly, you needed to say it. So you continued to let him have it.
"Better yet, stay away from everyone until you get your shit figured out. You cannot just act recklessly and impulsively with me or the rest of the hospital staff just because you never unpacked your own trauma. I'm telling you that if you treat me any differently than the other residents I will go to HR and Gloria. I'm telling you if you act like an asshole to me or humiliate me, or any other ER staffer, I'm going to force so much paperwork and disciplinary meetings down your throat that you won't be able to gasp for air. This is the last time you pull this bullshit."
You turned on your heel, leaving a befuddled and disbelieving Robby in the stairwell. He'd never seen you so angry, confident, or clear in your boundaries. When you were together he'd pushed and pushed against them and normally, you'd give in. When he broke up with you and kicked you out, he hadn't expected you to move on the way you had. His heart sunk and his throat was thick with emotion. He also hadn't expected to feel regretful.
Robby's sabbatical wasn't all that healing. In fact, most of the time he was plagued by thoughts of you and the ER department. He'd wished he'd done a plethora of things differently. Over his break he never once thought he wanted to get you back but now he wasn't so sure. On his first day back he found out you were dating Park, which prompted jealousy and deep-seeded insecurity to flare within him; bright, sharp, and biting. Park was younger, stronger, a surgeon, and now he had you.
Even though Robby hadn't changed much in the brief time he was gone, it was all too clear that you had. You seemed more sure of yourself and completely unwilling to take his shit. The mutterings around the Pitt were that you were happy and so was the Shark. Robby was finding that this.... was incredibly shitty and unlikely to change.
So that's how Robby found himself, barely holding it together, kinda devastated in the very same stairwell where Brendon had found you crying on that fated day. It was almost poetic. It was mainly karmic.
Ok there is def going to be a part three, which will be an epilogue. Thank you so much for reading and for interacting with the fic! It was so fun to read everyone's comments and it truly made me want to write a really good follow-up (i sincerely hope I delivered). Please let me know if something else needs to be addressed with content warnings. Have a lovely week!
