certified freak (a couple days a week)

side (thirst) blog to @myblissfulparadise & avid fanfiction reader, past my 20s but still thirsting for older fictional men

[yournamesnob]

trapped in your net

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Pairing: dom!Brendon Park x best friend's sister!reader

Word count: 5.7k

CW: MDNI, 18+

Tags/warnings: D/s dynamics, f!reader, age gap (reader is 26, Brendon is mid 30s), little more angst from brendon, so much fluff, comfort, tinge ooc but like is it really if that man was only on screen for like 3 seconds?, yearning, kinky relationships, kinky dating sites, jealousy x10000

Summary: The secret is out, the truth is laid out...will you both be able to take the dive into uncharted waters?

a/n: setting up Michael's own fic like this is the avengers actually

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.

“Oh my god, that’s him.”

Your head whips towards the entrance with such force you instantly curse yourself for your lack of subtlety. It isn’t your fault, you’re three drinks, it’s girls’ night—no boy talk allowed. But at the mention of him, this mysterious man your friend had been on a date with many months ago, the man she claims to be the most handsome, caring, attentive, vocal dom she’s ever gone out with, you simply need to know.

But curiosity truly does kill the cat in every scenario because the second your brain catches up with your eyes and you realize who the person who just walked into the nightclub is, you instantly choke on your drink.

This cannot be happening to you. Embarrassment, guilt and something akin to jealousy burns through you stronger than the alcohol ever could, flushing your face, your neck, your exposed chest in an instant. Suddenly, the flirty satin dress that barely covers your ass and hangs low enough to give everyone the perfect peek of your tits feels shameful; the shitty excuse you gave Steven about catching up with your friend at a casual bar, definitely not a sex club, coming up to bite you in the ass like a comically cartoon shark.

You turn away immediately, downing the rest of your drink as casually as you’re able, praying that you’ll be able to avoid him for the rest of the night, for the rest of your life honestly. But something else sparks inside of you, a little ember of greediness, of the memory of his hands on you, his sweet words after the hospital, his ever grounding and comforting presence, his messages after the fact, his support, his kindness, his—

“I’ll have a bourbon on the rocks, please.”

A weathered man slides up to the bar beside you, his eyes trained on the bartender casually as if he’s not definitely there to check you out. You’re already turned towards him from your previous move to hide yourself from view, a rookie mistake on your part that he’s completely taken advantage of in the most gentlemanly way possible. So you check him out without shame.

He’s a little older than who you normally go for, the gentle streaks of white in his hair and beard enough to let you know he’s definitely been at this a while, the quiet confidence with which he carries himself grounding. And yet there’s an air to him that you can’t quite place, like he’s not…whole.

He lets you dissect him, lets you take in the bags under his eyes, the crows feet that form around his eyes as he smiles to the young bartender that sets his drink down, not a flirty smile, just understanding and grateful. He hands over a black amex, subtle flex, and keeps his tab open. You barely register as a drink is set down beside you, water, ice cold just like you like it, as if he’s been watching you indulge in too many alcoholic ones and is taking his time to sober you up before he pounces.

You roll your eyes, making a show of grabbing the tall glass and drinking at least half of it before he lets out a satisfied hum, setting his own glass down after a mere sip of the amber liquid.

“Michael,” he says, hand outstretched towards you. You look down at it and then back up at him, deciding on the fly if you should entertain him at all. While unsure, there’s something in the way his eyes sparkle with genuine intention that doesn’t scare you off. You place your hand in his, shaking it just seductively enough, and tell him your name.

His smile returns, brighter than before, truly a sight for sore eyes, a reward. It makes you completely fuzzy inside, like you want to work for his praise and attention, a dangerous precedent that has you more intrigued than apprehensive. So when he asks, “would you like to join me and my friend?” You actually nod, excited at the prospect of attention. 

Curiosity bites down on you like an apex predator, draining all the blood from your face as Michael looks past you towards where your friend and his friend are now engaged in conversation, and a pair of icy blue eyes bore into yours.

It’s not awkward. Not at all. The booth is big enough for both couples to have distance, for conversations to not mix, for him to have his privacy while you have yours. To your satisfaction, Michael has been nothing more than a perfect gentleman, a fantastic conversationalist, and truly dedicated to the art of courtship.

But you can still feel his gaze on you, the intensity of his cold stare practically making you shiver every time you feel it on the back of your neck, a tingling sensation that just doesn’t go away.

You try to ignore it, order yourself another drink which Michael doesn’t object to, not when you actually engage with him in conversation, a little too loose and overly happy, but not so much that he feels like he’s taking advantage of you.

You can count the times that Brendon Park has been angry with you on one hand, two fingers short of it being the complete thing. The first time had been at Christmas when you’d gotten his date drunk at a rowdy game of Truth or Drink, Steven’s idea, not even yours. The second had been three years into his residency at PTMC, you’d just turned twenty-one, were in town visiting, had gone out to a bar, made some friends and then called Brendon to pick you up at 2 am because you were definitely not calling Steven cause you’d never hear the end of it.

And now, with his stare practically uninterested in anything other than you, your exposed skin, the way your body erupts into goosebumps every few minutes—you know you’ve pissed him off to the point of no return.

“So,” Michael speaks suddenly and you realize that you haven’t heard a single thing he’s been saying for the past few minutes. “What’s your history with Park?”

Like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, your eyes widen in shock as your terrified stare meets his honestly…infuriatingly calm one. If anything, there’s an air of deep understanding, as if he too has been on the receiving end of that particular look that would make anyone wish for the ground to swallow them up.

Your cheeks flush embarrassingly quickly, throat drying up as Robby keeps assessing you, as if readying himself to catch you if you faint. And honestly, that would be a much less embarrassing reaction to all of this.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Michael reassures you. “I’m just curious since he’s definitely telepathically cock blocking me right now.”

That lightens the mood instantly, a laugh exhales out of you, releasing all the tension you’ve been carrying and reminding you that, at least you’ve got a confidant in this stranger.

“He’s…” you inhale a shaky breath, mind racing, because what is Brendon Park? You make the fatal mistake of sneaking a glance at him, at the one second that his eyes aren’t on you but on her, lips dangerously close to his as she murmurs something that only the two of them can hear. Her hand traces the silver chain around his neck and you’re reminded of everything he isn’t—yours. “An old family friend.”

Michael scoffs at the simplicity of your answer and you get the feeling that he somehow knows all the layers hidden behind, under, against, on top of those four words. As if lighting can strike twice, a tinge of realization hits him and he points his drink towards you.

“I remember you,” he murmurs. “Central eight, sprained ankle, three months ago.”

Your brows scrunch instantly. “Okay weirdo, isn’t HIPPA a thing for a reason?”

He chuckles at your terrible joke because he knows he’s pulled on the right thread.

“Perks of being the chief of the emergency department,” he leans in. “And the gossip train of Park the Shark being domesticated by a patient made the rounds for two weeks straight.”

Your entire body heats up instantly. “No!”

He nods, grinning like a fool as he takes a sip from his drink, catching the way that Brendon shoots him a death glare from across the booth. He can’t hear you, he’s too far away. All he can do is watch as Robinavitch makes you smile, makes you flush, makes you giggle, makes you—

Michael leans in, making a show of it as much as he can, his sadistic nature reveling in the fact that he’s been able to find the Shark’s pressure point for once.

“Don’t look back at him, honey,” he coos. “Just look at me, let me make him so jealous smoke will shoot out of his ears—”

You chuckle then, dismissive and almost self-deprecating.

“Brendon doesn’t think of me like that,” you fiddle with your fingernails as you say it, the clear, telltale sign that you definitely have feelings that you think aren’t reciprocated.

All Michael can do is shake his head, shifting even closer to you, his cold hand settling over your exposed thigh as his lips barely brush your jaw.

“From where I’m standing, the most calculating, patient, level headed surgeon I know is about to leap off his seat while he has a beautiful woman draped across his lap because he can’t fathom another man having something that belongs to him.”

The air thickens, time stops moving, up is down and inside is out. You can’t think, can’t process the words that have been said, the secret that has been outed by someone who doesn’t know you, doesn’t know your baggage, doesn’t know the implications of your desire, the wrongness of it. He only knows what he sees, and right now, he sees his colleague ready to grind his jaw into dust with how hard he’s biting down on it and your glossy eyes desperate for the courage to cause some mischief.

A glass shatters off in the distance, effectively breaking the spell that you’re under. Suddenly, Michael’s gaze drifts behind you, his cockiness swiftly replaced with panic and recognition, his own moral dilemma evident across his features.

He may be a bastard but at least he’s a human one.

He stammers out an apology, getting up on his feet so quickly he knocks the glass table before you as he stumbles, nervous energy a complete contrast to the man he just was. You can’t help but smile at his clumsiness, a soft and reassuring gesture that has him blushing like a teenager. He leans down and places a soft kiss on your cheek, slyly handing you his card just barely out of sight of Brendon.

“Give him hell, honey, he deserves it.”

He winks at you before he swiftly nods his goodbye to Brendon and disappears into the crowd, towards a group of girls that’s hanging out on the other side of the room.

Emboldened by Michael’s words, you take a deep steadying breath as he leaves. The older man is right, Brendon does deserve hell because who does he truly think he is, looking at you like that and expecting you not to get your wires crossed.

Whatever fears plague you about him spilling your secret dissipate the second you clock just how much of a secret this is for him as well, mutually assured destruction and all that jazz. A devilish smirk quirks on your lips, your back straightening out of routine, the dip in your dress exposing more of the skin of your back, the hem sliding up your thighs just enough as you turn on your seat, leaning over to pick up Michael’s discarded bourbon.

You can feel his breathing hitch as your breasts practically spill out of the flimsy fabric, no longer doing the shy, flustered move of covering yourself up out of pretend decency. You’re not wearing anything underneath, not even nipple pasties or some boob tape to avoid a real slip. No, it’s just you and the swell of your breasts and your hardened nipples, there, in his direct line of sight for only a second, but that’s all it takes. All he had to do to not be subjected to the sight was to not be looking at you, but you both know that he is, and he continues to as you down the drink, barely flinching at the disgusting aftertaste.

His breathing hitches enough as you set the glass down and cross the small space towards them, alerting your friend who, has continued to speak mindlessly for the past ten minutes without even noticing that your own date has abandoned you. She finally stops and Brendon can hear himself think long enough to feel his entire body stiffening when you sit beside her, legs perfectly crossed, stilettoed heel just barely touching his calf.

“What happened to your silver fox?” She pouts, turning from Brendon just enough to give you a little attention.

You shrug. “Had something to do.”

She launches into another tangent about a guy she’d met a few months ago, before or after she met Brendon, you can’t tell, but it gives you the perfect opportunity to take him in instead. You’ve always loved your friend, she’s the perfect ice breaker in the sense that she will literally force her way into any conversation, through the uncomfortableness of silence and apprehension. She’s a great conversationalist, present and always puts the evening’s goal first…except when there’s a man involved.

You glance at Brendon subtly at first, catching how his white button down creases over his stupidly big muscles, how one more button has definitely come undone, letting you see more of his exposed chest, how his navy slacks are just a smidge too tight over his crotch. He shifts, his knee tapping the tip of your shoe lightly, a not so subtle reminder that your friend is talking and that he’s technically her date tonight.

“Yeah he was awful,” you huff, jealousy doesn’t even let you pretend anymore. “How did you two meet then?”

If you’re going down, might as well take the entire ship with you. You don’t want to hurt her, but that green eyed monster festers inside of you, desperate to pull him down to the depths with you instead.

“Oh,” her cheeks turn bright pink, a shy smile over her features which you know for a fact is staged for his attention, playing a role she thinks he wants her to fulfill. It takes everything in you not to scowl. “Remember that app I told you about?”

Brendon goes still beside her. It’s subtle, could be brushed off as if he’s just embarrassed but you know him. It’s not embarrassment, it’s getting caught, like that one time you caught him and your brother smoking pot after everyone had gone to bed, and while they were both adults at the time, his entire body went rigid as if you had power over him or something.

“Yeah I remember,” you coo. “I’ve never seen him on it though.”

“Well babe, it’s location synced, you’ve only been here a few weeks,” she states like you’re a little dumb girl that doesn’t know what she’s talking about but the panic in Brendon’s eyes tells a different story. “And besides, Brendon’s really selective with his partners.”

In the span of one minute your friend has simultaneously given you the ick and also served you the entire world on a silver platter.

“Brendon,” you test his name on your tongue as if it’s the first time you’ve ever said it before. You can feel your friend stiffen as fury curls in her chest, that definitely struck a nerve. But she can’t do anything about it either, you’re not doing anything wrong and she…she doesn’t own him, can’t stake her claim, not in the way you know you could if you actually wanted to. You extend your hand to him, introducing yourself in that saccharine tone he knows well, the one you used to convince that cop one time to not give him a speeding ticket for going only five miles over the limit as the two of you rushed down to the hospital for Tyler’s birth. “It’s nice to meet you then.”

He only hesitates for a second, a smirk curling at his lip at just how much you’re pushing your friend’s possessiveness over him. He’s a simple man sometimes, reveling in two beautiful women fighting over him is definitely one of those, soaking up the attention like he knows he deserves it. And he does, you know he does. Because underneath all the sex appeal and power games that your friend told you that she likes, Brendon is Brendon, and there’s no one you’ve ever wanted to be on the receiving end of their affection like him.

He takes your hand respectfully, of both you and your friend, but there’s a familiarity to him that just makes you clench around nothing. The tension is palpable, of that you’re sure, but be it lust or jealousy, you know your friend can’t see past her own need to claim. So you let him go, begrudgingly, offering both of them a soft smile before you excuse yourself to the bathroom, fully aware in your turbulent heart that he’ll be close behind in a second.

You only have to wait six minutes and forty-seven seconds before there’s a knock to the private bathroom you’re occupying. Your heart is practically beating out of you chest, the anticipation of what’s waiting for you on the other side both exciting and debilitating. He’s definitely going to yell, and you definitely do not want to have your heart broken at one in the morning, six drinks into what was supposed to be your night to let loose and relax.

You didn’t come here searching for anything, just needed to decompress after Tyler decided to throw five tantrums in the span of four hours. Of course by the time his dad got home, he was the perfect angel and did exactly what he was told with no complaints, so instead of getting angry at a toddler, you decided to go out.

You haven’t had a night out since you moved in with Steven three weeks ago, your brain still clouded with too many emotions for you to actually want to shut it down long enough to feel anything other than shame. But your friend convinced you to go out with her to this new club that the app had opened in Pittsburg and you simply couldn’t say no, the comfort of being in a room full of people that you know have the same relationship expectations as you exactly what you needed to get over yourself, at least for a few hours.

You take a steadying breath and unlock the handle, stepping back towards the sink as you watch his comically large frame trying desperately to be inconspicuous as he slips into the most definitely occupied bathroom. He locks the door again, the click loud enough to pierce through the loudness from outside the room. It feels heavy, the air shifting instantly, making your skin erupt in goosebumps. You brace yourself for impact.

“I’m so sorry, sugar plum,” his voice is uncharacteristically soft and it immediately throws you off center.

“What?” You’re dumbfounded, eyes wide and mind hit hard with whiplash.

He’s on you in seconds, big hands cupping your cheeks as he searches your eyes for any inkling of discomfort.

“If you never want to see me again, I totally understand,” he’s spiraling more than you are now and it’s honestly only making him that much hotter. “I’ll swear on my nonna and my mamma and my sisters that I’ll take this knowledge to my grave, just whatever you need from me, just tell me and I will do it—”

“Brendon Emiliano Park,” you put your foot down, his cheeks flushing a perfect shade of red. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Your genuine confusion seems to snap him out of his panic. He towers over you, his thumbs unconsciously rubbing soothing circles over your cheeks, his chest so close to yours that you can feel the heat radiating off him. You don’t think, you just move, the need deep in your bones to soothe him so loud that it doesn’t matter what it ignites in its path.

You loop your arms around his waist, taking the final step, the final leap into the dark waters below, and the reaction is instantaneous. His shoulders drop, the breath he’s been holding in releases in a hum, his grip slides down to your neck. He practically melts into you, his forehead resting against yours as he finally lets go, succumbs to your calm.

It feels right. Perfect, almost. Like a puzzle piece that’s been missing from your life for almost a decade finally slotting itself in that little hole where it’s supposed to go. Your mind tries to overwhelm you with thoughts but you do your best to push them away, to focus on his hands on your body, on your hands around his.

Minutes pass in silence until both of your heartbeats have slowed down enough that he’s able to pull back and face you again. He almost cries when he makes eye contact, your pupils slightly dilated and the overhead lighting making it look as though you’ve got stars in your eyes.

“Hi,” he breathes, an embarrassed smile curling at his lips which you instantly trace with your thumb, desperate to memorize the contours of his face while he’s open like this with you.

“Hi doctor stranger,” you match his smile, your voice perfectly soft and familiar and—

“I’m sorry.”

You frown again and he absolutely fucking hates the sight.

“Whatever for?”

He shakes his head as if it’s obvious, as if whatever he’s battling with internally is common knowledge to everyone else around.

“No, Bren, look at me,” you grab his chin and pull him to face you again. “What are you sorry for?”

He sighs deeply, like he’s gearing up for great fear and loss.

“For…knowing.”

He says it so remorsefully that it breaks something in you. There’s something he isn’t telling you, something that has to do with this…shared affinity the two of you apparently share. Something that has to do with how he treated you the night of the hospital.

You take a deep breath in. “You knew.”

He nods again. “Saw your profile before I took you home.”

A million thoughts race through your mind in an instant. Brendon Park saw your app profile, Brendon Park did something to his own so that you wouldn’t be able to see it, Brendon Park…made you feel so safe that you dropped in his car, Brendon Park knew what was happening and took care of you.

You surprise him by smiling, not like any of the smiles that you’ve thrown around tonight to your friend, to Robinavitch, to him. No, a real, joyous smile that pulls at his heartstrings and makes him feel even guiltier than before because he doesn’t deserve it. He broke your trust, why can’t you get that?

“Why didn’t you match with me then?”

Oh Brendon is definitely dead and this is his own personal hell. He can’t prove it, but this has Robinavitch written all over it—the slow torture, the repressed emotions just flooding out of him, the unbridled want.

He stammers, panic flooding his features once more as he chokes on a breath and you can’t help but giggle at his antics. You know exactly why he didn’t match with you, why he’s being such a weirdo about it now, why you’re certain that if you truly wanted him to, he’d disappear from your life and take on all the blame of his absence in the lives of those you love the most.

He’s being so adorably noble that you honestly can’t help but keep laughing as he huffs out in annoyance, his grip moving to your hips as he squeezes on your love handles, hoping the little pain will stop your teasing but it only spurs you on. He’s so damn cute, his brow creased in embarrassment, his lips pouting in frustration, his eyes both darkened with desire and also softened with a million other emotions that neither of you is brave enough to name yet. 

Step by step, you tell yourself, you’ll get there soon enough. That is, if you can get through this gigantic bump in the road.

The irony is not lost on you, how this big, scary man who’s supposedly very self-assured, confident and calm in the role he takes inside the bedroom has practically turned into a whiny mess at your antics. The softness that carries him in your arms is a privilege, one that you’re never going to take for granted. He trusts you. He’s safe with you. There’s no judgement in your eyes, no fear in how your arms wrap around his neck, how you press your chest against his, how you look up at him like he hung the moon and the stars.

“What if I want you to?” You whisper the words against his mouth like a prayer, intimate and sacred.

The whimper that escapes him is divine.

“Baby you’re killing me here,” he whimpers, eyes falling shut at the intense battle between his heart and his mind.

You press even closer, your mouth just one breath away from finally pressing onto his and absolving him of all his sins. Or snatching him up in a current after falling for temptation.

He shakes the thought away quickly. You are not temptation. You are something holy, worthy of being revered like the goddess that you are, deserving of pilgrimage and sacrifice, of nothing shy of devotion itself. He can feel the grip you have on his soul then, how deep the tendrils of your care have gotten, wrapped around his heart and lungs, threatening to squeeze the life out of him if he lets you go.

If he were less of a selfish man, he would, he’d break your heart and pretend he doesn’t want you, would push you away and save himself the arduous humiliation of looking at himself in the mirror and choosing to be the man that you deserve. But he is not a perfect man. He’s flawed and cruel and craves to watch you fall apart by his hand and build you back up with gentle fingertips and precious words.

He yearns for truth and honesty and not having to pretend to be okay, to not have to always be the strong one, the one that has to be an unmovable, unshakable rock. He wants to feel, and that scares him most of all, because up until now, he doesn’t know if he’s really ever felt anything at all.

And then you bump his nose with yours, a silly little gesture that has his heart bursting with warmth, breaking through his icy walls. He doesn’t think, doesn’t care anymore, all he knows is want, and right now, you’re the only thing he needs. So he leaps.

The kiss is…everything.

 It’s life and death in a single shared breath, it’s every promise that has ever been shared, every dream, every loss, every celebration, every truth left unsaid. It is warm and cold, it is soft and hard, it is…so fucking good.

You gasp at the intensity and he doesn’t waste another second deepening the kiss. His tongue instantly takes control, exploring your mouth like he needs to figure out how to keep pulling those divine noises from you. His hands grope and knead at your waist, your hips, your ass, eager and desperate for more and more and more as you meet him in his intensity, your hands hooking into his gelled hair and break apart the cast in your need to hold onto something.

He moans at the feeling and you practically shiver in deep satisfaction. You are doing this to him, you are making him break apart like this, you are staining his lips a dark plum color and making them plump and puffy with how much you’re sucking on them. You pull back for air begrudgingly, your mouth following his until he steps far away enough that you can’t follow. 

His expression turns into one of hunger, his chest heaving in tandem with your own disheveled breathing, your lungs desperate to fill up after who knows how long. He grins brightly down at you, like a cocky son of a bitch that knows he got exactly what he wanted and is now reveling in the fucked out look on your face. Tears brim your eyes, you’re so horny and needy and he knows it, knows it’s all for him and it only spurs him on to not pounce.

“You like me,” he chuckles meanly, one hand slowly sliding down the side of your thigh and under the pathetic excuse of a skirt.

“Of course I fucking like you,” you pant, breathless and raw, but mostly irritated. If this is how he’s going to act as your dom then you’re exactly where you need to be.

His grin only broadens. “Did Jennifer really leave or did you scare her off at Christmas?”

You’re certain you’ve stopped breathing, body stilling completely as he gets the answer he’s been looking for for the past six years.

“Oh don’t worry baby, I like my women just as possessive.”

He lean down and places a kiss on your sternum, his hot tongue lapping at the area to distract you as his hand slips between your thighs, just barely touching your mound. His lips suck on your skin then and his fingertips barely ghost over the lacy panties you’re wearing, making you squeal against him pathetically.

“Bren—”

He’s gone just as quickly, stepping back complete as you’re left to hold onto the sink behind you for dear life.

“You fucking asshole!”

The laugh that leaves him is heavenly, you wish you could drown in it. Instead, your legs are shaking like jelly, your core contracting with want and every possible variation of “motherfucker” that you can think of. And the cocky asshole in front of you just wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, fixing his hair with one swift swipe over the now fluffy waves, before he crosses the room back to you as if none of that ever happened.

He squeezes your biceps soothingly, holding onto you like a dear friend looking after you. “Let me take you home.”

You shoot him a glare so powerful he could swear he just opened the oven too soon and deflated your sourdough and he knows for a fact he’ll never do that again. It endears him to no end, his head becoming fuzzy with affection once more.

“Come on, sugar plum,” he kisses your temple softly. “You’ve had a lot to drink and if you really want to do this, you’ll let me do it right.”

You look up at him through your eyelashes, a pout already forming on your perfect lips. God, Brendon truly doesn’t know how he’s ever going to say no to you ever again.

“Alright, how about this,” he’s already negotiating, Jesus fucking Christ. “We go back to the bar, you drink one last glass of water for me, I drive you home so I know you’re safe and sound, and…” he sighs, the fear creeping back up his spine like a tingle he can’t quite shake. But the way you stare up at him with such trust and awe, like you’re really listening to him, like you’ll do anything he tells you to because…because you want to please him so badly—it beats the fear back into the shadows from which it came. “I’ll send you my profile.”

You burst into a mess of happiness that he’s never seen from you before, just vulnerable and honest and deeply intimate. And in that moment he knows he’ll do whatever he has to do so that you’ll keep sharing this side of yourself with him.

You pepper his face with kisses, chaotic and messy, a chorus of thank you’s slipping with every touch of you lips to his skin. He can’t help but let his body match your own, this burst of excitement making him feel like he’s a teenager again and the girl he had a crush on from chem class just agreed to go with him to prom. He knows exactly how he feels about you then, the words left unsaid yet felt.

He thinks back to your friend, to how his heart had dropped into his stomach at the sight of her at the club, to the mask he had slipped on before he caught sight of you in this sinful dress that barely leaves anything to the imagination. He thinks back to Robinavitch and how he gravitated towards you instantly because that’s just the type of person you are. You take up space but don’t smother it, you get comfortable but don’t take advantage, you listen and ask questions and actually give a fuck about checking in and doing something because you both want to do it, not because it’s a one sided chore.

Whatever concerns linger, they simply don’t matter anymore. He can and will deal with all of them if it means that you’ll keep looking at him like this, that you’ll keep kissing his face like you want to show him just how grateful you are, that you’ll let him take you back to his car, drive you home, kiss you goodnight at your door and wait patiently until the light to your bedroom turns on.

It why he’s so certain, so sure, so confident now as he takes a screenshot of his profile to send to you before deleting it for good. He doesn’t need it anymore, he’s found exactly what he’s been searching for all along.

I completely forgot to mention for some brain fart reason that @rr-after-dark's own dom!Brendon Park fic is a constant and forever inspiration for me. I love it sm, thank you Jay for all that you do 🩷

dividers by @/enchanthings

hook, line and sinker tag list: @mayawainfleet, @lillianarosethorns, @andicody, @thedamnqueenofhell, @luchelingers, @laughsandlivia, @popecodysgirl, @curly-lau, @venusianrings, @abbot-fanatic, @buttercuppy8, @fuyu-no-kodomo, @sarahloubug

[if you want to be tagged, lmk in the comments and please make sure that your blog displays your age somewhere thanks!]

[p0tat0nug]

I am coming back for seconds, thirds, dessert, etc.!!! I am SAT for this!!!

[ceijoh]

everywhere i go i keep her picture in my wallet 

pairings: michael robinavtich x f!reader

So what if Michael keeps dirty photos of you in his wallet?

warnings: established relationship. taking photos of each other. smut. blowjobs. creampie. obscene amount of the word 'baby' used. male masturbation in the workplace. in this household we believe that robby babbles when he's about to cum and we believe in praise kink for reader and robby <3 minors dni. as always, let me know what you think!

word count: 2.5k+

robinavitch masterlist | masterlist | ask

Michael Robinavitch will never admit it but he was a romantic. A man straight out of the old black and white movies. He would never admit it but he’s always wanted to keep a photo of someone special in his wallet. It always felt wrong to put someone there. His past girlfriends never being allowed the place. His seven week flings, as many people called it, never even got close to having the honour. 

Until you. 

It was a beautiful photo. He remembers it well. It was taken at his height, aiming down at you, a big cheesy grin on your face as he took the photo. On the days where the ER was more than he could handle, he often took it out, just admiring you and feeling the weight of your relationship ground him. 

It was well known within the ER that he’d happily take out his wallet and show it to anyone that asked about you. He puffed up his chest as he talked about you, your job, your relationship, everything and anything. He was proud of you, proud of himself to be able to called yours. 

It was sweet, and everyone thought it. From the gushing of the older ladies that came in, to the incessant gossip fodder that Robby gave the pitt, everyone loved it. 

And so what if behind the innocent photo of you he has two worn and well loved photos that aren’t so innocent? What if he happened to take them out during the brief breaks that he gets when he’s at work - when the ER was weighing him down in a different way and he needed an outlet? 

-

“Michael,” you panted, fingers tightening on his chest, you leaned your body reaching for something. 

“What’re you doing, baby?” Michael watched, as best as he could as he saw you grab your phone. 

“Memento,” you clenched, as you shakily opened up your camera. Focusing as best you could while swivelling your hips, you focused on his chest, your hand in the frame softly clutching his stomach. 

Grinning when he realised you were doing, you aimed your photo up, trying to capture the look on his face. Balancing yourself, you placed your other hand on his face, softly caressing his face, moaning lowly when he began kissing up your hand. Taking a couple of photos, you threw your phone somewhere on the bed and planted your hands on his chest. 

“You’re dirty,” he grinned as he wrapped his arms around you, bringing you down flush to his chest. Placing his feet on the mattress, he thrusted up earning a particularly loud moan out of you. “That’s it, baby.” 

Feeling your panting on his neck, Michael moved his lips until he could reach you. Messily placing his tongue in your mouth, he could feel the combination of your drool slowly slithering down his neck. 

He could feel you getting close, your walls clenching around his cock and your mouth falling from his, his name coming out in pants. Rolling your hips, you dragged your nails down Michael’s chest, squeezing until your felt release come. 

“Fuck, I love you,” Michael grunted into your ear. “Love you, love your fucking pussy, love my girl,” he choked out the praises as he finished in you. Wrapping you in his embrace tighter, you couldn’t help but whimper as you felt his cum flood inside your pussy. 

“You okay?” He gently moved the hair stuck to your face, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. 

“Can I see?” Michael kissed your cheek as you laid on his chest, the heat and sweat a bit uncomfortable but you both couldn’t bear to leave each other. 

Finding your phone, you accessed your photos, tapping on the first one. It was blurry, as you expected. You could barely make out that there was a person in the photo. Frowning, you swiped to the next photo which was better. 

“Look at that,” you said in appreciation, eyes roaming the photo, landing on the glisten of his chest and soft swell of his stomach. “Fuck, Michael, you’re beautiful.” 

You turned your phone to show the man below you, watching as a bashful flush creeped up to his cheeks. 

“Are you going to be pissed if I have this as my background?”

Ever since then Michael’s been quite a bit obsessed with the thought of taking photos of the two of you together. But he was always too enthralled with whatever you were doing that he forgets to pick up his phone and take a photo. 

The first one was an accident. 

It was an off day for Michael, you were both lazily laying on the couch. You turned to him, and you were a bit awestruck at just how handsome he was. Sure, he was just sitting on the couch, with his reading glasses on and wearing a t-shirt but you were sure that there wasn’t a man who was more handsome than Michael Robinavitch. 

Gazing downwards you bit your lip as you saw the grey sweats that he was wearing, and if you squinted your eyes right, you swear you could see a bulge. Fidgeting in your seat, you somehow managed to turn yourself on, sliding down to the ground, you placed yourself in front Michael. Placing your hands on his knees you slid your hands up until his waistband. 

Pawing at the band of his sweats, Michael looked down at you in amusement, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m bored,” you whined, as you began tugging down his pants. “And you look beautiful.” 

“Oh?” Michael leaned back, paper forgotten as he tossed it to the other side of the couch. You could see the cocky smirk on his face but beneath that the small red flush that your compliment brought on. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so handsome,” you nodded, tugging his waistband down. You watched as his cock came to view, half-hard but still always so impressive. Michael’s cock flopped to his left thigh as you continued to push his pants down. Peppering kisses from his knees to his inner thigh, you smirked as you saw his cock twitch and begin leaking. 

Placing one hand on one knee, you began leaving little bites, occasionally flicking your eyes to Michael whose chest was now heaving, his hands clenched on the cushions. Finally reaching your prize, you didn’t hesitate to start kissing the side of his cock with an open mouth, your tongue trailing the multiple veins. 

Kissing his tip, you looked back up at him. “So pretty,” tapping the head a few times on your tongue, you languidly licked him from base to tip. “Love you,” you muttered against his cock before parting your lips and taking him down your throat. Gagging as you pushed him down slowly, you felt his cock fully harden as you reached the back of your throat. 

Putting his hand on the back of your head, Michael watched as his length disappeared in your mouth, your nose brushing against his pubic hair before going back up, sucking in your cheeks when you hit his tip. Then repeating the actions, each time more hurried than the last. He felt his balls tighten and willed himself to just hold out a little bit longer. 

Wrapping his hands around your hair, Michael regretfully pulled you away from his cock, a sympathetic smile on his face as he heard your whine. “Beautiful,” Michael praised as he saw you; face flushed, teary eyes and a mixture of his precum and your saliva. Caressing your cheek, you automatically leaned into his touch, a soft and adoring look on your face. 

Feeling around for his phone, Michael shakily opened the camera. You moved slightly, trying to see what he was doing, “Stay still, baby,” Michael warned, pulling your hair a bit. “Look at me,” aiming the camera, you smiled as you grasped his cock. 

Showing off to the camera, you placed the head of his cock back on your tongue, a cheeky grin on your face as you heard the shutter. 

“Wait,” Michael rasped, his hands gently tugging on your hair. “Can you hold my cock against your face?” 

You chuckled fondly and followed his instructions. Placing his cock against the side of your face, you smiled dazedly at the camera. Taking multiple photos, Michael began to tremble as you tightened your grip and began stroking him. “Fuck,” he breathed out, “so beautiful.” 

“Show me how to print it out later,” Michael groaned as he felt you swallow around him. At his statement you couldn’t help chuckle around his cock. “Shit, you okay?” 

Pulling away from him, “You’re such an old man.” 

“Well this old man just has a photo of you with his cock on his phone,” Michael twisted his phone before throwing it somewhere on the couch. “Now come on, baby, come up, want to cum in your pussy.” 

You rolled your eyes but nonetheless stood up and placed yourself on his lap. “Such a romantic.” 

The second was more intentional. Michael felt insatiable that night, asking you if he could just use you, and of course you said yes. 

“Best girl,” Michael thrusted, “best fucking pussy,” this time he manhandled your legs so they were over his shoulders. Leaning over you, you groaned at the full weight on him on top of your body, “Fucking love you,” he panted against your ear, biting across your jaw until he placed an open mouth kiss to your lips. 

Wrapping your legs around him, you felt each and every thrust of his cock, your walls tightening with each movement. Slackjawed, all you could do was run your nails down his back, clenching when you heard Michael hiss above you. Nipping your lips, Michael moved down your neck before licking back up to your mouth. 

Moving his hand to feel around for his phone, Michael didn’t relent in his frantic thrust, his other hand reaching for his phone. Quickly opening it, he leaned back and you whined at the loss of his weight. Angling his phone down, he couldn’t help but wrap one hand around your neck, gently closing his grip.

“Stay,” and as he began taking photos, his hand drifted down, splaying it across your lower stomach. There was something about watching you through your phone that got Michael heated more than usual. Maybe it was the vulnerability, the trust that you give him. 

Leaning back, he felt you slip your legs down, wincing as it reached his thighs. “Stay still, sweetheart,” pulling back a bit, he aimed the photo again. This time his cock in frame, zooming in he couldn’t help but buck his hips, entranced in the way your pussy engulfed him. Tossing his phone by your side, Michael slammed back in, causing you to arch your back, your tits practically jumping in his face. 

He increased his pace, his forearms by your neck, mouth on yours. “Gonna cum baby,” he warned against your mouth. 

“Inside,” you pleaded, tightening your legs around him. “Please, Michael, fill me up.”

“You first,” reaching down, he balanced on one forearm, one hand reaching to your clit to rub tight little circles, and his mouth finding home on your neck. Feeling him bite down where your neck meets your shoulder, Michael groaned as he felt your walls flutter around his cock. Squeezing once, he felt you pulse your hips as his name came out as a silent scream. 

Cursing Michael chased his release, his hips losing any rhythm he had. Knowing that he was closed, you clenched as hard as you could, Michael bit down harder and with one last muffled grunt of your name, you felt him empty inside of you. 

Hissing as he removed himself, Michael reached to grab his phone. Aiming it down to your leaking cunt, he snapped a couple of photos. Separating your folds with his fingers, he bit his lip as he saw you clench and pushed out some of his cum. Tutting as he saw some of his release land on the bed, he gave your pussy one last gentle kiss and threw his phone somewhere on the bed. 

Laying on top of you, Michael lazily kissed up and down your neck, while you played with the hairs on the base of his neck. Letting out a contended sigh, you felt your heartbeat begin to settle. 

“Next time, film yourself cumming inside of me.” 

-

A particularly loud bang outside of the bathroom brought Michael out of his trance. He looked down, cock in his hand and your photo in the other. Gritting his teeth, he knew that he couldn’t go out with this. Stroking faster, tightening his fist - trying to recreate your wet heat (but failing), Michael thought about you; the way you felt, the sounds that you made. Grunting your name, he threw his head back, his hand squeezing the base of his cock as he pointed his cum to the toilet. 

Panting he looked down at his hand and felt a bit of shame run through his veins. But as he looked at what was on his other hand, he could feel the warm thrum up his spine. “Fuck baby, look at what you’ve done to me.”

Leaving the bathroom, he looked at Dana and mouthed ‘taking my five’, and stepped outside into the ambulance bay. Tapping your contact, he placed his phone against his ear. 

“Michael? You okay babe?” 

“Just missed you,” he silently murmured, leaning against the wall. 

“Michael Robinavitch, it’s currently eleven am and you’re jerking off?” You laughed breathily, and he could hear the creak in your chair as you sat back. 

He chuckled, feeling hot underneath his scrubs, “I just miss you,” he enunciated. “How the hell did you even get to that conclusion?” 

“You get sentimental after you cum, Michael,” you paused and he could practically imagine you connecting the dots. “Did you look at the photos again?” 

“They’re very good photos,” he responded instantly and you hummed. 

“I think they’re a bit outdated, though, don’t you think?” You teased. 

The thrum was back, eagerness filling every crevice of his bones. “What do you have planned, princess?” 

Smiling, “I’m thinking that you have two straight days off, and we’ll have plenty of time to update those photos,” you stated coyly. “I have some ideas, if you’re up for it, Robinavitch.” 

Michael groaned which caused you to chuckle, “I have eight more hours, you can’t do this,” running a hand down his face, he could feel the telltale sign of his blood rushing to his cock. 

“You’re the one who messaged me after you jerked off,” you scoffed. “You started it.” 

He rolled his eyes, “Well, I’m sorry for missing the love of my life.” 

All he got was a soft cooing noise from you, and a, “Uh-huh, sure. Now go save lives, doc, and when you get home we can replace those very well loved photos with new ones.” 

Michael couldn’t help the grin appear on his face, “You’re dirty.” 

“And you love me,” you teased, then in a more serious manner, “And I love you.” 

“I love you,” Michael replied instantly. “I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Try not to wear yourself out on your breaks Doctor Robinavitch, I’ll need you in tip top shape tonight.”

[ceijoh]

now everything is new

pairings: brendon park x f!reader

You were different. You were more confident. Your co-workers could see it, Robby could see it. And you had one person to thank.

warnings/contents: fluff. humour. smut. public sex. degradation. brat taming. creampies. aftercare. the pitt being nosy. jealous robby (sorry to my man). dana having the readers back. park has your back <3 possessive park.

notes: there was supposed to be no smut in this but let's be honest, it's me. it's illegal if i didn't. apologies for the delay, was a bit busy (did not realise that it was going to be a month since the last update, but we should be back on track!). i'm excited for the next part, dare i say it's my favourite out of everything! as always, enjoy, and let me know what you think!

word count: 5.1k+

dont go wasting your emotions masterlist | the pitt masterlist | masterlist | ask

<- unsatisfied i skip my pride (but can be read as a standalone!)

Everyone could sense that something was different between you and Park. Well, they first noticed it about you. How you were more assertive, never second guessing your work, and most noticeably, how you weren’t trailing behind Robby anymore. 

The first time it happened, people wondered if you forgot who Robby was. Who Robby was to you. The star pupil, the apple of Robby’s eye suddenly was no longer there. To others, who were more conspiratorial, wondered if you were one of the many broken hearted women he left behind. 

The comments weren’t quiet. They were loud, they were asked out loud by your nosy (but well meaning co-workers). 

It started with an off handed comment from Santos. 

“Robby not doing it for you anymore, huh?” Trinity asked, leaning on the desk as she looked at you. 

You sighed slowly, and turned your head to her, hoping to convey every tired nerve you felt on your face. “What can I do for you, Trinity?” 

Moving back from her arms, Trinity continued to look at you. “Why aren’t you hanging off his arm anymore?” Leaning forward, as if she couldn’t stay still on her feet (and she probably couldn’t, knowing her). “Did you find someone better?” 

You leaned your head back, and rolled it side to side, trying to remove the irritation climbing from to your shoulders, you relished in the small cracks of your neck. “What can I do for you, Trinity?” You repeated, this time lacing your tone with more annoyance. 

“Is it Shark?” A predatory smile appeared on her face. “Garcia mentioned to me that he had marks on his back that time you came in with teeth marks all over you.” 

At the mention of Brendon, you felt yourself tense and consciously released the pinching between your shoulders.  “Coincidence,” was all you said. 

Trinity took a step back at the tone of your voice. It seemed so similar. 

Then Jack when he was doing handoffs with Robby, claiming that it couldn’t be him, because you weren’t right next to him. 

“Where’s your little shadow?” 

“Little shadow?” Robby arched a brow, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. 

Jack nodded, “Yeah, your sweet girl,” he grinned at the nickname. “She’s usually here way before you come in.” 

“Watch it,” Robby warned. “I,” he rubbed the back of his neck. “She hasn’t -,” Robby started. “Doesn’t really do that anymore.” 

“Trouble in paradise?” Jack grinned above his clipboard. And as much as Robby loved Jack, at that moment, he really wanted to knock the humour off the man’s face. 

And Robby noticed. 

Noticed how you didn’t come in earlier than you needed to, just so you could see him. Didn’t find him in the crowds. Or actively look for him when there was the rare quiet moment within the pitt. 

He noticed that you were picking up things that you’ve never personally seen in the pitt, or things he definitely knows that he didn’t teach you. Not that he didn’t want to teach you. No, of course not. But there just wasn’t enough time and why would he waste on hypotheticals when there were real life cases happening in front of you?

It was like day by day, he was suddenly discovering a new side of you. 

You were confident to simply put it. You walked with your head held high, a new bite to your voice, (a very similar bite that they’ve seen on someone). You weren’t rude per se (unlike someone), but you did bite, something you lack the confidence to do before; thought it was out of line, too rude for you to do, thus unknowingly let people walk over you. 

You didn’t want to thank him out loud (because your pride wouldn’t allow it), but it was all because of Park. When he wasn’t screwing your brains out, he was encouraging you to read more medical journals, asking you questions here and there, pushing you past your limits regarding your career. 

He made you realise that you could be better. That you were better than before. That your presence was allowed to take up space around your co-workers. 

--

“Pup,” it came out of his mouth like he’s said it a million times before. You looked towards him, “I’m going to give you my flashcards from when I was doing my residency. I think they may help you.” 

“Pup?” You tilted your head and looked at him. A teasing grin already on your face. 

If you weren’t so attuned with Brendon at this point, you would have missed the slight pause in his movements. 

“Like a shark pup?” You grinned at him, amusement laced in your tone. “You want to get those matching Ikea shark plushies?” 

“Shut up,” Brendon groaned as his head hit your pillow. “I’m trying to help you out here and here you are.” 

“I’m not the one who just called me pup,” you teased. “That’s cute.” 

“Shut up,” he repeated again, and you noticed a slight flush appearing on his face.

“You’re cute,” you uttered, swinging your legs over. His hands finding home on your plush thighs immediately. “Who knew that Park the Shark would love nicknames.” 

“I’m banning you from sex,” Brendon repeated the words you said to him a few weeks ago. 

“Uh huh, sure,” you nodded convincingly. You planted your hands on his chest and leaned down. “You love having sex with me too much to do that.” 

He gazed up at you and for a moment you stilled at the utter ease on his face. Hands on your hips tracing small circles, Brendon just hummed in agreement. Sitting up, he pulled you closer and began placing kisses on your neck slowly. 

“I’m serious about those matching shark plushies,” you moaned out. 

“I’ll get you as many fucking plushies you want, baby,” flipping you over, hands wandering under your shirt. 

The next time you came over to his house you didn’t mention the two blahaj’s on his couch. 

And when Park came down for consults in the pitt? That’s when rumours really started flying between the two of you. He’d walk through the crowded area, eyes finding yours over everyone else’s and he’ll give you a nod. Every single time. 

Today wasn’t different, it was a particularly grotesque injury, ortho was paged instantly as soon as the patient came in. You watched him, sure as ever, powerful in his stride. His gaze found yours and before you could stop yourself, you could feel a smile appear on your face. He faltered a bit in his step, then nodded to you, and then followed the chaos like a shark smelling blood. 

“What was that?” Mel asked, her eyes following Park as he went into the room.  

“What was what?” You repeated, tilting your head. 

“You and Doctor Park,” she pointed to the man who was already circling the room, absorbing the scene. 

You scrunched your face and looked at her in confusion. “What do you mean, Mel?” 

“Is there something going on with you and Doctor Park?” She asked, standing a bit on her tiptoes, as she usually did when she was getting excited. 

You stood still and you watched as she glanced at you curiously. Snapping out of your brief pause, you realised you had bigger things to worry about. “We have to go, Mel.” 

“Okay! But we’re looping back to this,” she chased after you, handing you a gown. 

Gearing up, you both followed him into the room. Trying to squeeze into the room, you and Mel somehow managed to get near the bed. You watched as Garcia presented the case, Whitaker and Ogilvie piping in when needed. 

“Come here, pup,” confused glances were exchanged in the room, trying to decipher who exactly ‘pup’ was. Brendon glanced over to you, everyone’s eyes following the path.

Stepping forward, you moved next to him, “Tell me.” 

“Why is she explaining the case?” Ogilvie questioned, and the room went silent. Brendon slowly turned and looked at the boy, his hands brushing against yours. “Isn’t she a resident?” 

“Is this not a teaching hospital?” He asked slowly. 

Ogilvie nodded slowly, suddenly afraid to make any noise. A small part of you felt bad, being on the end of Brendon’s ire was not something you would wish on your worst enemy, but he did need to be knocked down a peg. 

“If you think that once you become an attending or a resident that you should stop learning, I suggest you find a different career path,” Brendon advised, his ire only simmered because of you. 

You glanced towards him, he nodded to you, the only gentle allowance he was willing to give in this situation. 

Giving him the information he wanted with no constraints, Park watched you in what most would say admiration. Everyone watched in silence, afraid of breaking whatever was happening between the two of you. 

“Good,” nodding at you. Looking to the interns and other residents, “That’s how you do it. Learn from her,” with one last look at you, he scanned the room. “I’ll book an OR.” 

Walking out of the room, you removed your gloves, Park waiting patiently beside you. “You did good,” he praised. 

“I have a really good teacher,” you slyly replied, winking at him. “Who’s really persistent with his flashcards and quizzing me during our dinners.” 

Knowing he had a few minutes to spare, Brendon decided to play along. “He sounds like a good teacher.”

“He’s also fucking hot,” you smiled. Raking your eyes up his figure, you bit your lip as you saw his biceps straining against his shirt. 

“We’re at work,” Brendon reminded, though his tone held no real bite. It almost seemed like he was baiting you for something. 

“I thought you wanted to fuck me in your office,” you tilted your head innocently. 

“And I will,” Brendon promised. And he was going to make good on that promise soon. 

You watched as he tilted his head and looked at you. Fiddling with your badge, you wanted to keep the conversation going but you knew you were pressed for time. “I’ll see you tonight?” 

Brendon nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. “You want to go to that bar?” 

You hummed your confirmation and ran your eyes down his body. “They have funnel cake,” you supplied helpfully, remembering the menu that you were looking at last night. You could see Brendon becoming amused, the mask he wore around work almost decaying. “Don’t say anything,” you warned, a finger pointing at him. 

Glancing at the clock, you both knew that you had to wrap this up quickly. “Good luck on your surgery,” you piped up, and you watched him arch a brow. “Not that you need it, because you’re Brendon Park.” 

He smiled at you, or what you would classify as a smile from him. “I’ll see you tonight. Wait for me.” 

Overcome with a rush of adoration for the man in front of you, you started moving forward before realising where you were. Stopping in front of him, you affectionately tapped your foot against his. Dropping his gaze to your feet, he returned your action before nodding and leaving you. 

What you didn’t notice was Robby watching you from the other side of the ER. Eyes directly zoning in on the two of you. He watched in interest as the man known was practically gleaming at you. As much as someone like Park could gleam. 

And maybe it wasn’t gleaming. Maybe it was the fact that the man who had a well known reputation for being a hardass, was willingly being soft with you. Like he knew you better than he showed. That Shark knew your little ins and outs. 

The thought felt heavy in his head, and Robby had to physically shake his head to make it go away. Maybe it was just you. It was hard to not be soft with you. To feel comfortable around you.  And he knew first hand how loveable you could be. How wonderful you are. How you made everyone feel like they were okay to be themselves around you. Because he felt that around you. 

Shaking off his thoughts again, Robby feigned interest in the paper in front of him, before speaking out loud. “What’s happening there?” Robby pointed towards the two of you and Dana stared. Hands on her hips, she assessed the situation. 

“Looks like the shark’s in love,” she stated, before looking back to the computer. 

“Shark?” Robby chuckled. “No way.” 

“Or maybe they’re having fun,” Dana shrugged. “Lord knows the girl needs it.” 

“Fun?” At Robby’s incredulous tone, Dana rolled her eyes. 

Dana stared him down, “Yes, Doctor Robinavitch,” she sighed exasperated. “Fun. Something that you are very familiar with.” 

“Maybe he was the one that left her those marks a couple of months back!” Princess said to herself. The two looked to her, Dana seemingly seeing all the pieces fit, and Robby torn between looking like he wanted to wrap his hands around Park’s neck and wanting to run to the nearest bathroom and throw up. 

“Or not,” she said quietly, as Robby decided to settle on his exasperated face. Tugging the clipboard close to her chest, she quickly vacated the location. 

“Don’t,” Dana warned him. “Robinavitch, I swear.” 

He held up his hands, and took a step back, “I wasn’t doing anything.” 

“You were going to do something,” Dana mumbled as she looked back at her chart. “You’re always doing something to that poor girl,” when the man started to stumble over his words, she looked down at him. “She wouldn’t be running around with Park if you actually manned up and told her your feelings.” 

“She’s young,” Robby argued pathetically. 

“So is Hastings,” Dana shrugged. “So was Collins, so were the other women you gallivanted with,” Dana threw her hands up. 

“Okay,” Robby repeated the word a couple of times, his tone becoming more defeated. 

“He’s good for her,” at her words, Robby gave her a look, all she did was shrug at him again. “He’s a good person for her, whether you agree to it or not. Look at her,” they both turned to watch you again. 

“Where do you think she’s getting the newfound confidence from? It sure isn’t from you,” Dana scoffed and left the man to his thoughts.  

He was left standing there watching you. Watching as you furrowed your brow at the chart in front of you, nibbling on your lower lip as you usually did when you came across a problem. Sensing that you had eyes on you, you looked up, trying to figure it out who it was, and once you noticed it was him, his traitorous heart

He really hoped you weren’t fucking Park. 

--

You sat outside on the bench, shivering a little bit, as you waited outside for Park. Looking down at your phone, you read the messages as they came through the group chat. 

“Why are you here?” Brendon asked as he came up to you, frowning when he saw you were cold. “It’s cold.” 

“You said to wait for you,” you responded plainly, a little shiver going through you. 

“I meant in the locker room,” he replied, his tone bordering on disbelief. 

You shuffled your feet a bit, trying to feel warm. “I didn’t know if you wanted me up there.” 

“I want you up there,” stepping closer, he took off his jacket and placing it around your shoulders as you stood up. “Next time, come upstairs, alright? Or wait in my office.” 

You nodded and puckered your lips, silently asking for a kiss. Giving into you, he leaned down placing a kiss on your lips. Smiling against his mouth, you pushed yourself closer to him. You relished in the heat he was giving off, sighing contentedly as you felt your body begin to warm up. 

“Good day?” You asked as you parted, body still leaning into his. 

“It was a day,” Brendon breathed out and you rubbed his waist reassuringly. He looked at you, eyes soft, “It’s better now though.” 

“You still okay if we go to the bar?” You asked, as his hand found its usual place on your lower back. “We can just get something, or I can cook something.” 

“I’m fine, pup,” he reassured, fingers beginning to trace a circular pattern. “I want to go with you.” 

--

Bent over the bar’s sink, you gripped the side of the basin, trying to dig your feet into the ground so you wouldn’t slide from how hard Brendon was hammering into you. 

It was supposed to be a quick drink (or two), and then some dinner at the bar, but the two of you couldn’t keep your hands off each other. 

Okay, maybe you couldn’t keep your hands off Brendon. Maybe it was because the place was practically empty, maybe it was the drinks flowing through your veins, or maybe, just maybe, it was the man in front of you who couldn’t not have his hand on a part of your body. 

It was mostly innocent on his part. A hand on your thigh, rubbing comforting small circles into your skin as he ate his food. Talking about his day, the incompetent interns, the overbearing (but wellmeaning) relatives of the patients, and the fact that Garcia stole his protein bar again. 

While he was talking, your hand hovered around his leg, then accidentally slipping your hand into his lap, apologising by rubbing his inner thigh and receiving a stern look from him. 

You would have stopped it there, if not for his hand slipping between your thighs, and rubbing his fingers against the seam of your underwear. Dialling up your confidence, you pushed your hips closer to his hand. 

“Don’t start something you can’t stop,” Brendon warned, as he felt the wet patch. His other hand, on the table now, utensil cast aside on his plate. You watched intently as he clenched his fist tightly, his nostrils flaring as he tried to tamp down whatever he was feeling. 

Grinning at his words, you looked around the bar, seeing if any eyes were on you. When you saw no one, you swivelled your hips, practically using his fingers to get yourself off. 

You watched as he stood up, your eyes naturally drifting down to the bulge in his pants. “Get up, now,” he commanded. 

Practically grabbing you by your neck, he directed you to the bar’s bathroom. You felt his hard body against yours, and you could feel his length pressed against your ass.  

“Get in,” he practically threw you in the bathroom, locking the door, he turned to you, hands going to your face. Holding you between his hands, you couldn’t help your lips parting as you saw the look on Brendon’s face. “Are you that much of a slut that you can’t wait until we get home?” 

You didn’t say anything (something that irked Brendon), except your hand falling on his belt, your palm landing on his cock. 

“You want to be fucked silly right here?” When you didn’t respond, and just batted your eyes, Brendon lifted his hand and wrapped it gently around your neck. “You want to be fucked in this dirty bar so badly?” 

“If you’re not going to, I think I can definitely find someone from the bar.” 

Brendon didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to. All he did was smile and that’s all it took for a chill to run down your spine. 

You were brought back to where you were by a rough tug on your hair. Gasping back into the moment, you glanced at the dirty mirror in front of you. 

“Stay with me baby,” Brendon said against your ear, biting your lobe gently. “Want you to see what I’m going to do to you.” 

Sensing that you were back with him, he ran one hand to your throat, “There she is,” he purred against your head. Another thrust into your cunt made you shudder as you felt his tip kiss your spot.  

“You want my cum leaking down your legs, huh?” He spoke meanly, his gaze dropping to where your ass was meeting his strokes. “Be my messy girl?” 

“Please, Bren,” you begged, and he moved to squeeze your tits causing you to moan. Pinching the nipples harshly, you gasped at the pain and then the pleasure, your eyes rolling beginning to roll to the back of your head. 

“Couldn’t even wait until we got home for me to fuck you,” he said cruelly, hands rewrapping themselves around the base of your neck. You could feel his balls slap your clit as he roughly thrusted up. 

Not being able to help yourself, “As if you’re any better,” you breathed out. “Were practically begging me to ride you there in the booth,” you spat out, the words coming to a stop as he hit your spot again. 

“Pups got a mouth on her tonight, does she?” He stared at you through the grimy bathroom mirror. 

He didn’t wait for a reply, instead filthy words slipped out of his mouth like they were second nature. “You want that? You want everyone in this bar to see how you get stretched out on my cock? See how much you love being wrecked by me?” He hissed against your ear, and you shuddered as you felt his warm breath. “Want them to see my cum coming out of your pretty hole?” 

Yes. 

That was the only word running through your head. You wanted that, badly. You never thought you’d be the type of girl being fucked in the dirty bathroom bar. But here you were. With Brendon pushing behind you. 

The image ran through your head, of what would have happened if that did happen. 

“Oh, she likes that, does she?” Brendon taunted, as he felt you squeeze his cock. “But this is mine, baby,” with that, he squeezed your neck, his other hand falling down to rub tight circles on your clit. “Not going to let them see you like this.” 

Even in your fucked out state you could hear the possessiveness in his tone, something that lighted up another fire in you. You clenched tighter again, trying to hold his cock in you, trying to feel every ridge, every vein. 

“Bren,” you whimpered, feeling your gut clench as you tried to stave off your orgasm. But it was futile. You could feel it in your veins, you could feel it in every thrust, in every breath he panted against your neck. 

“Yeah?” You felt his tongue lick a path from your neck to your ear, biting the lobe. “My girl’s almost there, isn’t she?” 

You nodded feebly, unable to say any words. All you could do was slide your body against his trying to gather as much friction as you could. Your nails embedded themselves on his forearm

“Cum, baby,” he goaded into your ear, making eye contact with you through the mirror. “Look at how beautiful you are. Look at her.” 

And you did. It was a sight. Your shirt bunched up to your tits, your day-old make-up smeared all over your face, hair mussed from Brendon grabbing it. Under the dingy bathroom light, you had to admit, you found yourself beautiful. 

“Fucking perfect tits,” one hand moving to pinch your nipples under your shirt. “Perfect girl for me,” he groaned as he felt you clench against him. 

The dirty talking, the way you could feel his stomach pressing against your back, everything was too much. With a too loud cry of his name, you felt yourself release against him, shuddering against Brendon’s body. 

You could hear Brendon behind you whispering small praises as he watched you come down from your high. 

It was a sight, Brendon was usually composed, even when he was balls deep in you. But there was something about tonight. He looked ravenous, like he couldn’t get enough of you. Hand grasping your neck and the other wrapped around your lower stomach, you felt him dig his hands  into your flesh, and you knew that you were going to be bruised tomorrow. 

“So good for me, baby,” he grunted. “So good coming around my cock.” 

“Bren,” you whimpered, your nails digging into his forearm. “Want your cum, please.”

“Fucking love,” he started, then his breath stuttered. “Fucking love your pussy,” he breathed against your back. 

Squeezing him, you felt him release in your cunt, stuffing your channel with his seed. His hips rutting against yours as he came down from his high. You felt his hot breath on your neck, coming out in ragged pants. 

Fingers interlocking, you threw your head back on his shoulder, your breaths coming out in pants as your chest heaved. Lolling your head to face his neck, you nuzzled in there softly, letting him move your body. 

You both hissed as he slowly left, a string of your combined release still attaching the two of you. 

“Good girl,” softly rubbing circles on your stomach, you hummed in compliance. Your legs felt like jelly, your muscles becoming lax and you began yourself falling to the floor. Before you could, you felt him grab you by your arms. 

“Come on,” he urged gently, as he wrapped you in his arms. 

“Fuck, Bren,” you spoke as you felt his cum leaking out of you. You clenched your pussy, trying to keep all of his seed inside of you. Placing your underwear back, you could feel it slowly dripping on the fabric. Shuddering at the feeling, Brendon looked at you, running his eyes up and down your body. 

“You okay?” He asked as he helped you put your pants on. You nodded and leaned back against the sink as you watched him tuck himself back into his briefs. “Words, baby,” he gently chastised as he zipped himself up, eyes focusing on your face. 

“I’m fine, Bren,” you replied softly, hands already reaching for him. “Just feel a bit grimy.” 

“I’ll clean you up properly when we get home,” he promised as he bent down and kissed your forehead. Moving your head, you clasped your lips together, hands helplessly falling on his belt. 

Slipping your tongue into his mouth, your hands moved around to his back, latching on to his lower back. 

“If you don’t stop right now, I’ll take you here again,” he muttered, biting your bottom lip as you both pulled apart. 

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you quipped. “Do you think they threw out my food?” You asked, hunger beginning to fester in your stomach. 

“We’ve been in here for twenty minutes, sweetheart. I think it’s in the trash,” he spoke gently, as he rubbed his hand down your back. 

Food forgotten for a moment, you commented, “I made you cum in twenty minutes?” You looked back at him, your tiredness being forgotten for a moment. “Wow, go me.” 

He gave you a look, “You’re pretty confident for someone that I can make cum in just two minutes,” he rebutted. 

“It’s not my fault I’m sensitive,” you mumbled under your breath, groaning as you felt him move you away from the sink. “And you’re too damn good at it.” 

Once again, before he could say anything, you snapped your head towards him, “Don’t say anything. I’ve already fed your ego way too many times.” 

All he did was smirk as he pulled you closer to him, fixing the back of your hair. Wiping the mused lipstick from the corner of your lips, Brendon stared down at you gently. “Pretty girl.” 

You preened under his compliment, going on your toes to place a kiss on the corner of his lips. “Can we get funnel cake?” You looked up at him.

“If you eat actual food before that, yes,” he watched as you mocked him under your breath. Pinching your waist lightly, “You haven’t eaten that much today, and you were busy. I’m not having you run on just sugar, baby,” tucking you into his body, he followed you out of the bathroom. 

“But after?” You gazed up at him hopefully, already craving the sweet taste in your mouth. 

“Yes, after,” he conceded, and with that the two of you left the bathroom.  

A pit of anxiety opened up in your stomach as you walked back into the bar, half expecting people to know exactly why it took you so long to go into the bathroom, and why the two of you had to go together. 

You’ve never done anything like this, and you were expecting to be crucified and shamed. That you would walk out and people would point and whisper. The bartenders giving you dirty looks and telling you that you could never come back. 

Turns out it wasn’t like that, you walked back into a more emptier place, most of the patrons too engrossed in the game, the others being too passed out in their seats. 

As if he could sense your worry, Brendon turned to look back at you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and tucking you into him. It was as if his warmth, his presence grounded you and you felt yourself relax. 

“That was fun,” you said eventually, as you both made your way out of the bar, heading back into Brendon’s car. 

“Yeah?” He looked down at you, a grin on his face. “You like having sex out in public?” 

“I like having sex in public with you,” you clarified, buckling yourself in, completely missing the look on his face. “Oh, it’s so late,” you looked at the clock on the dashboard.

Starting the car, Brendon briefly glanced over to you and as if knowing what was going through your head, “I’ll make it for you.”

“What?”

“Your funnel cake,” he said, starting up the car. 

“Bren,” you started. “I can wait tomorrow, I’ll find a place,” you replied. “You just got off a long surgery, I’m not making you do that,” 

“You let me have sex with you in the bathroom, baby, I’ll make as many fucking funnel cakes as you want,” with one hand gripping your thigh, you felt your breath leave from your body. “And you want it now, not tomorrow.” 

“And what happens if I have sex with you in your car?” You peeked at him, hips widening as you guided his hand to the apex of your thighs. 

Brendon gritted his teeth as he tightened his fist on the wheel. “You can have anything you fucking want.” 

Glancing at him your gaze flickered to his eyes, then to his lips. Thoughts began running through your head. Filthy, disgusting thoughts that made you blush, but underneath it all, a small wanting that you never dared to voice out. 

Sitting in the passenger seat, you realised you just wanted one specific thing.

-> coming soon! (next part, but can be read as a standalone!)

park taglist 

@realwhoreforfictionalmen | @noisynightmarepoetry | @popecodysgirl | @hehehehahahohohuhu | @cuntomoxetine | @rabboteatscarrots | @peachiestevie | @moonlitblossomsofthesun

don’t go wasting your emotions 

@melsunshine | @letstryagaintomorrow | @straykids1011 | @trulovekay | @onlyheretowastetime | @lospy41 | @sissymarcosstuff | @shawnysimp | @barcelonaaababe | @kniifefiight | @thor230 | @goawaysha | @rabboteatscarrots | @peachiestevie | @uncertainblissss | @princessninii

[ceijoh]

unsatisfied i skip my pride

pairing: brendon park x f!reader

You were fine. Actually, no you were pissed. Weeks of hooking up and Park decides that you were basically scum of the earth by not acknowledging you.

warnings/contents: angst. park's a bit of dick, but he kind of means well. a little bit of miscommunication but they work it out. a little bit of a spat. jealousy. fluff. humour. blowjobs. handjobshumping (reader humps brendon's leg/thigh). they're very domestic in this.

notes: ngl i re-wrote the second part of this like a million times. and i re-read this a bajillion times, but alas there will be typos because it's me. as always let me know what you think!

word count: 6.1k+ (this was supposed to be a shorty, and i guess it kind of is)

dont go wasting your emotions masterlist | the pitt masterlist | masterlist | ask

<- i used to think i was sensible (can be read as a standalone!)

You were fuming. You weren’t asking him to treat you any differently, but you thought that maybe practically fucking every day since you guys first hooked up, which was three weeks ago, mind you, would have made him treat you a bit differently in public. 

Or at least have a fucking conversation with you at work and not just bypass you as if you weren’t there. As if you weren’t sucking his dick last night, or riding him this morning. 

“Park,” Robby greeted, and you watched the other attending glide through the room, your heart rate increasing. You scolded yourself to focus on the case. 

You stood by Robby’s side often glancing at said taller man as he took control of the situation. Feeling your gaze on him, Robby looked at you and smiled, his kind eyes shining down at you. You didn’t want to admit it, but your heart didn’t race the way it used to when Robby smiled at you. Or gave you attention. 

And you certainly didn’t want to admit why. 

Giving him a small smile, your gaze went back to the man who held your focus. You watched him as he worked through the case, assessing every little thing. You were enamoured with the way he worked, the way he was so sure of everything that he came across. It was different now. You could look at him without the fear of being judged, without the fear of thinking he might hate you. 

Brendon Park may be mean, blunt and at points borderline cruel, but he was a damn good surgeon. 

It was a sight to see The Shark work. 

What you didn’t see was the sly glances that Brendon was throwing to you. The rush of familiarity you always brought him when he saw you. The fact that even if his priority right now was the patient in front of him, you were always there in the back of his mind. 

But today was different. The fact that he could see again the smile that you sent Robinavitch was doing his head in. He wasn’t a boy. He shouldn’t be feeling like this. He knew what you felt before all of this started. Refusing to acknowledge the pain settling in his chest causing his shoulders to tense, he gritted his teeth and rolled his shoulders back. 

He refused, absolutely refused to have personal feelings affect his work. 

“Hey,” you smiled at him, as you placed the tablet back on the charging dock. “Thanks for coming down.” 

Brendon looked you over once and then looked back at the clipboard in his hands. Frowning at his behaviour, you were about to speak when you felt Robby’s presence next to you. 

Looking at your attending, you missed the way Park’s hand clenched the paper in his hand, or the hard clench in his jaw. 

“Thanks for coming down, Park,” Robby acknowledged as he nodded to the other man. 

“Sure,” he looked once at you, and you felt a chill go down your spine. He looked at you like you were nothing. Even before this, there was at least contempt in his eyes. There was at least something. 

Without another word (without another look at you), he stalked back upstairs. 

“Don’t take it too hard, sweet girl,” Robby smiled gently at you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Shark’s always like that.” 

You steeled yourself and turned to him, smiling tightly, you nodded and went back to work. 

Storming to the locker room, you were greeted by an empty room except the current desire of your ire. 

“You get into my pants and then you practically ghost me when we’re at work?” You slammed his locker, refusing to back down when he slowly turned to you, a prominent glare on his face. 

“I didn’t realise that I had to converse with you every time I saw you,” he sneered. “Did you want coffee, flowers, as well?”

You frowned at his tone. Since this thing started between the two of you, he’s never been outright mean. Well, he’s been mean in bed but that was always different. You knew he didn’t mean it, right now? You’re not so sure. 

“No,” you sputtered. “Of course not, but I want you to talk to me like I’m actually there. Hell you pay more attention to Ogilvie and Whittaker.” 

Park sighed, already deciding that he was over this conversation. He’s hard a tiring day, too many idiots, and the coffee machine was fucking itself again. “We didn’t talk before.” 

“Because I thought you hated me,” you replied, and when he opened his mouth, you quickly interrupted. “I know now that you don’t hate me.” 

“I don’t understand why I have to talk to you outside of when I go downstairs,” he implored. “Plus, it seems like Robinavitch can fill that space.” 

You looked around baffled at what he just said. “What does Robby have to do with anything? He’s my boss. I have to talk to him.” 

“Do you sweet girl?” Brendon asked, his tone bordering on cruel as he said the pet name. 

You narrowed your eyes, “Is that what this is about? The fact that Robby and I talk?” 

“No, what it’s about is I don’t understand why I have to talk with you downstairs,” Brendon crossed his arms as he looked down at you. And for once you felt like you were being stared at by the Shark. Not Brendon. The Shark. 

“It’s courtesy,” your tone was bordering on whinging and you quickly reeled yourself back. 

“What’s courtesy, princess, is me leaving hickeys where people can’t see it,” his eyes quickly flashed to your breasts, and you frowned, crossing your arms. 

“Don’t be crass,” you snapped. 

“I usually don’t talk to people I fuck,” sighing, he turned back to his locker. He winced as he instantly regretted the string of words that just came out of his mouth. You weren’t just someone he fucked, you weren’t. But he didn’t want to show that he regretted it. 

Feeling uncomfortable at the thought of hurting you and the lie in his words, he rolled his neck when more emotions rolled through his body. He had good control of his emotions. He only showed it when he allowed his body to. But around you? It seems like everything was out of the door. 

You frowned at his blunt tone, and a bit hurt as to what he just reduced you to. Small moments that you shared at his houses flashed through your head. Did they mean nothing  to him? That the moments that you cherished (and replayed in your mind late at night) –  were they a means to an end for him? 

“Fine,” you frowned, too tired to argue, and not that you’d ever admit it, a bit hurt at the thought of him being with other people. “I’ll see you next time when we both fuck I guess,” turning to leave, you heard him make a noise before grabbing your arm. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” he bit out, nostrils flaring at the situation. “I don’t know what to talk to you about when we’re at work.” 

“The weather? The shitty but overpriced cafeteria? The gossip that’s everywhere around us?” You snapped, listing off the first things that came to your mind. 

“It just-,” you started, and you could feel the emotion bubbling up in your chest. “It just makes me feel used, Park. Like I’m good enough for you to fuck but not good enough for you to talk to in public.” 

Brendon frowned at your statement, “I didn’t mean it like that,” he rubbed your elbow gently. “I thought that you would prefer for me to not talk to you. I thought you might hate the gossip that would come from it.” 

“Gossip is going to happen whether or not we talk in front of our co-workers,” you chided gently. “Plus, I was already the subject of gossip a couple of weeks back, remember? And I got through it because I’m a big girl.” 

Silence stretched between the two of you, his hand still gently rubbing your arm. “I want you to talk to me, Brendon,” you laughed a bit, finding the situation a bit ridiculous now.“I like talking to you. That’s why I stay.” 

Park shifted in his spot, as if your words impacted him in a way that he couldn’t decipher, “I like talking to you too.” 

At his words, you felt yourself at ease, the tension you’ve been holding onto for the last week disappearing. “Don’t ignore me again, I swear to God, otherwise I’ll ban you from sex,” you pointed your finger at him. 

He rolled his eyes, “This is like your shitty Grey’s Anatomy.” 

You scoffed, stepping closer to him, “You like my shitty Grey’s Anatomy,” pressing a quick kiss to his lips, you watched as a ghost of a smile appear on his face before it disappeared. 

Pulling you closer, Park looked down at your lips, then back to your face, and something akin to something he didn’t want to admit began stirring in his chest again. Placing a longer kiss to your lips, Park cupped the back of your head, deepening it. 

“If you ever,” he threatened, a mean but playful look on his face. You grinned and held up your hands in surrender, watching as he turned back to his locker. “What are we having tonight?” 

You sat down on the bench and watched him, “I want pho,” you watched in appreciation as Brendon began changing into his normal clothes. He was always so big, but his movements weren’t clunky or awkward, it was always so sure. 

Too deep in your head, you almost missed him wordlessly tossing his hoodie. “You’re going to get cold,” he stated and you mumbled under your breath. 

“Do you want to eat in? Cause if so, we have to head home and shower,” he mumbled into his locker, grabbing the last of his things. Closing it, he turned to you, his face softer than it was a couple of minutes ago. 

“Take away?” You suggested. “I’m kinda beat,” you shrugged then stood up, placing his hoodie on. 

Park watched your actions closely, his eyes trailing the way his jacket almost covered all of you. “You good?” 

“Tired,” before you could lift your bag to your shoulder, Park grabbed it and carried it for you. Murmuring a ‘thanks’, you moved closer to him. “I just really want to eat pho and watch shitty Grey’s Anatomy.” 

“You’re lucky I have Netflix,” kissing your forehead as he wrapped one arm behind your back. 

“I have all the DVD’s, that won’t stop me,” you chuckled, practically burrowing yourself into him. 

-

“What do you feel like?” You asked Brendon, your body pressed close to him. Looking at you, then flicking his eyes to the lack of space, you moved your body and mumbled an apology. 

Tugging you closer, Park pointed to one of the items on the menu. Rubbing your lower back, he passed the menu to you. 

“They have banana cake!” You said happily, and a small thrum of joy went up Park’s spine as he watched you light up. “We have to get that,” you hummed, and then scanned the menu. “I’ll take this one.” 

Moving to order your items, you began to pull your wallet before Park stepped in and placed his hands on top of yours. 

“Put that away,” he said as he brought out his own wallet. 

“You two make a very cute couple,” the older lady said, as she looked at the two of you, a knowing glint in her eyes. “Very in love with you,” she pointed towards you, and you flushed.

“Oh, we’re not-,” you began to mumble quietly. 

“Thank you,” Brendon interrupted as he looked down at you. 

Taking a seat near the kitchen, you both sat in silence, eyes occasionally looking at the other patrons, until you landed on Brendon again. “So, you come here often?” You broke the silence. 

He let out a breathy chuckle, “Are you trying to pick me up?” 

“Maybe,” you smiled cheekily. “Is it working?” 

“Yes,” he replied bluntly, moving his chair closer to yours. 

“Score, I get to take a surgeon home,” you celebrated quietly, and you watched him smile at your actions - something that you mirrored without knowing so. “You smell nice,” you complimented. 

“Oh?” He leaned forward, as if daring you to smell him more. 

Taking the bait, you moved your chair, practically on top of him. “Hmm, you always smell good,” and you began to lean in, ready to nuzzle into his neck. 

Brendon pulled away from you suddenly, his face and tone serious as he said your name, “Hey, I’m sorry about earlier today.”

Chest warm from his apology, you shook him off, “It’s fine, Bren.”

A small frown appeared on his face, “Don’t say that just because I apologised. I fucked up. I said some pretty shitty things to you.” 

“I think we both did,” you said. “I should have told you that I felt hurt with how you were with me. You couldn’t have known thatm” before he could open his mouth again, you raised a hand up, “We both fucked up.” 

“I’m not ashamed of you,” Brendon said seriously. “If that’s what you were thinking.” 

“I know,” you shrugged. “I’m a catch.” But his words did settle in your chest, removing the unwarranted jealousy brewing in your chest. 

Chuckling, he pulled you closer, “You sure are, princess.” 

“I never thought that-,” you started to say then shaking your head. “I just thought that I wasn’t worth your time outside,” you frowned, trying to think of the words. 

What was this? It wasn’t a relationship, you never defined anything but it felt more monumental than a simple hook-up situation. 

“Outside of your bedroom,” you finished, then you shrugged, not allowing the hurt to seep in again. “It just hurt, that’s all,” you waved a hand in front of you. 

Brendon unknowingly matched your frown when you finished your words. You watched as he narrowed his eyes in the way you knew he was trying to find the right words. “You’re always worth my time. Whether we’re in our bedroom or not,” he said seriously, as if he knew his words held a significant weight. 

And they did. 

Under the fluorescent lights of the Vietnamese restaurant, under the watchful but soft stare of Brendon, you swore that you could fall in love with him (and maybe, just maybe, you were already on your way). But it was too soon to feel like this. You didn’t even know what this thing between the two of you were. 

But this felt different. It felt sure. He felt sure. 

Shoving your emotions down, you looked at the man in front of you and decided that right now was good enough. The possibilities of what was in store for the two of you was for future you to dwell on. 

Needing to lighten up the situation before you blurted out something you couldn’t take back, you pointed your finger at him, “But don’t worry, Park, if you ever step out of line, I’ll let you know.”

“Good,” he nodded once, looking at you appreciatively. 

“Good?” You teased, leaning in, a smile on your face. 

“Tell me. If I ever fuck up, let me know,” his hand moving to your knee. “I can take it.” 

This fucking man. 

“That’s kinda hot, you know,” you said honestly. 

“Like knowing that you can put a man into place?” He grinned, his smile at ease (like it always was with you). 

“Knowing that I can put you in your place,” you rebutted, smiling before kissing him again. You let yourself melt into him, but still trying to be aware that you were very much in public. 

“I’m sorry, as well,” you added, looking at him intently. You furrowed your brows, “I like talking to you more than I like talking to anyone else.”

At your confession, Brendon softened physically. As if he was also waiting to hear something like that. “I shouldn’t have said that. That wasn’t in my right.” 

“I like talking to you more than I like talking to anyone else, Brendon,” you repeated and you hoped that he was good at reading between the lines because you don’t think you can quite say it out loud just yet. 

You kissed him softly, probably bordering on what’s publicly acceptable, but you hoped that he could feel what you were trying to project. 

You were broken apart when you heard someone gush loudly. “I told you, very cute together,” the lady clapped her hands as she saw the two of you. “Young love,” she said, as if she was reflecting on some memories. She looked at Brendon, “Or maybe not so young,” she winked at you causing you to huff out a laugh. 

“Okay,” Brendon said, prolonging the word as he stood up, hand reaching out for yours. Feeling his sturdy hand on top of yours, you burrowed into his side, hand reaching for the food. 

-

You watched intently as Brendon watched the show, transfixed on the scene in front of him, your meals both finished. You sat with your legs in his lap, his hands massaging your heel every now and then. You allowed yourself to melt into him, to just allow this moment of tranquility.  

“He’s married,” he turned to you. “He’s married,” he repeated, his voice laced with bewilderment. 

“Yup,” you nodded. Leaning forward, you grabbed the cake and opened it up. 

Taking a bite of the cake, you moaned out loud, a noise that made him turn his head to you sharply. “Try this,” holding out your fork, you waited for him to bite. “See?” You said as he swallowed. 

He slowly nodded and licked the remnants off his lips, something which you watched intently. “That is good,” he said slowly. 

Before you knew it, the cake was gone, and you were casting the package back on the table. 

“We have to get that again,” you sighed happily. Wiping the milk from his face, Brendon stared intently as you placed your thumb into your mouth, humming all the while. 

Tugging you into his lap, he positioned his hands on your waist. “Bren,” you giggled. “Wait, I want to clean this up.” 

“Leave it. I’ll take care of it later,” he mumbled against your lips. The nickname giving him more incentive to kiss you deeper. Slowly sliding his tongue into your mouth, you shimmied joyfully against him, arms wrapping around his neck. 

“You taste like bananas and coconut,” you sighed happily, bringing your mouth together again. 

“And you taste,” he paused and looked at you, blue eyes locked onto yours. Divine. Wonderful. LIke the very thing that I’ve been wanting for so long. “Delicious.” 

His house was silent with the exception of the quiet hum of the episode playing and the soft moans coming out of your mouth. Hands sliding under Brendon’s shirt, you grinded against his hips, feeling him harden under you. 

Taking off his shirt, you reconnected your lips back to his, spreading your legs even wider, trying to get the angle just right. “Want to feel you, Bren,” you spoke as you began pawing at the band of his pants. 

Getting off him, you removed your pants and underwear, throwing them somewhere on the floor, as you watched him tug his jeans down, kicking them off. 

Climbing back onto him, you sat on one of his thighs, the man under you grinning as you shuddered when you started grinding. Whimpering you began rocking your hips, mouth gravitating to his lips. 

“Gonna cum like this?” He taunted, breath fanning your face. You stared into his blue eyes that were blown with lust. “My baby just going to cum by humping my leg?” 

You nodded, too turned on to feel any type of embarrassment by his words. “Come on, baby, use me,” one hand curling at the base of his neck, you planted the other behind you on his knee. Rolling your hips, you tried to find the right pace, Brendon groaning lowly as he could feel how warm and wet you were. 

Gliding your cunt against his thigh, you let out a small whimper. Flexing his quad, your eyes closed at the sensation. You could feel sweat start to bead on your forehead, your once baggy shirt clinging to your skin. 

Brendon caressed the apple of your cheeks, thumb hovering over your mouth, softly pressing on the plush skin. He watched as you took the digit into your mouth and sucked it softly. 

“Can you feel you sweetheart,” leaning up, pressing his nose to your neck, licking the skin softly. “Can feel how wet you are for me,” moving his hand to your lower back, he pressed you closer to him, your knee nudging his bulge. Moving the hand from his knee, you lowered it gently to his bulge, palming him softly, watching as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. 

Licking the column of his neck, you nibbled under his chin, hand going under the band of his underwear to stroke him. Spreading the precum with your fingers, you hastily removed him from his briefs. 

“Baby, fuck,” he swore as you slowed your hips down, focusing on stroking him. “So fucking good,” you hummed in agreement against his neck as you matched your strokes with the rut of your hips. 

Squeezing the flesh of your ass, he snaked his hands down to your little nub, rubbing small circles until you threw your head back. Swearing under his breath, he took his thumb to his mouth, groaning at your taste. “Who’s all this for?” He asked, possessiveness in the foundation of his tone. 

 Wrapping his large hand around your hip and squeezing, “Tell me,” he urged. 

“You, Bren,” you looked down and stared at him, your eyes getting a bit hazy from the pleasure. “Always you,” the words coming out before you could really think about what you said. 

Grasping your face with both of his hands, he placed a desperate and rough kiss on your lips. “Fucking perfect for me.” 

“I’m close,” you stuttered, hips desperately trying to chase your release. “Bren,” you shut your eyes and tugged yourself closer to him. Panting against his face, you lifted your hips up before slamming your hips back down to his thigh.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he mouthed at your neck, hands lovingly caressing your back. “Let go for me.” 

Digging your nails into his shoulders, you felt the familiar feeling of your orgasm approaching. Desperately trying to chase it, you rolled your hips faster, your hand abandoning the grip on his cock, instead pressing it to his neck. 

“So pretty for me,” he murmured against your skin, his hands moving under your shirt to pinch your nipples. “Always so pretty for me.”  

Dipping your head to the crook of his neck, you wrapped your arms around him. Feeling a hand snake up to the base of your neck, you could feel him wrap your hair around his fist and yank gently. Mouth open, you hazily looked at him. “Be a good girl and cum for me,” he instructed. “Cum all over my thigh.” 

It was his words that took you over the edge, chanting his name breathlessly, you felt your walls clench around nothing and a thrill running up your spine. Collapsing your body into his, you continued to roll your hips lazily as your arms fell around his shoulders. 

“Good girl,” Brendon praised, pressing kisses to your face and neck as he watched you come down from your high. “So fucking good, always coming so well for me.” 

“Always want to be good for you, Bren,” you slurred, head falling to his shoulder. 

“You are,” he affirmed.  Pressing your lips together again, you couldn’t help but press your face as close to his as possible. Your shirt sticking to his chest, you pulled away, foreheads touching. “Look at you, sweetheart,” hand sweeping the hair stuck to your face, he swore that you look more beautiful every time. 

“Let me taste you, baby,” you nodded and slowly lifted your hips. Shuddering when he swept his fingers through your folds, slowly placing them into his mouth, you clenched your jaw as you saw how he devoured your release. Humming in pleasure, Brendon looked at you, “My girl always tastes so good.” 

Feeling his cock twitch against your thigh and the leaking of his precum, you moved to hold his shaft in your hands. Encircling your fingers around his shaft, you pressed another kiss to Brendon’s lips, hands tightening when you reached his tip. 

Before he could place you on his lap fully intending to fill you, you began to kneel on the floor. Your hands on his thighs, you pressed a kiss to his weeping cock. Brendon groaned out your name as he felt his stomach clench at the feeling of your mouth around him.  

“Not gonna last baby, not after that,” he warned. He wouldn’t normally admit it to his partners, but with you? He could admit anything, always wanted to tell you what was going through his head. How you made him feel. “Too fucking good for me,” he grunted. 

“You taste good, Bren,” this time it was you praising him, like it often did when you were focused on pleasuring him. It wasn’t awkward, it rolled off your tongue like it was second nature. You wanted to let him know just what he does to you. How he feels to you. 

Running your tongue along his length, you knew that Brendon was close, any other time you would have done a more thorough job, but you just needed him to fill your mouth. Slowly taking him, you moaned as the salty taste landed on your tongue. 

“Slow, baby,” he guided, as he watched you intently. “Don’t need you rushing, mmkay?” 

You nodded around his shaft, eyes already tearing up as you swallowed him inch by inch. Forcing yourself to accommodate more, until your nose was flush with his pubic hair. Swallowing around him, you held on until you felt your gag reflex kick in. 

“That’s my fucking girl,” he groaned and you watched as he flexed his stomach, hands running through your hair. “Eyes on me, baby,” when you looked up at him, he stroked one of your cheeks. “Gonna take a photo one day, keep it in my wallet, use it when I need it,” he jerked his hips up lightly, shushing you reassuringly when you began to choke. 

Letting his words wash through you, realising what he meant, you sucked him harder, nails digging into his thigh. Like always, Brendon knew exactly what was going through your head and body, “You like that? Knowing that I’d get off because of you at work?” 

Hand on your cheek, Brendon pinched it slightly, “Maybe I’ll fuck you in my office, you want that?” Removing him from your mouth, you watched as a line of spit connected you both. 

“Want you all the time,” you said between kisses to his shaft, swirling your tongue around his tip.  

“Of course, you do,” Brendon smirked, then his eyes softened the longer he looked at you (something that you began to notice more and more). Unable to stop the jerk of his hips as you took him back in, Brendon groaned and confessed something he didn’t want to leave his mouth just yet, “I can’t stop thinking about you, ever.” 

His cock in your mouth, you felt yourself blush. Finding a new rhythm, you wrapped one hand at the base of his shaft, the other softly fondling his balls. “Fucking,” he swore under his breath, hips jerking upwards causing you to gag. “Shit,” Brendon said, his hand falling from your head, using it to push you away gently. 

“Where do you want it, baby?” Hand fisting his cock, as he aimed it towards your mouth. “Want my cum in your mouth? Or maybe on your tits?”  

You didn’t say anything, except open your lips, waiting willingly. A feral smile took over his face, as he guided his cock back to your mouth, “Love your fucking mouth, you know that?” He asked, bottom lip between his teeth. “Fucking perfect.” 

Sucking his tip, you gladly began to take him into your mouth as Brendon slowly fed you his cock. “That’s my fucking girl,” he looked down at you. “Love having my cock in your mouth, don’t you, princess?” 

You couldn’t do anything except look at him with tears starting to pool in your eyes. You could feel him get deeper and your throat starting to constrict. It almost felt too much. Brendon was big, bigger and longer than you’ve ever had. You couldn’t help but not gag as he stayed in your throat. 

Groaning, he started to move his hips slowly, taking careful measures to make sure that he wouldn’t hurt you. One hand on the top of your head, he moaned out your name and you watched as his breathing got heavier, eyes closed tight, as he took your hand and gripped it in his.  

Swearing under his breath, he tightened his grip on your hand and hair, giving you a warning that he was about to come, you stood up on your knees, trying to relax your throat more. You moved your other hand to his thigh, gripping the soft flesh as you allowed him to use your throat. 

Releasing in your mouth, you savoured the salty taste in your mouth as you began to swallow. “That’s a good girl,” Brendon spoke raspily as he started wiping the tears away from your cheeks. “Come on, you can take some more,” he urged. 

Swallowing his load, you gripped his base and squeezed up, milking him for all he’s worth. Brendon groaned, head falling back on the couch, his body spent just from your mouth. Peeking down at you with one eye, he smiled, “You’re going to kill me one day.” 

Crawling up his body, you slotted yourself where you could fit. Pressing soft kisses against his skin, “But you love it.” 

Rubbing your back, he pulled you closer to his body, “Yeah, baby, I do.” 

Laying down on his body, legs intertwined with his, you focused back on the tv, eyes fluttering sleepily. You wiggled, trying to get comfortable, fully intending on taking a small nap on him. 

“We’re not sleeping on the couch,” he said sleepily, you looked up and saw the exhaustion on his face. 

“Is it because you’re old?” You joked, and playfully slapped his chest when he pinched your waist. 

“No, it’s because we both sleep better on the bed,” he said factually, wrapping you in his arms, steadying himself, as he got ready to stand up. 

“Bren, I can walk myself,” you chided, as you wiggled to get out of his hold. “And you also said that you’re cleaning this up,” you pointed to the little mess that both (mostly you) created on his table. 

-

“Good?” You asked as you watched him enter the bedroom. 

Brendon hummed as he kissed your forehead. Walking over to his dresser, he pulled out some of his clothes, setting them down next to you. 

“Don’t want that one,” you shook your head, and pointed to the familiar shirt that you found out was one of his old college shirts. 

“Spoilt,” he said flatly. 

“You can always say no,” you shrugged as you happily took his shirt, removing the shirt you had on. “Eyes on me, doc,” throwing your worn shirt at his face as you saw him staring at your breasts. 

“Just look good, baby,” pecking your lips, Brendon patted your butt as he walked into the bathroom. “We’re almost out of detergent by the way,” he called out from the bathroom. “The one that you like.” 

“I can go tomorrow,” you piped up, already fitting it into your schedule. “I have to drop by the store anyway. You said you’re out of those protein bars that you like.” 

Walking into the bathroom, he passed your toothbrush (one that he bought for you, it just showed up one day on his counter and you never questioned him), as he placed a tender kiss to your temple. “I can do it.” 

“You have back to back surgeries tomorrow, Bren,” you reminded, putting the toothpaste on. “You won’t be back until after dinner, you’re going to be beat.” 

Watching him through the mirror, adoration filled your chest as you saw him watch you back. There were too many times where this was the norm for the two of you. Just plain domesticity. 

The same thoughts ran through your head from a couple of hours ago. Seeing him here, brushing his teeth was something you wanted to see for the foreseeable future. This was the type of normalcy you never thought you desired, but seeing Brendon woke something up in you. 

“What was the place we went to called?” You asked as you looked at your phone. 

“Tram’s Kitchen,” Brendon answered, as he walked out of the bathroom, flicking the light off and walking closer to the bed. “Why?” 

“I’m writing a review,” you hummed, eyes squinting trying to figure out the right words to describe the food. “Would you say that the food was like home in your mouth, or is that too weird?” You tilted your head and then backspaced. 

“You write reviews?” He breathed out a laugh, scooting next to you, as he wrapped his arm around you and looked at your phone over your shoulder. 

You peered up at him, a brow arched, “Are you making fun of me?” Seeing the barely hidden smile, you began pouting, “Don’t make fun of me! I really liked their cake!” You defended. 

“Not making fun of you baby,” placing a tender kiss on your temple. “I think it’s cute.” 

You let your leg slip between his, as you rolled onto his chest, phone still in hand. Looking at him, you pouted. “Your tone seems very mocking.”  

He observed you for a bit, in the way you became accustomed to with Brendon Park. He slipped his hands to your lower back, thrumming just above your ass. “Write that their banana cake is so good that your girl will give you head on your couch.” 

Your mouth dropped, and you reached up to flick him on the forehead. “Brendon Park!” You scolded, “I am not saying that,” you huffed. “I’m not losing my level eight on local guides.” 

“You’re a level eight,” he repeated, and you could hear the teasing tone in his voice. 

“Bren, don’t make fun,” you frowned, whining slightly, as you looked back to your phone. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” soothing the small frown on your face,  he moved your body so you were more comfortable (and more flushed) against his chest. “I like it,” he placated. “I love that I have a local guide to Pittsburgh.” 

“You’ve lived here all your life,” you rolled your eyes. 

“But I’m not a level eight though with the locals,” he said playfully. 

“Yeah, you’re like a level one, or less, because you’re so you,” you grumbled under your breath. Realising what you said, you paused and looked up at him. Giving him a sheepish smile, “I mean you’re so sweet and you would totally be a level ten,” you placated, your smile turning into something sickeningly sweet. 

Placing his hands on your body, Brendon flipped you over, ignoring your gleeful shout of his name. “You’re showing me all of your reviews.” 

“So you can steal them?” You shook your head, “No can do, mister.” 

He breathed through his nose loudly, but there was a fond smile on his face. “You’re infuriating, you know that.” 

“But you love it,” you smiled at him, phone completely forgotten, as you moved your body to align better with his. 

Taking a beat of silence, Brendon looked down at you, “Yeah, sweetheart. I do.” Capturing your lips with his softly, he ran his hands under your shirt before taking your breasts in his hands. Looking back up you, he leaned closely and whispered, “Can’t believe I get to fuck a level eight local guide.” 

You couldn’t help but the laugh that came out of you, pure unadulterated joy on your face as you took in Brendon’s seemingly serious stare. “Brendon Park! Oh my goodness.” 

He shrugged simply and kissed your lips again, “You love it.” 

Playing with the hair on the base of his neck, “Yeah, Bren. I do.”

-> now everything is new (next part, but can be read as a standalone!)

-> dont go wasting your emotions masterlist

park taglist 

@realwhoreforfictionalmen | @noisynightmarepoetry | @popecodysgirl | @hehehehahahohohuhu | @cuntomoxetine | @rabboteatscarrots |

don’t go wasting your emotions 

@melsunshine | @letstryagaintomorrow |@straykids1011 | @trulovekay | @onlyheretowastetime | @lospy41 | @sissymarcosstuff | @shawnysimp | @barcelonaaababe | @kniifefiight | @thor230 | @goawaysha | @thisismmaya

[ceijoh]

i used to think i was sensible

pairings: brendon park x f!reader

You've never felt like this with anyone before. Park just brings something out of you. And apparently that something was a hunger to bite him.

warnings/contents: smut. biting kink (heavy on this!). creampies. fluff. you both go to the farmers market. park cooks for you. banter. dirty talk (both). park calls reader 'my girl' but totally not in a 'i'm in love with you way' definitely not. excessive use of the word 'baby' and 'good girl'. pet names from park. brendon thinks of reader when he's reading medical journals. teasing from co-workers. abbot mention [;)]. robby and everyone else appears. robby gets sad (lol, sorry) oh god, they're so terribly down for each other that it's actually sickening.

notes: he bites you, you bite him, then you both go have a cute farmers market date. second instalment, let's go! thank you for all the love, i literally kick my feet and grin while reading y'alls comments! enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think!

word count: 6.4k+

dont go wasting your emotions masterlist | the pitt masterlist | masterlist | ask

<- a little small talk, a smile, and baby, i was stuck (can be read as a standalone!)

It was a day later after you spent two nights in Park’s bed, finally being able to shower in your own bathroom, wear your own clothes and be in your space. It was nice being in your own space for a bit, not that you minded Park’s place. Not at all. 

In fact it scared you. Scared you just at home you felt with him. How easy he made everything feel, how comfortable he made you feel. It’s been three days and you were scared at how Brendon was incomparable with everyone that came before him. 

He was sweet. And before everything happened you would have never used that word to describe him, but now? He was that and so much more. 

You didn’t want to think of what this all meant to him. You don’t think you’re brave enough yet. 

Waddling into your bathroom, you looked at your neck, grimacing at the absolute sight of Park’s teeth imprinted on your skin. Tracing the mark, you could feel heat pool in your stomach. Closing your eyes, you re-encountered the many moments of when he sank his teeth into you. 

Biting your lip, you clenched your thighs and gripped your sink. You wondered how it would feel. To have his skin under your teeth, leaving your mark on him. 

You felt like an animal. You’ve never felt this way with your past partners, hell, you didn’t even fantasise about biting Robby when you touched yourself at night. 

But Park? There was something about him that made you just want to sink your teeth into. You wanted to bring it up to him but didn’t know how. You didn’t think that Park would be one to ridicule you, but still the embarrassment could happen. You don’t think you could face the rejection if you opened up like that. 

You were still mulling it over when he asked you back to his house, picking you up on his way home (taking an extra ten minutes out of his way, but he’d never admit that). 

Laying on his bed, waiting for him to finish up his shower as you thought of the best way to express what you wanted tonight. Should you just come out right? Or maybe just do it? No, you shook your head. You weren’t going to bite him out of the blue. That was ridiculous and so not right. 

Maybe you should have worn better lingerie. 

“You could have joined me, you know,” Park said as he walked out, drying his hair with one towel, another wrapped around low on his hips.

Seeing that you were in fact not paying attention to what he was saying and rather just staring at him. He paused his movements, trying to see if you noticed, when you didn’t, he smirked and removed the towel around his hips. 

Your eyes instantly going to his length, you felt your mouth drop as you saw him start to harden. Eyes never leaving his cock, you watched it bob against his thighs as Brendon made his way over you. 

Climbing over you, he bracketed your frame with his arms, leaning on one hand he placed a hand on your cheek tilting your face to meet his. Pressing his lips to yours, Brendon was a bit ashamed at just how he melted into your touch. 

It’s only been twelve hours since he touched you last and he felt like a drug addict. Being with you felt like the first time he was in an OR, he couldn’t get enough.

Deepening the kiss, he laid you down, his weight slowly coming down on you. Pulling away from you, he felt his cock harden as he heard your sigh of content as he started placing kisses down your neck. 

“Beautiful,” murmuring against your skin. “Missed you.” 

“Brendon?” You asked quietly, so quietly that he pulled back instantly, worrying that he may have done or said something wrong.

“You alright?” 

You nodded, feeling warm at his concern, “Can we. Can I try something?” 

Relaxing his shoulders, “What do you want to do?” 

“I wanna bite you,” you said shyly, feeling your cheeks heat. “I liked it when you bit me.” 

“You wanna bite me?” He grinned, flashing his canines, and there was that heat again. He looked absolutely thrilled at your suggestion. “I thought I was the shark.” 

You made a face and groaned, “Why would you say that to me? I’m like, dry now,” you knew that was a big fat lie. 

Spreading your legs, Brendon scoffed and his hand drifted down to your very damp panties. “Sure, princess,” grinding his thumb against your clit, Park watched intently at the way you threw your head back, your breathing becoming laboured. “So dry.” 

“Shut up,” you huffed, watching intently as he slid down your panties. 

“Let me eat you first and then you can bite me all you want,” sweeping his tongue from your hole to your clit. 

-

It was two orgasms later that Brendon finally slowly sank his cock into you. He entered slowly, as usual, allowing you to adjust to his size. When you nodded for him to move, his hips moved with purpose as he continuously hit your sweet, spongy spot. 

“Fucking missed this,” he rasped out. “Missed this fucking pussy, baby.” 

“It’s been ten hours, Brendon,” you partly laughed, a particular rough thrust interrupting the noise. 

“Twelve,” he corrected, as his hand went to your neck. 

“Brendon,” you gasped, feeling his teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder, dragging your nails down his back, you could hear his grunt against you, the jerk of his hips against yours. 

Removing himself away from you, Brendon licked the bite languidly, a contrast to the drive of his hips. “Look at you,” he purred, eyes taking in the multiple marks against your skin. “Beautiful.” 

You looked up at him and then to the meat between his neck and shoulder, his traps practically making you salivate. Sensing where your attention was, Park grinned to himself and lowered his shoulder. “Come on, baby.” 

Testing the waters, you slowly and gently bit down on the muscle. You frowned, you thought this would be better, but it wasn’t hitting the spot you thought it would. Maybe you just enjoyed being bitten instead. 

“I’m not going to fucking break, bite me,” Park growled out, annoyed at the thought you were putting off your pleasure because you thought you could hurt him. Still a bit hesitant, you moved your mouth back to his traps, this time sinking your teeth harder and you could feel Brendon squeeze your hips. “That’s my girl,” encouraged by his words, you bit harder, causing him to growl and buck his hips harder. 

“Fucking hell, baby, who knew you had it in you,” he praised as you licked your bite. “Think we have a little shark on our hands.” 

Flipping you over so you were now on his lap, Brendon wrapped his arms around you, his mouth feasting on your breasts as you began arching your back. Grazing his teeth to your nipple, a strangled noise left your mouth. 

Rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you relished in the feeling of him. He felt deeper, bigger, in this position. 

“Brendon,” hands running through his hair. “Feel so good.” 

“Yeah, I’m making you feel good?” Rolling your hips, you whimpered and nodded. You messily tilted his head up, needing his lips on yours again. 

You nibbled on his lip, dragging your lips down his mouth, to his jaw, leaving bites when you felt like it. Caressing the column of his neck with your canines, you debated on whether you could leave open marks on him. 

As if reading your thoughts, you felt one of his hands push the back of your head down to meet his neck. Thighs smacking against each other, in that moment you didn’t feel like yourself. Your teeth digging into the flesh of his neck, suckling and leaving your mark, and him doing the same, your nails claiming his back as your own. 

You’ve read stories about this, heard your co-workers who were more confident talking about their sex life at work describe this feeling. You’ve thought about it. But this was something else. 

Brendon Park was something else. 

You felt alive. Electric in a way that you never thought you could. He awakened some kind of hunger in you that only he seemingly could satiate. 

You pulled him away, and held his face in front of you. You clenched your pussy tighter, your quads were screaming in pain but all you wanted was to be filled by him. You touched your foreheads together, Brendon moving one hand to grip your hair, keeping you close to him. 

Your noses were touching, you could see the sweat drip down from his forehead, you could feel one of his hands going to your back, grasping your skin as if he wanted to be in it. 

Your chests were together, stuck together by your sweat, breaths combining as you couldn’t bear to be apart from him in this moment. 

“Fucking love your cock, Bren,” you stuttered out, as you slammed your hips down. “Fills me up so well.” 

At your words you watched Brendon’s face light up, his lips curling into a smirk, “There’s my fucking girl,” smashing your lips together, you pulled him closer to you, clammy hands on his shoulder. For the first time, you allowed yourself to take charge. 

Sliding your tongue into his mouth, you guided it out his lips, sucking on the muscle as soon as space allowed it. It was messy, it was loud and it was everything that you could need at this very moment. 

Pulling away you saw the strand of saliva connecting you fall down the valley of your breasts. Brendon dipped his head down licking the liquid, his tongue leaving a trail, eventually finding his home on your lips. 

“Such a fucking good girl, aren’t you?” He spoke against your mouth. “My good fucking girl.” 

“Want you to fill me up again,” you panted. “Want to always be filled with your cum.” 

As if finding a new sense of vigor, Brendon planted his feet on the mattress and began to rut his hips harder.  “Knew you were in there,” he growled against your lips. “Perfect girl.” 

“I’m close,” you closed your eyes and jerked your hips faster, your clit catching on his pubic hair, giving you the friction that you need. “Please, Bren,” you showed your neck to him, and he quickly latched onto the skin. Licking away from the mark, he slid his tongue around the hollow of your neck, collecting the sweat that’s collected there. 

Swallowing the salty liquid, Brendon felt his senses heightened. You were something else. Every part of you was just so fucking good. 

“Come on, baby,” he rasped in front of you, hand going down to rub messy, tight circles on your clit. “Cum around me.” 

With a final slam of your hips and a rough pull of his hair, you cried out his name and you felt the warm rush of your orgasm course through you. You panted against his face, your grip slacking as your body began to melt against his. 

“That’s my girl,” he praised as he felt your walls spam against his shaft. “That’s my perfect fucking girl,” he groaned as he felt your release coat his cock. Hands bruising your hips, his mouth kept sucking marks into your neck. 

He followed a moment later, tightening the grip on your hair, pulling you closer to him, as his cock twitched and filled you up. “So fucking good for me,” placing tender kisses against your chest, he rubbed your back soothingly. “Perfect,” he repeated the word as he kissed every part of you he bit.  

Shallowly moving, you could hear the squelch of your combined release. Dipping your fingers into it, you raised them into your mouth, before you could taste it for yourself, Brendon moved your fingers into his mouth.

“Bren,” you chided as you watched him lick every crevice of your hand. “Want to taste you,” you whined. 

Pressing his lips to yours, he allowed you to suck his tongue again, before you pulled back a pout on your pretty fucked out face. “Not the same.” 

“You’re spoiled,” he rolled his eyes as he slipped out of you. Whining at the loss of contact which you were promptly shushed by the man beneath you. Watching as he collected your cum, he lifted up his hand to you. 

“Taste good,” you expressed, as you swallowed every drop on his hand. Pressing a soft kiss against the palm of his hands, you giggled as you shifted in his lap, closing the gap that was forming between the two of you. 

“Yeah, baby, you do,” Brendon said as he leaned back on his pillow, you in tow. 

“Need to have another shower,” Brendon breathed out, his arm resting behind his head, his other rubbing small circles on your back. 

“Can join you this time,” you murmured hazily against his still sweaty skin. Climbing up his body, you straddled his stomach and you could feel yourself leak out a bit. Abashed, you hovered slightly. 

“Don’t,” Brendon warned, his hands tightening on your hips and planting you down back on his stomach. “I like it.” 

You nodded and curled into his body. He was solid beneath you, feeling the thrum of his heart under your ear, you felt at home. Playing with the strands of your hair, you curled more into his body. 

“Thank you,” you said against his chest. 

“For what?” You could feel his neck tilt down to look at you. 

“For letting me bite you,” you said quietly. 

“I’d let you bite me anytime, baby, just ask,” Brendon laughed as he rubbed the back of your neck. 

You let the quietness wash over the two of you. Hands drawing nonsensical images on his chest, you felt him do the same to your back. The quietness allowing you to just think about everything and nothing. 

You tilted your head up and looked at Brendon, admiring him from that angle. 

He looked down, noticing your staring, “What’re you looking at?” 

“Nothing, you’re just handsome,” you said plainly, the compliment falling from your lips easily. Tracing his jawline with your pointer finger, “But I’m sure you know that, and a lot of people have told you.” 

“They have,” he affirmed. “But it’s better coming from you.”

And if you could feel his heartbeat accelerate, well that was just between you and his heart. 

“Come on, baby, we got to get you showered,” sitting up, you felt Brendon cup under your thighs and lifted you up. You wrapped your hands around his neck as he effortlessly walked you to his bathroom. 

Setting you down near his sink, he walked over to the shower and turned it on. 

“Holy fucking shit!” You leaned over his counter and looked at yourself in the mirror. “Brendon Park!” You exclaimed at the very obvious, very large marks on your body. 

He looked at you, his lips twisting into a satisfied smirk. What he wouldn’t tell you was there were more marks on your back. 

“You said that you liked it when I bit you,” was all he said, puffing his chest a bit when he saw you inspecting all of his marks. 

“I never said to treat me like a chew toy,” you grumbled, as you frowned, already trying to pick out what clothes to wear to hide them. 

“And what about me, princess?” He caged you with his arms, looking at you through the mirror. “How can I explain your marks?”

Whatever words were going to leave your lips were taken out by Brendon softly kissing your neck. “Shower’s ready, baby,” scooping you up (once again), as he carefully walked into the shower. 

-

Freshly showered, you shimmied in your spot as you dried yourself. “Do you have any moisturiser?” 

Brendon pointed to the amber coloured glass container on his counter and you waddled over to it. 

Before you could start putting on the lotion, you felt yourself being picked up. You briefly saw Brendon grabbing the bottle in his hand as he sat you down on his bed. Pumping a couple times, he rubbed his hands together. 

“You don’t have to do this,” a flash of embarrassment ran through you. Somehow him having cum in you was less intimate than him putting moisturiser on you. 

“You could hardly stand in the shower,” was all he said before massaging the lotion to your skin. 

You followed the path of his hands, occasionally looking at his face, there was no lust in his gaze. There was no heat in his touch that indicated he wanted this to turn into something more. It was innocent. Like he just wanted to be there for you. 

Not that you’d admit it to anyone other than yourself, you could feel his touch having a way of lighting the old dull flames that you stowed away. Of the domestic fantasies that paralleled this current situation. 

“Done,” he called out, as he rubbed the last bit on your neck. Dropping a kiss to your forehead, you watched him silently as he walked back to his bathroom and cleaned everything up. 

Walking to his dresser, he pulled out two shirts, holding them up, you jerked your head to the right.

“You want some sweats?” He asked, tugging his boxers on. “You got cold last time.” 

“Yes, please,” you responded, and then, “and socks, please.” 

Nodding, he fished the items out of his dresser, walking back to you. Kneeling down he rolled the socks on your feet, an amused smile appearing as he saw how big it was on you. “Up, sweetheart,” complying, you lifted your hips up and watched as he tugged the sweats on. 

“Could do this myself you know,” you spoke but he ignored you, as he dressed you in his shirt, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. 

“You smell good,” he said as he sniffed your hair. 

“I smell like you, genius,” you remarked as you moved underneath the covers. 

“We can go for breakfast in the morning,” he commented as he slid in next to you. “There’s this place near my place we can go to.” 

“I can cook,” you suggested sleepily, already tucking yourself into his side, one leg slipping between his. “Can cook for you.” 

“Mmm,” Brendon hummed against the top of your head. “We have to go shopping. We don’t have much at home.” 

“Bren?” you asked against his chest, your voice laced with sleepiness. 

“Yeah, sweet girl?” 

“Missed you too,” you confessed, and maybe come morning you’d regret saying that to him. Maybe you’d overthink it. But right now, wrapped in his arms, you really didn’t care about tomorrow, you just cared about him. 

Exhaustion taking over you, you nodded once, “Night, Bren.” 

“Night, sweetheart,” placing another tender kiss on your head, Brendon wrapped his arms around you, tugging you closer to his body.

-

“When you said shopping, I thought you meant a Whole Foods or something,” you commented, as you both entered the market. You were instantly bombarded with the smell of fresh food. 

“This is shopping,” Brendon commented as he placed his hand on the small of your back. 

“Do you seriously go to the markets every week and shop here?” You asked, as you manoeuvred through the crowd. 

“Obviously.” 

You scoffed, the picture of the Brendon Park looking around every weekend looking at the different fruits, carrying a basket full of fresh veggies, freshly baked bread stuffed in his bag. 

“What’s so funny?” He asked, his breath tickling your ear. 

“Nothing, I just never thought that Park the Shark would do his shopping at a farmers market,” you quipped, shoulder bumping his. 

The two of you strolled through the market, his hand never straying from its place on your back. 

“So, this is how the other side lives,” you mused as you placed down a punnet of tomatoes, costing you almost the shirt you were wearing (or were borrowing from Park). Whistling lowly as you scanned the prices on the shelf. “Should have become a surgeon.” 

Hearing the low chuckle of your companion, you looked towards him, holding a variety of fruit in his hands. You nodded to the bananas in his hand, and he handed it off to the vendor. 

“What do you feel like?” You turned to Park who was standing off to the side now, just watching you.

“Eggs Benedict with truffles, and a homemade berry muffin,” he stated simply, and you rolled your eyes. 

“You’re so funny,” you deadpanned, turning back to the produce stall, trying to see which apple was better.  

“I wasn’t kidding,” he replied, as he stood next to you, his hand resting just above your ass. “This is good,” he tapped the apple in your right hand and you passed it to him. “They sell truffles over there.” 

“I actually do like truffles,” you mused. 

What turned out to be grabbing essentials for your breakfast, completely turned into a proper grocery shop. Not wanting to acknowledge how domestic everything was. Or the fact that it felt so easy, and right, that it felt like you’ve done this a million times with Brendon, you distracted yourself with the amount of variety around the market. 

At some point your hand found itself attached to his waist, and his hand that was on your lower back, casually hooked itself over your shoulder. 

“Those are pretty,” you said offhandedly as the flowers caught your eye. 

Brendon hummed in agreement and looked over to the other side, “I have to go grab something,” jerking his head over to the other stalls. 

“I’m gonna look at the bread,” you pointed towards the vendor on the other side. “Meet me there?” 

Brendon nodded and as if on autopilot, you reached up on your tiptoes and placed a kiss on his cheek. You stood still in shock at what you just did, comparatively, he just smiled at you, and wordlessly took your bags. 

Greeting the vendor, you perused the bread, trying to figure out what Brendon would prefer. “Probably multigrain, or wholemeal, something with a lot of protein probably,” you grumbled under your breath. 

Trying to distract yourself with the bread and not overthink about what just happened, you asked for two different loaves and an interesting looking pastry. “Can I get those sliced please?”

“It’ll take a couple of minutes, ma’am, is that okay?” The girl behind asked. “We’re just a bit backlogged.” 

“You’re all good, take your time,” you nodded and stepped out of the line. 

You could smell him before you felt him, “How do you feel about a bacon and egg sandwich, with hashbrowns?” You leaned back into him, “I think they have some of the fancy bacon over there,” jerking your head over to the right side, Brendon looked and hummed. 

“That sounds good,” he answered. “We can pick up some cheese as well.” 

“I might pick up some chutney too,” you mused. Turning to him your eyes caught a bundle of pink and purple in his hands. “What’s that?” 

“Flowers, genius,” he quipped. What you couldn’t see or feel was the palms of his hands starting to get clammy.  

“The flowers that I said were pretty?” You raised your eyebrows, your body flushing with warmth. You didn’t want to assume. You shouldn’t assume. “Interesting.” 

“You have good taste,” Brendon shrugged. Bringing them up to you, you hesitantly took it, scared that he’d pull it out of your hands at the last minute. 

Brendon watched as you sniffed the flowers, a smile appearing on your face. He didn’t know what you would do if he took a photo right now. Taking his chances, he pulled out his phone and quickly took a photo of you. So quick that if your eyes weren’t already on him, you wouldn’t have noticed. 

Arching a brow, you looked at the man expectantly. 

“You looked nice,” he all but shrugged, placing his phone back in his pocket. 

“I always look nice,” you replied instantly, a playful smile on your face. 

“You do,” this time it was him that replied instantly. 

Curling your hands on the hem of his shirt, you pulled him to you, this time pressing a kiss to his lips. “Thank you.” 

-

Humming to nothing, Brendon watched you bop around his kitchen, placing everything away, an ease in your actions as you put everything in their rightful place. 

“How do you know where my things are?” He asked, arms crossed as he leaned against his kitchen island. 

You sheepishly turned to him, “I got hungry a couple of nights ago and I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“You should have woken me up, I would have made you something,” you tilted your head, gauging his words. If you weren’t wrong, he seemed a bit upset. 

You shrugged, “You were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.” 

“Next time, wake me,” he gently requested. 

“Maybe,” throwing him a cheeky smile. “You snore by the way?” 

That got him out of his somewhat upset mood. “I do not.” 

You hummed, “Yes, you do. Quite loud actually,” you smirked, as you turned around and placed the juice away. 

“Baby,” he started, a warning in his tone, but whatever he wanted to say was interrupted as he saw his shirt slipping off your shoulder. Locking his eyes to the bites he’s left on you. Stalking forward, he couldn’t help but trace his marks on your body. Heat filling his body knowing that there were more underneath your clothes. 

“Let me help,” he offered, well not really. You’ve mostly placed everything away, minus the ingredients you needed to use. 

Placing his hands on your waist, he rubbed up and down, tilting his head and nuzzling into your neck. 

“Oh, by help, you meant kissing the bite marks you left on me?” You laughed, but moved your neck so he had more access. 

Lifting you up on his counter, Brendon stepped between your legs, sliding his hands up your thighs before finding its home on your hips. 

“I’m soothing them,” he spoke against your skin, the gentle breath causing you to shiver a bit. “It’s medicinal.” 

With the way he whispered his words, you couldn’t help the loud snort, and the loud laughter that followed. You continued to laugh, head falling to his shoulders, body shaking with uncontrollable laughter. 

“It wasn’t that funny,” he looked at you, a mixture between fondness and bewilderment. A small chuckle leaving his lips and you quickly tucked the sound inside the folds of your brain. 

“I know,” you stressed out, still chuckling a bit. Replaying the moment, you threw your head back and started cackling. 

“You’ve ruined the mood,” he rolled his eyes while still rubbing circles on your hips. Patting your thigh, Brendon gave you a soft and tender kiss, “Now, hop off sweetheart, it’s time for breakfast.” 

Using him as a way to get down, you hopped off the counter, already heading to the stove. You watched, a bit annoyed, as he started getting the ingredients and pans ready. 

“I said I was cooking for you,” you pouted, holding the spatula out and watching as he took it from you. “I wanted to cook for you.” 

“You grocery shopped for me,” he pointed out, and when you went to interrupt, he threw a glare your way. “It’s only fair that I cook for you.” 

Bumping your hips into his, you moved him over, “We can cook together.” 

“Sit,” he commanded, slapping your ass to emphasise his point. “Or look around, I’ll call you when I’m finished.” 

-

And you did just that. 

You landed in his living room. It was spacious, once again, very neat in a way that you came to expect from Park. It was lived-in, a homey feeling to it. Far from what you expected. 

You looked at the books littered on his shelf, snorting in disbelief when you saw a couple of knick knacks here and there. “Who knew?” You whispered to yourself. 

Medical textbooks were placed neatly around his space, some having a notepad with some points jotted down. You peeked at them. Methodical and neat, very Brendon Park. Flipping through the notepad, your eyes scanned the pages until you saw your name pop up. 

Looking closer, you saw your name and a note ‘tell her about this’. Flipping through the book, you realised it was an entry about an unusual medical case. Realising that it was very similar to a case you once had, something that truly knocked you off your feet. You remembered confessing to Brendon the second night at the embarrassment that you felt at how you floundered under everyone’s gaze, not knowing what to say, until Langdon came to your rescue. 

You furrowed your brows, wondering when he had the time to do this. And why he would do this. 

Warmth engulfed you, as you noticed there were more notes with your name, alongside comments: make her read this, she should know for her test. Looking at the final one caught your breath. 

For her fellowship in cardio. Ask Barrett. 

Underneath, in what appeared to be fresher ink. 

Draft a letter in case she wants me as a reference. 

You didn’t even know that he knew that you wanted to pursue a fellowship in cardio. Something was in your throat and a feeling (a welcoming one at that) wrapped around your heart, cradling it in its hand. 

Closing the book, you placed it back gently and sat for a minute. 

Thoughts ran through your head. Why would he do this? Since when did he do this? And again, why would he do this? 

Shaking yourself, you didn’t want to dwell on it, you didn’t want to dwell on what it could mean. And certainly didn’t want to dwell on the fact that you weren’t freaked out he was doing this. You felt cared for. You didn’t have enough courage to say that other word. 

Finding yourself in the little hallway between the kitchen and living room, you looked at the family photos. You never thought that Brendon would be so sentimental. You smiled softly as you saw the various photos of his parents, and who you assume to be his siblings. 

“Oh my god,” you mumbled as you saw a baby photo of Brendon. Without thinking, you took out your phone and instantly took a photo. “He’s so cute,” you cooed at the photo. 

Arms wrapping around your middle, feeling a kiss to the back of your head, you leaned back into his embrace. “Have fun looking around?” 

You wanted to bring up what you saw, ask him but you realised, not now. You’d ask later, so instead, you nodded. “You’re cute,” you pointed to the photo of him as a baby. “You made a very cute baby.” 

“I did,” you couldn’t help but chuckle at his confidence. 

“Fat and squishy,” you hummed, giggling when you saw his face. “I just want to squeeze your cheeks,” you cooed. 

Turning around in his embrace, you squished his cheeks together. “Cute,” you repeated. 

Seemingly unamused, he looked down at you, arms still wrapped around your waist. Using his cheeks to move his face down to yours, you gave him a quick peck on the lips before letting him go. 

“I was a cute baby,” you mused. 

“Yeah?” He tilted his head, his mind trying to picture you as a baby. His heart warmed at the thought of a little you, and his brain started to think of what if?

“I’ll show you them sometime,” you nodded. “I was also fat and cute.” 

“Not squishy?” He teased, his canines featuring as he smiled down at you. 

“Oh, I was very squishy,” you agreed vehemently. 

Mimicking what you did to him, Brendon carefully squished your cheeks together. “Cute,” he repeated. 

“You’re sweet,” you said softly, words blurting out of your mouth but coming out a bit garbled. “And thank you for today.” 

“Stop saying thank you,” he gently scolded. “It’s the bare minimum.” 

“But still,” you whined. “You’re so sweet,” you continued. “And I never thought you would be sweet,” you emphasised your point by poking him. “But don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.” 

“It’d ruin my reputation,” he looked at you. 

“Baby, I think you shopping at the farmers market and carrying a little tote bag would ruin your reputation,” you chuckled. “But sweetness is only for me.” 

A genuine smile curled around his lips at how casual you said the pet name. “Yeah, sweetheart, only for you.” 

You smiled brightly at him, electricity running up and down your body. 

“Breakfast is done,” he mumbled against your lips, but making no move to go to the kitchen. Instead he moved his hands so they were settled on your waist, bringing you in closer. 

“I really don’t want breakfast right now,” you said, hands gliding up his chest. Pulling his collar, you yanked him closer to you, tongue already entering his mouth. 

-

“What’s that?” Princess looked at your neck and leaned in closer. “Are those teeth marks?” She smirked at you, already planning to tell Perlah about it. 

You blushed instantly, heat rising up your body and suddenly your scrubs felt too tight, too heavy on your frame. Brendon’s too big of a long sleeve shirt doing nothing to hide his marks. 

“No,” you stuttered out but Princess knew better. 

“Who knew you had it in you,” she smirked approvingly. “Who is it?” She whispered and leaned in conspiratorially. She looked around the ER, her eyes landing straight to Robby. 

“No,” you said instantly, as soon as you saw where her gaze went. “I have to go check on my patient,” scurrying away, you tripped on your own feet but thankfully something, or someone, broke your fall. 

“Woah, hey, you okay?” Robby said, as he caught you, a small smile appearing on his face. “Careful, sweetheart,” internally your stomach squeezed, not knowing why the pet name didn’t land sweetly as it usually did. 

“Fine, thanks, Robby,” you smiled at him, then you saw his eyes dip down to your neck. Flushing you muttered a quick excuse and high-tailed from his sight. 

-

Gossip ran rampant, as you expected. You could feel the stares thrown your way and all you wanted to do was hide under the beds and do your charting there. Luckily no one knew who was the person who left them on you, but people had guesses. Loud guesses. 

This wouldn’t have happened if you had your turtleneck, and you did. Truly you did. You packed it with you before you left your house when Brendon picked you up. You made a mental note of making sure you wore it before you guys drove to work. 

But Brendon seemingly had other plans. Keeping you in bed until the last possible moment. Rushing out of the door, you accidentally took his shirt, planning to change into it in his car. 

You sat up in your chair. You took his shirt. 

Your eyes blew wide. 

He didn’t have his shirt. He didn’t have anything to hide the marks you left him. 

Stupid Brendon and his stupid lips this morning. 

“Oh God,” you muttered under your breath, hand on your face. You hoped that everyone would be none the wiser, hoping with every molecule in your body that people wouldn’t put the two and two together. 

-

“What about Abbot?” Princess suggested, “They’re close aren’t they?” She sent Perlah a knowing look. 

“What?” Mel asked, brows furrowed, trying to remember if you ever brought up Doctor Abbot. 

“No,” Perlah shook her head. “Think that stopped when she switched back to day shifts.” 

“We’re looping back to that,” Langdon said and pointed to Perlah. 

“Robby?” Javadi asked, knowing the weird thing between the two of you. 

“No, she shut that down immediately,” Princess said, then narrowed her eyes. “Maybe too quickly.” 

“Hello,” Robby greeted loudly, as he practically slammed down the folder on the counter. “It’s a beautiful day to treat patients, isn’t it?” He smiled tightly as he watched everyone move away from him. 

Looking back to where you were practically sinking in your chair, Robby debated on whether to go to you or not. He wasn’t deaf, he’s heard the chit chat that was going around about you. He also wasn’t blind as he saw the cause of said chit chat on your body. 

An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach as he realised that you in fact were probably seeing someone. All he could hope for was that it was casual. 

-

Trinity stood off to the side, Garcia standing next to her. The latter paying half attention to the gossip in front of her. “Huh,” Garcia made a contemplative noise. “Park had some marks on him too.”  

“Shark?” Trinity turned around, eyes wide. “No,” Trinity shook her head. “Definitely not. She’s practically in love with Robby.”

“Could just be a coincidence,” Garcia shrugged. “Or they could be hooking up.” 

“No,” Trinity repeated again, slower this time. She watched as you manoeuvred the ER, the clipboard way too close to your chest. You tried to not make any contact with anyone 

-

“Nice marks,” Trinity grinned as she looked at you. 

You groaned into your clipboard and took a deep breath, “You’re allowed exactly thirty five seconds to say whatever you want then you can never, ever bring this up, Trinity Santos.” 

“So, the shark bites in bed, huh?” She nodded, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Is that why he has that nickname?”  

“Park?” You scoffed, hoping that the hospital fluorescent lights did something to hide the red creeping up your neck. “That’s so out of pocket, Trin.” 

She watched as you continued to blabber on how ridiculous it was for you to be with Park. Never actually quite denying you did anything with him. You defended it just a little bit too much for it to be a ‘no’. 

“I mean, Park?” You blew a raspberry, “Please,” muttering more denial under your breath as you moved away from her. 

“A no would have sufficed,” Trinity called out, a knowing smile on her face, already pulling out her phone to text Garcia.

-> unsatisfied i skip my pride (but can be read as a standalone!)

-> dont go wasting your emotions masterlist

park taglist 

@realwhoreforfictionalmen | @noisynightmarepoetry | @popecodysgirl | @hehehehahahohohuhu |

don’t go wasting your emotions 

@melsunshine | @letstryagaintomorrow |@straykids1011 | @trulovekay | @onlyheretowastetime | @lospy41 | @sissymarcosstuff | @shawnysimp | @barcelonaaababe | @kniifefiight

[ceijoh]

a little small talk, a smile, and baby, i was stuck

pairings: brendon park x f!reader

Park hates you, or so you think. And so what happens if one night you question him as to why?

warnings: smut. creampies. hints of robby x reader (but not really). park being readers biggest and silent supporter but posing like an opp. teasing. bantering. park's in love with her, your honour. park cooking for reader. biting kink (both!) dirty talk. park being narcissistic. a little bit of choking. banter for days. fingering. park being condescending. praise kink! excessive use of parenthesis from yours truly. aftercare from the shark <3 oh he is soooo soft for her.

notes: this is technically part one to the series! but you can definitely read it as a stand alone, as i made all the parts so! i decided to break it up because it was hella long, and i thought it would be more enjoyable this way! as always, let me know what you think!

word count: 6.1k+

based on the blurb that i did here: it started out with a kiss

dont go wasting your emotions masterlist | the pitt masterlist | masterlist | ask

There was no doubt about it, Brendon Park hated you. You had no concrete proof, but it was a feeling. You don’t think he hated you at first sight, but maybe, most definitely, the second or third time he met you. 

You could feel his ire towards you whenever the two of you were in the same room. Robby often having to step in so he wouldn’t be too harsh, somehow that action eliciting more snark from the surgeon. 

Which was a blow to your ego, you admired him, one of his nicknames was ‘Ortho God’ for a reason. Call it a need for approval or whatever, but you hated the fact that he seemed to hate you with no reason at all. 

Not adding to the fact that you thought he was attractive, something that would never leave your mind because who in their right mind would find Park the Shark attractive? He was cocky, rude, blunt and had a God complex. 

But still. 

There was something about him that just made you gravitate towards him. Maybe it was his seemingly unshakeable confidence, his competency in his job, or the fact that his brain was probably as big as his forearms. 

Tired of him pretending you don’t exist when he walks into the same room as you, was what brought you here today. 

“Why the fuck do you hate me? You asked, bitterly swallowing the liquor and pointedly ignoring Park’s amused chuckle. “That’s fucking disgusting,” you passed the whisky to the man next to you. 

“That’s what you get for not ordering those fruity drinks,” he remarked, gladly taking the drink from you and downing it. If you noticed he moved the drink so his lips could be where yours were, you didn’t say anything. 

“How do you know what I drink?” Flagging down the bartender, you asked for your usual go-to and turned to Park. “And you still haven’t answered my question.” 

“I don’t hate you,” he eventually answered, in a tone that suggested that you were stupid to think that he hated you. “I hate how you act Robinavitch.” 

You pulled back, “Excuse me?” 

Park rolled his eyes, “You’re dewy-eyed every time he comes around,” he started. “I’ve seen you in action, you’re tough, you know your stuff, you command the room, you’re willing to get down and dirty, but when you’re with him, or if you think he’s around?” Park made a disgusted face and scoffed. 

“You’re clueless, as if being in a trauma bay is a field trip for you, and you’ve never encountered an actual medical case.” 

Balking at this criticism at your person, you were quiet, mulling over what he said. You tried to remember all your encounters with Park when Robby was around. Grimacing, you could see where he was coming from. 

Were you really like that? When you were with Robby? If someone like Park - who doesn’t come down that often sees it, who else does? Were you the fucking laughing stock of the ED?

Fury and embarrassment ran through you and you steeled yourself, “What’s it to you?” 

“I want you to be the best,” he answered, ordering another whisky. Park turned to you and under the light you saw the intensity in his eyes, the blatant expression almost too much for you. “I know that you can be the best.”

You were stunned at his words. 

“You can’t be the best when you’re too busy making sure that Robinavitch is noticing you, or whether he’s fucking one of the nurses again,” Park said truthfully. 

You want to say that Brendon Park is a liar. That he uses people to gain advantage. But he doesn’t. He’s mean, crass, blunt, impatient but not a liar.  

“I’m not trying to be mean,” Park glanced at you, watching as you fiddled with your drink. 

You scoffed, “Could have fooled me.” 

“I don’t want you to waste your potential. I’ve seen too many people in this field make themselves smaller so they can have the hot shot attending,” Park explained. 

“Speaking from experience?” You quipped and you mumbled an apology when he threw you a glare. 

“You have promise, you could make a good Chief one day, can’t do that when you’re too busy crying in an on-call room when you found out Robinavitch was fucking Hastings,” at the mention of the two people that have been the cause of your tears for the last few weeks, Park saw you tense, and then you relaxed. 

“That was one time!” You cried out. 

“You’re too attractive for him anyway,” he threw out, gulping down his shot, while looking at you through his peripheral. 

“Is this your way of getting into my pants?” You snipped. 

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he smirked. “But no, if I wanted to fuck you I don’t need to use pretty words.” 

“Oh really?” You sneered, and deep down inside you hated yourself because you knew he was right. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Why because you’re such an Ortho God that me having sex with you would give me some of your godly medicinal powers?” You hissed, narrowing your eyes, trying to figure out his plan. 

You followed the path of his mouth turning to a smirk, “No, I just know that you find me attractive as much as I find you attractive.”

You feigned a disgusted noise, snorting into your drink, “I never said I found you attractive.” 

“Oh, so do your eyes just follow everything attending that walk through the ED?” He remarked. “And do you accidentally like years old posts on their private Instagram as well?”

“That wasn’t me,” you mumbled, downing your drink, embarrassment alive and well, digging itself into every crevice of your body. 

Park laughed loudly, “Sure, baby,” the drinks making his lips a little looser. “Pretty sure I have a screenshot somewhere.” 

At the nickname, you squirmed in your seat. You weren’t uncomfortable per se, just confused that Park was talking to you like this. You squinted your eyes and poked him, trying to make sure that it was him in front of you. 

“What are you doing?” He leaned back, trying to figure out what you were doing. 

“Why are you talking to me now?” 

He took a moment to say anything to you, a silence that you filled by looking at him. 

“You did well today,” he begrudgingly said. Thinking back to your day, you remembered exactly what he was talking about. Park was called down for a consult, you were the resident in charge of the case. 

You caught something that the others didn’t see, that Robby didn’t see. They brushed you off at first, and you were frustrated at the lack of trust in your judgement. It wasn’t until Park came into the room and backed you up that people believed your claim. 

“A compliment? From Park the Shark?” You heard him huff and you could practically hear him roll his eyes. 

You didn’t know if it was the flowing of alcohol through your veins, or the fact that Park was actually talking to you, or the fact that conversing was easier than you anticipated. More comfortable and fun that you could ever imagine that you wanted to continue to talk to him. 

“So, back to that screenshot,” you smiled sweetly. “You were lying about that, right?” 

Park laughed and you watched, mesmerised at the rare sight. “Not a chance, sweetheart,” turning to you, a gleam in his eyes, “But if you don’t believe me, I can always show you back at my place.” 

“Smooth,” you rolled your eyes but downed the rest of your drink. 

You both stared at each other, knowing what each of you wanted. As if you were telepathically connected, Park paid for both of your drinks and looked expectantly at you. 

“I’ll call an Uber,” Park pulled out his phone, looking at you when you let out a breath through your nose. 

“You’re presumptuous,” you said but hopped off your chair, grabbing your things. 

“He’s on his way, let’s go,” putting his phone back, he waited for you to go past him, his hand landing on the small of your back. 

-

You were tense next to him, Park could feel it. Taking initiative, he placed his hand on your thigh squeezing once. You looked up to him, tracing his jawline with your eyes. 

“If you don’t want to do this, say so,” Park said, being uncharacteristically gentle. “I can book an Uber for you when we get to my place and we don’t have to speak about this ever again.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Now I really know you want to get in my pants.” 

Narrowing his eyes, he pinched your thigh, causing you to yelp and the Uber driver to look at you. Nodding at him reassuringly, he looked back to the road.

“Are you always this mouthy?” 

Shrugging you turned to him, “Guess you just have to find a way to make me shut up.” 

Park grinned and the sight of his canines made you swallow. There was something so animalistic about him when he smiled at you like that. Feeling your heart begin to race, you felt yourself lean up. 

A clearing of a throat broke the two of you apart, you mumbled an apology, but didn’t move away from the warmth of Park. 

-

“I hate you,” you glared at the man between your legs. 

Park threw his keys by the side table and smirked at you, “I can live with that,” placing his hands on the back of your thighs, he squeezed once. “Up,” he commanded and you obeyed. “Good girl,” seeing your reaction at those words, Park filed the response away in his brain, fully intending to use it within the next thirty minutes. 

Lifting you up, you felt your back hit the door, and before you could complain, Park placed his mouth over yours. It was soft, softer than you thought his lips would be (not that you ever thought about his lips before this). Moaning quietly, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. 

Deepening the kiss, you could feel his tongue slowly trace your bottom lip. Parting your lips, Park slowly slid his tongue, lazily allowing it to map out your mouth, your own tongue docile waiting for his command. 

“So needy,” Park smirked against your mouth, his tongue collecting both of your saliva from your chin and licking it back to your mouth. Feeling emboldened you stroked the underside of his tongue with yours, earning a groan from the man. Grasping the hair at the bottom of his neck, you pulled, eliciting another groan. 

Park pushed you closer to the door, his cock beginning to grind into your stomach, “Feel that, princess? Hope you can take it.” He swallowed your moan, this time completely taking over control, moving one hand to the back of your neck, he wrapped his hand around your hair and this time, it was him that pulled. 

Licking up your exposed neck, he could hear your panting from above, wanting more of your noise, Brendon sank his teeth in gently to the meat of your shoulder. 

“Brendon,” you gasped, his teeth leaving an imprint on your soft skin. You rutted against his bulge, earning a hitch of breath from the man in front of you.  

“I’m not going to fuck against my door,” he said against your lips. “Come on.” 

You briefly looked around his room. It was nice. Clean and precise, just how you thought Park’s room would be (again, not that you ever thought about that, definitely not), a few personal touches here and there. 

Feeling laughter bubble out of you, “Is that a picture of yourself on your table?” 

“I look good,” you looked back to the picture and he had you there. He did in fact look good, very good. 

“You’re narcissistic,” you replied. 

“I have good reasons to be,” he pulled his shirt off, tossing it somewhere in the room. You took a moment to look at him. The plains of his chest, the sprinkling of his chest hair, how broad his shoulders are. Just how fucking big he is. Wetting your lips, your eyes dragged down his happy trail, eyes landing on his bulge. 

He closed the distance between the two of you, clashing your mouths together again. Park grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, hands straight going to your ribs. You let your hands wander around his chest, eventually landing on his belt buckle. 

Biting his bottom lip, you moved your mouth down his neck, mouthing open kisses down his stomach. You heard him curse above you, spurring you on, you kissed the tent of his pants, your hands working on unbuckling his belt. 

Tugging his pants down, you noted the wet spot on his underwear, kissing the outline of his cock, you felt Brendon place his hands on your head. Pulling down his briefs, you watched his length appear. Practically salivating, you couldn’t help but lick the precum on the tip of his head. You rolled the liquid in your mouth, allowing it to coat every crevice. He tasted salty, masculine, and you wanted more. 

“Fucking hell,” Brendon gritted out, as his fingers gripped your hair. 

Sitting back on your heels, you took a moment to look at him. He was huge, to say the least. Big and thick in all the right places, a thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You took a moment to just admire his length, fingertip trailing against a particularly prominent vein. 

Licking your lips, you opened your mouth, ready to taste him properly. Before you could, you felt a tug on your upper arm. Brendon looked down at you, “Not tonight. Been thinking too long about this to not be in your pussy right now.” 

“You’ve thought about this?” You cocked your head to the side, and Brendon looked down at you and a little light flared up in his chest. 

Before you could think about what he meant, Park yanked you, grabbing your face and messily kissed you. Grinding his leaking cock into your stomach, you moved your hand downwards until you were able to grasp it. 

He hissed as he felt your hand on him, slowly twisting your hand up and down, spreading his precum around the head of his cock. Briefly pulling away from him, you brought up your hand and locked eyes with him. Sensually licking his cum off, you watched as his nostrils flared, his breath getting heavier, looking down you could see his cock twitching. 

With what could only be described as an actual growl, Park wrapped his hand around the nape of your neck, and roughly yanked you back to his mouth. 

“Get your fucking pants off,” he commanded against your lips.  

Kicking the rest of his pants off, you did the same, almost falling when it got caught on your ankle. “Careful,” he mumbled gently, as he caught you. 

Removing your pants for you, he laid you down on the edge of his bed. “Cute,” Park smirked as he stared at your underwear with cherries on there. His eyes focusing on the large wet spot. 

“Shut up, I didn’t know I was going to have sex with you,” you whined, closing your legs slightly. 

“So you would have worn something different if you did know?” He said arrogantly, and it took everything in you to not kick him in the head. Hot as he might be, he was still the arrogant Park you knew. 

Sensing your annoyance and that you were going to say something, he leaned forward and licked you through your underwear. A moan escaped your mouth as you felt him suckle your clit through the fabric. 

Tasting you, Park grunted and he felt himself subconsciously move closer to you, arms coming beneath your thighs and yanking them to his body. Kissing across the span of your pelvic area, you yelped when you felt him nip your inner thigh. 

Rutting into his bed, Park would have been ashamed of his actions, acting like a teenage boy tasting his first pussy, but you were here. You were under him and he really didn’t fucking care if he came right now just from tasting you. 

Having enough of the fabric in his way, he ripped the cotton, apologising by placing a soft kiss on your mound, eventually sliding down to your clit. 

“Prettiest fucking pussy,” as he spread your lips, your hole clenching at his actions. “Taste so fucking good,” he said against your hole. Lapping at your slick, your hands hovering near his head before you threaded your fingers through his hair. 

“Brendon, fuck,” you cried out, head falling back as you thrusted up to his face. Cupping your ass, he pulled you impossibly closer, allowing you to practically ride his tongue. 

You could hear the lewd slurp of his mouth, feel his drool combining with your slick. Brendon thrust his tongue into your hole, trying to get as much essence as he could, swallowing it down like it was his life elixir. 

Placing his thumb on your clit, Brendon growled as he felt you tighten even more against his tongue, moving away with an audible pop, he dragged his fingers down until he was at your entrance. 

Flicking his eyes back up to you, he watched as you arched your back as he entered your hole with two fingers. He closed his eyes at your warmth, the tightness and smoothness of your channel. He pressed deeper into your heat, eventually landing on your sweet spot. 

“Bren,” you sighed out as he began curling his fingers. You clenched your jaw, breath taken away from the sheer size of his fingers. 

Needing his tongue on you again, he pulled out his fingers, dipping them into his mouth and moaning at your taste. 

“You have the sweetest fucking pussy, baby,” he mumbled against your clit, sucking it into his mouth, Brendon almost rolled his eyes to the back of his head at the noises you were making. “Can’t believe you kept her from me.” 

You usually would have hated men referring to your pussy like that but fuck if didn’t turn you even more. Running one hand through his hair, your other hand gripped onto his forearm. Brendon shifted his hand to hold yours, interlocking fingers as he pushed his face closer to your heat. 

Feeling your release coming embarrassingly close, you tightened your grip on his hair and hand, your core tightening, you cried out, a long elongated noise as you felt your orgasm wash over you. You rutted your pussy against his face, prolonging the pleasure that you were receiving. 

Panting and trying to regain some sort of clarity, you slowly released the grip you had on his hair. The gel completely gone, you almost felt bad at how messy he looked, but all it did was turn you on. 

Sitting back up, you saw your release glisten against his face, you reached for him, needing to taste him. Crashing your mouths together, you cupped his cheeks, feeling his stubble against your palms. Dragging him down to you, you unashamedly licked around his mouth, collecting your juices and melted your mouths together again. 

Practically on top of you, you felt his shaft weep against your stomach, feeling drops of his precum dropping. Sliding yourself up, you wrapped your legs around him, letting his cock slide between your folds. Grunting into your mouth, Brendon followed your movements, his cock itching to be in you. 

Dragging you up his bed, Brendon reached for one of his side tables, opening up, blindly feeling around for something, all the while keeping his lips on yours. Bringing out what he needed, he slammed the drawer shut, and regretfully pulled away from you. 

Moving to open the foil packet, you grabbed his hand and looked at him, and against your all medical instincts, you shook your head, “Want to feel you.” 

Brendon breathed through his nose and for a second you thought you made a mistake. The next moment you saw, was him throwing the condom across his room, arms caging around your head, his weight slowly being placed on top of you. 

Gripping the base of his cock, he tapped the head a couple of times, your hips jolting trying to chase the feeling. He slid against your pussy again, his pre completely dripping down to your hole. Brendon groaned as he squeezed the base of cock and moved his hand up, forcing more of his precum to land on your clit. 

Spreading the liquid using the tip, you threw your head back, relishing in the feeling, as the man above you gritted his teeth.  

“Brendon, please,” you begged, eyes starting to tear up. You could feel yourself clench against nothing and it was aggravating to know he wasn’t in you yet.  “Please, I need you.” 

He stared at you, and for a moment you felt like you were prey finally being found by the big bad predator. Park kept eye contact with you as he slowly encompassed everything that you could see, everything that you could feel. 

Sliding into you slowly, Park watched as you closed your eyes at his size and the stretch. A blissful sigh leaving your lips as you felt him hit home, eyes closing at the fit. When he was flushed against your hips, he let out a strangled groan of your name. 

“I’m good,” you breathed out, nodding your head. 

“How do you want it?” 

You fluttered your eyes open and looked at the man above you, his gaze intent, “What?” You stuttered. 

“How do you want me to fuck you?” He elaborated -- the way he would explain simple medical terms to the medical students, but his tone was different. It was soft. 

“Slow, rough,” you gulped, a small sliver of embarrassment making a home in your chest, and you broke eye contact with him. “Hard,” you mumbled. 

Squishing your cheeks together with one hand, he turned your head to lock eyes with him. “Don’t,” he breathed as he began to pull out slowly, keeping his eyes on you, watching your reaction as he plunged harder into your pussy. Hands grasping his bedsheets, you arched your back, a loud moan of his name leaving your mouth.  

“That’s fucking right,” he purred against your neck, hands going to the back of your thighs, throwing them over his shoulder. Folding your legs, Brendon leaned on his forearms, as he held the rough pace. “Good fucking girl, taking my cock so well.” 

He was rewarded with you clenching your pussy tighter and a strangled noise coming from your mouth. 

“Feel so good,” you babbled, turning your face to kiss him. 

He grinned down at you, “Yeah, is that right, baby?” He pulled out to just his tip and you whined at the loss, “Who’s making you feel this way?” 

“You, just you,” you cried out, your hands reaching for the back of his body. Hanging on to him, “Brendon,” you moaned, eyes clenching tight. 

Roughly sinking back into your cunt, you let out a scream as you dragged your nails down his back. He kept at that rhythm, leaning on one forearm, other hand reaching towards to engulf the right side of your cheek. 

Caressing it softly, he looked down at you; sweat lining your forehead, your lips parted, cupid's bow just waiting to be kissed and Brendon didn’t want to ever forget this. Teeth latching on your jaw, not biting, just holding you there, one of your hands drifted to the hair on the base of his neck. 

“Where?” He mumbled against your jaw, lips moving to your lips.  

“Inside,” you panted, clenching your pussy. “Birth control.” 

You heard him briefly curse under his breath, his lips mouthing against your neck. “You just let anyone cum inside of you?” 

“No, just you,” you whined, your nails digging into his shoulder. “Just want your cum.” 

At that, Park’s eyes lit up, his face twisting into an animalistic look, brutally thrusting deeper into you, “That’s fucking right,” he growled against your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect, you know that?”  

Dragging his lips down from your mouth, he licked your neck, all the way down to your shoulder. “Tell me,” he mumbled and you grew confused until you felt his teeth sink into you. 

Clenching around him, you felt another rush of heat through you. “Brendon,” you gasped, breath hitching, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Fuck.” 

Softening his bite, he licked the mark, thumb moving down to circle your clit. “You want me to fill you up, huh?” Brendon taunted, as his lips found yours again. “Want me to breed your little pussy?” 

You nodded, tears running down your face, “Please, Brendon,” you cried out. 

Dragging his cock slowly, he pushed in and gave a little grind of his hips. Crying at the sensation of the tip of his cock grinding into your g-spot, and his hair catching on your little nub, you were in a euphoric state of mind. 

Breath hitching, you could feel your pussy pulse around his cock, your stomach tensing. You could feel your orgasm approaching. 

“Cum around me baby,” he said against your ear, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Wanna feel you.” 

Shutting your eyes, you jerked your hips upwards, “Fuck!” It was all too much, his words, his touch, his cock, everything. With one last grind against your sweet spot, you let out another scream of his name as you felt your release go through you. You squeezed his shoulders, nails breaking into the skin. Panting his name, all you could do was hold onto him, as you felt your cum coat his cock. 

Pulling him to you, Brendon dropped his head to your neck, licking the sweat accumulated there. Feeling the spasms of your pussy, Brendon stuttered in his thrusts. 

“Best fucking pussy,” he groaned out, hand on your neck and face nuzzled into the crook of it. “Feel like you’re made for me.” 

You nodded at whatever he said, head too fuzzy to register anything with the exception that his hips were snapping faster now, trying to chase his own release. “Fucking best girl, yeah? Gonna fill you up.” 

With a final growl of your name, you felt him spill inside of you. Your hips jerking as you felt him continuously fill you up. “That’s my girl,” he panted against your ear, licking the apparent tears coming from your eyes, as he felt his cock twitch a couple more times. 

Placing kisses from your ear to your cheek, he travelled until he met your mouth. Grasping your face softly with his hands, he looked down at you, blue eyes blown with lust but the most gentle you’ve ever seen. 

“Holy shit,” you panted, blinking rapidly trying to make sure you were still alive. “Fuck, Park.” 

At your reaction, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Good to know it was good for you as well, sweetheart.” 

“Good?” You asked in astonishment. “Jesus, Park. That was mind blowing.” 

Grinning, he shifted his forearms, he looked down and the sight made him pause. Your slick was all over him, a white ring at the base of his cock, your wetness all over his pubic hair. Mesmerised at the sight, he leaned further back, spreading your folds, he shallowly thrust into you. Whining at the overstimulation, you grabbed his bedsheets, heart starting to race again. 

“Look at you,” he said in a soft awe. He paused for a moment, to just memorise you on his bed; dishevelled, tears running down your face, his marks along your body. Fucking beautiful. 

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the same time. Slowly lowering your legs, you felt him massage your sore hips as you hissed as they hit the bed. 

One hand slowly coming to caress your cheek again, Brendon couldn’t help but lean down again to kiss you. Unlike the previous times your mouths met, this time he met your lips softly. He slowly deepened the kiss, his lips working in a way that you didn’t expect from him. You felt him take his time to guide his tongue into your mouth, massaging your tongue with his. 

Reluctantly parting from you, he stared at you, blue eyes locking with yours. Brushing away the strands sticking to your face, you felt your heart jump at how he was looking at you. Gulping, you reached up and traced his cheekbone, admiring how pliant he was at this moment. 

“Stay,” he said softly, his tone completely different to a couple of minutes ago. Getting up he went to another room, which you presumed was the bathroom. You really tried not to admire his backside but Park truly was a god in terms of his physique alone. Watching as he walked back, you saw that even when he was soft, it was still a sight. 

“Spread your legs, baby,” he asked softly, and you did so, wincing as you opened your legs for him. 

You took a good look at him, as best as you could in your post sex haze. Admiring his thick thighs, you wondered what it felt like under your hands; to touch, to squeeze. Coming closer to you, you pondered on how his body would feel to just touch innocently, to have him wrapped around you. 

“Thanks,” you said in appreciation, staring at the way he was so gentle around you. 

Cleaning himself up, you watched as he threw the towel into his hamper. He stood by his dresser, leaning against it as he just looked at you. Running his eyes through your state. 

“What?” You chuckled, and a sense of insecurity ran through you. This was after sex. After the adrenaline and horniness of it all. Wanting to wrap his bedsheets around your body, you forced yourself to just stay. 

“You’re pretty,” was all he said and you were taken aback from the sincerity in his voice. Softening at his words, it was your turn to stare at him again. He stood in a way that radiated confidence, something that could never be shaken. 

“Go pee,” taking you out of your thoughts, you stared at him. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I have a spare glass on the counter. Are you happy with tap water?” 

“What?” 

He rolled his eyes and crossed the room to get to you. Gently picking you up by your pits, he sat you up. “You need to pee. You should know that, being a doctor and all,” and there he was. The annoying man you’ve become accustomed to. 

“I know that,” you snapped, slapping his hand away. 

Ignoring the wobbliness of your legs, you stood up, and you instantly regretted it as you almost fell face first on his floor. 

“Park,” you whined as you felt his hands supporting your body, you tried to wiggle out of his grip, but he wouldn’t give. 

“Are you always this annoying?” You moved to slap his thigh. “Jesus, if you’re still this annoying I need to fuck you harder.” 

“I’m going to pee now,” and with that you closed his bathroom door on him. 

You left his bathroom, and scanned the room, trying to see if you could see your clothes. You knew what came next, and you wanted to limit the amount of awkwardness that you’d inevitably feel. Padding over to where you vaguely saw Brendon throw your shirt, you frowned as you saw nothing. 

“What are you doing?” Park watched you with an impatient stare, noticing that he had put on some sweats and a shirt, you took a moment to drag your eyes down his figure. 

“Uh, going home?” You scrunched your face, and began trying to find your clothes. “Where are my clothes?” 

“I put them in my hamper, I’ll wash them tomorrow for you,” he jerked his head to the basket in the corner of the room. 

“Why?” You asked, confused. Isn’t this the part where he kicks you out? Tell you ‘thanks but don’t ever bring this up’. “Don’t you want me to leave?” 

“Did I say I want you to leave?” He got you there. But still this was the normal procedure. Rolling his eyes, he walked over to you, and dressed the extra shirt in his hand on your body. 

Leading you back to his bed, he laid you down and crawled over your body, “I’m not done with you.” 

-

Waking up, you turned over, hands reaching out for a warm body and opening your eyes when you didn’t find him. 

You slowly walked down, clad only his shirt, you observed for a minute, just seeing Park in his natural habitat. You saw him being at ease in his kitchen, if someone told you that you would be watching Park the Shark making breakfast with only his sweats on, you would have told them that they were crazy. 

Running your eyes down his back, you saw the marks that you left and pride (and a bit of embarrassment) filled you. 

“Morning,” you greeted, walking right beside him. 

Park ran his eyes up and down your body, “Morning. You look good.” 

“Sure, Park,” you knew you looked like a mess. Hair not even brushed, his shirt on you askew, and toothpaste residue you accidentally left on said shirt. 

You looked around at what he had, and you thought of what you could help with. 

“Just sit,” he jerked his head to his table, as if reading your thoughts. “I’ve got it covered.” 

Sitting down, you watched as Park continued to cook, you sat there in silence as you admired him. You wondered if he was like this every morning, or after every hook-up he had. Shaking your thoughts, you didn’t need to know about that. 

“I don’t know what you wanted,” Park spoke as he flipped the final pancake. “I don’t do this so I just made what I would usually have,” turning the stove off, he picked up the plates. 

“What? You don’t treat all your hook-ups like this?” You teased, heart lurching a bit, but you managed to ignore it. 

“No,” he answered bluntly. 

“Oh?” You asked, your mouth working faster than your brain. 

He looked down at you. “No. If I did sleep with someone, I wouldn't take them here and I certainly wouldn't make them breakfast.” 

“So what, am I special?” You teased, your heart lurching in a different way. 

Brendon didn’t say anything in response, just looked at you, and an unfamiliar (but welcoming) warmth made its home in your veins. 

Placing the food down, your eyes bulged and your mouth started to drool. “And I wasn’t lying,” Park said as he put your plate in front of you. 

“Huh?” 

“You look good.” 

Silence stretched until he sat down, Park really had no reason to lie to you. He already had you last night, several times in fact, and then this morning too before both of you truly woke up. 

The compliment sat on your chest and you didn’t know what to do with it. The warmth from before really hammering its presence. 

“Coffee?” You asked, not seeing anything on your side. 

“What do you usually have?” 

“Matcha,” and at that you heard him snort, making you throw a piece of fruit at him. 

“Of course, you do, princess,” Brendon rolled his eyes good naturedly. “I don’t have that,” as he made a mental note to place it on his list. 

Telling him your alternative preference, he got up and walked to his machine. “I can make it,” you started, getting up from your seat. 

“I got it, just eat,” and with that he turned his back to you. 

Taking a couple of pancakes and a few extra bits and pieces, you began to dig in. 

“Who knew that Park the Shark could cook,” you teased as you placed the pancake in your mouth. Moaning loudly, you looked to the food and to him, “Holy fucking shit, you made this?” 

“My mum made sure that I could cook,” he said as he placed down your coffee. “Said that I’m not a man if I don’t know how to cook for my woman.” 

Swallowing your food, you hummed, “Let me know her name and I’ll personally thank her.” 

“Are you working today?” Was all he said, despite the fond smile on his face. 

“No, I’m off for five starting today,” you replied, shoving another piece into your mouth. 

“Good,” he looked over his coffee, eyes trained on your face. “Eat up because I’m going to fuck you all day today.” 

-> i used to think i was sensible (next part, but can be read as a standalone!)

-> dont go wasting your emotions masterlist

park taglist

@realwhoreforfictionalmen | @noisynightmarepoetry

don't go wasting your emotions taglist

@melsunshine

[p0tat0nug]

This was sooooo sweet and deliciously smutty

[ceijoh]

it started out with a kiss

pairings: brendon park x f!reader (kind of michael robinavitch x f!reader)

summary: Park hates you, or so you think.

warnings/contents: park seemingly hates her, but really doesn't. respects the reader. smut. biting kink (you and park), brat taming (kind of). implied age-gap. reader can be reader as an attending or a senior resident. jealous!park, jealous!reader. hook-up to friends to lovers <3

notes: oh lawd, i think i've fallen into the shark trap :,(. i may make a longer and more descriptive fic later on based on this, but i just needed to get this out. this was supposed to be a drabble but one thing led to another...bone apple teeth.

word count: 4.1k+ (the actual fic is going to be longer than this btw, let me know if y'all want. we're currently looking at 10k+ words)

the pitt masterlist | masterlist | ask

park the shark the attending that you’ve been hooking up with for a couple of months. who knows your body better than you do. 

park the shark who at first hated your guts because you were robby’s number one. the one always by his side. the one who foolishly fell in love with her co-worker. 

park the shark who hated that you dimmed your light because of your feelings to robby. he’d much rather have you showing off your skills to the man than be meek. 

“why the fuck do you hate me?” you asked, bitterly swallowing the liquor. “that’s fucking disgusting,” you passed the whisky to the man next to you. 

“that’s what you get for not ordering those fruity drinks,” he remarked, gladly taking the drink from you and downing it. 

“how do you know what i drink?” flagging down the bartender, you asked for your usual go-to and turned to park. “and you still haven’t answered my question.” 

“i don’t hate you,” he answered, as if you were stupid to think that he hated you. “i hate how you act around robinavitch.” 

“excuse me?” 

park rolled his eyes, “you’re dewy-eyed every time he comes around,” he started. “i’ve seen you in action, you’re tough, you know your stuff, you command the room, you’re willing to get down and dirty, but when you’re with him?” park made a disgusted face and rolled his eyes. “you’re clueless, as if this a field trip for you and you’ve never encountered an actual medical case.” 

balking at his criticism on yourself, you were quiet, mulling over what he said. were you really like that? and if park saw it, who else? 

fury ran through you though and steeled yourself, “what’s it to you?” 

“i want you to be the best,” he answered. “i know that you can be the best.” 

you were stunned at his words. 

“you can’t be the best when you’re too busy making sure that robinavitch is noticing you, or whether he’s fucking one of the nurses again,” he sighed heavily. 

park the shark who willingly took you to his place that night, something that he doesn’t do very often. and even if he did, he would usually go back to her place, not that he’d ever tell you. 

“i hate you,” you glared at the man between your legs. 

“i can live with that,” placing his hands on the back of your thighs, “up,” he commanded, and you obeyed. 

lifting you up, you felt your back hit his door and before you could complain, park placed his mouth over yours. wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer.

“so needy,” he smirked against your mouth, at his mouth you grasped his hair and pulled. park responded by pushing you closer to the door, his cock beginning to grind into your stomach. “feel that, princess? hope you can take it.” 

park the shark who matched your freak. wasn’t judgemental with what you wanted to do in the bedroom. 

“you wanna bite me?” he grinned, flashing his canines. “i thought i was the shark.” 

you made a face, “why would you say that to me? i’m like, dry now.” 

scoffing, his hands drifted down to your damp panties. “sure, princess,” grinding his thumb against your clit, park watched intently at the way you threw your head back, your breathing becoming laboured. “look at that.” 

“brendon,” you gasped, feeling his teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder, dragging your nails down his back, you could hear his grunt against you, the jerk of his hips. 

removing himself away from you, brendon licked the bite languidly, a contrast to the erraticness of his hips. “look at you,” he purred, as he took in the multiple marks he’s left across your skin. “beautiful.” 

you looked up at him and the meat between his neck and shoulder was practically tantalising. sensing where your attention was, park grinned to himself and lowered his shoulder. “come on, baby.”

“i’m not going to fucking break, bite me,” still a bit hesitant, you moved your mouth back to his traps, sinking your teeth slowly, you could feel brendon squeezing your hips. “that’s a girl,” encouraged.  

park the shark who started to treat you slightly better at work. he wasn’t goading you like before, but he was more or less ignoring your entire existence. 

“you get in my pants and then you practically ghost me when we’re at work?” you slammed his locker, refusing to back down when he glared at you. 

“i didn’t realise i had to converse with you every time i saw you,” he sneered. “did you want flowers as well?” 

“no,” you sputtered. “of course not. but i want you talk to me like i’m actually there.”

park sighed, “we didn’t talk before.” 

“because i thought you hated me,” when he opened his mouth, you quickly interrupted, “i know that you don’t hate me.” 

“i don’t understand why i have to talk to you outside of when i go downstairs.”  

“it’s courtesy,” your tone was bordering on whinging you and you quickly reeled yourself back. 

“what’s courtesy, princess, is me leaving hickeys where people can’t see it,” his eyes quickly flashed to your breasts, and you frowned, crossing your arms. 

“don’t be gross.” 

“i usually don’t talk to people i fuck,” sighing, he turned back to his locker. 

“fine,” you pouted, too tired to argue, and not that you’d ever admit it, a bit hurt at his statement. “i’ll see you when we both fuck next i guess,” turning to leave, you heard make a noise before grabbing your arm. 

“don’t be dramatic,” he bit out, annoyed at the whole situation. “i don’t know what to talk to you about when we’re at work.” 

“the weather? the shitty but overpriced cafeteria food? the gossip?” you listed off. “it just makes me feel used, park. like i’m good enough for you to fuck but not good enough for you to talk to.” 

park frowned at your statement. “i didn’t mean it like that. i thought that you would prefer for me to not talk to you.” 

you couldn’t help but laugh at the miscommunication. “i like talking to you.” 

park shifted, as if your words impacted him in a way he couldn’t decipher, “i like talking to you too.” 

“don’t ignore me again, i swear to god, otherwise i’ll ban you from sex,” you pointed your finger at him. 

he rolled his eyes and then looked around, “this is like your shitty grey’s anatomy.”

you rolled your eyes, “you like my shitty grey’s anatomy.” 

“if you ever,” he threatened, a playfully mean look on his face. holding up your hands in surrender, he opened back up his locker. “what are we having tonight?” 

you sat down on the bench and watched him, “i want pho,” you watched in appreciation as brendon began changing into his normal clothes. he was always so big but his movements weren’t clunky or awkward, it was always so sure. 

tossing his hoodie wordlessly behind him, you barely caught it. “you’re going to get cold,” he stated and you mumbled under your breath. 

“do you want to eat in? cause if so, we have to head home and shower,” he mumbled into his locker, grabbing the last of his things. he closed it and turned to you, a small smile gracing his face before it quickly dropped. 

“take away?” you suggested. “i’m kinda beat,” you shrugged then stood up. 

“you good?” 

“tired,” before you could lift your bag to your shoulder, park grabbed it and held it for you. murmuring a ‘thanks’, you moved closer to him. “i just really want to eat pho and watch shitty grey’s anatomy.” 

“you’re lucky i have netflix.” 

“i have all the dvds, that won’t stop me.” 

brendon park who slowly became your friend in public since that talk. he’s actually nice. he’s considerate (in and out of the bedroom), stubborn but loyal, remembers the smallest things you talk to him about and he’s sweet. 

brendon park who knows how to deal with you when you’re being particularly bratty. 

you weren’t seething out of jealousy, no of course not. you were just being logical. because if park was fucking other people, you needed to know because of health reasons, obviously. 

you didn’t know her, she was stationed upstairs with him. but she was really pretty. soft, blonde hair, a smile that unfortunately made you fall in love. she was a stunner and you’re not an idiot, brendon probably thought she was pretty too. 

his demeanor was calmer than usual. it seemed like he actually wanted to listen to what she was saying, that he wanted to be in her company. 

looking up, park nodded at you in acknowledgement (which you promptly ignored) before finishing his conversation and heading over to you. 

“you ready?” 

giving him a terse nod, you kept eye contact with the woman from before. “who is she?” you jerked your head towards her. 

“one of the or nurses,” he replied. 

you hummed and tore your eyes away from her, instead looking at park. you eyed him up and down, disdain clearly on your face. 

“what’s wrong with you?” 

“nothing,” you said. “i’m heading home.” 

“i’m going to ask you again. what’s wrong with you?” 

“nothing,” you said slower this time. “i’m going home.” 

“i thought we had plans,” he said, starting to get irritated at your avoidance. 

before you could reply, the nurse from before came back. her blonde her swishing as she walked, her hips swaying a little bit too much, and a sultry smile on her face as she came up to the two of you. “night doctor park,” she grinned at him, not bothering to pay attention to you. 

scoffing you mocked her under your breath, something that park didn’t miss. “you jealous, pup?” 

“if you’re fucking her, i need to know, i’m not risking an std because you want to the fuck the entire hospital,” you snarked, tamping down the green eyed monster. you had no right to feel jealous. you were just fucking. 

“i’m not robinavitch,” he spat out, as if he was offended at the thought of being with other people. at robby’s mention you frowned and you felt like he hit you in the heart. “i don’t treat the hospital like my own dating show.” 

“doesn’t seem like it,” you snapped. 

“fucking christ,” park exhaled deeply, and you could practically see him counting to five slowly in his head. “we’re going to my place tonight.” 

-

“how the fuck do you think i have time between work and you to find time to chase some other woman,” you groaned as he punctuated his statement with a particularly mean thrust. 

“brendon,” you could feel your drool pool beneath you, no doubt seeping into his mattress. clasping the fabric beneath you tightly, you were too fucked out to do anything else. 

“come on, pup,” twisting his hand into your hair, brendon yanked your head next to his face. “you were so talkative before.” 

gasping his name again, he slowly moved his hand to your throat, the other sneaking around  to your stomach. “if you ever think that i’d go around your back,” he tightened his grip around your neck, hips snapping. “you think i want some fucking nobody, huh?” 

“say who’s fucking me right now,” he growled into your ear, and when you didn’t respond quickly enough for his liking, he gave another rough jerk of his hips. 

“me,” you sputtered out, your hands grasping his forearms, nails digging into the flesh. 

“fuck, that’s right,” peppering kisses down your sweaty neck, the hand on your stomach moved further down, fingers latching onto your clit. “you think i fuck just anyone raw? that i just cum inside of any woman, huh?” 

you shook your head, one arm going behind his neck, pulling him down to your mouth. needing him closer than you already were. you let him take control, taking whatever he wanted, you just needed him. 

“come on, pup,” he goaded you, his hips no longer having a rhythm, as his fingers pressed harder, the circles against your clit becoming tighter. “cum on my cock.” 

white hot orgasm rushed through your body, you would have fallen if not for brendon holding you. gasping into his mouth, you chanted his name against his lips. 

spilling inside of you, he panted on your back, holding your body tight to his. softly moving you down, you melted into the bed. you never wanted to move, or think about anything ever again. you were content. 

brendon hissed as he slipped out of you, his cum slowly dripping onto his sheet. moving to his bathroom, he came out with a warm and damp towel. slowly and gently cleaning you, he tossed the rag to his hamper and began slowly kissing up your neck. 

“come on,” you could feel brendon lift you up and you whined in protest. “i’m not having you get a uti, you of all people should know how important this is.” 

lifting you on the toilet, you didn’t want to acknowledge just how intimate this was. so, instead, you looked at him impatiently. 

“what?” 

“get out,” you whinged as you watched him stand next to his sink. “i’m not gonna fake pee!” you exclaimed. 

brendon eyed you before nodding and leaving to go back to his bed. 

walking out of his bathroom slowly, you were practically ambushed, “jesus, brendon.” without another word he lifted you up and carried you to bed. “i have legs, you know.” 

“i know, but i also know that you can’t walk right now,” he grinned devilishly at you, and you couldn’t help but gather the little strength you had left, and smacked his chest. 

brendon park who brought you a coffee (one from an actual cafe) and a pastry to the pitt because you said you missed breakfast and you were hungry. who gave every single person a glare as they looked at him in shock as he hunted you down and gave you the food. 

“park?” you furrowed your brow, wondering if came down for a consult, but you can’t recall anyone calling for ortho in the pitt. 

“pup,” he greeted, then practically shoved the contents in your hand. “eat,” he could practically see the question mark forming on the top of your head and rolled his eyes. “you haven’t eaten since you left my house. eat.” 

“brendon,” you said softly, looking around the er. “I’m okay.” 

“do i have to feed this to you?” when you didn’t reply, he wordlessly took the pastry back and opened it up, holding it to your face. 

“park!” you chided, but nonetheless taking a small bite, very aware of the stares being thrown your way. 

javadi looked around, wide-eyed, trying to see if anyone else was watching the scene unfold in front of her. finally seeing whittaker and santos across the room. gesturing with her head to where the two of you stood, she made a face. 

“what the?” whittaker wondered out loud. “when did park and her become friends?” 

-

“shark bait,” santos practically purred as she rounded the corner. “i always thought it’d be robby that you’d be fucking.” 

rolling your eyes, you decided you were far too tired to entertain her antics at the moment. walking away, trinity followed you eagerly, her hands on her stethoscope, “so, is he mean in bed?” not answering her, you continued down the hallway. 

“garcia tells me that he talks about you sometimes,” that caused you to pause your steps. smiling, trinity skipped to you, “talks about your plans together. he mentioned that you love those coconut buns from the bakery near the hospital.” 

“trin,” you hissed. “stop.” 

“tell me if you’re fucking him, so i can change my bet. i don’t really wanna lose fifty bucks,” she whined, rocking on the heels of her feet. 

“brendon and i-,” 

“brendon?” she repeated, a sly grin on her face. 

“is none of your business,” and with that you began walking again, trinity trying to catch up to you. 

“what’s going on?” robby held out his hands, a playful smile on his face as he saw the two of you. 

“park brought her coffee and pastry because she complained she’s hungry.” eyes wide, you turned to trinity.  

“oh?” robby tilted his head towards you, and trinity almost gagged as he gave you the look only reserved for you. “we could have grabbed something, if you were hungry.” 

before you could answer, trinity answered for you, “when? between all the patients and nurses needing you, when?” 

you both turned to her, you incredulously and robby confused. “santos,” robby snipped, “i think garcia needs a set of hands in room six.” 

“shark? when did he start bringing you food?” it was an innocent question, if you didn’t know robby that well. unfortunately, for you, you knew him very well. 

“he’s actually nice,” you defended. “when he likes you.” 

“when has park ever liked you?” robby made a face and shook his head, “uh, sorry, not meant that way.” 

you laughed at his charming awkwardness, “we became friends recently. i like him.” 

“you like him?” robby arched a brow, his head tilting. 

you could feel a flush approaching your cheeks, and you really didn’t want to do this right now. especially with robby. with a hurried excuse, you scampered away from him. 

robby who didn’t realise why park suddenly started appearing a lot happier when he was down for a consult. 

robby who could see that the two of you obviously had inside jokes together, inside stories that only the two of you were privy too - something that he once had with you. 

robby who didn’t know where the nickname ‘pup’ came from, all he knew was he hated how you lit up at the name, practically preened whenever park said it to you. 

robby who always had feelings for you but never wanted to do anything because you’re good. you’re kind, and you’re you. and he was too old and too weathered for someone so good. 

brendon who stood by the nurses station in his normal clothes, waiting for you to finish. he ignored the looks that were thrown his way, or the appreciation in some.

he watched as you began your final chart, his eyes roaming all over you. you didn’t seem that tired compared to other days, you actually seemed to be in a pretty good mood. chatting away to him as you kept filling out forms. 

“did you see that photo that i sent you during your break?” you briefly looked up to brendon, the back to the computer. “the sushi place on station square.” 

“i already made reservations,” brendon simply replied. eyes scanning you and then the report briefly, tsking under his breath and pointed to the mistake. 

“i was getting to that,” you snapped playfully. “and thank you.” 

he looked back out to the space and saw hastings and robinavitch stopping at the station where the two of you were. 

“so i was thinking of coming over tonight?” park practically rolled his eyes at the blatant flirting happening in front of him. he glanced at hastings, leaning over the counter to talk to robby and watched as the other man briefly look over to you. 

“i don’t think that’s a good idea,” robby smiled tightly, still glancing between you now and then. not that you realised, too busy frowning at the computer as your screen decided to freeze. 

“i swear, you motherfucker,” you cursed under your breath. 

listening to the conversation happening right beside you, park closely kept an eye on your mood. anticipating your face scrunching up in distaste at the flirting going on in front of you

“done!” you celebrated as you stood up and slammed your folder shut. “fucking finally,” turning to brendon. “you ready to go, shark?” 

brendon hopped off the desk he was leaning on, “let’s go, pup.” 

“night,” you nodded to the other two before leading brendon to your locker. 

brendon barely glanced at the two as he passed, but he did note gleefully the look on robby’s face. 

brendon who isn’t afraid of dropping everything to make sure you’re okay…as friends

you watched mel instructing the breathing patterns and you tried your best to follow her, trying to will down the fast pace of your heart. 

“that’s it,” mel encouraged, a smile on her face. “just a couple more.” 

you breathed through your nose again, eyes looking around the room. a bit embarrassed at the situation that you were unfortunately placed in. you could see langdon and santos giving you a reassuring look, and robby who looked like he was about to blow a fuse. 

before anyone could say anything, you could hear dana bellowing a ‘room three’ to someone and then a harsh opening of the doors. “what the fuck happened?” brendon barked at the room. his attention solely focused on you. 

“i’m fine,” you called out. “just a bit of a scare.” 

not removing his eyes off you, he addressed the room again. 

“a patient got aggressive, said some mean shit, yanked her arm and threw her against some machines,” santos answered quickly, her eyes shifting between the two of you. 

the air was charged and mel moved out of the way, eyeing park like he was a predator going to snap at any minute. 

“you okay?” he asked softly, eyes running over your face and body, scowling when he saw the red print on your arm. when he saw you nod, he looked away, and then commanded, “out.” 

without another word, you watched as your colleagues scurry away. robby hesitating at the door, looking at you softly, fighting every cell in his body that wanted to stay with you. 

“i’m okay,” you murmured softly once everyone left. you weren’t, not really, but he didn’t have to know that. 

“no, you’re not.” 

“bones aren’t even broken,” you joked, trying to smile at him. 

“i’m not talking about your bones,” he tsked, stepping forward. 

“bren,” you said softly. your muscles relaxing as soon as you could feel his body heat radiate off him. 

“we’re staying at mine tonight,” he muttered, tucking a strand of her behind your ear, then dragging down his fingers until he landed on your injured arm. tapping your fingertips with his a couple of times, he looked back up at you. “what were you doing with king before?” 

“breathing exercises, helps me,” you watched as he slowly drifted both hands to your wrist and held them gently. 

“show me,” he whispered. “i can hear your heartbeat all the way from here.” 

brendon who felt his heart racing in his chest, who hasn’t felt this way since he was in high school asking out his first girlfriend. 

“we’re dating,” he declared. 

“excuse me?” you turned to him, baffled at his sudden announcement. you stopped chopping the carrot and leaned over to pause your music. 

“we only have sex with each other, i know what you like, you know what i like, you’re practically over here every day, we make a point to have dinner together at least once a week,” brendon listed off reasons. “do you want me to go on?” 

“since when was this us dating?” 

brendon stared blankly at you, “if i had it my way, ever since i kissed you in my house. knew you were the woman for me after you yanked my hair.”

feeling yourself beginning to get flustered, you breathed out loudly. “and you kept this from me because?” 

brendon shrugged, “you would have never said yes.” 

“maybe you just liked me yanking your hair.” 

rolling his eyes, “you want to date me.” 

“you’re presumptuous,” you replied, a bit amused at his obvious nervousness. 

“i’m falling in love with you,” he stated simply and that took your breath away. you looked at his face, scanning every nook and cranny that you familiarised yourself with the last six months, trying to see if he was misleading you. 

but you saw none. 

“unless you’re still fucking in love with robinavitch, i’m willing to wait until you love me back,” he affirmed, like those were the only two options that you could choose. 

“most men ask,” you reminded. “and they usually have flowers or some gifts when they ask.” 

“i’m not most men, and i bought you those flowers when we went to the market a couple of days ago,” he pointed to the beautiful flowers on your kitchen table. 

“hr’s gonna have a fit,” was all you said. you watched in amusement as brendon took a while to understand your words, and when he did, a bright grin took over his face. ignoring your exclaim of his name, he wrapped you up in his arms. 

“the form isn’t that long,” he murmured against your lips. 

read the first full here

-> dont go wasting your emotions masterlist

[ridgeflaw]

sitting in jack’s lap, back to chest, the fingers on his left hand filling up your mouth, fingers on his right hand filling up your cunt. his lips to your ear as he checks in.

‘happy girl?’ he confirms, humming when you nod. ‘yeah, ‘course you are. all full of daddy like this.’

he lets out quiet laugh when your pussy clenches down around him, a vibration you can feel more than you can hear. he presses a kiss to your temple—once, twice.

‘what do you think, princess?’ jack asks, curling his fingers behind your pubic bone and making your toes curl in response, a moan slip out from behind your makeshift gag. ‘any room left in here for daddy’s cock?’

[robinavitchslut]

slamming yourself down on robby’s cock when he hits you with a broken and wrecked, “w-we shouldn’t be doing t-this.” when you hook up in a back room at jack’s housewarming party.

“well, stop me then, cap,” you purr into his ear, running your tongue along the curve of it. finishing with a wet kiss to his jaw that makes him shudder.

he was right, you shouldn’t be doing this. as a first year resident robby was very much your boss and very much off the table as far as sexual partners in the workplace goes. but you’d had your eye on him since your first day and he’d been giving you looks all night. you knew he wanted this as much as you did.

“n-no, feels too good. fuck— your pussy’s so tight, baby,” he groans as he throws his face into your neck. you can feel that signature blush of his cheeks searing your damp skin.

his big, weathered hands grab and paw at the plump, bouncy flesh of your ass, kneading it as you roll your hips against him, feeling every vein and ridge of his thick cock drag deliciously against your walls.

his muffled groans grow louder as you take him for all he’s worth, christening his best friends—and your other bosses—new couch in the process.

“better keep it down, hm. unless you want everyone we work with to hear how fucked you are. how much you love my tight, young pussy—no—your first year resident’s tight, young pussy.” your tone is mean and sure, robby’s cock twitches inside of you and his grip on your ass tightens exponentially.

yeah, he’s fucked.

he’s biting down on your shoulder to keep quiet as you pick up your pace. your thighs burn from the effort but it’s worth it when he slams you back down onto him, stilling you with all the energy he has left as he empties himself inside of you. muffled and broken cries fall from his lips as he fills you up with his thick load, right there on his best friends couch, with everyone you know just beyond the door.

[captainfern]

FEED US MORE BAELOR. FEED US MORE BAELOR. FEED US—

dinner is served then

18+ (smut, reader gets bent over the desk, hella praise, breeding? idk it’s a creampie from a certified dilf so…..)

there is a gentleness in your husband’s nature, a softness in his mismatched eyes and a tenderness in his guiding hands, that often make you forget he is of dragon blood. he is a targaryen, born from the ashes of great conquests and forged from the steel of a warrior’s blade.

but where shadows stretch thicker, more dense where they cling to stone walls, and where doors bolt shut and candles illuminate in thin veils of amber, you find yourself remembering. you find yourself remembering just how potent the targaryen bloodline is.

baelor’s hands on your hips are bruising in their hold, fingers gripping flesh as you bend yourself over the sturdy wooden desk in his solar. your trembling fingers curl over the edge as you arch your back, your skirts bunched up tightly around your waist as your husband drives into you over and over.

there’s a dull ache seated in your womb from the force of his thrusts, and a tension in your thighs as you part your legs for him. skin slaps against skin, the sound echoing throughout the room, a nearby candle flickering with your joint movements. you rock against the desk, sweat building beneath your bodice, clinging to the curve of your spine and beneath the swell of your breasts where they’re pinned to the wood.

baelor grunts loudly above you with each rut of his cock. your pussy opens for him, silken walls split wet and hot around the thick of his cock. he grunts like a fighting man—like a man battling with his own pleasure, heavy balls landing firmly against your clit, a honey-thick tension pooling at the base of his spine.

he holds you tightly, heart leaping against his sternum as he listens to the whines and whimpers that drop from your lips. the clutch of your cunt sucks him in, warm and deep and his, and he can’t stop the groan of your name that follows a particularly deep, rolling thrust towards the plug of your womb.

“such a sweet girl,” baelor manages, vowels hoarse around another grunt. he feels your pussy flutter around him, and he coos, “my perfect girl, bending and taking me so well, aren’t you?”

you nod with your cheek pressed to the desk, but it doesn’t work too well. instead, you dip further into an arch, sucking him in even deeper as he ruts up towards the base of your cervix, the angle pulling him in close. you moan loudly when the head of his cock nudges up against that perfect spot inside you, and you can’t help the way your legs begin to tremble when he drives into that spot over and over again.

“my best girl,” baelor continues his praise, rolling his hips in a way that has you writhing beneath him. but he holds you firmly, unyielding in his strength as he fucks you. “you always do so well for me.”

“baelor,” you gasp out, suddenly feeling breathless. your orgasm looms like a phantom, hovering just out of reach but drawing nearer the more you chant—sporadic moans of baelor’s name and title as your body grows hot. you whimper, a stiff knot of pleasure in the very base of your tummy. “oh gods, baelor.”

baelor groans in response, hips stuttering for a moment before he collects himself with a whisper of your name. “my girl. all mine—you’re all mine, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

you can’t respond. his cock pushes so deep inside you that it knocks the air from your lungs, and you’re too busy trying not to drown in your own pleasure to string together a proper sentence. but your husband won’t settle for that: he rucks his hips hard into you, shunting you against the desk and forcing a yowl from the back of your throat.

“aren’t you?” baelor repeats, panting as he moves. sweat beads high on his forehead, a sticky heat trapped beneath the thick material of his tunic and doublet. he continues, “you’re all mine?”

“yes,” you blurt out around a moan as you shake against his desk, the glass bottle of a nearby inkwell trembling with you. your pussy clenches tight around the thick of his cock, stretched out and drooling where you bend for him. the heat of your orgasm rapidly begins to cook you alive, and you’re panting before you can stop yourself. “yes, baelor, oh my gods.”

“ah, such a good listener,” baelor says, lilting and almost mocking as you hurtle towards release. he brings you back against him, admiring the ripple of your flesh as he moves you against his pelvis. he takes a hand and palms the fat of your arse cheek. “i love it when you do what you’re told.”

the way he says that undoes the knot of pleasure inside you, and you come with one final moan of his name. he fucks you through it, thrusting deep and hard towards the plug of your womb, grunting as you come apart beneath him. you shake, limbs trembling as you huff and moan and mewl, sounds bouncing off the stone walls. your pussy clenches around his cock, fluttering with the hammering of your heart, and the tension in your body releases.

“oh there she is, that’s it,” baelor murmurs, patting your arse before taking hold of your hips again. he pulls you to him, desk groaning in protest as he ruts into you again and again. the pressure inside him builds, and builds still, until he feels the muscles in his jaw working as he grits out, “and now she’s going to take my—ha, uh—my cum, yeah? s’that what you want?”

because you’re such a good listener, you nod. you nod deliriously, mewling for him to spill inside you, stuff you full. his response is a deep, resonating groan that echoes more dragon then man, followed by a hushed whimper of your name. then, he’s shoving himself to the hilt inside you, a sheathing of valyrian steel, hands bunched tightly on your hips, and spilling.

his head falls back, the lump in his throat working as he moans and comes deep inside you. his balls jerk, drawing up from where they rested against your slick folds as his hips falter to a stop. baelor groans again, emptying himself until he’s satiated. he folds himself then, when his heart no longer clatters against his ribs, across your back, pressing you even harder into the desk.

“my best girl,” he whispers, nosing your cheek. “my special girl.”

[yournamesnob]

accidental catch

Pairing: dom!Brendon Park x best friend's sister!reader

Word count: 5.5k

CW: MDNI, 18+

Tags/warnings: D/s dynamics, f!reader, age gap (reader is 26, Brendon is mid 30s), minor injury, little angst from brendon, tinge ooc but like is it really if that man was only on screen for like 3 seconds?, yearning, kinky relationships, kinky dating sites, sub drop

Summary: Something's been missing in Brendon's life ever since his last relationship ended, and you might just be exactly what he needs…if he lets himself have you

a/n: okay, here’s the much awaited set up for this series!! lmk what we think

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND, USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI OR USE AI TO TRANSLATE MY WORK. FUCK AI.

Something gnaws at the back of Brendon’s skull, like a metaphorical breeze that he can’t quite seem to shake, irking him into a constant state of annoyance.

He’s getting irritable again, that much is clear from all the whispers and glances his interns, residents and nurses have been giving him all week. Hell, even Robinavitch has been more curt than usual, not lingering to engage with him outside of the strictly medical. It’s not like they were buddies to begin with, but the two extra words they give each other at consults are definitely missing.

Brendon knows what it is, that itching under his skin, that weight to his heartbeat, that cold deep within his bones.

He has tried to ignore it before and it had worked for the majority of his life. Contact sports, exercise, hell, even the rigorousness of med school had done wonders to dull the ache into a barely there whisper in the back of his mind. The need had just become a want, a little tingle that he could pretend didn’t exist.

But he can’t ignore it anymore, not since his last partner.

The breakup had been mutual, her moving away to another city and him letting her go because what kind of selfish monster would be he if he didn’t. But ever since then, the gust had turned into a storm, roaring and unashamed to freeze everything in its path.

Brendon threw his entire focus on work, on the medicine, on routine, structure but none of it has been enough to fix the heaviness of his heart.

He groans as he finally settles into the plush cushion of his office chair, the leather just the right amount of cool after being left alone in the air conditioned room all morning.

Six hour surgery, practically in and out, right when he clocked in and just a little after lunch. He should be proud, should be feeling the weight of hunger and exhaustion and accomplishment. But instead all he can feel is the weight of…emptiness.

He knows it’ll end in heartache once more, just pure dissatisfaction, but he can’t seem to stop himself as he pulls out his phone and opens that stupid private app that Robinavitch had so kindly recommended.

No new matches.

Great.

He’s not looking for much, nothing that he would consider unreasonable. Sure, he’s probably gone through every single profile on it in the few months since his separation, meeting a few of the ones who matched for initial compatibility assessment coffees, but none of them had stuck. They all felt like a chore, like he was adding more to their lives than they were to his. He felt awful about it for a while, tried to rationalize it, convince himself that it’s his role to provide for them so what he wants doesn’t matter as much. But that only made the times they’d made it into the bedroom that much more exhausting. It felt like a performance, detached and devoid of all emotional connection.

Needless to say, Brendon Park remains alone and the ache is slowly eating away at him.

His pager goes off as he stares into the distance, his brain giving him whiplash as he snaps back into the unfortunate reality of where he is, who he is and just all he isn’t. He groans, audibly, taking advantage of the empty room, the silence, the lack of prying eyes, and eventually pushes himself back on his already aching feet.

The walk down to the ED is quick and sharp, all business and forward momentum. People part like water as he swims through the hustle and bustle of the hospital, only slowing down in the elevator before resuming his swiftness the second the stainless steel doors open.

He catches the tired eyes of the head nurse above her glasses, giving her a subdued and respectful nod of his head as she intercepts him. His eyebrow twitches in confusion as she falls into step beside him, practically herding him into central eight.

"What've you got?"

Dana sighs, seemingly over whatever drama this patient has put her through.

"Just a really bad sprain from what I can tell but she insisted."

That makes Park stop cold. Her lip quirks into a soft smirk, somehow understanding something before he could even catch up to it, a hint of mischief breaking through her exhaustion.

"Oh yeah," she grins. "Asked for you by name too."

He pushes past her then, curiosity killing the big mean shark or however the saying goes.

And to say that he's surprised would be an understatement, his predatory gaze going from cold and calculating to one of shock, wiped swiftly by a softness that no one has ever seen from him.

"Sugar plum?"

"Nutcracker man!" your voice is like a shot of whiskey in a cold winter's night. 

"What are you doing here?" Here at the hospital, here in Pittsburg, here, right in front of him, close enough to reach out and—

"Steven insisted I come over and ask for you by name," you huff, ever the indignant child. "I told him it was just a sprain but he got mad at me."

His lips instantly quirk into a full smile, completely ignoring the nurse in the room and Santos's bulging eyes.

"Cut your brother some slack, some habits die hard."

You roll your eyes. "Easy for you to say, your sisters are lovely."

That gets a chuckle out of him, easy and hearty, and he can practically see Santos almost falling out of her chair in shock.

"They're just as bad as you and you know it."

You smile brightly at that, innocent eyes with a devilish smirk that almost stops his heart.

“I don’t actually, I’m an angel.”

His lips instantly quirk into a full smile. Yeah right.

You chuckle softly at his reaction as he moves from the front of the bed towards you. Strong, confident hands hover over your elevated leg, as if trying to hold himself back from the temptation that is finally laying his hands on you, of confirming that you are real and not just another figment of his imagination.

He gets over himself quickly as Santos finally clears her throat, presenting the case before the room drowns in the downpour of your familiarity. He swallows thickly, willing his hands to just do their damn job, urging muscle memory to carry him through.

As Santos drones on, he can feel the searing fire of your stare, the way your breathing hitches ever so slightly as he picks up the ice pack over your purpling ankle, the way goosebumps emerge as he picks up your leg and gently conducts the same mobility, tenderness and pain examination that the intern in triage must’ve.

“…and that’s why I don’t babysit for anyone. Kids are a safety hazard.”

You chuckle lightheartedly. “It’s my own fault, I shouldn’t have trusted a three year old to tidy up. I should’ve looked where I was going.”

“You’re looking after Tyler?” The words escape him before he can think twice about it.

“Yeah, I’m living with them actually,” you murmur, shifting as he sets your foot back down on the pillow. “While I…” you trail off, a little embarrassed as you look around the room at the three other pairs of eyes still glued to your interaction with Park like he’s grown an extra head.

He stiffens, his light hand over your calf tightening ever so slightly as he clears his throat. “Well you’re right, it’s just a sprain but I’d still like to be sure so I’m going to order x-rays and we’ll go from there.”

You nod, watching him intently as he icily glares around the room, snapping everyone back into action. When the fishes have scattered and it's only the two of you in the room, he pulls back his teeth and settles on the stool Santos was just occupying.

“It’s really good to see you again,” you tell him, shyly playing with your necklace.

He’s smitten by the habit, one he knows well.

“Me too,” he keeps his voice steady and even. “Whatever happened to…”

He doesn’t mean to pry, but he simply can’t help it. He needs to know, his heart practically doing somersaults in his chest.

You sigh, ripping your gaze from his haunting blue eyes and making yourself as little as you can before speaking. “Broke up.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“And your masters program?”

That gets you to look back at him, a tame yet excited smile curling your lips, causing a prideful shiver to course through Brendon’s body.

“Graduated with honors last year,” you beam.

“Atta girl, I’m proud of you,” he pats your thigh without thinking about it, the contact comfortable and familiar. He catches the way your breathing hitches, doesn’t mention it, sliding his touch to rest on the bed instead.

“What about you?” You recover quickly. “Whatever happened with that woman from Steven’s birthday party?”

Oh right, you'd met her. He visibly cringes and you instantly feel bad.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be, it’s okay,” the panic in your voice makes him violently ill, quickly returning his touch to your thigh to soothe you. “Didn’t work out.”

“Oh…I’m sorry Brendon, she doesn’t know what she missed out on.”

Your compliment is genuine, he knows it, he feels it, and it instantly puts him at ease. He gives you a soft, sorrowful smile. 

“So what’s next?” He changes the subject, deflection always being easier to handle than truth.

You shrug. “Get x-rays done, prove to my brother that I’m fine and I shouldn’t have had to deal with medical bills, probably order takeout when I get discharged—”

Brendon chuckles, cutting off your rambling even if he doesn’t want to. “I meant with life, sugar plum.”

Your eyes widen in embarrassment, the panic that he’d seen in them earlier when he mentioned your ex returning tenfold.

It’s his turn to apologize, mouth instantly opening to try and fix it, when his pager goes off, cutting through the comfort you’d created for him instantly. Suddenly, the cold returns, the bright lights remind him of the headache, the loudness of the ED seep into his bones.

“Go,” you tell him. “Go be a hot, competent surgeon doctor man.”

He rolls his eyes, his eyes lingering on the sincerity of your voice. There had been a time when those words would’ve ended with your brother teasing the two of you relentlessly. But you never take it back. Even if the words don't mean anything more than the truth, Brendon could always count on you to remind him of the simple facts of life.

He is competent. He is a surgeon doctor man. He is hot. 

Wait—

Before he can wrap his head around the word, around the meaning behind it, he’s being pulled away, this time by a 911. He gives your thigh one last squeeze, not really aware he’s doing but the warmth of your skin lingers against his palm all the way back upstairs into OR 3 and it relaxes him.

Complications with one of Garcia’s surgeries keep him distracted for the next four hours, the comforting practice of being just another set of hands that has no thoughts or feelings or yearnings aside from the medicine in front of him doing wonders to clench his thirst.

It’s late when he finally settles back into his body. The ache, the hunger, the exhaustion hits him like a tidal wave. He knows it was coming but actually realizing just how much he’s neglected himself in the hustle of the day always leaves him feeling worse about himself.

He cleans up as much as he can, changing into civilian clothes before he returns to his office to gather his things and get the fuck out of the sterile building.

His phone glares at him from where it’s been left, neglected and alone, for the majority of the day. He doesn’t panic, though. There’s no one waiting for him on the other end of the annoying device anyway. He taps the screen, however, a stupid habit that he too has fallen victim to like the entire human population.

One text from his sister in their family group chat. One weather notification. Two missed calls and a few texts from your brother.

The short interaction rushes back to him instantly, his body blossoming with the promise of something warm once more. He picks up the small device, returning your brother’s call instantly.

“Hey brother,” Steven’s voice is cheerful, even if Brendon knows better.

“Hey, long time no call.”

Steven chuckles at that, the lingering guilt from both parties only partially alleviated.

“Yeah, who’s fault is that?”

“Definitely mine,” Brendon concedes with a chuckle. “To what do I owe all this attention then?”

“Just wanted to thank you for taking care of my sister today.”

Brendon can’t help the smile that spreads at the mention of you, at the reminder that you’re actually real to other people too.

“Of course, man, she’s family,” he lets the feelings settle deep in his chest, resting against his desk before continuing. “How’s she doing?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me, she’s still at the hospital.”

The feeling expands, twisting into one of rage and shame.

“It’s been hours.”

“I know…but she just told me they’re discharging her.”

Brendon sighs, silently damning the entire healthcare system.

“I’ll take care of her, don’t worry.”

“Thanks man,” Steven sighs in gratefulness. “Oh and bring a pizza over please.”

Brendon rolls his eyes at his friend’s lack of shame. “Of course. Still just cheese for Tyler?”

“You know it.”

With that, Brendon practically rushes back down to the ED, his hair fluffy from the sweat breaking apart his gel cast, the casual henley and dark wash denim combo making him unrecognizable to the staff as he walks through, giving Abbot a curt nod in acknowledgement before he enters the room you’d been in earlier.

Your eyes light up as you see him. “Hey stranger.”

“That’s doctor stranger to you.”

It makes you giggle and he’s certain his cheeks bloom pink at that.

“You taking me home?”

He nods once, walking over to the computer and scanning his ID so that he can take a final look at your chart. You gather your things slowly, watching how the man you’d seen a few hours ago has drastically transformed into the man you’ve known for the past seven years. 

You’d met Brendon at your high school graduation, your brother having come back home from college with his roommate for the summer. You’d spent the entire two months before you left for college yourself convinced that the two of them were together together, the way they brought out the best in each other endearing.

It was when you’d caught them both at the same house party your friends had dragged you to, his tongue practically down the girl that had been a bitch to you all throughout high school’s throat that you realized that you had been deadly wrong. Jealousy bubbled in your stomach, ugly and upsetting, so much so that you had given him the silent treatment for a whole day before he finally had enough of it.

Brendon Park wasn’t yours, not even platonically, and yet, he couldn’t help but become one of the closest people to you that summer. You told him, the truth somehow spilling out of you in a way that had never happened before. And he’d apologized. The fucker said sorry and promised to never do it again. Needless to say, you’d ignored your feelings until college flings and serious boyfriends buried them deep within you.

Seeing him now is…a lot. You’ve always cared for him, always respected his opinion, his council, his everything. He’s Brendon for fuck’s sake. Accomplished, loyal, respectful, chivalrous, perfect golden boy Brendon. Your bother’s best friend. And the secret subject of your unbridled desires.

“Anything interesting?” You ask, desperate to break yourself from your thoughts.

“No break, healthy fibula…” he drones on, clinical and sterile, his deep knowledge of bones endearing at this point. He turns to catch your teasing smile and his cheeks blush the most adorable red as he realizes he’s been info dumping on you. “Everything looks good.”

“Thank you Brendon.”

He turns back to the computer, logging on his final notes for your medical history in an attempt to stop looking like a damn fool in front of you. Your smiles mean nothing more than what they are—comfort and familiarity. You’re a ray of sunshine to everyone that happens to be standing in your direction. He’s not the exception, he’s simply a part of the rule.

His phone vibrates from the depth of his pocket. Probably another text from your brother asking him to hurry the fuck up, impatience a running trait in your family. He pulls out his phone, his eyes slowly drifting to the notification. A flurry of emotions run through him as the next few moments play out. 

At first, embarrassment when he notices it’s a notification from the app, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he hides it from view, who knows what you’d think about him if you only knew what it was.

Next, hope, dizzying and contagious as he reads the notification. One new profile found. The match strikes, an ember sparks. He’s almost giddy now, eager to get the evening over with so he can give the notification all of his attention.

And finally, he’s certain he’s going into cardiac arrest as he, because he’s a man and has the self-restraint of one, even if he prides himself on being everything but an eager motherfucker, taps on the notification and he’s instantly met with your beautiful face as the profile opens up.

Brendon can’t breathe anymore.

He manages a strangled excuse and darts into the private bathroom, his entire world both crumbling all around him with each exhale and being rebuilt into a utopia with every inhale. But it’s not enough, air is not enough anymore and he knows it. No, not when he knows.

There’s too much running through him that the only thing he can think of is how if he got this notification then you definitely did too. Panic and shame and every ugly emotion that reminds him just how wrong this is beats him up. Through trembling fingers he turns off the discoverability of his profile, praying to every god he’s ever learned about that you’ll never, ever get the full knowledge of just how deranged Brendon’s fears have convinced him he is.

Then comes the guilt. He should not know this about you. This is such a precious thing, vulnerable and honest, too honest, and he cannot help but feel like he’s betrayed your trust in some way. You’re Steven’s sister, curious and unapologetic, the girl who picked daisies and made flower crowns, the girl who spiked their ice tea with your dad’s whiskey, the girl who teased him relentlessly when he showed up with his first serious girlfriend to Christmas the first time your families met, the girl who baked him his favorite cake when he graduated from med school, the girl that tells him the truth and isn’t afraid to hurt him because you both have a mutual understanding that goes beyond acquaintances.

It’s because of this that the little ember nudges, whispering something much deadlier in his ear. Knowledge is power, so much so that the pull towards it becomes dizzying. What if you could be—

No.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

That is never going to happen.

No.

Nuh-uh.

He has half a mind to throw his phone in the trash and himself along with it. He can never allow himself to think of you that way, not again. He’s a heartbreaker, it’s what he’s always done. Overprotective, overbearing, possessive and cruel. He could never tie you down, could never ask you to fulfill those sick and twisted fantasies that he so desperately needs in order to feel whole.

No, he’ll damn himself to an eternity of solitude before he puts you in a position where you could actually be exactly what he’s looking for, because he knows that what he wants is not something that either of you can come back from, and he respects you too much to put you in a position where the relationship that you’re looking for can jeopardize the one you’ve got with your brother, with your family, with your friends and loved ones.

He will not do that to you. He will get his shit together, pretend he never saw what he saw, help you to his car, drive to Tony’s Pizzeria and get a half cheese, half pepperoni pizza, a huge homemade orange soda bottle for the four of you to share, spend an hour with your brother and nephew and then disappear from your life forever. It doesn’t matter that you’re here, it doesn't matter that you’re just as perfect as ever, treating him as if no time has passed, as if nothing has happened, as if his absence never happened.

He takes one last steadying breath, locking his phone, and stepping out onto the floor.

But then his eyes lock with yours and whatever plan he so masterfully concocted throws itself away in favor of this, that all encompassing feeling that blooms behind his heart and spreads all over his chest the second he comes into your spotlight.

It’s weirdly comfortable to be in Brendon’s car, the radio turned low yet steady, the confidence of his movements as he navigates night life traffic a little too sexy. The silence that lingers between the two of you isn’t uncomfortable, it’s simply…air.

You wince lightly as you settle further into the expensive leather, reveling in the comfort that is Brendon Park now being a big shot surgeon with doctor money. You chuckle at the thought, effectively breaking his constant stare forward, as if his only task right now is to drive as though he’s carrying precious cargo in his car.

He can’t help himself when he asks, “what’s so funny?”

You catch his softened gaze, a dopey smile still lingering. “You.”

The single word does something to him, constricting his heart until he forces himself to tear his eyes from yours as if they’ve hurt him.

“I knew you’d make it, you’ve always been determined,” you sigh. “I guess it’s just nice to see it for real now.”

He chuckles right back at you. “I could say the same thing to you.”

You scoff, self-deprecating. “Yeah right, I’m unemployed, living with my brother and his son because I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing with my life and person I thought I was going to spend it with broke up with me cause I was ‘too much work’.”

The car screeches to a halt in the middle of the road, causing you to jolt against the seatbelt across your chest.

“Absolutely not, sweetheart,” his voice cuts through the adrenaline pumping through your heart. “You will never speak about yourself in that way, do I make myself clear?”

It’s only after he says it that realization dawns on him like a bucket of ice water being poured over his body. He watches the way your body reacts to the authority in his voice, the way you shiver slightly, the way your expression drops into submission, pupils dilating, your legs rubbing together instinctively.

“I’m sorry Bren,” your voice is barely a whisper but he hears it nonetheless.

“It’s okay,” he settles back against his seat, hands gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. “I’m sorry you’re going through so much, but that’s no excuse to talk down on yourself. You’d rip me a new one if I did the same thing, wouldn’t you?”

That pulls a smile back on your face. “Oh I’d do much, much worse.”

“See? So why would I allow the same?”

You nod, biting down on your lower lip ever so slightly as he starts the car again, both your hearts beating a million times a minute. You liked that, his rough voice, the way he instantly cut through all the noise in your head, reminding you that you’re more than all the self-destructive thoughts.

Your brain turns off so slowly you’re unable to spot it. You can hear him call your name, ask you a question, but all you register is that delicious baritone to his voice, how it reverberates against your ribs and makes you feel safe. As if understanding exactly what’s going on, he sighs deeply, wrapping his big, surgeon hand over your thigh. You barely register as he starts the car again, the comforting rumbling of the vehicle beneath you slowly lulling you to sleep as your body comes down from that adrenaline spike. You stare at him through hooded eyes, the warmth from his hand as the only anchor keeping you tethered in the ocean of your feelings.

A twisted thought turns in your heart, making you sick. Panic bubbles. You jolt into awareness, abrasive and shocking, and you’re certain he can feel the spike in your pulse from the death grip he’s got on your leg. You did not just drop in front of Brendon Park.

“You okay?” He asks, because of course he does, he’s always been attentive and kind and respectful.

You nod, far too quickly, but you pretend like nothing’s wrong, retreating so far into yourself until you can believe like it isn’t. You feel like a stranger in your own body as he parks the car, comes around to get your crutches and open your door, as the two of you go inside and greet every single person working tonight, as you busy yourself helping to marry the ketchups while your order gets made.

You can feel him watching you intensely, even if the kid working the register is still talking his ear off about last night’s hockey game. He replies half-heartedly, pays with his black amex which you only slightly tease him about, and let him carry everything back to the car while you settle back in the front seat.

You don’t say another word to him, not as he drives up your brother’s driveway, as he stands beside you while you unlock the door, as Steven brings him into a warm hug and Tyler runs up to uncle Brendon like a rocket ship.

No, you’re cold and distant, detached from everything going on around it and it breaks Brendon’s heart a little. He can’t stop chastising himself, over and over again, watching as you nibble at your food, as your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes, as you avoid eye contact with him profusely throughout his stay.

Eventually, it’s time for Tyler’s nighttime routine and since you’re currently incapacitated, doctor’s orders, Steven wrangles the three year old by himself, making Brendon promise to wait for him so they can drink a few beers and catch up after.

The second that Steven leaves the room, Brendon decides he’s had enough.

He finds you aggressively washing the dishes you used for dinner by hand, mind off somewhere far away from him, from this, from now.

“Sugar plum?” He sees your body tense instantly, a shiver running through it that makes him cringe internally. 

He takes a deep breath. You need him right now and he’s gotta be the bigger man and actually right his wrongs.

“Turn it off.”

You shiver again, legs rubbing together again, this time definitely intentional. You don’t dare face him, don’t dare breathe because if you do, you’re afraid it’ll choke out of you like a broken moan.

“Be a good girl and do as you’re told.”

That does you in. A clear command, fully open and honest, cutting through the noise in your head and letting you know you’re not crazy. Your shaky hand turns off the tab, the room falling back into an uneasy silence.

“I’m sorry if I startled you in the car,” he starts, voice even and apologetic. “It wasn’t my intention, I should’ve known better.”

Your brow scrunches in confusion but you don’t think much of it. Maybe you truly are that easy to read and your ex had been right, your disinterest in your “vanilla” relationship so evident in every action you took over the past three months that the only course of action was for him to cheat on you.

I can't give you what you need.

His words echo in your mind as a shaky sigh escapes your lips, your soapy hand coming up to slam over your mouth before he can hear the truth behind it, the rawness that he’s awakened. You’re not his responsibility, he should not have to deal with—

You don’t even know when it happens, all you do is feel his strong arms wrapping around you, turning your body so that you can hide your face against his chest as you can’t hold back the sobs anymore.

He shushes you gently, never crossing the platonic boundary your relationship has already established, and that only makes you that much more emotional. You don’t really remember how long you cry, all you know is that by the time the tears subside, there’s a wet patch right below his heart and his mouth flutters gentle praises in your ear, so close that his breathing makes you tickle.

You push him back slightly, getting your bearings straight enough to start feeling embarrassed that he just witnessed that.

“Hey, none of that,” he says, certain. “You’re okay, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

You avoid his piercing gaze as you wipe your face clean, one of the hands around your waist grabbing the hem of his shirt and wiping after your fingers.

You can’t help the giggle that escapes you then, the absurdity of the moment not lost on you as a singular thought persists—Brendon Park would make an amazing dom.

“Thank you Bren.”

“Don’t mention it, kiddo.”

“Ew, rude,” you scrunch your nose in mock offense, finally looking up at him.

He almost folds, your puffy eyes, slightly red nose, the way you hold onto him like you trust him, like he’s safe…any weaker man would’ve folded instantly. And fuck it if he doesn’t want to be weak.

“What? City girl suddenly too good for a silly nickname?”

You roll your eyes, trying to pull back from his embrace fully now but he doesn’t let you.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me—”

Your breathing hitches, something shifts, your pupils dilate slightly.

Brendon clears his throat, letting you go then, aggressively shoving his hands inside his jean pockets. You blink up at him, the cloud slowly dissipating as you come back into your body. 

It’s beautiful. So raw and vulnerable he doesn’t even think about his movements, he only does them, holding out his arms so that you can hold yourself up on them, something steady and grounding. And to his pure delight, you do, your grip not tentative or shy but fully trusting in him.

After a long, drawn out minute, the house returns with full force, Steven joking after a giggling Tyler down the hall, the hum of the fridge behind him, the clock ticking in the other room. You hum, shifting your weight around uncomfortably.

“You should go to bed,” he tells you, a gentle command that has you instantly nodding, as if only because he’s said it you’re now aware of just how tired you are.

You nod, brain so fuzzy you don’t think it’ll be able to handle words right about now.

Brendon can’t help but smile, a barely there smirk that desperately wants to turn into more but he fears if it does then you’ll know everything.

“Want you to take a shower, elevate your foot and text me if you need anything else, alright?”

“Yes sir.”

His heart lurches. He knows you’re only saying it teasingly but still, the ache almost topples him over, throws him off balance. You pull away slowly, taking your warmth with you, returning his soul to the ice age it has cultivated. He stares at you go, body turned to stone until he hears Steven coming back down the hall towards him.

He snaps out of it then, putting on his best Brendon Park, college friend mask on and indulging the single parent in a much needed hour of beers and ranting. By the time he’s sat back in his car, he can’t seem to push himself to leave. He sits there, staring out into the dark street before him, head buzzing with thoughts and feelings that threaten to consume him.

And somehow, through all the noise, his phone dings.

You: In bed now. Feet elevated. Thank you so much for today, you didn’t have to be so kind but I’m glad that you were.

You: And also…thank you for…that too.

You added a picture, your foot, wrapped like the nurses had taught you, propped up on a mountain of pillows. The ember expands in his heart, ignites that desperate yearning again, and he’s finally able to get himself to drive away, but not before replying—

Brendon: My pleasure, sweetheart.

dividers by @/enchanthings

[p0tat0nug]

Gaaaahhhh, I can’t wait for this to evolve into mooooorreeereeee

[laraisoncall]

lucky number seven

summary: The entire hospital fears Brendon Park. Except you. You can steal his coffee, order him around, tease him all day, and tell him he’s being an ass. Nobody understands why he listens until they discover you met him before — back when he was struggling, unknown, and not yet “Park the Shark.” 9.9k

The scent of hospital-grade disinfectants and stale dark roast coffee was the same in Pittsburgh as it was in New York, but the air here felt heavier, thick with the damp heat of an impending late-spring thunderstorm.

You adjusted the collar of your black scrubs, checking your reflection in the small, slightly warped mirror of the staff locker room.

Undeniably, the move had been a shock to your system. A week ago, you had packed your entire life into a single U-Haul, leaving behind a brownstone in Brooklyn, a prestigious fellowship, and a man who had successfully managed to hollow out your chest over the course of three years.

“You’re just never there, babe,” Richard had said, his voice dripping with that smooth, corporate condescension you had somehow mistaken for maturity when you first met him.

He had been standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows of your downtown apartment, not even looking at you. “I need someone who actually shows up for dinner, not someone who prioritizes a bunch of strangers over her own relationship. Look at you. You’re undeniably beautiful, you’re brilliant, you have the whole world handing you whatever you want—but you’re empty. Your job is your real partner. I’m just the guy holding the ring until you realize you don’t have room in your life for a real man.”

That last sentence had been the final, brutal blow—the one that made you slide the engagement ring off your finger, drop it onto the marble kitchen island, and tell him to get the hell out. You weren’t going to let a man who wanted a trophy wife make you feel guilty for saving lives. So, you chose yourself. You chose your career. You chose Pittsburgh.

The memory still tasted like ash, but as you tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear, you reminded yourself of who you actually were. You were young, you were an incredibly talented Emergency Medicine attending, and despite Richard’s parting attempts to dismantle your self-esteem, the appreciative glances you’d received in the hospital corridors over the last seven days proved you hadn’t lost an ounce of your charm or your looks.

You were talented, you were charismatic, and you were finally free.

Pushing through the double doors into the main hub of the Emergency Department, you were immediately greeted by the low, constant hum of the pit.

"Morning, superstar," called out Dr. Robby, the Chief of the ED. He was a salt-pepper haired genial man whose eyes always held a paternal warmth. He was leaning against the central tracking board, a tablet balanced on his forearm. "How's the transition treating you? No one’s driven you back to the turnpike yet?"

"Not yet, Chief," you said with an easy, radiant smile that made a passing intern nearly trip over an IV pole. "The pace is good. The staff is sharp. I think I'm actually starting to figure out which elevator leads to the cafeteria without ending up in the morgue."

"That's a victory in week one," Dr. Frank Langdon chimed in, stepping up to the desk. Langdon was a senior resident, highly excellent, effortlessly charming, and currently sporting a grin that suggested he’d spent the last ten minutes trying to think of an excuse to talk to you. "If you ever need a personal guided tour of the city's better culinary establishments, Doc, my schedule is surprisingly flexible for an R4."

"I appreciate the offer, Dr. Langdon," you replied, your tone perfectly balanced between warm collegiality and a gentle, unmistakable boundary. "But I think I'll stick to learning the hospital grid before I venture out into the wild."

Langdon gave a good-natured shrug, his eyes lingering on your smile for just a beat too long before he walked away. He wasn't the first.

Over the past week, a steady stream of eligible bachelors from cardiology, neurology, and general surgery had suddenly found reasons to consult or simply wander down to the ED, all of them eager to introduce themselves to the gorgeous new attending everyone was talking about. You had politely, flawlessly deflected every single dinner invitation. Your heart was under construction, and frankly, you didn't have the bandwidth for more corporate slickness.

"Don't let them hound you," a gravelly voice said from behind the terminal. Dr. Abbot, the night shift attending who was currently finishing up his hand-off notes, looked up with a tired but deeply kind smile. "They're like seagulls when a new ship docks. You've been a breath of fresh air around here, truly. The night shift reports have been immaculate since you took over the swing."

"Thanks, Abbot. Get some sleep. You look like you're walking in a dream."

"More like a nightmare, but I'm heading out now. Good luck today," Abbot said, gathering his things with a grateful nod.

You walked over to the main nurse's station, where Dana Evans, the legendary charge nurse of the PTMC trauma bays, was currently terrorizing a supply representative over a late shipment of rapid infusers. Dana was tough, deeply competent, sarcastic to a fault, and fiercely protective of her clinical space.

She slammed the phone down, took one look at you, and her fierce expression softened into a wry smirk. "Look at you, still looking like a shampoo commercial after five consecutive shifts. What's your secret, Doc? Genetic superiority or just high-quality concealer?"

"Good moisturizer and a complete lack of a personal life, Dana," you joked, leaning against the counter.

"Well, keep that shield up. The vultures are circling," Dana said, gesturing subtly toward a group of internal medicine residents pretending to study a chart nearby. "They aren't used to an attending who can run a level-one trauma without breaking a sweat or looking like they slept in a ditch. Speaking of which, you've got Trinity Santos on your team today. Keep her on a leash."

Right on cue, R2 Trinity Santos marched up to the desk, her jaw set, her eyes burning with the fierce, highly competitive ambition she was already famous for. She was sharp-tongued and possessed a brash confidence that bordered on terrifying for the medical students.

"Hey, Doc," Trinity said, dropping a clipboard onto the counter. "Bay 3 is prepped for the chest tube evaluation. I've already reviewed the films from last night. I can perform the exchange myself, no supervision required."

Before you could answer, R3 Melissa King drifted over. Melissa was empathetic and highly intelligent, possessing an incredible emotional perceptiveness, but she was also humanly, beautifully awkward. She was clutching a cup of tea like a security blanket. "Um, actually, Dr. Santos, the patient in Bay 3 specifically asked for a female doctor who 'doesn't shout at them,' so maybe... maybe we let the attending take the lead? Not that you shout! You just... speak with high velocity."

Trinity rolled her eyes. "It's efficiency, King. If the patient wants a lifestyle chat, they can call a therapist. We need the bed."

"Let's compromise," you said, your calm, cool voice instantly cutting through the resident bickering. "Trinity, you'll perform the procedure, but I will be in the room, and you will speak to the patient at a volume that doesn't suggest an air raid. Melissa, I want you on the ultrasound for the subsequent cardiac window checks. Deal?"

Both residents nodded—Trinity with a tight, respectful click of her jaw, and Melissa with a sigh of relief.

Just then, Dennis Whitaker, an R1 who perpetually looked like he was being hunted by an apex predator, stumbled toward the desk, nearly dropping a handful of specimen tubes. "Uh, Doc? MS4 Victoria Javadi is in the hallway... she's trying to explain the entire coagulation cascade to a patient with a minor laceration, and the patient is crying because they think they have leukemia now."

You let out a soft laugh, rubbing the bridge of your nose. Victoria Javadi was a brilliant medical student, but her social skills were still in the embryonic stage. "Dennis, breathe. Go tell Victoria that the cascade is beautiful, but the patient just needs three standard sutures and a lollipop. Then take over the closure for her."

"Yes, ma'am! Thank you, ma'am!" Dennis scrambled away like a startled rabbit.

Dana Evans shook her head, an amused grin on her face. "You're a saint, Doc. Seriously. If this were the upper floors, they'd have eaten those kids alive by now. Especially if they wandered into the penthouse."

"The penthouse?" you asked, charting a quick note on the computer.

"Ortho," Trinity Santos answered, her voice dropping into a tone that was unusually reverent for her. "Specifically, the Chief of Ortho. Dr. Park. They call him 'The Shark.' He’s a total machine. Aggressive confidence, complete clinical dominance, and if an intern breathes out of rhythm in his OR, he bans them for a month. He’s completely terrifying."

You frowned slightly. Park? The name was common enough, but a strange, distant memory twitched in the back of your mind. No. It couldn't be. The only Park you knew from medical school was someone who couldn't even look a Starbucks barista in the eye without stuttering, let alone terrify an entire Level 1 trauma center.

"He doesn't have emotions," Melissa King added with a slight shudder. "I saw him look at a shattered femur last week like it was a fun puzzle, and when the resident missed a bone fragment on the pre-op, he just stared at them until they started sweating through their scrubs. Literally. He’s like an apex predator."

You smiled slightly, shaking your head at the hospital lore. Every major trauma center had one—the legendary, unyielding surgeon who ruled their department with an iron fist.

"Well, let's hope the Shark stays in his deep water today. We have enough to deal with down here."

The peace didn't last. Forty minutes later, the red courtesy phone at the trauma desk began its shrill, rhythmic wail. Dana picked it up on the first ring, her sharp eyes scanning the room as her expression instantly shifted into high-alert mode.

"Copy that. ETA three minutes. Give us both bays," Dana barked, slamming the receiver down. She looked directly at you. "Multi-vehicle collision on I-376. Inbound are two criticals. First up is a twenty-four-year-old male, unrestrained driver, ejected from the vehicle. Unstable vitals, massive pelvic disruption, obvious open deformities to the lower extremities. Second is a passenger, entrapped for thirty minutes, severe crush injuries."

"Alright, let's move!" you commanded, your voice carrying that effortless, magnetic authority that instantly pulled the chaotic ED into a tight, synchronized orbit. "Trinity, you're with me in Bay 1. Dennis, get the rapid infuser spiked. Melissa, I want you on airway with Dr. Garcia from Trauma Surgery. Victoria!" you called out to the medical student who had just appeared. "Stand back, observe, and do not recite textbooks unless I ask you to. Let's go!"

The doors to the ambulance bay flew open with a violent crash, the sound of rain and roaring sirens flooding the room. The paramedics rolled in, their faces grim, their forearms strained as they kept manual pressure on a mountain of bloody gauze.

"Patient is responsive only to deep pain!" the medic yelled over the din. "Systolic's been hovering in the low seventies. We got two lines of wide-open normal saline going. He’s got an obvious unstable pelvic binder on, but his left leg is practically pointing backward!"

"On my count, over to the trauma gurney," you ordered, stepping into the slot at the head of the bed. "One, two, three, shift!"

The patient was transferred in a flurry of movement. The smell of copper, road rash, and damp earth filled Bay 1.

"Trinity, check breath sounds. Dennis, get those lines hooked up to the blood products now!" your voice was a cool, steady anchor amidst the storm. You ran your hands expertly over the patient's abdomen and pelvis, feeling the terrifying, unhinged crepitus of a shattered pelvic ring. "He's bleeding out into his retroperitoneum. We need an immediate pelvic binder tight, and call the blood bank for a massive transfusion protocol."

Dr. Yolanda Garcia, the attending trauma surgeon, strode into the bay, her eyes taking in the scene in half a second. "He's got a rigid abdomen, Doc. We might need to ex-lap him right here if we can't stabilize this pressure."

"It's the pelvis, Yolanda," you argued, your hands steady as you secured the mechanical binder, pulling it taut until the lock clicked. "Look at the left lower extremity. The femoral artery is compromised from a massive orthopedic distortion. We need an immediate ortho consult for external fixation and vascular exploration. Dana! Who's the on-call ortho attending?"

"It's the Shark's service today," Dana said, her fingers flying over the keyboard. "Paging him now."

"Tell him to get his ass down here in thirty seconds or he's going to be operating on a corpse!" Trinity Santos yelled, her competitive adrenaline spiking as she tried to maintain an airway window.

"Watch the tone, Santos," you said mildly, not looking up as you began an ultrasound of the patient's heart. "But she's right, Dana. Make it a stat page."

The minutes stretched like taffy. The patient's blood pressure ticked up slightly with the first two units of O-negative, but the left leg was cold, pulseless, and pale—a ticking clock of ischemia.

"Where the hell is Ortho?" Garcia muttered, her hands hovering over her surgical tray.

Suddenly, the automatic doors of the trauma bay didn't just open; they seemed to part out of sheer deference. A tall, broad-shouldered man in dark green scrubs and a black surgical cap strode into the room. His presence was immediate, an oppressive wave of absolute focus and aggressive confidence that caused Dennis to instinctively step backward into a corner.

He didn't look at anyone's face. He walked straight to the foot of the bed, his dark eyes fixed entirely on the mangled left leg of the patient.

"What do we have?" his voice was deep, gravelly, and entirely devoid of warmth. It was a voice designed to cut through noise and command absolute obedience.

"Multi-vehicle MVC, severe pelvic ring disruption, open left femur fracture with absent distal pulses," Trinity Santos rattled off, her voice actually trembling slightly as she stood before the legendary surgeon. "We’ve placed a binder, but the limb is ischemic."

The tall surgeon reached down, his large, powerful hands moving with an terrifyingly precise efficiency as he evaluated the injury. "The binder is decent, but the traction is wrong. Who placed this?"

"I did," you said, stepping around the side of the bed to face him directly.

Dr. Brendon Park looked up from the injury, his sharp, dark eyes locking onto yours for the very first time.

The entire trauma bay seemed to lose its oxygen.

The man standing before you was a towering specimen of clinical perfection. His shoulders were broad enough to fill the doorway, his jawline sharp, his posture commanding and unyielding. He was the epitome of a brilliant, intimidating Chief of Orthopedic Surgery.

But as you stared into those familiar, dark eyes, the hospital room completely vanished.

You weren't looking at "The Shark."

You were looking at Brendon. Your Brendon.

The lanky, socially awkward, intensely brilliant boy from medical school who used to trip over his own shoelaces and hide in the back row of anatomy lectures. The boy whose shoulders used to slouch because he hadn't yet figured out how to carry the weight of his own genius. The boy whose lips had tasted like cheap beer and desperate, beautiful promises under a starry Ohio sky seven years ago.

Brendon froze. The absolute, unshakeable confidence that defined his entire reputation cracked in a fraction of a second. His wide, expressive eyes dilated, his lips parting slightly as a sudden, breathless shock washed over his features.

He whispered your name, his voice suddenly losing every ounce of its gravelly, intimidating edge. He looked at you like he was seeing a ghost, his hands hovering mid-air above the patient's leg.

"Brendon," you breathed, your cool, professional composure momentarily slipping as a wave of intense, buried yearning slammed into your chest.

For three long seconds, the busiest trauma bay in Pittsburgh was completely silent. The nurses, the residents, and the trauma surgeon stared at the two of you in absolute, slack-jawed bewilderment. The terrifying "Shark" was looking at the new ED attending like a man who had just found water in the middle of a desert, and you were looking at him with a vulnerability that none of them had ever witnessed from the unflappable new doctor.

"Uh..." Dennis Whitaker squeaked from the corner, breaking the spell.

Brendon blinked, his wall of clinical steel instantly slamming back into place, though his eyes remained fiercely, desperately anchored to yours. He cleared his throat, his chest expanding as he took a deep breath.

"Right," he said, his voice deep again, but there was a subtle tremor in it that only someone who knew him inside out could detect. "The leg needs immediate reduction and an ex-fix in the OR. If we don't restore perfusion in ten minutes, he loses the limb. Is she stable for transport, Doctor?"

He called you Doctor. The professionalism was a shield, but his eyes were pleading with you.

"Vitals are holding after the second unit," you replied, your voice snapping back into its signature, charismatic rhythm, though your heart was hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. "He's all yours, Dr. Park. Take him."

"Santos, Whitaker, with me," Brendon commanded, turning on his heel. "We're going straight to OR 4. Move!"

The residents scrambled to unlock the gurney, flying out of the room behind him.

As Brendon reached the threshold of the door, he stopped for a second, turning his head just enough to catch your eye one last time before disappearing into the corridor.

Dana Evans stepped up beside you, her eyes wide as she looked from the doorway back to you. "What the hell was that?"

You let out a breath you felt like you’d been holding for seven years, leaning against the central desk. "That... was an old friend."

By the time your shift wound down to its final hour, the storm outside had broken, a steady, rhythmic rain drumming against the frosted glass of the emergency department.

The adrenaline of the trauma had faded, leaving behind a profound, aching hollow in your chest that you hadn't felt since you left medical school.

You sat in the quiet doctors' lounge, a lukewarm cup of terrible coffee cradled between your hands, your mind entirely hijacked by the past.

You had met him during your second year of medical school at Ohio State.

You had been one of the "cool girls" in your class—undeniably brilliant, managing to effortlessly ace your pathology exams while still maintaining a vibrant social life, going out to bars, and living your early twenties to the absolute fullest. You had a status to uphold. You were charming, pretty, and effortlessly popular.

Then came the infamous mid-semester house party.

You had gone because you desperately needed to unwind, to forget the crushing weight of textbooks and clinical rotations for just a few hours. The air was thick with the scent of cheap beer and loud music.

And that’s where you first saw him.

Brendon had been dragged there by his roommate, he was sitting in the corner of a crowded kitchen, looking completely miserable, wearing an oversized gray hoodie that practically swallowed his lanky, six-foot-two frame. He was fumbling with a red solo cup, staring intensely at the floor, praying to whatever deity was listening that no one would try to talk to him. He was painfully shy, socially awkward, and completely out of his depth.

You had found him absolutely adorable.

Later in the night, a rowdy group of drunken surgery track students forced everyone into a circle for a classic, juvenile game of "Seven Minutes in Heaven." The beer bottle spun on the carpet, slowly losing speed, until the neck pointed straight at you.

The crowd cheered. You smiled, tossing your hair back, ready for whoever it was.

Then, they spun the bottle for the guy.

It landed on Brendon.

The room erupted into groans and laughter. Brendon looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. His ears were bright red. He clumsily stood up, his long limbs awkwardly adjusting as he was pushed into the small, dark coat closet under the stairs with you.

“Good luck, babe, he might faint if you touch him!” your friend had yelled.

The door clicked shut, plunging both of you into darkness, save for the faint sliver of light beneath the door.

"Um... hi," Brendon had squeaked, his voice cracking slightly. He pressed his back firmly against the wall of the closet, as far away from you as physically possible.

"Hi," you had laughed softly, stepping closer to him. The scent of his clean laundry and nervous sweat filled the small space. "You know," you said, your tone light, cool, and teasing, "you don't look like you're in heaven, Brendon. You look like you're on death row."

"I... I don't really do parties," he stammered, staring at the ceiling. "And I... I really don't think we should do this."

You blinked, surprised. "Do what? Kiss?"

"Yeah," Brendon muttered, his face burning hot even in the dark. "I mean, you're... you're you. You're popular, and you're really pretty, and everyone knows you. And I’m... I’ve only ever kissed my high school girlfriend, okay? Once. And it was bad. I'll just embarrass myself. So... we don't have to. Let’s just stay on opposite sides of the closet.”

You had been surprised. Most guys in med school were arrogant, overflowing with unearned ego. You had found his honesty incredibly endearing. You actually wanted to kiss him. You had wanted to see what those nervous lips felt like.

But you respected his boundaries, and more importantly, you had a reputation to uphold. If you walked out of that closet and told everyone that the awkward, lanky guy had rejected kissing the coolest girl in the class, your ego would never recover.

"Alright," you had said, a mischievous spark igniting in your chest. "We won't kiss. But we have to make them think we did. Otherwise, they'll never let us live it down."

Brendon looked relieved. "How do we do that?"

"Mess up your hair," you commanded smoothly. You reached up, your fingers running through his thick, messy dark hair, intentionally rumpling it. Brendon went entirely rigid, his breath hitching as your fingers brushed his scalp. You grabbed the lapels of his oversized hoodie, shaking them, making a rustling noise, while you loudly sighed and threw your back against the closet wall, making a soft thud. You even let out a breathless, fake moan that made Brendon exhale a strangled, terrified gasp.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, his face burning in the dark.

“Shh, they’re listening,” you giggled.

"Perfect," you smirked. "But listen, Park. I'm saving your reputation out there, and I'm protecting my own. So, you owe me. Big time."

Brendon blinked in confusion. "A debt?"

"A debt of absolute servitude," you had declared dramatically. "From now on, you buy my late night coffee. You are going to be my personal driver when it rains. And you are going to be my mandatory study buddy, because I know you're secretly a genius who makes perfect flashcards. Deal?”

Brendon had stared at you through the dark, a slow, incredibly endearing smile finally breaking across his face. "Okay. Deal."

That silly party game had been the catalyst for the most beautiful, chaotic friendship of your life.

Brendon had kept his word with terrifying precision. He became your shadow, your defender, and your personal assistant. The hospital staff at your school clinic used to laugh watching the two of you. You would sit at the library tables, completely exhausted, and bark orders at him like a spoiled queen, and he would just grin and fulfill them.

“Park! I need a venti iced caramel macchiato with exactly two pumps of vanilla, and if it’s warm, I’m giving you the most complicated cases on our next quiz,” you’d yell across the student lounge. And twenty minutes later, he’d return, breathless, holding the perfect cup.

“Park, my car is making a noise like a dying cat. I need a ride to my 4:00 AM shift,” you’d text him at midnight. And at 3:45 AM, his beat-up Honda Civic would be idling outside your apartment, the heater already blasting because he knew you hated the cold.

The peak of your comedic tyranny had occurred during your internal medicine rotation. You had unexpectedly started your period during a twelve-hour shift, and the hospital supply closet was completely bare of anything useful. You had called him in a panic.

“Brendon. I need you to go to the pharmacy right now. Get me a box of Tampax Pearl. Regular absorbency. Do not get the generic brand, or I will end our friendship.”

An hour later, Brendon had sneaked into the back of the ward, his face bright red, holding a brown paper bag like it contained active explosives. He had handed it to you, coughing nervously. “I... I didn't know what absorbency meant, so I bought one of every box they had. The cashier looked at me like I was a pervert.” You had laughed so hard you almost cried, pulling him into a fierce hug right there in the hallway.

But slowly, beautifully, the surface-level banter had faded into something deeper. You began to see the brilliant mind beneath his awkward exterior. He was the only one who understood the crushing, suffocating anxiety of trying to be perfect in a field that demanded infallibility. You would sit on the floor of his messy apartment, surrounded by open textbooks, talking until the sun came up—not about medicine, but about your fears, your childhoods, the things that kept you awake at night.

He became your anchor.

Slowly, under your warmth and confidence, Brendon began to bloom. His lanky frame filled out as he started lifting weights to handle the physical demands of orthopedic surgery interest. He grew taller, his shoulders broader, his confidence slowly blooming under your constant, fierce encouragement. You had built him up. You had told him every single day that he was going to be the greatest surgeon this country had ever seen.

And then, during the final week before graduation, the tension had finally snapped.

You had been sitting on the hood of his car, looking out over the city lights. He had turned to you, his new, broad frame towering over you, his eyes burning with a confidence he had stolen directly from your belief in him. He had reached out, his large hands cupping your face, and he had kissed you.

It wasn't the awkward kiss of a boy. It was a kiss full of 2 years of unsaid words, full of desperation, yearning, and promises that tore at your soul. You had clung to him, your cheeks wet with tears, knowing that you had fell completely, deeply in love with him, and he was completely, utterly devoted to you.

But medical school is a meat grinder. By your final year, the pressure reached a boiling point. You were placed in different clinical rotations at entirely different hospitals across the city. You were working eighty-hour weeks, collapsing into sleep the moment you got home. The coffee dates stopped. The late-night study sessions vanished.

The final, crushing blow came on Match Day. You opened your envelope to find you had matched into an ultra-competitive emergency medicine residency in New York. Brendon opened his to find he had matched into an elite orthopedic surgery residency in California.

The distance, the exhaustion, the terrifying reality of residency loomed over you both. And on that rainy day at the airport, unable to face the agony of a long-distance relationship while drowning in intern year, you had mutually, heartbreakingly let each other go.

You remembered the tear-stained cheeks. The hugs that felt like they were trying to fuse your ribs together. And the kisses—god, the kisses—that were full of promises you both desperately wanted to keep, but ultimately couldn't. “We’ll find each other,” he had whispered into your hair. “I’ll come find you, baby.”

And then, life happened. Years passed. You met your douchebag ex-fiancé.

And Brendon became the "Shark."

The doors to the doctors' lounge flew open, shattering your reverie.

Dennis sinks against the wall, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Oh my god. I thought he was going to murder me for leaving the drill bits.”

"He's a psycho," Trinity Santos huffs, straightening her lab coat defensively. "He thinks he owns this entire hospital just because he’s a prodigy. Did you see the way he looked at everyone? He’s completely heartless."

You stand there, quietly hooking your stethoscope around your neck, a brilliant, knowing smirk playing on your lips.

Heartless? If only they knew.

Over the next few weeks, a massive, utterly baffling phenomenon takes over the halls of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center.

The entire hospital fears Dr. Brendon Park. The nurses warn new interns not to look him directly in the eye. The residents tremble when his pager number flashes on their screens. He is an unstoppable, ruthless force of surgical perfection.

Except when it comes to you.

It starts on a chaotic Tuesday morning. The ED is overflowing, and Brendon has been down in the bays for three hours helping reduce a complex posterior hip dislocation. He is standing at the central nursing station, looking absolutely exhausted but radiating pure, unadulterated venom as he berates Zach Torres, the senior Cardiology resident.

"If your department can't clear this patient for the OR within the next ten minutes, Torres, I will personally wheel him up myself and write the clearance under your name," Brendon growls, his broad chest looming over the senior resident. "Don't waste my time with unnecessary echoes."

Zach, usually highly excellent and charismatic, is sweating through his white coat. "Dr. Park, we just need to ensure—"

Suddenly, you stroll up to the desk, looking radiant and completely relaxed. Without saying a word, you reach out, snatch the tall, steaming cup of artisanal dark roast coffee right out of Brendon’s hand, and take a long, satisfied sip.

The entire nursing station goes dead silent. Dana Evans stops typing, her jaw literally dropping. Victoria Javadi, who was standing nearby carrying charts, gasps softly, grabbing Dennis Whitaker’s arm in sheer terror. They are all waiting for the "Shark" to turn around and rip your head off.

Instead, Brendon stops mid-sentence. He slowly turns his head to look down at you.

The terrifying, icy glare completely evaporates, replaced by an expression of pure, exasperated fondness that none of the staff has ever witnessed.

"You're drinking my coffee," Brendon says, his voice dropping from a roar to a quiet, familiar rumble. "Again."

"You order too much espresso, Park. It’s making you cranky," you say smoothly, handing him back the half-empty cup. You reach out, your hand casually pressing against his broad chest, physically pushing the feared Chief of Orthopedic Surgery back half a step. "And stop bullying the cardiologists. Zach is doing his job. You’re being an ass."

Zach Torres stares at you like you are a goddess descended from the heavens.

Brendon sighs, a tiny, almost imperceptible twitch of his lips threatening to turn into a smile. He rubs the back of his neck, suddenly looking less like a ruthless surgeon and more like a tired boy. "He's taking too long."

"Go sit down in your office and rest for twenty minutes before your next case," you order him playfully, tapping your clipboard against his arm. "Doctor’s orders. Move it, or I'll make you buy me tampons again."

Brendon’s ears turn a violent shade of pink. He clears his throat, glances at the stunned residents, and mutters, "Fine. Ten minutes."

He turns and walks away toward the elevator, completely submissive to your command.

Langdon blinks, utterly bewildered. "What... what just happened? Did you just hypnotize the Shark?"

You laugh, taking another sip of your own water. "No, Frank. He just needs a Snickers bar and a nap."

Dana Evans leans over the counter, staring at you with intense, analytical eyes. "Doc... what kind of voodoo magic do you possess? Nobody talks to Park like that. Nobody. Last month a general surgery attending tried to tell him he was being an ass, and Park almost threw him into a linen cart."

"We just have a history, Dana," you say with a wink, walking away to check on a patient.

But it doesn't stop there. The teasing and the dynamic between you two becomes the primary source of entertainment and gossip for the entire medical center.

A week later, you are up in the main OR tracking a trauma patient. Brendon is in OR 3, finishing up a grueling, six-hour spinal reconstruction. He is furious because the equipment tech brought the wrong size pedicle screws, and his booming voice can be heard echoing through the sterile hallway, terrifying the scrub nurses.

You walk straight into the scrub room, pop the door open with your elbow, and look inside. "Park! Shut up!"

The entire OR freezes.

"You're vibrating at a frequency that's giving me a headache from across the hall," you call out, completely unfazed by the sterile environment. "Use the alternative screws and stop throwing a tantrum. You're a big boy."

Brendon looks up through his surgical loupes. The entire room holds its breath, expecting him to banish you from the surgical floor. Instead, he just lets out a heavy breath, his broad shoulders dropping. "The alternative screws have a wider thread pitch, Doc."

"Then adjust your torque and stop crying about it," you reply cheerfully. "I’ll see you at hand-offs."

"Unbelievable," Brendon mutters under his breath, but the anger completely leaves his voice. He looks at his scrub nurse, his tone entirely calm now. "Let's get the alternative tray, please."

The staff is utterly flabbergasted.

Later that evening, the Pittlings are sitting in the cafeteria, desperately trying to deconstruct the mystery.

"I'm telling you, she must have dirt on him," Trinity insists, stabbing a fork into her salad with fierce competitiveness. "She probably knows about a malpractice suit, or she caught him doing something illegal. There is no logical reason why a brutal chief of surgery lets a newly transferred ED attending push him around like a puppy."

"No, it's not dirt," King says softly, her highly perceptive nature taking over. She smiles, staring into her soup. "Did you see his face when she took his coffee? He didn't look mad at all. He looked... happy. Like he was finally breathing. I think they knew each other before. Like, way before."

"Before?" Victoria asks. "Like... before residency? Back when he was a nobody? But Dr. Park was never a nobody, he's a prodigy!"

"Everyone was unknown once, Victoria," Melissa points out wisely.

The bubble popped on a chaotic Friday night.

The weather had turned violent, a severe thunderstorm rolling over Pittsburgh, causing a massive pile-up on the Fort Duquesne Bridge. The ED was under siege. Every single trauma bay was full, the air thick with the smell of blood, sweat, and the sharp tang of antiseptic.

You were in Bay 2, dealing with a twenty-two-year-old female patient who had been crushed in the driver’s seat of her compact car. Her status was critical, deteriorating by the second.

“Vitals are dropping!” Victoria called out, her voice tight with panic. “BP is 60 over 30! Heart rate is spiking to 160! She’s slipping into profound hemorrhagic shock!”

You were standing at the patient’s side, your mind racing through the differentials. She had massive internal bleeding, but her abdomen was firm, and her pelvic X-ray showed a severe, unstable "open-book" pelvic fracture. The blood was pooling in her retroperitoneal space.

“We need to bind this pelvis, now!” you shouted over the noise. “Dennis, get the binder!”

“We’re out of binders!” Dennis yelled back, his voice cracking as he rummaged through the supply cart. “The previous traumas took the last ones from central supply, they’re fabricating more now!”

“Fuck!” you cursed. The patient’s monitor began to beep erratically.

“She’s going into PEA!” Trinity Santos called out, her hand flying to the patient’s carotid artery. “No pulse! Starting compressions!”

You looked at the monitor, then at the patient’s pale face. You were out of options. The blood transfusion wasn't keeping up. The pelvis was wide open, acting like a massive, bleeding cavern that was draining her life force. If you didn't close that pelvic ring immediately, she would die on this table within two minutes. You couldn't wait for surgery. You couldn't wait for a binder.

A reckless, insane, completely unorthodox idea flared in your mind. It was a technique you had read about once in a military medicine journal—a desperate, high-risk field maneuver used in combat zones when standard equipment was unavailable. It was highly reckless, completely unauthorized by hospital protocol, and could permanently damage the patient’s internal organs or nerves if done wrong.

But it was the only chance she had.

“Trinity, stop compressions,” you commanded, your voice turning to absolute ice.

“What? Doc, we need to keep perfusion—”

“STOP. COMPRESSIONS!” you roared, a rare flash of raw, commanding power echoing through the bay. Trinity instantly froze, pulling her hands away.

You stepped onto the step-stool at the side of the bed. You looked down at the patient’s fractured, unstable hips. Without a binder, you had to use manual, extreme counter-traction and internal fixation using whatever you had.

You grabbed a heavy, thick cotton hospital sheet from the bottom shelf. You quickly threaded it under the patient’s lower back, aligning it with the greater trochanters.

“Dennis, grab that end of the sheet,” you ordered. “When I say go, I want you to pull with everything you have. We are going to manually crush this pelvic ring back together using the sheet, and then I am going to lock it down using a surgical clamp from the chest tray.”

“Doctor, that’s... that’s completely non-standard!” Mel stammered, her eyes wide with terror. “The sheer force could transect the femoral nerve if the bone fragments shift wrong! It’s too dangerous!”

“She’s already dead!” you snapped. “Pull, Dennis! Go!”

You and Dennis pulled the sheet with brutal, immense physical force, twisting the heavy fabric against each other, forcing the patient’s shattered pelvic bones to slam back together by sheer tension. You felt the sickening crunch of bone shifting beneath the flesh.

The patient’s body jolted. Holding the immense tension of the sheet with one white-knuckled hand, you reached for a massive, heavy-duty Kocher forceps from the emergency thoracotomy tray and clamped the twisted sheet tightly against the patient’s skin, locking the makeshift binder under extreme, crushing pressure.

“Resume compressions!” you shouted.

Trinity jumped back on the chest. Within three cycles, the monitor beeped.

A rhythm emerged. Weak, thready, but stable.

“Pulses are back,” Victoria breathed, looking at you like you were either a god or a lunatic. “BP is... 90 over 50. It’s holding.”

You stepped down from the stool, your hands shaking from the sheer physical exertion, your scrubs soaked in sweat. You had done it. The reckless, insane technique had closed the space and stopped the catastrophic bleeding. You had saved her life.

The automatic doors slammed open.

Brendon strode into the bay, flanked by two orthopedic residents. He had received the page for an unstable pelvic fracture and had rushed down from the OR. He took one look at the patient, then his eyes dropped to the makeshift sheet-and-clamp setup crushed around her hips.

He froze. His face went entirely pale, then flushed into a deep, terrifying crimson. The "Shark" didn't just return; he exploded.

“What the hell is this?” Brendon’s voice thundered, vibrating the glass walls of the trauma bay. The residents shrank back.

“It’s a makeshift binder, Dr. Park,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm, though the adrenaline was still pumping through your system. “We were out of standard binders, she lost pulses from hemorrhagic shock, and I had to close the ring.”

“With a sheet and a chest clamp?” Brendon marched up to the bed, his eyes flashing with a raw, furious brilliance. He looked at you, his voice dripping with venomous, professional outrage. “Are you completely out of your mind? Do you have any idea what you just did? You could have severed her internal iliac artery! You could have shredded her sacral plexus! You took a blind, reckless gamble with a patient’s life!”

The room went dead silent. The residents didn't dare breathe. It was the first time the hospital had ever seen the Shark turn his teeth on you.

“She was in PEA, Brendon!” you shot back, using his name, your own temper flaring. “She was dead! I didn't have time to wait for your department to fabricate a piece of plastic! It worked. Her vitals are holding.”

“It was luck!” Brendon snarled, stepping into your personal space, his imposing height towering over you, his eyes cold and hard as flint. “It was a reckless, arrogant, cowboys-and-indians piece of medicine that violates every standard of care in this institute. You didn't save her; you got lucky that you didn't paralyze her. Get out of my way. Move.”

He shoved past you, his movements aggressive and sharp as he immediately began to assess the damage, barking orders to his residents to get her to the OR for a proper external fixator.

You stood there, your heart pounding against your ribs. The insult stung—not just because he criticized your medicine, but because he had done it in front of the entire department, stripping away the mutual respect you had built over the last few weeks. He looked at you like you were a liability. An incompetent child.

“Fine,” you said, your voice dropping into a cold, lethal whisper that cut through his shouting. “She’s your patient now, Chief.”

You turned on your heel and walked out of the trauma bay, your face a mask of absolute, icy calm, leaving a stunned, silent room behind you.

The fallout was immediate and devastating.

The playful, legendary dynamic between the ED’s star attending and the Chief of Ortho vanished overnight. In its place was a terrifying, suffocating ice age that gripped the entire hospital.

For three weeks, there were no more stolen coffees. There were no more playful shoves at the scrub sink. There were no more private smiles or late-night laughs.

When Brendon came down to the ED for a consult, the atmosphere turned to absolute glass. You handled hand-offs with an icy, flawless professionalism that was completely devoid of emotion.

“Patient in Bed 4 has a displaced bimalleolar fracture,” you would say, your voice flat, your eyes fixed strictly on the computer monitor, never looking at his face. “Films are on the system. Ortho is consulted.”

“Understood,” Brendon would reply, his voice deep, hollow, and equally cold. He would take the chart, his eyes lingering on you for a desperate, painful second, hoping for a spark, a glance, anything. But you gave him nothing. You were a wall of ice.

The hospital staff was miserable.

“I hate this,” Dennis Whitaker whimpered in the breakroom, putting his head in his hands. “When they were flirting, the hospital was safe. Now? Dr. Park looked at my cast yesterday and told me a toddler with a crayon could have done a better job. He’s meaner than he’s ever been.”

“She isn't doing well either,” Dana Evans sighed, leaning against the counter. “She’s quiet. She’s brilliant as always, but that light she brought with her? It’s dimmed. They’re both miserable, stubborn idiots.”

You were miserable. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the fury in his eyes in that trauma bay. The words “reckless, arrogant gamble” burned in your chest. You had thought he, of all people, would understand. He knew how you operated; he knew you would never do something unless it was the absolute last resort. But he had judged you. He had put his professional arrogance above the reality of the situation.

And worse, it felt like your ex-fiancé all over again—someone telling you that your passion, your instinct, your identity as a doctor was flawed, dangerous, or empty.

You threw yourself into your work, pulling extra shifts, running yourself ragged just to keep your mind from thinking about the giant, dark-eyed surgeon who occupied the upper floors.

It was a rainy Thursday night, nearly four weeks after the argument. The storm outside was a mirror of the mood inside the hospital.

You just visited a pediatric patient on one of the top floors of the hospital. You had promised the kid that you’d visit her after her CRPP. Your shift had just ended, and you were thoroughly exhausted. Your feet ached, your eyes burned, and you wanted nothing more than to crawl into your bed in Shadyside and sleep for a week.

You walked toward the main elevator bank in the central pavilion, waiting for the car to arrive. The bell chimed. The doors slid open.

You stepped inside. You reached out to press the button for the ground floor, but stopped.

Sitting in the corner of the elevator, leaning heavily against the handrail with his eyes closed, was Brendon. He looked absolutely destroyed. His scrubs were wrinkled, dark bags hung under his eyes, and his broad shoulders were slumped in a state of profound, total physical exhaustion.

You froze. Your first instinct was to step back out, to wait for the next car. But before you could move, the automatic doors slid shut behind you.

The elevator began its smooth, silent descent from the twelfth floor.

You stood near the control panel, your back rigid, your eyes fixed on the digital floor indicator as it changed. 11... 10... 9...

The silence inside the small metal box was heavy, suffocating, and charged with four weeks of unspoken agony. You could hear his breathing—slow, deep, and tired.

8...

Suddenly, the elevator gave a violent, sharp lurch.

A loud, mechanical screech echoed from the shaft above. The lights flickered violently once, twice, and then died completely, plunging the car into absolute darkness. A second later, the emergency red backup lights kicked in, casting a dim, crimson glow over the small space.

The elevator ground to a dead halt.

You blinked, gripping your bag tighter. You reached out and pressed the emergency call button. Nothing happened. The system was completely dead.

“Great,” you muttered under your breath. “Just perfect.”

From the back of the car, you heard a long, heavy sigh. Brendon shifted his weight, his large frame moving through the red light. He looked up at the digital indicator.

The indicator was stuck on a single digit.

7.

The irony hit you like a physical blow to the chest. Floor 7.

Seven years ago, you were trapped in a dark closet for seven minutes. And now, seven years later, you were trapped in a dark elevator on the seventh floor with the exact same man.

Neither of you spoke for a long minute. The red light painted the space in a surreal, intimate warmth, cutting off the rest of the hospital, the rest of the world. There were no residents here. No nurses. No watchful eyes. Just the two of you.

“Are you okay?” Brendon’s voice broke the silence. It wasn't the voice of the Shark. It wasn't the voice of the angry Chief of Ortho. It was soft, hesitant, and carrying a deep, raw ache that made your chest tighten.

“I’m fine,” you said coldly, keeping your eyes fixed on the closed doors. “Just tired. I’d like to go home.”

“Baby... please.”

The use of the old nickname sent a violent tremor through your defenses. You closed your eyes, fighting the urge to turn around.

“Don’t call me that, Dr. Park,” you said, your voice shaking slightly despite your best efforts. “I think you made your thoughts on my identity quite clear four weeks ago.”

Hear a rustle of movement behind you. Brendon stood up. He walked across the small car, his massive, imposing presence closing the distance until he was standing right behind you. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, smelling the faint, familiar scent of cedar wood and soap that had always been him.

“I was wrong,” he whispered.

You bit your lip, refusing to look at him. “You think?”

“I was wrong about why I was angry,” he corrected himself, his voice cracking with emotion. He reached out, his large, calloused hand hovering over your shoulder, before he gently, tentatively placed it there. The touch was electric, burning through your scrubs. “I wasn't angry because your decision was bad. I knew the technique. I knew it was a battlefield maneuver. I knew she was in PEA.”

You finally turned around, snapping your eyes up to meet his. In the dim red light, his dark eyes were shining with unshed tears, his expression completely broken, stripped of all pride.

“Then why did you humiliate me in front of my team?” you demanded, your voice rising, the anger and hurt finally spilling over. “Why did you call me reckless and arrogant? Do you know what that felt like? After everything I went through, after my ex told me I was empty and that my career was a disease—you stood there and told me I was a liability!”

Brendon looked like he’d been stabbed. He took a sharp breath, his hands coming up to gently grip both of your shoulders, his thumbs rubbing circles against your skin.

“Because I was terrified!” he shouted softly, his voice thick with raw passion. “I walked into that bay and saw you covered in blood, pulling a stunt that could have ended your career if it went wrong. If that patient had died, if you had cut that artery, the board would have stripped your license before the sun came up. They would have destroyed you.”

He stepped closer, his chest pressing against yours, forcing you back slightly against the elevator wall. He looked down at you, his eyes wild with a desperate, consuming love.

“I didn't care about the protocol, baby. I cared about you. The thought of you losing your license, the thought of this hospital breaking you, the thought of you being taken away from me again before I even got the chance to tell you... I couldn't handle it. The Shark? That’s an act. It’s an act I put on so I don't break. But when it comes to you, I have no skin. I am completely raw. I saw you risking everything, and I panicked.”

You stared up at him, your breath hitching in your throat. The anger in your chest melted away, replaced by the profound, crushing realization of his true intent. He hadn't been attacking your competence; he had been trying to protect you from the system that had almost broken him.

“Brendon...” you breathed, your voice softening, your eyes searching his face.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he whispered, his forehead dropping down to rest against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

“Seven years, baby. Seven years of working eighty hours a week, looking at bone scans, moving up the ladder, but every single night, I woke up wishing I was back on that floor in med school sharing Chinese food with you. I wished I could turn back time. To when things were simple. To when I was just the awkward kid who was lucky enough to have the most beautiful girl in the world look at him.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, catching the red light. “I wished for it too,” you confessed quietly. “Every single day.”

“I love you,” he said, the confession raw, heavy, and absolute. “I never stopped. Not for a second.”

The final wall of ice inside you shattered into dust.

You reached up, your hands flying to the back of his neck, burying your fingers in his dark hair, and pulled him down.

The kiss wasn't like the ones from seven years ago—it wasn't full of tragic promises and impending goodbye. It was a violent, passionate, territorial reclamation. It was the release of seven years of pining, of loneliness, of misery.

Brendon groaned deep in his throat, his arms wrapping around your waist like bands of steel, lifting you slightly off the floor as he crushed his lips against yours. He kissed you with a desperate, consuming hunger, his tongue parting your lips, tasting you, drinking you in like a man dying of thirst.

You gasped into his mouth, your body melting completely into his broad, massive frame. You locked your legs around his waist, your back pressing hard against the cold metal wall of the elevator as he held you up effortlessly, his hands gripping your thighs with a fierce, possessive intensity.

The red light flickered around you, creating a private, chaotic heaven. He moved his mouth down your jawline, his lips burning against the sensitive skin of your neck, making you arch your back and let out a soft, breathless moan that echoed off the metal walls—the exact same sound you had faked seven years ago in that closet, but this time, it was entirely, beautifully real.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned against your skin, his hands sliding under your scrub top, his warm palms mapping the curves of your waist, making your skin tingle with an electric fire.

You pulled his head back up, your eyes meeting his dark, blown-out pupils in the crimson dusk. “Don’t stop,” you whispered breathlessly. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He didn't. He kissed you until your lips were bruised, until your lungs burned, until the seven years of separation felt like nothing more than a bad dream.

CLUNK.

The elevator gave a sudden, violent jolt.

The mechanical screech returned, and suddenly, the bright, harsh fluorescent white lights of the car snapped back on. The digital indicator flickered and changed to G. The elevator began to move again smoothly.

You both froze. You quickly slid down his body, your feet hitting the floor, your hands frantically smoothing down your wrinkled scrubs and fixing your hair as Brendon stumbled back a step, his chest heaving, his face flushed, his eyes wild.

A second later, the chime echoed. The doors slid open smoothly to the main lobby.

Standing right outside the doors, waiting to board, were Langdon and Santos.

The two of them looked into the elevator. They took in the scene: you, standing near the back, your lips visibly swollen, your hair slightly disheveled, but your face wearing a cool, utterly unbothered expression. And beside you stood the Chief of Ortho, Dr. Brendon Park, his scrubs wrinkled, his breathing heavy, and a look of profound, dazed distraction on his face.

Trinity’s eyes went wide. Langdon blinked, looking back and forth between the two of you.

“Uh... evening, Doctors,” Frank stammered. “Is... is the elevator working?”

You flicked your hair over your shoulder, stepped past them with an elegant and utterly effortless charisma, and gave them a sweet smile.

“It’s working perfectly,” you said smoothly. “Have a good night, everyone.”

You walked out into the rainy Pittsburgh night, your heart soaring higher than it ever had in your entire life. Behind you, you heard Brendon’s heavy footsteps rushing to catch up.

The rain had stopped by the time the sun began to peek over the Monongahela River, casting a pale pink and gold glow over the brick buildings of Shadyside.

Inside your bedroom, the air was warm, quiet, and peaceful. The half-unpacked boxes in the corner didn't look like an unfinished chore anymore; they looked like a beginning.

In the center of the bed, tangled deep within the white cotton sheets, lay the two of you.

After the elevator doors had opened, there had been no more talking, no more hesitation. You had driven back to your apartment in a blur of rain and neon lights. The moment the front door had clicked shut, the clothes had been shed, the barriers broken down completely.

The sex had been profound—an intense, passionate, and deeply emotional consummation that carried the weight of seven years of waiting. It hadn't just been physical; it was the reclamation of your souls. Every touch, every gasp, every whispered confession against the skin had been a promise rewritten. He had loved you with a fierce, worshipful intensity that made you realize you were anything but empty. You were his entire world.

You slowly opened your eyes, a soft, content sigh escaping your lips.

The morning light filtered through the blinds, illuminating the broad, muscular expanse of Brendon’s back. He was sleeping on his side, his large frame taking up most of the mattress. One of his massive arms was wrapped tightly around your waist, his hand resting possessively against your hip, pulling your back flush against his chest even in his sleep.

You smiled, turning around slowly within his grip so you could look at him.

Without the mask of the Shark, his face was peaceful, handsome, and remarkably soft. The dark circles under his eyes seemed less prominent now, smoothed out by the deep, restorative sleep he’d been deprived of for weeks.

You reached out, your fingers gently tracing the sharp line of his jaw, moving up to brush a stray lock of dark hair away from his forehead.

Brendon stirred. His long eyelashes fluttered open, his dark eyes cloudy with sleep. The moment his gaze focused on your face, a slow, incredibly beautiful smile spread across his lips—a smile that was reserved strictly for you.

“Good morning, baby,” he rumbled, his voice thick and raspy from sleep, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

“Good morning, Shark,” you whispered back, leaning forward to press a soft, sweet kiss against his lips.

He groaned happily, his arm tightening around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply, his warm breath tickling your skin.

“Don’t make me go to work today,” he murmured against your skin. “I’ll page out. I’ll tell them I broke my arm.”

You let out a melodic, genuine laugh, running your hands through his hair. “You’re the Chief of Ortho, Brendon. You can't page out for a broken arm. That’s bad for your brand.”

“My brand is entirely yours,” he whispered, kissing the sweet spot just beneath your ear, making you gasp softly. “Let them handle the bones today. I’m staying right here.”

You smiled, closing your eyes as you held him tight, feeling the steady, powerful rhythm of his heartbeat against your chest.

The past was gone. The cruel words of your ex-fiancé were nothing more than ash. You were here, in a new city, running a world-class department, and waking up in the arms of the man who had loved you through a lifetime of separation.

You were the cool and undeniably brilliant doctor who feared nothing—not the trauma bay, not the future, and certainly not the Shark. Because beneath the steel and the bone, he was just your Brendon, and you were his.

[dancingthroughthedarkwithyou]

The first time Jack Abbot met Michael Robinavitch in Mrs. Glenn's 3rd grade classroom, Jack had bitten him. Robby had immediately started to cry because his mother had just died and he had to start at a new school and now the kid sitting next to him had just bitten him for no reason. He was going through a lot. Jack would later say that if he had known all of that he never would have done it, but that was probably a lie.

Jack hadn't bitten anyone since he was two, so his actions were confusing to everyone, but to no one moreso than Jack. He didn't know why he had bitten him, all he knew was that he had taken one look at Robby and bit.

Later, Jack would learn the phrase "cuteness aggression" and things would make a little more sense. After all, Robby was probably the cutest kid to ever exist.

Later than that, Parker would drop a meme into the night shift group chat which read: "when I was 7 i had a crush on a girl in my class & didnt know how to deal with it so I wrote her a letter that just said “get out of my school." And Jack would think oh. Oh no.

In spite of a beginning of tooth-based violence, or perhaps because of it, Jack and Robby became inseparable. They were close to a point that they had been viewed as a unit for practically their whole life- a single being: JackandRobby. They did the same after-school activities, joined the same clubs. Robby didn’t want to play football so Jack didn't join the team. He had no interest in doing anything if it wasn't going to be the two of them. They went to the same middle and high school, the same college, the same med school, and ended up working at the same hospital.

Robby was there for all of Jack's favorite memories, but really, he was there for all of Jack's memories, period. The time before Robby seemed as ephemeral as a dream: he understood it happened, but it lacked weight; it was opaque and almost impossible to remember. As far as Jack was concerned, his world started and ended with Robby. The longest they had ever been separated was when Jack had been deployed, a separation that felt agonizing. An essential, elemental part had been taken from their very being, like they were forced to walk around without their lungs.

Taking all of that into consideration, one might have expected Jack to realize at some point that he was absolutely, completely, irrevocably in love with his best friend. He did not. In his defense, he never claimed to be a smart man.

Jack might have realized it in college, where one night he and Robby had given each other drunken blowjobs. Robby's cock had been heaven in his mouth, the noises Jack had pulled from him were the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. He had swallowed and licked up every drop, desperate for more of him.

When Robby returned the favor, Jack came almost immediately. Robby had taken him down to the root and popped off to lick a broad stripe on the underside of his cock and Jack just. Couldn't help himself. He came all over Robby's face: his come caught in Robby's eyelashes- so long and soft-, dripping down his nose, even caught in his pretty hair. He looked so beautiful that Jack couldn't breathe. He wanted to lick him. Not just lick the come off- though he wanted to do that too- but just lick him, period.

Then they had both started laughing and the moment was carefully placed in a box in his head, never to be thought about again.

He might have realized it when Sharon kept calling Robby Jack’s boyfriend. She even put a line in her wedding vows that she was marrying Jack and Robby because Robby was Jack's first love: that wherever one went, the other followed. It got big laughs in the crowd at the time because everyone knew it was true. It was an immutable state of the universe: Jack belonged to Robby and Robby belonged to Jack and now that Jack also belonged to Sharon, Robby belonged to her as well. To love Jack meant to love Robby. It was just a fact.

Jack just hadn't realized that when she made the joke, she meant that Jack loved Robby romantically. Again, he never claimed to be a smart man.

He might have realized when Robby came back from his sabbatical and Jack was so relieved that he wanted to fall to his knees, press his face into Robby's thigh and ask him to never leave him alone again, please. He didn't do that, because that would have been weird. Instead he hugged him tight and gently, gently bit Robby's shoulder. Robby didn’t even acknowledge it, it was kind of Jack's way of saying something when words seemed too much. A call back to their first meeting, a reminder of where they started.

No, Jack only realized when Parker sent that fucking meme.

Robby had come over to finish their argument, just as he had promised and arguing turned into them kicking each other, which turned into a friendly brawl. This was common for them. They had even broken Bubbe's favorite lamp once, rolling around on the floor, trying to smack the other- something Robby paid dearly for: three whole weeks with no Jack.

They were really too old for it, but it was a core tenet of their relationship. They would probably both break their hips at 78 years old, trying to lovingly kick the other's ass. There was just something about being kids together that made them perpetually feral.

Jack looked down from where he was perched on top of Robby, trying to snatch at his hands and said: "I think I'm in love with you."

"Oh my god, shut the fuck up," Robby groaned, trying to kick him.

So Jack did the only thing he could think of. He bit him- not hard, but he didn't let go. And then, he carefully licked the skin between his teeth.

Robby immediately began trying to shake him off, all to no avail. Jack wasn't letting him go that easy. "That is disgusting, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Jack released him. "You told me to shut up, so I was speaking a language you understand."

"I understand that you're a freak."

"I'm serious!"

"Seriously disturbed." Robby glared at him. "I think I would know if you were in love with me; you would have started acting different. You've been the same asshole you've been since the day we met."

Jack nodded once, with great solemnity.

Robby's eyes practically bugged out of his head. "Let me get this straight. You've been in love with me for 46 years and just realized now?"

"Well, Parker sent this meme-" Jack tried to explain, only to get cut off.

"You are not about to tell me that you realized you loved me for 46 years because Parker Ellis sent a meme."

"Okay, I won't tell you." Jack said with a shrug.

That got them tussling again and somehow that led to them making out. Robby used Jack's distraction- because kissing Robby was very distracting, actually- to flip them. He put both hands in Jack's hair and gripped his curls tight, causing Jack to whine and buck his hips up into him. They both moaned at the friction; at some point they had gotten hard, though neither was quite sure when.

Jack used the moment to roll them until he was on top again. They spent a few messy moments making out, grinding against each other, Robby letting out those small moans he had given to Jack only once before.

Eventually, they paused to breathe and Robby looked up at him through his eyelashes- still so long and soft- and asked: "Do you want to play college?"

"Fuck yeah, I do." Jack agreed immediately, almost dizzy with arousal. "There will be a different ending this time, though."

"You mean you’re not planning on coming in two seconds?" Robby teased, grinning at him.

"Oh, I probably will, you've kept me waiting so long. But no, this isn't going to be a one time deal. It's gonna be forever, baby." There wasn't a doubt in his mind. They've always been one creature, JackandRobby. There’s no changing that.

And Robby blushed that pretty blush and agreed.

[devinemist]

I hate when people ask me if im an introvert or an extrovert ..girl im a pervert😭😭😭😭😭

[rr-after-dark]

“Everything Good in You” - Brendon Park x Reader

Summary: A hot doctor rescues you from a creep outside of your gym and it turns out you have a lot more in common than your choice of workout venue.

Or, the D/s universe getting together fic I've been yapping about for months!

Story Tags/Notes: girly!sub!reader, dom!brendon, reader is a kids' ballet teacher, brendon is a trauma surgeon in the ED, getting together fic, slow-ish burn, kink dynamic/relationship negotiation, communication porn, sugaring/spoiling/gifts, reader is mentioned as not shaving body hair, full aftercare

NSFW Tags/Notes: its a lengthy smut so, panty sniffing, teasing, face slapping, light punishment, black nitrile gloves, inspection kink, breast play, pain play, biting, marks, fingering (f), fisting (f), squirting, multiple orgasms (f), dacryphilia, scent/armpit/musk/sweat kinks, one single line of degradation, lots and lots of praise/affirmation/pet names, choking/breath play, piv (unprotected, discussion is implied), creampie

Content: sexual harassment/intimidation, broken wrist

A/N: everyone say a sloppy slutty thank you to @honestlystop for their generous donation to my birthday fundraiser which led to this being completed! and a personal thank you for always being so lovely and supportive

Word Count: 18.3k

Brendon Park’s noticed you at his gym before, of course. It’s hard not to. You always wear pastel pink sets with tiny little tennis skirts that barely cover your ass or those partially sheer pilates outfits with the waist-emphasizing tie. Like most of the guys at the gym, much as he hates to be lumped in with them, Brendon’s eyes drift up when your evening yoga or pilates or barre or pole class gets out, watching the sea of sweaty women in tight outfits flitting past with satisfied giggles.

Unlike an unfortunate number of the other men there, though, Brendon is at the gym to work out, not try to get a girlfriend, so he’s never interacted with you more than the occasional ‘good workout?’ when you’ve passed each other going into the locker rooms at the same time. 

Tonight changes that.

It’s a 24-hour gym, but it’s usually dead this late. Brendon’s used to being one of maybe three guys who always work insane schedules getting in his last arm curls before crashing for eighteen hours straight. For some reason, though, you’re here. It looks like you’ve had a long day – you’re in a cropped baby pink sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, cute but definitely not aiming for sexy the way you usually do – but you’re still committed to your daily gym time the way Brendon is. He has to admit he admires the dedication; it’s not a common trait these days. He gives you one of those hunky smiles on his way past as he goes to the locker room, nodding and wishing you a good night.

But, once he’s showered and changed, beyond ready to go home and flop into bed after downing 12,000 calories of leftovers, he sees you hurriedly trying to collect your things as one of the few other guys in the gym hits on you. And he’s not being casual or subtle. In fact, he’s got one arm lording over you as you bend down to shove things into your bag, completely ignoring him.

The hairs on the back of Brendon’s neck bristle as you push past the guy into the night – and the fucker follows you. Brendon’s moving before he can even think, much less overthink. He’d do the same for anyone. Of course he would. He only has to hear a few words out of the bastard’s mouth – c’mon, baby, you know you want a real man – before he decides he has to get involved.

“Hey, man, leave her alone,” Brendon barks. You whip around with gratitude already written on your features, taking over the fear and annoyance that had been there a split second ago. He grabs the guy’s elbow and tugs him away from you. “How about you head home and then change your gym schedule?”

The asshole rolls his eyes and squares up against Brendon, chest to chest, as you shrink back toward the sidewalk. “What are you, her boyfriend?”

Brendon scoffs back, “Just a guy with a moral compass. Fuck off before I make you.”

Then he tries to maneuver his body between yours and your harasser – but the guy grabs you so that he can’t. His bruising grip wraps around your forearm and he tugs you toward him. You realize for the first time that you can smell liquor on his breath, sharp and aggressive. Had he wandered into the gym from a bar just to get to you? Did he drink so much he’s always drunk? Your mind races around the possibilities as he baits Brendon with a laugh, “You really wanna play knight in shining armor, pretty boy?”

Brendon rolls his shoulders.

The first time he’d been told he had to get his temper under control, he was in the fifth grade. A boy a few grades up from him threw pebbles at his sister on the walk back from the bus after they went to daily summer camp together. His sister told him to leave it alone, but he couldn’t. He managed to simmer on it for three whole days before he broke the kid’s jaw and two of his ribs. The boy was too embarrassed to admit he’d had his ass handed to him by an eleven-year-old, so all Brendon got was a lecture from his mother when his sister ratted him out.

In high school, he joined football and wrestling to get his aggression out. Every time his shoulder collided with someone else, every time he slammed a body on the mat, it let him clear his head of all the frustration and indignation and anxiety and everything. Of course, he still earned a handful of suspensions when he couldn’t keep it under control, the occasional fist knocking into someone’s orbital if they wouldn’t leave his skinnier friend alone or refused to back down when he defended a cheerleader.

Through college and med school, he learned that control was just as good as acting out. Professionally, being at the top of his class gave him the same ego high. He kept his thoughts in line with a rigorous workout schedule and even more demanding academic schedule. Personally, he found kink. The holy catharsis of someone giving themselves over to him completely. Trusting that he could handle them and himself at once. Of course, surgery is the best outlet he’s ever found. Just him, his subordinates, his orders, his hands. The world narrowing into a set of problems with clear, measured solutions that only he knows. He gets to be god in the OR.

But the kid who couldn’t handle watching his sister get hurt? He’s still very much in there.

So, tonight, Brenton launches one of his half-million-dollar hands into the face of the guy who’s just grabbed you, aiming to avoid cracking any of the bones while inflicting maximum pain and shock.

As the guy’s grip falters from staggering backward, you wrench out of his grasp and fall to the ground with a shriek, catching your weight squarely on one palm. Sharp pain cracks through your wrist. It reverberates up your arm and across your entire body. You’re so wrapped up in the pain that you barely register Brendon flagging down the gym’s security guard to come out and take the asshole away, telling him what happened as he shakes out his hand from the punch.

Once it’s just the two of you, Brendon kneels down and reaches out, careful not to scare you, like you’re a rabbit who might dart. “C’mon, let me see that wrist; I’m a doctor.”

With shiny eyes and a sniffly nose, you ask, “You’re a doctor?”

“Trauma surgeon,” he confirms as you gingerly present your swollen wrist, already darkening and swelling around the impact point. He’s so careful as he examines it, but you still wince with every motion. He hates himself for noticing just how pretty you are when you cry. Sighing, he tells you, “This looks like a break to me. You’ll need some imaging done and you’ll probably need a hard cast. Is there someone I can call to come get you?”

Swiping your tears away with your uninjured hand – more fall anyway – you ask with so much hope in your eyes he knows he’s going to fold no matter what, “Can you drive me? You can bring me back to my car after, promise.”

Brendon rewrites his entire night in a split second. What is he doing? His brows furrow. He’s not nice. He’s not helpful. Certainly not to strangers who could be serial killers as far as he knows. But, looking at your wobbly lip and twitching chin, he can’t help nodding and saying, “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

Brendon helps guide you to your feet, one hand on your waist and the other clasping your free hand as you cradle your broken wrist to your chest. His hands are really big. Maybe it’s the adrenaline making you woozy, but he does look a hell of a lot like a knight in shining armor leading you down the street toward his car with one hand on your back and a posture like he’ll kill anyone who approaches.

You’re not much of a car person yourself, but you are a luxury person, so you can spot a Corvette Stingray from a mile away. When you realize that Brendon’s leading you toward a gorgeous cherry red one with the top down that you’d admired before arriving at the gym, your jaw drops. “This is your car?”

“Like I said, I’m a surgeon.” He chuckles as he takes out the keys and unlocks it. “They pay me too much not to drive some sexy sports car, right?”

“Sexy is right,” you whistle, taking a second to admire the sleek Corvette’s cream leather interior as he opens up the passenger side door for you. “You’re a spoiled brat, huh?”

“I only drive her during the summer,” he tells you seriously as he helps you into the front seat, his arm protective around you as you get settled. Your stomach flutters as he reaches across your body and clicks your seatbelt into place, one of those large hands brushing over your bare abdomen and the other bracing his balance on your headrest, his bicep ginormous, still pumped from his workout. It’s painfully mortifying how good his sweat smells. He touches the back of your neck sweetly and checks, “You comfortable? Want the seat warmer on or anything?”

“It’s eighty degrees out.”

“Right.” He closes your door, drums his fingers on the side, and sighs, “Sorry, I’m not used to…”

With a teasing smirk, you suggest as he trails off, “Human interaction?”

“Yeah, that about covers it, actually.” He shakes his head and hops over the driver’s side door like a real asshole before sliding easily behind the wheel. As the quiet engine hums to life, he adds, “I spend eight hours a day in surgery; the only real speaking I do is to give orders.”

“That’s hot.”

Something twitches inside of him. You’re joking, but there’s a shade of truth in it, clearly. Interesting.

“Ow ow ow,” you keen pathetically as he pulls into traffic, the slightest movement jostling your wrist. With tears welling up again, you plead, “Distract me. Tell me about your other car.”

He scoffs, “That’s your ideal distraction? Not my cool job or our shared interests or-” Your adorable mean glare cuts him off. “Okay, okay. Promise you won’t make fun of me first.” You shake your head ‘no’ as tears slip over your cheeks. He laughs and concedes, “Fine, you can make fun of me until your arm’s patched up. It’s a G-Series.”

“God, you’re even worse than I thought,” you force yourself to laugh as you cringe again. “You’ll have to take me for a drive sometime. I’ve never been in one.”

“It drives like a dream,” he replies, giving a concerned glance as he tries to placate you with the distraction. Thank fuck he goes to the gym closest to the hospital. “Do you like actually driving or just going for drives?”

With a grimace as the convertible pulls into a reserved space close to the Emergency Department doors, you tell him, “Definitely a passenger princess. I like sightseeing.”

“I figured,” he teases lightly as he rounds the car again to help you out. “That’s good, though; I like doing the driving. You can focus on enjoying all the features.”

Outright crying now, you ask, “Does it have the heated cupholders for coffee?”

“Yeah, it does,” he half-laughs, “and cooling if you have water or something, too.”

Voice wobbling, you reply weakly, pain radiating through your whole arm, “That’s so luxurious.”

Brendon has to bite back the urge to laugh. You’re painfully cute in this state, fighting hard to stay calm but clearly completely unable to. “It really is. Great car.”

With your pink gym bag over his shoulder, Brendon walks you into the ED, shooting glares at every single one of his coworkers who dares to cut him even a curious glance, much less a surprised one or one laden with gossip. He gets you checked in quickly and efficiently as the space buzzes around him; you get the sense that his presence makes everyone…maybe not nervous, necessarily, but alert. There’s an expectation that he’s going to take charge of every conversation. He always talks first to someone who’s completely prepared to listen and jump at his marching orders.

The whole time, you shrink next to him. You’ve always hated hospitals. The smells, the bright lights, the mix of groans and wails and heavy silence. It makes your skin crawl. Brendon can tell; unconsciously, he rubs your back between your shoulder blades, fingers soothing down your spine, occasionally resting at the small of your back where your skin is bare. He’s not even thinking about it, just following his instincts and letting himself bend to your needs without questioning it.

Once you’re comfortably settled in a room, Brendon oversees the creation of your chart and then bends down to meet your eyes. He brushes your tear-stained cheek with his thumb and starts to explain, “Someone’ll come in and take you up to get an X-ray soon. Do you want me to stay or-”

“Don’t leave,” you whimper, catching his forearm. When you touch him, his heart pounds in a way it hasn’t in a long time. It’s the way those shiny eyes look to him so effortlessly. Needy. You’re so pretty when you cry. Your voice drops to an embarrassed whisper as you admit, “I really, really hate hospitals. I’m scared shitless. Please stay.”

The shame on your face that only he can soothe is too delicious to deny. He holds your unharmed hand and sits down on the stool next to you. Rubbing the back of your hand, he assures you gently, more gently than any of the nurses or doctors here have ever heard, “I’m right here. I’ve got you; I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“Promise? I’m not, like, ruining your whole night or anything?”

Your eyes are so damn wide and innocent. Completely irresistible to a deep, prickly part of his brain. He’s quick to shake his head and assure, “I’m off tomorrow. I was gonna go home and sleep in. I’m a big boy; I can push my bedtime back by a few hours.”

With a soft, teary smile, you squeeze his hand. “Thank you.”

Faster than you can believe, you’re pumped full of painkillers and in for X-Rays, certain that Brendon is pulling strings for you without making a show of it. Once the imaging has confirmed a break, another doctor joins you, tall and gruff with kind eyes and crows’ feet. Very handsome. You glance at his badge as he goes to introduce himself, but he’s taken aback when he sees Brendon behind you. “What’s going on, Park? You’re not on the schedule tonight.”

Brendon attempts to sum up the night: “Ah, no, but this one took a tumble right outside of my gym.”

“Can’t resist a damsel in distress. Got it.” Before Brendon can intervene on that line of thought, the doctor turns to you with a warm smile. “Hi, I’m Dr. Robinavitch, but you can call me Robby. I’m gonna be applying your hard cast, okay?”

Perhaps a tad loopy on the painkillers, you tap on the badge clipped to his chest with your now-chipped manicured nail, amused by the satisfying clicking. “Attending Physician. You seem kinda important to be doing my cast.”

Robby shrugs and chuckles, “The Shark calls, I answer.”

“The Shark?” You grin wide and stare at Brendon. “They call you that here?”

Brendon grimaces. “Ah, yeah. It rhymes.”

“Obviously it rhymes,” you giggle, turning your attention back to Robby, “but why do you guys call him that? Is he super duper scary when he’s at work?”

“Something like that,” Robby snorts as the nurse prepping his station also stifles a laugh. When Brendon absolutely glares, Robby clears his throat and straightens up. “Alright, let’s get down to business about that wrist. I just had a look at your X-Rays and you’ve got what’s called a Colles’ fracture, a minor break that happens when you fall on an outstretched hand. We treat about a million of these a week down here, so you’ll be out of the joint in no time, but you’re looking at six to eight weeks in a hard cast.”

“Shoot,” you sigh. Lip pouted and voice grumpy (so cute Park almost blacks out), you check, “Can I at least get a pink one?”

“Absolutely, you can,” Dr. Robby laughs and opens up the box of fiberglass tape options. “I’ve got Flamingo Fuchsia-” he shows you a classic neon pink cast color, then a paler option “-or Bubblegum Blast.”

You smile and confirm, “Bubblegum, definitely.”

He flashes you a charming smile. “I had a feeling, Barbie.”

Brendon interrupts gruffly, “Keep it in your pants, Michael.”

Heat crawls up your neck at how protective his voice sounds. Dr. Robby’s eyes flick between the two of you, clearly amused at seeing his coworker in a new light. “My apologies; I didn’t know Park the Shark had a girlfriend.”

Voice all teasing and lilting, you reply, “Oh, he’s not my boyfriend, Dr. Robby.”

“Seems like maybe he wants to be,” Robby snorts as he carefully preps your arm. While methodically applying your cast, he tries to distract you from the pain of your wrist being handled breaking through the IV by offering up, “What kind of dog do you have? I can see the hair on your pants.”

You wince anyway, jumping a bit from the pain. Brendon slings his arm around your shoulders and rubs your back gently. With a deep breath, you tell him, “I have a Cane Corso. Big black mastiff. If he’d been with me tonight like he is when I go running, you’d be amputating the other guy’s arm right about now.”

Brendon straightens up with a laugh, imagining your sweet, bubbly, girly self with a giant, mean-looking dog. “Seriously? Don’t those things weigh, like, 100 pounds?”

“Duke weighs 120,” you reply with a sheepish smile. Whenever anyone finds out about your dog, they look at you differently. And it does stop you from focusing on the pain to talk about him, so you explain further, “My big brother used to live in the city and spend lots of time with me. He’s always been really protective, so when he was getting ready to move away, he wanted to make sure I’d be safe. We went on a road trip to get him as a puppy and worked with a trainer here so he’s, like, the perfect protection dog. We’re AWDA certified for bite work and everything.” With your free hand, you take your phone out and click it to life to show off the background photo, you and Duke wearing matching Louis Vuitton fleeces while posing in the snow. Sighing affectionately, you tell them, “I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s a total softie when I tell him he can trust someone, but he’d rip a guy’s throat out if they tried to attack me.”

“I like him already,” Brendon says as he admires the massive dog on your phone. With his eyes once again locked on your wrist, he sharply chastises, “Watch the angle on that, Robinavitch, you want her arm to heal as crooked as your teeth?”

“I didn’t wear braces for five years to deal with your bullshit, Brendon,” Robby bites back. He leans back and admires his own work, remarking, “Straight as a damn arrow. That’s textbook. What do you think, Barbie, up to your standards?”

You examine it as if you’d even know what to look for, trying to suppress the loopy little giggles that threaten. Being your friendly self, you squeeze Robby’s forearm and tell him, “Thank you so much; it looks really good.”

Something ugly and new tightens up in Brendon’s chest when he sees your hand on Robby’s arm. Not new, actually. Familiar but forgotten.

Robby just smiles and says, “You sat like a champ; it should heal up no problem. You need to sit tight here for about half an hour so it can harden. Someone’ll come in with your discharge paperwork and hopefully this’ll be the last time you have to see my ugly mug.”

“Awww no, stop,” you pout, patting Robby on his scruffy cheek, “you’re so handsome, doctor.”

Brendon nearly growls.

Robby laughs at his obvious displeasure and gives you an earnest smile. “You take care, okay? Sorry in advance that you’re gonna have to deal with Park’s insane physical therapy schedule. I have to imagine he’ll be twice as bad when it comes to his girlfriend.”

You cover your smile as Brendon sets his jaw. “Mike, I’ve already thrown one punch tonight; let’s not make it two.”

As Robby leaves the room, shaking his head and chuckling to himself, you whip toward Brendon with a horrified realization on your face. “I forgot about your hand! Is it okay? Is it bruised? Oh god, you’re a surgeon. Did I ruin your hand? Is someone gonna not get their heart fixed because of me?”

“Woah there,” Brendon laughs, “it’s alright, I promise. I know how to tuck my thumb and everything.” He flexes his fingers in front of you for good measure. There’s some light bruising along his two center knuckles and tears once again brim at your waterline. “I’ll be good as new after some leftovers.”

“Promise?”

“Promise. Plus, I mostly do bones, not hearts.” Then he lies that he has to run to the bathroom, assuring that he’ll be right back, and beelines to the hub as he rummages around his pockets. Brendon surreptitiously leans over the counter with his heavy black card dangling from his fingers. Keeping his voice low, he mutters, “I’ll cover the patient in two, alright?”

Perlah narrows her eyes at him. “You’re not her doctor, are you?”

“No, I’m not.”

She raises an eyebrow and pulls up your paperwork. “You know she has shit insurance?”

“It’s America.”

“The bill’s over four grand.”

“Like I said, America. And?”

“Alright, then.” Perlah takes the card and runs it, letting out a long breath. “She must be something special.”

“I barely know her.”

“Whatever you say, Shark.”

You watch Brendon through the glass next to the exam room door, knowing exactly what he must be doing. Eyeing him up, you take out your phone and open Tinder, letting it refresh for a second to load new options. Then you go to your settings and switch the distance to the closest possible. After swiping through a couple of faces, you see exactly what you’d been hoping for: A beefy set of biceps in a pair of dark scrubs. No face because of course not.

Park. 35. Private. Dom. Check out my Fet to see if we’re a good match: hammerhead.md

You have to suppress a squeal.

Game, set, match.

It’s a couple of days before Brendon sees you again. Even if it’s not surprising that you skip a few gym sessions with a broken arm, or even if you changed gyms altogether after that guy bothered you, he still finds himself strangely disappointed at the lack of you. So, when you skip into the ED the following Monday morning with a big smile and a fresh manicure, Brendon lets out a sigh of what feels weirdly like relief. He’d chastise himself for already getting attached if he didn’t like seeing you smile so much.

With a quick nod to the hub to check that he can take a minute, Brendon slips away toward you, meeting you in a quiet corner off the main lobby. You’re wrapping him in a hug before his mouth is even open, careful not to knock him in the head with your hard cast as you do. Once you let go – he lets it linger for longer than he probably should – in lieu of a greeting, he furrows his brow and takes your cast in his hands, examining it carefully. “How’s this feeling? Nice and stable but not too tight?”

“Feels totally fine,” you assure him. “You don’t have to kill your doctor friend for me, I promise.”

“You’re only knocking off one of many reasons to kill him, gorgeous.” Not even realizing he’s said it, much less the swooning heart eyes you give him in response, Brendon smiles at your heavily signed cast. With a grin, he says, “I see you’ve got lots of friends on the playground.”

“I teach at a ballet school,” you giggle as you show off the myriad of names in silver Sharpie, most of them haphazard. “I have five- to seven-year-olds now, so they thought the cast was just about the coolest thing in the entire world.”

“You’re welcome, then. I’ll stop feeling so bad about it.”

You nudge him in the shoulder and glare, ultra stern, so cute it makes him sick. “You don’t have anything to feel bad about.”

He sighs sharply as he remembers the sight of you crying on the cement. “If I’d stepped in about ten seconds sooner, or if I hadn’t been so aggressive with the guy, then-”

“Don’t, Bren. Seriously. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t even want to think about what might’ve happened,” you cut him off. You open your large purse, dig around for a moment, and present him with a small box. “Make it up to me by very graciously accepting the gift I got you to say thanks without being a stupid boy about it.”

“I’m actually not allowed to accept gifts from patients.”

Only shoving it further into his grip, you insist, “I’m not a patient; you weren’t doing any doctoring. I’m just your friend from the gym.”

“My friend, huh?”

“Well, yeah, you took such good care of me.” Your choice of phrase makes Brendon’s head spin in that same forgotten way. It’s been a long time since he had someone to take care of properly. When he doesn’t immediately open the box, you nudge, “C’mon, I picked it out special.”

With a sigh and a playful eye roll, he opens the hinged box to reveal a golden-edge watch mounted on a navy leather band with a soft brown interior. He drops his act as he admires the luxurious but understated piece. It suits him. Admiring it, he croons, “Jesus, this is gorgeous. You have a good eye.”

Glittering under the praise – it’s your favorite kind of compliment – you reply, “I’m sure you already have something much fancier to wear when you’re out in the real world with your Corvette and your surgeon money, but you should still have something nice-ish for the gym and work.”

Brendon shakes his head and closes the box simply to resist temptation. “I appreciate the gesture, really, but I can’t accept a gift I know cost an arm and a leg.”

“Well,” you go in, arms crossed over your chest (revealing eye-popping cleavage) to make it clear you have no intentions on taking it back, “the arm alone cost a few thousand dollars and I caught you paying for it already, so you’d better take the leg.” He purses his lips and relents, checking out the pretty piece again with a soft smile. Dropping your voice somewhere tender and secretive, you murmur, “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs simply. “I wanted to.”

You poke him in the chest. “I have my own money.”

“You teach ballet to toddlers. I don’t mean that disrespectfully at all – in fact, I think that’s awesome; I’ve watched you in pilates and I bet you’re a fantastic dancer too-”

A huge, pink-glossed smile splits across your face. “You’ve watched me in pilates?”

“The studio has a glass wall,” he almost stammers out. His cheeks tinge pink. Caught. Then he swallows hard and redirects, “I just mean that I wouldn't expect you to have four grand to spare lying around.”

With a pout, you tell him, “I could’ve covered it just fine, so keep the watch.”

“How?”

“I have my secrets.”

“Promise me that secret isn’t credit card debt?”

“Promise.” You lift up your pinky, a clear challenge to him: To indulge or not to indulge. Wiggling it as an invitation, you add, “Not a penny of debt to my name.”

Brendon rolls his eyes, checks over his shoulder, and then links his pinky with yours. “Good girl.”

Your breath catches in your throat for a moment before you clear it. Flustered at how those two words go right between your legs and up your spine, you squeak out, “I should get back to the studio. I just, um, wanted to say thank you so much for looking out for me.”

“I’d do it for anyone.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

His eyes bore into yours. There’s a beat of charged silence as he decides how to acknowledge the truth of your observation. There’s a sharpness to your soft, feminine expression that he doesn’t miss. At last, before he can come up with anything to say, he takes his prescription pad from his pocket, scribbles something on it, and hands the note over.

It’s his number. After another moment or two, curiously observing the way you smirk at his digits like you’ve earned them, he says, “Someone needs to teach you to defend yourself when you don’t have Duke around. I box for half my workouts; I’ll show you some moves once your arm’s better.”

Swaying gently, you ask, “Does that mean I have to wait six weeks to see you again?”

He’s studying you so carefully it makes you squirm. It almost feels like an interview, the way he’s looking at you. “Not necessarily.”

You’re head over heels for Brendon by the time the tension between you actually reaches a boiling point. He’s been going on runs with you until you can get back in the gym, both of you talking and joking as you jog around the park across from the hospital early in the morning before each of you heads off to your job. He tells you about his surgeries, his students, his countless responsibilities. You tell him about your students (much cuter and less frustrating), your dog, your passions. All of it comes out during the slower parts of your time together when you catch your breath in the misty fountain closest to the entrance to the hospital.

On the handful of days where you’re both off, the jogs turn into walks around the city. You live in the same neighborhood, you in an okay-enough garden apartment and he in a bona fide luxury penthouse only two blocks down. Your mind always supplies just how convenient it would be if you did go out with each other. Despite the obvious disparity in your lifestyles – his money, his education, his intensity – you never get the sense that Brendon sees you as less than. He doesn’t intimidate you the way he does other people. To you, he’s like Duke, your protection dog. Big and strong and scary but secretly craving good company and a pat on the head.

As soon as your cast is off – Brendon makes a point of personally overseeing the orthopedic resident who removes it – he’s quick to get you back in the gym, specifically in the boxing ring. It’s your third time trying out some self-defense movies with him when the dam finally breaks.

Firstly, all this boxing has resulted in a hell of a lot more touching than Brendon anticipated. Part of him wonders if he’s self-sabotaging, dangling a carrot in front of himself for some unconscious reason he’s not privy to. Secondly, you swish into the gym wearing a skin-tight, tiny baby-pink singlet, yet another one of your outfits designed to drive him insane. Watching you peel off the matching cropped sweater once you’re in the gym has him swallowing hard as he tries to focus on the task ahead of him. It’s the way your nipples nudge the fabric, he thinks, that’s the worst of all. The most torturous. Or maybe it’s the slope of your waist into your hips. Or maybe it’s-

“Bren!” You launch yourself into his arms hard enough to knock half the wind from him. He holds you tight as you tell him, “I have, like, the most amazing news in the history of the world.”

He lets out a laugh as he pretends for his own sake that he can’t feel your tits pressing against his bare chest. Letting his hand linger on your lower back, he checks, “Yeah? What would that be?”

“My class got picked to be the Polichinelles in The Nutcracker for the Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre this winter!” You hug him again, like the excitement is just too much for you to bear, and this time you jump up and down, too. He wants to spin you around and kiss you hard just to taste an ounce of that enthusiasm for himself. You’re still smiley when you go on, “Obviously, a lot of the city’s ballet schools get to send dancers for different performances and everything, but getting picked is a huge honor for me and it’ll be so special for all the girls to get to feel what it’s like to be on a real stage in front of a big audience and it’ll be my first time getting to teach and direct and choreograph at that level and-”

“Take a breath, sweetheart,” Brendon interrupts with a chuckle. He melts under the glow of your smile for a second as you giggle at yourself, fanning your face. He hasn’t been that excited about something in, Jesus, maybe forever. It’s infectious. Inadvertently still cupping your cheek with one hand and holding you with the other, he confirms, “That means your students will be the little kids who come out from under the big lady’s skirt?”

“Yes!” You squeal, “You’ve seen The Nutcracker?!”

“Of course I have; I’m not some uncultured jock,” he scoffs. (In fact, he’d watched it on his laptop for the first time – the one where Macaulay Culkin is the prince – after you told him you were submitting your class for the part in the ballet a few weeks back, hoping he’d be able to impress you with it if it ever came up.) Realizing that he’s standing like he’s about to make out with you, he takes a step back and clears his throat before saying, “That’s really great; congratulations. Hope I can manage to score a ticket.”

You pout out your lower lip as your eyes get watery. “You’d come to my kids’ ballet?”

He looks down at his feet and shrugs modestly. “I’m sure my mother would love to go for Christmas or something.”

“That’s so sweet, Brendon, thank you.” And there’s one more hug. Of course there is. This time, he notices the sweet floral scent of your shimmery body spray, the one you spritz on before morning gym sessions to justify putting off your shower until after the workout. He wants to lean into it, to breathe deeper, to fall into the gentle edges of your life where your biggest news is making little girls’ dreams come true. Everything good in you is everything missing in him. When you pull back, you give him a determined nod and offer, “Ready to get started? Today’s the day I pin you, big boy.”

He grins and lifts the rope for you to step into the ring. “I seriously doubt that.”

But he can’t resist how damn concentrated and serious you look as you jab him with punches, some of them even landing correctly after a few sessions of training. A few times, he gets so distracted with watching you that he forgets to defend himself and you really manage to get him in the ribs. You get this proud expression that’s bright and sweet whenever you do something right. So he maybe, just a little, to indulge himself more than anything, lets you pin him.

When he sees you breathing heavily above him with a big smile, seated on his chest, hands on his shoulders, it’s definitely worth it for the brutal teasing he has to endure the rest of the morning. He touches your waist gently and praises, “Good job. Really great strike – getting me off balance. That was good work.”

You erupt into a fit of self-satisfied giggles as you watch him catch his breath and tease, “You left your tummy wide open.”

He cracks up at that, throwing his arm over his forehead. “My tummy?”

God, his sweat smells good. You’ll go insane if you stay on top of him any longer. You finally stand up, stretch out your arms, and reply, “Occupational hazard of working with kids. It’s all tummies and bottoms and magic toes.”

Brendon does a full kip up back to his feet because he’s an asshole and too sexy to take your eyes off of for even a second. As he stretches himself out, too, he snickers, “Magic toes?”

“Tendu,” you explain, extending your leg out in a neat line, “and glissé.” You glide your pointed bare foot along the boxing mat floor, the delicate gesture out of place and eye-catching compared to Brendon’s bulk and grit. His eyes lock on the extension of your thigh, the flex in your calves, the sleek lines you easily craft after a lifetime of practice. He can’t help imagining how lovely you’d be in your proper ballet attire. Catching him watching a little too closely, you nudge him in the knee with your foot and say, “Those are ‘magic toes.’ Some of the foundations you have to master to do any movements, but they’re a little young to always nail it en français.”

As the two of you exit the ring and grab your waters and towels, he says ever-so-casually, “I’d like to see you dance for real sometime.”

Your heart flutters. “Yeah?”

He nods, drinking from his water as an excuse to avoid elaborating on the truth of how much he loves to watch your body move no matter what you’re doing. His adam’s apple bobs tortuously in his throat. You try not to ogle him too much, but it’s fundamentally unavoidable when he leans back against the wall and lets out a deep breath, his chest and shoulders and abs all moving with his lungs.

“So,” you begin, slow and absent, like you’re about to compare schedules with him, “are you really gonna make me ask you out? Because I think it should be the other way around.”

He chokes on his water and sputters a bit, making you laugh at having caught him off guard. After a second of coughing, all he can muster is, “What?”

You roll your eyes, nudge his pec, and explain, “It’s so obvious we’re supposed to go out with each other, Bren. Hell, we’re practically dating already. I mean, c’mon, the meet-cute where you rescued me from danger, the rising action of you helping to heal my broken arm, the climax of you letting me pin you while we’re both half-naked.”

“I didn’t let you-” At your adorable glare, Brendon lifts his hands in defeat. After letting himself think for long enough to make you nervous, he says, “Alright, alright. I wanted to build your confidence; sue me.” He runs a hand through his sweat-wavy hair. Procrastinating. “Look, I like you a lot – you’re beautiful, you make me laugh, you’re easy to be around – but the thing is,” he sighs, a certain darkness taking over his voice, “I don’t do normal relationships.”

You stare him down just to torture him by dragging it out, not wanting to show your hand too early. You’ve been waiting to play it too long to reveal your cards a moment too soon. As if innocently, you ask him, “What do you mean?”

He chews on the words for a minute before awkwardly deciding on, “I have certain…needs, I guess, that typical relationships don’t satisfy. That sounds stupid. I’m not sure how to say this.”

You give him a ‘just you wait’ look, hustle over to your gym bag, and take your phone out. Then you walk back, open up your photos, and present a screenshot of his own FetLife page – specifically your favorite photo of him sweating through a cut-up tank top after a workout, which you’d saved for…reference. His eyebrows raise, amused and suspicious, as you poke him in the chest and inform him with a self-satisfied sing-song voice, “You’re not as mysterious as you think. So let me be clear here: I think you should take me out.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not surprised, are you?”

“Of course not,” you reply. “Even the first night you stayed with me at the hospital, I could practically smell it on you. The way you barked orders and protected me. Made me feel safe because you knew I was scared.” His gaze has gone intense now. You’d expected him to look caught and embarrassed the way he usually does when you tease him for flirting, but suddenly he’s snapped into his element and it’s making you nervous. You remember what his colleague called him. Shark. He looks like he’s hunting you as you admit quietly, “When you’re like me, it’s easy to notice.”

He takes a step closer and lowers his voice. You’ve got him now and you both know it. “Like you?”

You give him a bashful smile and avert your eyes. “You really couldn’t tell?”

Brendon studies you carefully for a minute. Your fluttery lashes when you’re nervous. Your softly parted lips when you gaze up at him. The way your tears are nothing short of angelic and your smiles nothing short of honeyed perfection. He steps forward, closing the space between you, glances around the empty gym, and lifts his large hand to your neck. No pressure, no grabbing. But you gasp anyway. Your pupils dilate. And he knows. He pushes his hand up your neck until it’s right beneath your jaw, his pinky and his thumb able to encompass the whole width of your throat.

As he releases you, suddenly seeming twice as tall and broad and confident as usual, Brendon offers, “Let’s go out, then. Dinner tonight? So we can talk things through properly.”

Struggling to ignore the throbbing between your legs, you tell him, “I’m done at the studio at four.”

“Text me your address. I’ll pick you up at six.” He checks his watch and shoulders his bag, touching your lower back to guide you toward the locker room, and instructs, “And as soon as you get home this afternoon, send me some options for what you want to wear. I’ll choose for you.”

You’re about due for a cold shower.

you: you didn’t give me a dress code for dinner so i picked out a variety…even some non-pink, non-girly options if you want me to be all sophisticated. let me know what you like 😇 you: and jsyk I treat first dates with potential play partners more like job interviews. too many fake doms out there. too many bad experiences. brendon (hot gym guy): I have nothing but respect for that approach. More than happy to show how seriously I take my sub’s safety and well-being. I hope I can pass all your tests. you: vice versa. you’re too sexy to miss out on. brendon (hot gym guy): Mutual. you: yeah? brendon (hot gym guy): Don’t bait me. you: never. brendon (hot gym guy): Wear the pink. I like how girly you are. you: thank you!! i will 💕💕 you: okay I need to get ready now if I’m gonna be all cute in an hour and a half. see you soon!! don’t be late brendon (hot gym guy): I never am. you: that’s hot.

Getting ready for your first date with Brendon Park is nerve-racking in the best way. The butterflies in your stomach are less a cute fluttery array and more an absolute swarm overtaking the meadow of your consciousness. Even though he picked your gingham-style pastel pink dress, you still have to arrange a pristine makeup look and accessories. You land on fairly simple makeup by your standards – sheer foundation, a delicate lip tint a few shades pinker than your natural lips, soft dewy blush, generous tinted highlighter that brings out your undertones, light glittery shadow packed at your eyes’ inner corners to brighten every smile – wanting to let your features shine without having to excuse yourself to reapply gloss every other bite.

Once you’ve got your makeup set, you style your hair just-a-bit-but-not-too-much fancier than you usually would for ballet class and add a few accessories. A layered pearl necklace that should draw his eye to your chest, matching earrings, and, ugh, shoes. You have no idea which shoes are right.

Feeling perhaps a little mischievous, you decide to ask for Brendon’s input by sending him a couple of pictures. It’s by pure coincidence that you’re still getting ready, wearing only cheeky underwear and a cropped old tee. And it’s simply practical to take the photo over your shoulder in your floor-length mirror so he can get a good view of your ass the heels.

you: which shoes do you like better? brendon (hot gym guy): Fuck. brendon (hot gym guy): Processing. Recalibrating. Remembering language. you: sorry bren i didn’t mean to distract you 😇  brendon (hot gym guy): Like hell you didn’t. brendon (hot gym guy): The ones with the bow. you: you really do like my girly stuff huh? brendon (hot gym guy): Guilty. I like the contrast. you: because you’re such a big mean masculine beefcake? brendon (hot gym guy): 🙄 brendong (hot gym guy): Something like that. you: omg did you just use an emoji you: im already making progress on you brendon (hot gym guy): You’re lucky this is a first date or you’d be getting bent over my knee tonight. you: don’t threaten me with a good time 😘🍑 brendon (hot gym guy): Is the peach supposed to be your ass? you: oh my god. yes grandpa you: you’re so lucky you have me brendon (hot gym guy): I am, actually. brendon (hot gym guy): See you soon, gorgeous.

Brendon picks you up in that ridiculous, gorgeous Corvette exactly when he told you to expect, ringing your doorbell at 5:58. He’s in a suit. Navy blazer and slacks perfectly tailored to his every muscle, no tie to leave the top few buttons of his shirt undone, soft pink check pocket square – to match your dress, you realize dreamily as he extends a hand to guide you out of the doorway. Having only seen him in scrubs and gym clothes, you’re pretty damn impressed.

Right there on your building’s front stoop, he grabs you by the hips and stares you down like he’s already canceled your reservation so he can eat you for dinner instead. He spins you around slowly, devouring every slope of your body hugged by the sweet feminine dress. His hands are on your stomach, your lower back, your hips, as he turns you like you’re a piece of furniture he might buy.

Under his breath, a secret just for you, Brendon murmurs, “You’re beautiful.”

Not ‘you look beautiful.’ No, you are beautiful.

“Thank you.” Toying with his shirt collar, you reply, “You’re not so bad yourself, stud. Can’t believe you clean up so nice.”

He chuckles and shakes his head and threads his fingers with yours. It occurs to you that he might be a little bit nervous; you know he hasn’t been with anyone in a while, so maybe he’s as stupidly giddy as you are, just in that strong, stoic way of his. The two of you are awkward in a sweet first date way on the drive to the restaurant, accidentally interrupting each other and laughing and making too much eye contact. His hand is on your thigh, almost jittery, thumb absently rubbing the fabric like a grounding device.

By the time you arrive at the swanky place in a low-lit brick building, though, Brendon seems to have shaken out his nerves while yours are still a live wire. He’s in his element with eyes on him, hand on your lower back, giving a charming smile to the manager who leads you to a cozy, more private table by the open screen windows that join the patio to the restaurant, a gentle warm breeze uniting the spaces.

Brendon pulls your chair out, his fingers skating between your shoulder blades as you sit down, making you shiver despite the perfect temperature in the restaurant.

Once Brendon’s seated across from you, the manager says, “It’s good to see you again, Dr. Park; I’ll be taking care of you personally tonight.”

Just as he’s about to hand you both menus, Brendon stops him. “I already know what we’ll be having, thank you.”

“Perfect; go right ahead.”

“We’ll start with the heron point crab toast paired with that pinot grigio from Medici. The 2012, if you have it, if not the ‘22.  Add the ossetra, too. Then I’ll do the roasted garlic rack of lamb and she-” he eyes you carefully, savoring the awestruck look on your face “-will have the ahi tuna with the spring onion dashi. And we’ll finish with the pistachio Basque cheesecake.”

The waiter finishes scribbling in his pad and confirms, “Excellent choices, Dr. Park. I’ll be right out with your wine and appetizer.”

The moment you’re alone again, you click your tongue while Brendon looks at you expectantly, his eyes giving you a shit-eating grin even as his lips stay flat. You observe, “You just ordered for me.”

He tilts his head ever so slightly. “Is that a problem?”

After a beat, cheeks burning from the truth, you let yourself admit, “It was really hot, actually. Nobody’s ever done that to me. I always thought it was kinda chauvinistic, but you made it…simple, I guess. Like you’ll do the thinking for me.”

“That’s the idea. It’s a high-risk move,” he replies, all amused and satisfied with himself, “but it was worth it to see you make that face.”

“What face?”

“Your eyes wide and your lips parted,” he muses, running a finger along the condensation on his water glass. Your eyes lock to the easy, tiny gesture. Then he reaches across the table and touches your chin, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, forcing your gaze upward to meet his as he purrs, “Like you’re about to drop to your knees and sit pretty for me.”

You blink maybe a thousand times as your brain stutters over his words. When did his voice get so sexy? He touches the pad of his thumb to your lower lip, watching with a sadistic kind of glee as you gasp in softly. You both realize at the same moment that you’d suck on his fingers right then and there if he asked you to.

Which means he doesn’t. He’d never abuse the trust you’re already starting to give him in small pieces. Brushing your cheek a moment, just letting himself indulge in the softness of your cheek’s delicate peach fuzz, Brendon pulls back with eyes so warm you’re melting beneath them.

Your appetizer arrives and Brendon takes care to prepare a perfect half for you, spreading the warm crab salad over crisp buttery sourdough and adding dollops of caviar. When you take your first bite, it’s borderline orgasmic. You have to fight to suppress a moan as your eyes roll back, the mix of mild, almost sweet crab alongside something nutty and savory in its sauce, and the salty tang of caviar working together in a harmonious symphony. Brendon sucks in a deep breath as he watches your tongue dart out to chase a bead of sauce at the corner of your mouth. When he doesn’t drop his eyes after your second bite, you tease him, “You’re staring at me.”

Unbothered, Brendon shrugs. He never loses that familiar almost-cocky smirk as he replies, “I am. I like staring at you.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“You’re beautiful and you’re on a date with me. Do I need a better reason?”

“I guess I’ll allow it. You should know, though, that I don’t play on the first date,” you tell him, “so if you’re going out with me to tie someone up and get off for the night, you should leave before the expensive entrees get here.”

“In that case, you’re perfectly safe to stay with me through dessert,” he chuckles fondly, reaching across the table to take your free hand in his. He lowers his voice and meets your eyes sincerely. “I’m not just looking for some plaything. I date to keep. And what I keep, I take care of. That’s why it’s taken me so long to go out with you; I wanted to wait until I was certain.”

You flutter your lashes and tease, “So you must really, really like me.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Good. Now that we’ve had a little wine, shall we get down to business?”

He straightens up and grins at just how serious you look while still being so damn cutesy. “Absolutely.”

You reach into your bag and remove a glitter pen and the little pastel purple Moleskine notebook you always carry around. First, you tear out a page and hand it over to him. “That’s a list of my limits. You can look over that on your own time and text me any questions.”

Brendon glances over it, folds and tucks it into his blazer’s interior pocket, and laughs, “Christ, I’ve finally met my Type A match. You just have to keep being perfect, don’t you?”

“Yep,” you answer with a sweet giggle. Pen poised, you prompt him, “I wanna know what you expect from a sub. I know you’re looking for something serious, something that’s not just in the bedroom, so I want all the dirty details.”

Brendon leans back a bit and considers it. Really considers it, as if he hadn’t been rehearsing how to explain himself the whole time he got ready to see you. “I want obedience, first and foremost. Make my life better, not worse. Don’t be another problem for me; I already have too many. I don’t tolerate brattiness. I want my girl to sit pretty and obey and be good.”

Writing some half-sensical notes just to make him sweat, you ask, “And what do I get out of it?”

That one comes easy to him. As your entrees arrive, he thanks the waiter earnestly (hot) and then turns back to you with warmth and honesty all over his expression. “Everything you need and anything you want.”

You slice into your mouthwatering dinner and push, “Details, Brendon.”

“I don’t like to worry about what’s mine,” he explains. The way he cuts his food and eats is pornographic. Is there a sub-genre of porn that’s just well-dressed, attractive men having dinner while communicating about needs and boundaries? You might have to create one. Bringing your attention back to his words, Brendon goes on, “Once you’re certain about me, I’ll ask you to put your rent and all your bills on my accounts. That way you can save your money. Hopefully it goes without saying, but I’d add you to the accounts so it still builds your credit and you maintain financial freedom. I don’t want to trap you; I want you to choose to give yourself over to me completely.”

He expects you to push back, to challenge, to not understand. But you just hum and nod and write it down in your notebook with that damn pink glitter pen with its feathery end. Fuck, he wants to shove his cock down your throat right then and there.

Brendon rolls his shoulders and goes on, “I’ll always make sure you’re taken care of in every way. You’ll be safe and secure, pampered and protected. Your own car, a new place in a better building, designer shopping sprees, meal services or private chefs or- Anything, truly. I have too many resources for one man and they’ll all be yours. What I want in return is eager, complete submission. I want to be a guide, a protector, a leader. The person you look to when you need help or safety or, y’know, orgasm after orgasm after orgasm,” he finishes, lightening his tone as he gets a bit insecure listening to himself and how intense he knows he sounds. So he turns inward, to his own worry that he’s going to blow this, and presses, “Your turn, then. What do you need in a dynamic?”

Breathless and lightheaded because it’s like he’s reading your mind, you take a long pause and whisper, “You, I think.”

He glances down at the table to hide the silly smile that parts his lips, innocent and boyish relative to what you’re discussing. You feel his foot lock with yours beneath the table, a silent reassurance. Then he lifts his gaze and needles, “Details, pretty girl. Details.”

After a few more bites that Brendon intently watches you take, you sip your water and tell him, almost coy about it, “I need a dom who doesn’t just make me feel safe but is safe. I never want to doubt them for a second – and if I do, I want them to be self-aware enough to analyze their behavior and apologize and adjust. All I want is to trust someone enough that I can turn my brain off and not worry about all the stupid things that distract me from being happy and carefree. That means they have to respect me as an equal, too, because my limits and boundaries are sacred to me. I’m not going to let someone push them just because of a title.” Finally, you give him the sweetest flirtatious smile and cheekily add, “And, if I have the right dom, the forever one, I want a very pretty and subtle and expensive day collar.”

“I think we’re on the same page here, then.” Brendon lifts his wine glass and says, “To something new and something real.”

You roll your eyes but clink your glass with his anyway, smiling ear to ear at the idea that you might’ve found what you really want. Brendon’s thinking the same. You’re exactly what he needs: Thorough, disciplined, self-confident. Not some girl in over her head. A woman, sure and steady, who wants to fulfill her role with knowledge of what it truly means. No doubts, just enthusiasm. He won’t have to teach you or turn you the way he has with past partners who never quite clicked. You know your limits and your needs and your wants. You’re certain. That, to Brendon, is the sexiest thing a woman can be.

When he asks to kiss you at the end of the date, you say no. Instead, you press your lips to his cheek and murmur, “If I let myself kiss you now, I’m going to break my own rule about playing on a first date.”

Brendon drags his hand down your neck and then places it on your waist, pressing you against your apartment’s front door, his eyebrows pinched together with want. He presses a slow, soft kiss to your forehead and murmurs, “The second one will be very, very soon if I have anything to do with it.”

The next morning, still high on your date with Brendon, you waltz into the ballet studio – and nearly fall over when you see what’s in front of you. The whole lobby is covered in flowers, bouquets of roses and carnations in whites and pale pinks, each wrapped in sheer lace-patterned paper and secured with a baby pink chinoiserie-style ribbon. There are so many that every flat surface is full.

Georgia, the receptionist, raises her eyebrows suspiciously at you as she explains, “Someone donated a bouquet to every single one of our students for good luck at their recital this weekend.” Toying with a folded white note from the florist, sealed by another pink ribbon, she asks, “Totally unrelated, obviously, how did your date with that uber-rich surgeon go last night?”

You snatch the note from her hand and read it greedily. Thank you for a lovely evening. Be at my place at 5:30. Eat dinner and feed Duke beforehand. The concierge will let you in and give you a key to keep. Make yourself comfortable and I should be home by seven at the latest. B. As a slow grin spreads over your features, heart thundering eagerly in your chest, you tell her, “It went really well.”

She squeals with you, “I figured it was that or he’d royally screwed up and these were apology flowers. Glad it’s the former.”

“No, no, he’s…a prince, apparently.” Then you bite your lip and narrow your eyes as you look over the spectacular display. “You don’t think this is love-bomby, do you?”

“It’s intense,” she concedes, then reasons, “but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Your frontal lobe is done cooking. And you’ve gotten to know him pretty well, right? Plus, you pursued him first, didn’t you?”

“Yes and yes,” you reply, finally letting the thoughtfulness of the gesture actually take over your body, making you feel loose and sweet and floaty. “God, he’s so good, you have no idea.”

She waves her arms around dramatically. “Clearly I have some idea.”

“Yeah, fair point.” Taking the largest bouquet meant for you, already planning where it’ll go in your apartment once you’re home, you tell her, “Make sure all the parents get a bouquet, alright? I don’t want any of my kids feeling left out.”

“On it, boss.”

“You know I hate it when you call me that.”

She just shrugs, gives you a teasing smile, and, just to be annoying, salutes you before returning to her computer and ringing phone. And you laugh instead of rolling your eyes because you’re too smitten and delighted to pretend to be irritated.

you: most people would’ve texted bren: Did you want ‘most people’? you: definitely not 🥰 this is so sweet. the girls are all gonna be so excited for their first show bouquets. and carnations are my favorite!!! bren: Should I pretend I somehow figured that out in a very romantic way or should I admit it was a lucky guess? you: lucky guess is just as cute. thank you thank you thank you!! bren: I wish I could’ve seen your face when you saw them. you: ill do a really good recreation for you tonight you: I can’t wait to see you 💕💕💕 bren: Me too, beautiful. bren: And don’t bother wearing something fancy. I’m going to take your clothes off as soon as I’m inside. you: that a promise? bren: Yes. you: good. I have to go get changed and get ready for class. thank you again!! bren: Text me when you have lunch. I’ll be in surgery until about two, but I want to know you’re taking care of yourself during the day. you: yes sir bren: Careful. you: rarely 😘

Stepping into the lobby of Brendon’s swanky high-rise, you immediately feel out of place, wishing you’d worn something cute and designer instead of something comfy like Brendon suggested. But you swallow hard, square your shoulders, and approach the concierge’s desk like you belong there – because you do. To be an independent woman is to assert your worth, as your ballet instructor from your teenage years would often say.

“I’m here for Brendon Park,” you tell the woman in a severe black skirt suit behind the desk, swallowing nervously. “Um, he’s in 2600.”

“Of course,” she hums, tapping on her computer and confirming your name. She disappears into the small administrative room behind a frosted glass partition and reemerges with a keyring holding a fob, a delicate enamel ballet slipper keychain, and a pink key. “His assistant dropped these off for you. You’ll need to use the fob in the elevator to access both Dr. Park’s floor and the amenities on the roof level if you’d like to use them while you’re here.”

Turning over the keys in your hand – and processing the idea that Brendon has a personal assistant who knows about you already – you ask, “What sort of amenities are there?”

“There’s an indoor and an outdoor pool, hot tub inside, along with a bar and cafe open 24 hours a day. Full-service gym with fitness classes, wood-burning sauna, game room. You should definitely check it all out for yourself when you have some free time.”

“A full gym?” You chuckle almost to yourself, “We met because we go to the same gym.”

She nods like that makes perfect sense. “Dr. Park is a very private man; he doesn’t do much mingling with the neighbors.”

Another person approaches the desk, then, so you excuse yourself toward the elevators. Inside, you have to press the fob to a small panel, which lights up the button for his floor: 26. The ride up is so fast and high that your ears pop. You’ve always loved luxury and elegance, but it’s always been a treat. You work hard to splurge on the occasional designer piece. Brendon’s life is drowning in details that could only ever be on the periphery of yours. It’s intimidating, to say the least.

The elevator opens directly into his condo, which takes up the entire 26th floor. With the sun slowly setting, the space is genuinely breathtaking. While it’s definitely not your style – you’re soft and cozy and pastel, not black and wood and stone – you can absolutely admire the intentionality that went into the place. It’s easy to imagine Brendon with all his masculine angles and sharp barbs reclining in the oversized suede couch as he reads or leaning against the expansive kitchen island while he sips coffee. You’d bet good money he hired a designer. It’s all sleek and modern, floor-to-ceiling windows ringing the open-concept living space.

You slowly spin around and let out a low whistle. “Jesus fucking Christ, Bren.”

Making your way tentatively into the condo, you realize that lights slowly come on as you move through, following your steps. You manage to resist the urge to snoop more than feels appropriate for being here alone, noticing the details that he chooses to display. Everything is unique and tasteful, hand-crafted, no Ikea crap or mass-produced decor. There’s even a black and white work by Robert Motherwell that you realize with something that blends both horror and glee is an original.

Yeah, you definitely can’t process that kind of money right now.

Deep breaths.

In the kitchen, there’s a curated care package at the center of the island in the form of a large bag from Saks Fifth Avenue. Your throat goes dry when you see your name on a small envelope pinned to it. Inside, there’s a handwritten note. Seriously, make yourself comfortable. I mean it. I’ll be there soon.

Hardly able to breathe, you unpack the bag to find a flat box from Kiki de Montparnasse and a shoebox from Balenciaga alongside a few smaller goodies. Opening the flat box first, you unfold a stunning baby blue silk robe with lace details that would hit on your upper thigh, ultra soft and fluttery. The fabric is as smooth and rich as butter. In the shoe box, you’re greeted with cloud-fluffy slippers in the same color.

Once again, you mutter to yourself, “Jesus fucking Christ.”

The last few things in the bag are clearly a suggestion for how to spend the hour or so before Brendon arrives home: Bergamot bubble bath, L’Occitane almond lotion, and a couple other self-care offerings. You take your haul through the apartment toward what you assume is the primary suite, given the imposing double doors. It’s marginally softer in there, at least. Just as militantly neat and tidy, but there are books laden with tabs sticking out, an oversized plush chair with a permanent Brendon-sized indent, and other signs of life that make it different from a showroom.

In the en suite bathroom, across from a massive walk-in closet (half-full, yearning to be filled with pink designer clothes, you think), there’s a huge tub with a telephone-style faucet built into the floor, literally the size of a jacuzzi. He’s even left a handwritten note explaining how to use the jets on the wall-mounted control panel.

Comfortable, indeed.

One more time: “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You take one of those baths so delicious that you feel like a different person afterwards, losing track of time and space and being until you’re in a happy dreamy fog. Once you’ve dried off and slipped back into your bra and panties, you wrap yourself in the slinky robe, not tying it, and walk into Brendon’s adjacent bedroom. Perched on the end of his bed, you work the divine lotion into your feet and legs until you’re so relaxed you debate flopping down onto the California king and calling it a night.

While you’re tending to your skin, you hear the elevator ding, followed by Brendon’s long, deep sigh as his day starts to simmer off. Then you listen with growing anticipation as his footsteps trail through the kitchen, stopping briefly to notice your presence, and then speed up to the bedroom door. Excited, you realize. You sit up straight on the bed, legs slightly parted, the robe framing out your darling matching bra and panties set, nothing crazy but enough to make you feel sexy.

When Brendon pushes open the bedroom door, his heart nearly stops. His heavy hospital bag falls from his hand and thuds to the floor. Running a hand through his hair, he groans with outright relief, “Yeah, I could definitely get used to coming home to this.” He stalks across the room until he’s right in front of you. But he doesn’t touch you. Not yet. The smell of harsh hospital overtakes the room. While he’s objectively sexy in his scrubs, you can tell he’s beyond ready to get them off. He confirms it by cupping your cheek and telling you, “I’m going to go take the fastest shower in human history and be right back for you, okay? Don’t miss me.”

“Too late.”

Brendon sighs, completely overloaded with desire. Only the sight of your nose wrinkling ever so slightly when the surgical scent hits you convinces him to hold his willpower and clean himself off before he eats you alive. He makes good on his word, at least. In the space of seven minutes, he showers, shaves his face, and does his skincare routine.

And the first words out of his mouth when he emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped low around his waist are, “Give me your panties, baby.” When you don’t immediately move, he snaps his fingers and extends his arm. “You don’t wear any when you’re at my place; I need to be able to have you when I want you.”

Your eyes widen at the total authority in his voice.

You’re in the shark’s den now.

Standing up right away as your brain recalibrates, you step out of your underwear and place them into his outstretched hand, beyond embarrassed at how hot it is that he’s so immediately his dominant self. There’s no small talk, no mask. Just you and Brendon. He lifts your panties to his face, inhales deeply through his nose, eyes rolling back, and then tosses them into his nearby hamper. 

“Much better,” he tuts once he can see your neatly trimmed, inviting bush. He closes the space between you and skims the silky robe off your shoulders. It falls to the floor, a total afterthought. When he realizes that you’ve chosen a front-clasp bra, his eyes burn with lust. He doesn’t waste time teasing; you’re naked in the next breath. As your chest rises and falls quickly, Brendon takes a step back and rakes his eyes all over you, quietly admiring, “Fucking perfect. Every inch of you.”

Eyes trained on your pedicure, you quietly reply, “Thank you.”

Brendon’s having none of it. He takes your jaw in one hand and pushes your face upward, his expression dark and amused. “So coy all of a sudden. Just have to get you naked and all your attitude goes away?”

You give a tiny nod. “Pretty much.”

“Mmm. That works for me.” For a moment, Brendon steps away from you, disappearing into the closet. He returns in a pair of gray sweats presumably designed to send you into cardiac arrest; even soft, even after a shower, you can tell his dick is something to write home about. You stay quiet, but the change in your breathing is obvious and amusing to him. He drags his first two fingers down the center column of your throat, over your sternum between your breasts, and then along your stomach before he settles both hands on your waist. “Tell me your safe words and gestures.”

“Stoplight system for basics,” you answer easily, “and if I can’t talk, I’ll snap once to slow down and twice to stop.”

“That’s right,” he praises with a wolfish smile – a phrase you didn’t fully understand until now. Predatory but confident. Knowing he has the kill in sight. “How are you feeling? Comfortable?”

You almost laugh because, god, can he not read your mind and see that you’re soaked? It certainly feels like he can read your mind with how much he turns you on. “Neon fucking green.”

And he slaps you. It’s light, you can tell, meant to test and not to punish. Not really. But it still makes you gasp as your cheek stings ever so slightly. “Good girls don’t swear. It’s an ugly habit and you’re too pretty to do it.”

Memorizing the new rule immediately, you reply, “Thank you for telling me. I won’t do it again. Promise.”

He kisses your forehead tenderly and praises, “So obedient already. You’re going to make such a good pet, aren’t you?”

You nod eagerly, shifting your weight gently from side to side as you await more attention, more sensation, more. “I’ll always do my best for you.”

“That’s all I can ask.”

And, finally, he kisses you. He’s so soft at first, cradling your cheeks in his hands, letting you learn the way his mouth feels against yours. The moment he hears your breath catch, he deepens it, pressing his hand to your lower back to draw you tight against his body. He touches you without any rush. Every curve of your back and plane of your arms bristle beneath his adoring fingertips until you’ve forgotten how to kiss at all. So you just follow his lead. His tongue claiming yours. His teeth on your lower lip. His breathy, low groan infecting your synapses. You let out a genuinely embarrassingly loud moan when he grips at the nape of your neck, where your scruff would be if you were a kitten, the tiny grab so dominant it weakens your knees.

When he breaks the kiss, Brendon chuckles to himself at your responsiveness and curses under his breath. Despite your opinion, he must not fancy himself pretty enough to keep his vocabulary clean. While you reel from how tingly and perfect your lips still feel, he goes to his hospital bag, rummages around a moment, and removes a pair of black nitrile gloves. He snaps each of them on with tactile precision. At your curious eyes, he smirks and explains, “If I’m going to inspect my new toy, I’m going to do it right.”

You whimper.

He laughs.

Again.

Bastard.

“Lie back on the bed, against the pillows, over toward one side. Arms above your head.”

You maneuver yourself into position, making sure you’re actually comfortable so that you can be fully present with him. Then he manhandles you to be exactly how he wants, arms straighter, wrists crossed over each other, knees bent upward. Your skin burns under his complete, total focus. He lifts his hands as if to touch you but then seems to think better of it. After a moment of thought, he tells you, “This is our first time together, so I promise I won’t do anything that at all pushes your limits or we haven’t talked about you wanting already. I just wanna build trust with you and make you feel good tonight. Same page?”

Breathless and exposed, you agree, “Absolutely.”

So he gets to work.

First, Brendon touches you everywhere – except where you want. It’s not so much sensual as it is clinical, which makes it a thousand times more intimate. Especially with the gloves creating an infuriating, erotic barrier between your bare skin and his, you feel like one of his patients. One of his absolutely drenched, fast-breathing, hot-cheeked patients, yes, but still. He holds your arm in one hand as the other draws along your goosebumps. He kisses each of your fingers, each knuckle, even, and then your palms and wrists for good measure. His tongue plays across your chest, along your collarbone, and he presses a kiss over your pulse.

Then he buries his nose in your armpit and breathes deeply. You squeal out a surprised laugh and squirm a bit, but he’s unfazed by it. He holds you down easily – your wriggling only makes him fantasize about restraining you – and observes, “You don’t shave.”

“I have sensitive skin and I don’t perform anymore,” you reply. “You never noticed?”

He shakes his head. “Too busy staring at your gorgeous tits and ass to think about your armpits.”

As he resumes touching you, now running up and down your waist, you ask, “Is that a problem?”

It’s his turn to laugh. Almost a bark, surprised and bright. “Sweetheart, there is absolutely nothing on your entire body I would categorize as a problem.” He takes your breasts in each of his hands, expression dreamy and warm, and opines, “I wouldn’t be much of a man if I couldn’t handle a grown woman having hair wherever it naturally exists.”

Before your quickly melting brain has to come up with something clever, Brendon slaps one of your tits, testing, and tilts his head to one side when you barely react. So he gives you another, this one much harder, and gets the reward of a sharp gasp and an arched back. When he gets the same on the other side, he murmurs, “There we go. Just gotta learn how much you like to take.” Another set of slaps to each side. Much, much harder. You realize with a zing of delectable fear that he’s nowhere near his full strength even as tears well in your eyes and you let out a completely involuntary shriek. “And how much you’re capable of taking. That’s a good girl.”

After a deep breath, you manage to tell him, “Thank you.”

And you earn a slap across your face. You suck in a breath as he presses seriously, “Thank you what?”

Your eyes glow with fuzzy delight; it’s been way too long since you let someone have you like this. Like you crave down to your core. “Thank you, sir.”

“That’s right. Perfect.” Brendon cups your tits, then, and rubs his thumbs over your nipples in careful circles as he checks, “How about here, though?” He massages gently, all the while studying every single twitch of your face as you dip deeper toward that submissive headspace he yearns to get you to. “More than that, right?” The pressure increases until your toes curl into the sheets. He keeps it there for a minute, precise, controlled, twisting back and forth, pinching side to side. When your brows are pushed together hard, every wrinkle in your forehead tight from pleasure and want, he purrs to himself, “Yeah, that’s about it, I think. That’s your favorite. But I bet you’ll take more if I want you to.”

He lowers his head, holds you down at your hip, and bites on your breast. You cry out as his teeth bully your nipple. On the other side, the tips of his forefinger and thumb come together to match the mean, sharp sensation. Electricity sings from your tits to your core, sparking life between your legs, making your stomach contract, turning your thighs tense.

Right before you know he’ll draw blood if he continues, you break and gasp, “Yellow.”

And he eases up. Immediately. Licks your nipples so fucking gently. Kisses them with a prayerful reverence. He raises his mouth to yours and kisses you. Soft. Sure. You whimper into him and he places small kisses all over your face. Then he breathes cool air onto your swollen nipples to soothe them and affirms, “Good job, kitten. I always want you to use your safe words when you need them. That’s the only way I can make sure I have you right where you really, really love. Do you need a break?”

“No, I’m good,” you assure him. “So, so good. All I need is more.”

Brendon nods and kisses you again. He starts at your lips but gradually drags his mouth away from yours and further down. His tongue lathes along your jaw and throat, chasing a bead of sweat down your sternum. He nibbles along your sides and stomach. Some of the gentle bites turn into mouthfuls, teeth digging in, earning his workplace moniker. But you never call yellow through it and, frankly, he’s fucking impressed by the time he’s ready to spread your legs. He’s left all kinds of nasty bites and bruises over your torso and you’ve moaned through each one, begging for more, an altar for him to feast upon.

Finally joining you on the bed, Brendon pushes your knees apart. A sharp breath parts his lips and you have to avert your eyes because you know exactly what he’s reacting to. You can feel the mess between your thighs like honey, a tangible reveal of precisely how much he’s affecting you no matter how bashful you might act.

“You’re gorgeous, baby.” He bends down and kisses each of your thighs, lazy and open-mouthed, before murmuring, “Just need a little taste of you or I won’t be able to focus the rest of the night.”

Your legs are twitching with anticipation as he nestles between them, bringing your knees over his strong shoulders, and wraps his arms around your hips. He’s got you completely pinned and spread with his broad body. You couldn’t move if you wanted to – and you definitely don’t. He laps up your wine and gets drunk with just one sip. It’s not for your pleasure, really, the way he’s purely and simply tasting you. The fact that he has you trembling and whining is secondary to the way your tangy pussy coats his tongue.

Brendon’s fingers dig into your hips as he pulls away from your cunt. He looks almost on the verge of grief as he resists the part of his mind that just wants to eat you out for the next hour. He laments, “How am I supposed to function knowing this pussy’s all mine? How am I ever gonna get any work done again?”

You cover your eyes and giggle, “I dunno.”

“I’ve already got you stupid,” he chuckles as he straightens up again, sitting between your legs instead of lying. Rubbing your thighs with his thumbs, he sighs happily, “You’re so easy.”

“Just for you.”

“That so?”

“Mhmm.” You grind down toward him, craving anything he’ll give, and admit with a pathetic whimper, “Want you so bad. Wanna be good for you. Be your girl.”

He moves and kisses just beneath your ear, at the hollow of your jaw, and promises, “You’re being so good. I’m gonna see how much this pretty pussy can take now, okay? You just breathe and let me know if it’s too much. Sound good?”

You wiggle playfully and beam, “Sounds so good, sir.”

“God, you’re cute,” he muses as he opens up his bedside table and removes one of several different bottles of lube. “I’m gonna start with two of my fingers and then give you more when I can tell you’re ready. Trust me.”

“I do.”

“Good.” With a kiss to your cheek, he teases, “Usually I’d tie you up for this so you wouldn’t squirm and annoy me, but I’m being gentle tonight.”

Your head spins with how much you want him to tie you up. Still, Brendon’s two gloved fingers are bliss. You’re so slick and aroused that they slide in easily, no resistance at all, and he lets out a shaky groan at the same time as you do. He thrusts them in and out patiently, letting you get acquainted with the way he touches you, and brings his other hand to rest above your clit, thumb just hovering, waiting for the right moment to join. His palm adds pressure to the part of you he’s curling back against, where you feel so full already you can hardly imagine how much more he’s going to give you.

Your body’s overcome with pleasure when he does touch your clit, having already endured so much touch with so little relief. The brilliant agony of thorough foreplay. When he feels you beginning to clench up, your pussy not just adjusted to him but really into it now, he drives in his third finger. That stretch is easily as much as being fucked. Your toes curl into his back and you instinctively grab his forearm – not to push him away or pull him in but just to- to- to have something in your hands. Something to keep you rooted as desire starts to make your body smolder and wind up.

Stupid little sounds escape your lips as he massages right against the perfect spot inside of you. Your eyelids are heavy. Your abs twitch and flutter. Your thighs begin to tremble. And, suddenly, almost out of nowhere, the words are tumbling off your bitten lips before Brendon can even instruct you to say them, “Can I cum, sir? I’m really close but I- I can try to-”

“Already asking for my permission. Good fucking girl. So good, baby.” He slows his fingers to work the orgasm out methodically. You tighten around him, slow and constant, until he orders plainly, sternly, like it’s the only thing tethering him to the planet, “Cum for me. Show me how good it feels.”

Your cunt grabs him hard at the peak of pleasure. You turn from sparks to bonfire in a split second, heat crackling through you. The pressure is enormous, his palm pushing down against you and his thumb insistent on your bud and his fingers unrelenting. While you’re still pulsing and moaning and tensing, Brendon begins to flatten out his fingers instead of holding them together in your stretched cunt. He’s spreading you as wide as you’ve ever been and you whine out, “Bren, it’s so- so much.”

“Don’t complain,” he grunts back. Simple. He’s completely stern, ready to punish. “You can take more; I can tell. She’s nice and wet and relaxed; you’re just in your head.”

Tears prickle at your eyes as you admit, “I don’t- I don’t know if I can. So much.”

He slows down and lifts his thumb from your clit. He reaches up and touches your chin so you’ll look at him. “Do you need to use your safewords, kitten? Being honest is being good.”

You take a second to think, to breathe, and tell him, “I don’t think so.”

“And does it still feel good?”

You whimper pathetically and nod through the tears.

“Then shut the fuck up and take it like a big girl.” He pulls his hand back from your face, takes the lube, and dribbles a few cold droplets onto your hot pussy. You whine at the contrast and he instructs, “Now say sorry for questioning me.”

You sniffle back the tears and blink them away and promise, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“That’s better.” He can’t believe how pretty you are with those wet lashes and tear streaks down your cheeks. He’s never seen something more beautiful and it makes him soften. As he once again flattens his fingers, stretching and scissoring them while toying with your clit, he lowers his voice to a possessive purr and praises, “You’re almost there, kitten, I know you can do it. You’ve already got all four fingers. Just a little more and you’ll have everything I can give you.”

Your eyes find his. You give a wobbly smile when you see how dark his baby blues have gone, almost no color left. He really loves seeing you like this, completely vulnerable and at his mercy. “You really think I can do it?”

“I do,” he confirms with a tender and warm voice. Seeing your need for his words, his affirmations, plain as day, he goes on, “You’re such a good girl. Being so brave. So fucking pretty, too, taking me like this. I know you can do it.”

You sniffle again and nod and, more determined, reply, “Keep going. I’m ready.”

“Poor little thing just needs some more encouragement,” he sighs lovingly. Nudging the very tip of his thumb into your cunt, he urges, “Show me how much you can take. Show me what a good girl you can be. I’m so fucking proud of you, baby, you’re doing it. Gonna take all of me. Nobody’s ever done that before, you know?”

Brendon feels your pussy spasm around his hand at the praise. You sound so damn adorably proud of yourself as you check, “Really? You mean that?”

“Really, princess,” he swears. You imagine him sounding like this in the OR, completely certain, guiding, a teacher who knows everything, including his student’s potential. While he slowly, slowly works his thumb upward with the rest of his fingers, he goes on, “You’re my best girl. So obedient. Listening to me and listening to your body. I can’t believe I’m getting to do this; you’re perfect. You’re gorgeous. I’m gonna make you cum so hard so soon, baby, I promise. It’s gonna be the best thing you’ve ever felt when I finally get you there.”

When you take the first knuckle of his thumb, you let out the dumbest sound he’s ever heard, a crooked high-pitched moan that makes his cock twitch. Brendon ruts against the bed a bit to chase any modicum of relief, sure he’s going to ruin these sweatpants if you keep sounding like that. You don’t stop, every single breath and moan so broken and divine he can hardly stand it.

“There it is,” he croons, clearly proud of himself and you, as your cunt finally lets in the bottom knuckle of his thumb, the widest part of his hand inside of you. “How’s that feeling, baby?”

“So much,” you whimper. Your chin wobbles and your breaths are ragged and your neurons are bright and alive. Struggling to even speak with how good and how much and how perfect it all is, you cry out, “Feel so full.”

“That’s right. You’re fucking stuffed. So goddamn pretty. Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.” He snatches his phone and takes a picture of his four fingers spread in your wide cunt, your juices and the lube making the whole black glove shiny in the bedroom’s low light. Tossing it aside again, he turns all his attention back to you and instructs, “Now, I’m gonna make you cum again, and you’re gonna squirt all over my bed while you do. Got it?”

“I- I’ll try.”

“No.” His voice is lethal. No room for questions. “You’re going to do it. I don’t care how long it takes. You’re not leaving this spot until you cum.” His hand starts to move again, twisting and thrusting, keeping your muscles so taut that it’s like a real workout. Your forehead is dewy with sweat as he goes on, “I can tell it’s gonna be a big one, too, baby. So overstimulated, so aching, so swollen, so much, right? All that pressure building up, needing somewhere to go.”

He presses down on your bladder as his thumb strums your clit and you genuinely, earnestly weep, “Brendon, oh my god, fuck!”

That earns you a cruel slap straight to your already throbbing clit. Pain and pleasure rocket through you in equal parts. A sob rips out of you and you’re trying to squirm away from the intensity, not even intentionally because it does feel so good, but your body just instinctively fights for control while Brendon’s trying to force it to let go.

“No, no, no,” Brendon admonishes like you’re a disobedient dog. His thumb is on your clit, hard, unforgiving, unrelenting. He shoves forward, his muscular torso looking massive, pressing you back against the bed frame. With you on the brink of supernova, he commands like a sergeant, “don’t you dare hold back with me, you useless fucking slut. Never, ever hold back from your dom. Don’t resist it or I’ll make it so much harder for you.”

You’re half-thrashing back and forth, feeling your brain fighting to stop your cunt from simmering and boiling and steaming into pleasure. It’s all so pent up and tight, begging for something to rend it apart and let in some relief. You’re using muscles you’ve never even felt before as Brendon recklessly defuses the bomb of your body. There’s always going to be a version of you that exists before this moment and a version that exists after. It’s the moment when Brendon Park makes you his. When you give over completely, unafraid and unabashed, to his control.

His voice.

The universe narrows into the pinprick of his voice.

“Cum. Now. That’s an order.”

You snap. You’re a live electrical wire in a thunderstorm, struck by lightning, breaking into splinters and whipping out with pure force. You don’t even realize that you’re grabbing his forearm, his shoulders, his hair, literally anything you can, clawing with full force as all your muscles turn from steel to smoke in a matter of seconds. You're barely aware of the uncontrollable gush from your cunt. There’s nothing to see or hear or taste or smell. There’s only him.

When you start to resurface somewhere close to personhood, it’s only because Brendon’s withdrawing his fingers, leaving you gasping and gaping as the muscles that make up your cunt knit back together from being pushed to their limit.

Then his tongue is on your slit, not touching your clit so that you can begin to relax. You’re on fire to the point that his mouth feels cold against your flesh. Satisfied that he's lapped up as much of your release as possible, Brendon mouths at your thighs, nuzzles at your hips, kisses your stomach.

Kicking out of his sweats, Brendon slots himself between your legs. His agonizingly hard cock rests heavy against your lower belly as he strokes your cheek. Your eyes drift lazily up to his. His thumb crosses briefly over your lips and you catch it and suck. His cock throbs as your blissed-out lids close and you swirl your tongue around his skin. Choking on his own words a second because of how damn pretty you are, he murmurs, “You still with me, baby? I know that was a lot.”

With totally empty eyes – empty like a clear blue sky, empty like a blank page full of potential, empty like your mouth when you’ve finished tasting a perfect bite – you lilt, “Feel so good. Just want you, daddy.”

Brendon softens despite himself. It’s not his usual moniker – he’s always seen himself as hard and stern, not soft and guiding, sir and master – but it slips so easily from your lips that it suddenly suits him. He bends forward and kisses you, pressing his forehead to yours as he makes sure, “Color?”

“Green as spring,” you reply sweetly, kissing the pink apple of his cheek. You bury your forehead in the crook of his neck and ask him sheepishly, “Can I have your cock now?”

“Don’t hide from me, princess,” he says, voice low and tender as he turns you to face him again. “Are you just saying that to make me happy or do you really want it? Because it’s okay if you’re done.”

“I know it is,” you reply. Your voice has never sounded so effortless and breathy with him; it’s like he’s seeing the real you for the first time. The self that nobody else gets. You twine your fingers in his damp hair, wrapping a curl around your pointer finger, and tell him softly, truthfully, “I wanna make you feel as good as I feel right now. Show me how you like it. Take me however you need.” You meet his eyes and hope he can see the want in yours. “Please, daddy. Let me be your good girl a little longer.”

“You’re my good girl no matter what,” he murmurs against your ear, “but I’ve been dreaming about that perfect pussy for weeks, so who am I to deny her if that’s what she really wants?”

“All I want,” you reply, eyes shiny with lingering tears that threaten again. Wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, you beg, “Give me your cock, Bren. Need it so bad.”

Brendon’s fully aware that he’s not going to give his best performance the moment he feels how slippery and swollen your entrance is on his tip. If he’s not careful, he’ll cum before he’s even all the way inside of you. Especially with you constantly keening beneath him, acting like every nerve ending is raw, each inch of his cock met with a shudder or a sob. Brendon hangs his head and tries to take a deep breath as he bottoms out inside of you. He grips the headboard like it owes him money as a full-body shiver runs down his spine. “Fuck, baby. Shit. Oh my god.”

Feeling full and floaty, you hum something vaguely like a question.

He bends down and clutches you close, hand on the back of your head, holding your bodies flush against each other. Shaky and rough, he tells you, “Not gonna last, angel, been waiting too long for this.”

“So don’t last,” you reply simply, “just be with me. Just use my pussy to feel good and later you can use it again or take my mouth or whatever the fuck you-”

His hand crashes across your face. The pain feels so good you want more of it. Dropping his hand to your throat, he chastises, “Just because your pussy feels incredible doesn’t mean you can get away with that.”

You totally unapologetically say, “Sorry, daddy.”

Hunger flickers in his eyes. He flexes the hand that had been resting casually on your neck, fingers pressing into your pulse. “Remember what I said about brattiness?”

You shake your head with a smirk on your lips. “Uh-uh.”

“I don’t tolerate it,” he warns. He gives you a sharp thrust that reminds you just how overwhelmed your whole body is and you realize you’re in for it now. He’s got something to think about besides how perfect your cunt is, which means he can drag this out. As he starts to fuck you slowly, he gives you one chance: “You wanna apologize for real now, princess? Or am I gonna have to choke it out of you?”

Biting your lip, mischief takes over your expression and you shake your head again.

His grip tightens around your throat, stealing your ability to breathe. With how amped you’ve been since he started playing with you, it doesn’t take long for your vision to swim and your head to spin. The lack of oxygen goes right to your pleasure centers as your brain pumps in happy chemicals to combat it. Brendon’s cock speeds up, punching through you in a way that would steal your breath if he’d let you have it in the first place. You’re a match burning down toward darkness.

He lets up for a split second, just enough to let you gasp in a breath, and then starts back up again. His other hand goes down to your clit, which cries out for mercy. The ecstasy claiming your entire body won’t let up and it’s become borderline excruciating. Not painful so much as overwhelming and overpowering. Watching your eyes roll back as your back starts to arch and your thighs tremble, Brendon growls, “Ready to sorry yet?”

Still, you shake your head. This game is too fun for you.

But Brendon has the upper hand. He works your clit hard and fast, about to give you one of those brutally not-enough orgasms, edging you all the way to the top of it. Then he releases your neck, lets you breathe, and pinches your clit to kill all the pleasure at once.

He fucks you like he’d fuck a doll, chasing his own high, treating you like a piece of meat, holding your consciousness in the palm of his hand. And you realize you’ve never felt safer with a partner. Because Brendon is studying you every second that he’s choking you. His medical knowledge and his respect for you and his true care all mean he can bring you to the brink of losing vision without you feeling an ounce of true fear. He trusts that you’ll snap to stop him if you need to and you trust that he’ll listen if you do. Which means you don’t have to. You’ve never had such an intense dump of emotion during sex.

So you start to cry. Really cry. The tears break and you try to sob but it comes out choked since he won’t let you get any air in. Your cunt starts to tighten up and he grins at the feeling, knowing it’ll be impossible for you until he lets you breathe.

Holding you tight, he stares you down with sadistic glee in his blown-black eyes. “You can cum if you say you’re sorry. You understand?”

You nod hard as spots dance in your vision.

“If the very first words out of  your mouth are anything but ‘I’m sorry,’ it’s going to get so much worse. Got it?”

You nod again, clawing at his hand and forearm now. Your stomach is turning as your organs spasm with desperation for air.

Brendon circles your clit harder, slower, yanking you up to the plateau of the orgasm he has complete and total control over. “I’m gonna let go now. Be good. Three, two-”

Air rushes into your lungs and you’re weeping and sputtering and cumming and wailing, “I’m sorry! God, oh god, daddy, daddy, please, I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m- Ah, ah, thank you, Brendon, thank you, thank you.” And you babble off into sobs as your cunt tenses around his cock, holding on for dear life. He’s licking the salty tears from your cheeks and kissing them back into your mouth as he lets you breathe and breathe and breathe, his cock pounding into you without any attempts at holding off anymore.

In the final few moments after you cum, breaths hard and fast as you cling to him, as you adore him, as you mold to him, Brendon fucks you like aftercare. His hips roll close against you, keeping his cock inside of you, thrusts short, wanting to soak in every millisecond of your pleasure. His orgasm breaks through him in a shudder, reviving something in his soul. His lips lock onto yours and tears bite at his own eyes, too, and he’s never felt that before. Nothing’s ever felt so right as his cum coating you both as he collapses on top of you, spent, trying hard not to crush you under his weight.

Time stretches long and slow. All that exists is your shared breathing. Both of you on your sides. His lips to your forehead, kissing your sweat. Your leg over his hip. His soft cock slipping out of you as your bodies relax. You’re completely without thought. After a lifetime of anxiety, that’s Elysium. To be serene as a sea on a windless day, your body an extension of someone else’s, your minds drifting together.

Brendon whispers something soft and soothing that you half-catch in your ear. Then he stands up and leaves the room for only a few moments, returning with a tall glass of water. He sets it on the bedside table. For a moment, he gently rubs your arm, encouraging you to come back to reality fully. Helping you sit upright, Brendon takes your hand and wraps it around the cup. “Drink half of this. Nice and slow.”

You nod obediently. He has to hold the glass with you because your limbs are so weak and shaky; he does so happily, watching you drink the water the way a hummingbird might, tiny sips coating your now-dry throat. It takes a minute, but you get down as much as he wants you to.

“Good job, baby.” He kisses your cheek as he takes the glass for himself. Brendon finishes the second half in a couple of large gulps. Cupping your cheek in one hand, he soothes, “God, you’re a fucking angel.” When you just burnish your cheek against his hand, not a word on your tongue, he chuckles, “You don’t even know your name right now, do you?”

You give him a lovey-dovey, hazy smile that turns into an innocent giggle. With your chin in his palm, you say like you’re reminding him, “You know it for me.”

“That’s right, baby,” he purrs as he kisses your forehead. “No thoughts for you anymore, huh?”

You shake your head and bury yourself in the crook of his neck, smiley and spent. “Thank you for taking care of me, daddy.”

“That’s my job, princess,” he replies. You’re certain that this is a version of him nobody else sees, blushed and marked and sweet. “Let me get you cleaned up.”

You shake your head and counter, “Cuddle.”

“We’ll cuddle after,” he offers. “I can’t let my girl get a UTI, can I? Not when I’m a doctor; it would just be bad form.”

Nodding reluctantly, you try to stand up but wobble on your legs like a foal. Brendon chuckles as he quickly stands and tugs you to his body. “Hop up here; I’ve got you.”

That perks you up. You stand on your toes and give a tiny jump for him to catch you, arms under your ass, guiding your legs around his hips. This way, you can keep resting on his shoulder as he carries you off to the bathroom. He sets you on the toilet, moving your body around like you weigh nothing, and says, “I’m gonna grab you something of mine for pajamas, okay? I’ll be right back for you.”

A minute later, Brendon returns in a pair of maroon boxers, holding something for you. He dresses you carefully in one of his old college shirts, soft and well-worn. He doesn’t give you anything for underwear and you don’t ask. You’d love for him to wake you up by playing with your pussy, anyway, so there’s no point. Once you’re mostly covered, he tugs you into his arms and kisses your temple over and over.

“You were so good for me, sweetheart,” he coos against your ear. “Was anything too much? Anything hurting more than it should?”

You pull back just enough to kiss him, your eyelids barely cooperating with being awake as you lazily remember his mouth with yours. Into the kiss, you promise, “Everything’s perfect for me; how about you?”

“I’m happier than I’ve been in years,” he says honestly. Nipping a few kisses up your neck, he asks, “Do you need anything to eat? A warmer sweater, fuzzy blanket, anything?”

Leaning against his chest, you sleepily murmur, “Maybe a snack before bed.”

He strokes your back. “Seems like that might not be far off, sleepyhead.”

“Mmm.”

“That’s a really compelling point.” He takes your hand in his and leads you out of the bathroom. “Come on, I’ll make us some tea and something sweet to snack on before bedtime. Then we’ll get your teeth brushed and we can snuggle all you want. That sound good to you?”

“Sounds like a dream to me.” In the kitchen, you lean against the island while he puts on a pot of water and takes out a box of assorted pastries from a local bakery. Right away, you tease, “Did you get these just for me?”

“I stop by the bakery before my shifts in the morning anyway. I like to get a box of something for the night shift,” he explains with a shrug, presenting a handful of goodies arranged on a nice plate. “Figured I should have something to eat here if I was going to fuck you to the point of needing replenishment.”

You laugh as your stomach rumbles as if on command, your body finally normal enough to feel its hunger cues, “You definitely did.”

After nabbing a cheese danish and taking a few borderline ravenous bites, you stretch your arms above your head to loosen the muscles. Brendon’s tee rides up enough to show the soft curve of your stomach, where he catches a glimpse of some dark spots the shape of his mouth.

“You look good in my clothes,” he observes with a warm smile that he can’t contain. “Really, really good.”

“Yeah?” You do a half-teasing little spin for him, letting him admire the pretty curve of your ass and your supple thighs. “I might steal this shirt; it’s extremely comfy.”

“It’s yours if you want it.”

“You did say ‘anything I want,’ didn’t you?”

“And I meant it.”

When you smile, he swears he could look at you forever.

In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund

[p0tat0nug]

Too good!!! I need to find a man like this!!!

[cinnxmxngxrl]

It’s a Match!

Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x reader

Robby Masterlist Updates Account

Robby has never been a fan of birthdays. This year, loneliness drives him to download Tinder on an impulse, only to come across the last person he expected to find there: his favorite resident.

warning/tags: minors DNI, p0rn with little plot, masturbating, sexting, pet names (sweetheart and good girl) robby loves talking you through it, unprotected piv, pussy eating, multiple orgasms, body hair, fingering, creampie, handjob, kinda softdom!robby, age gap (I imagined reader being in her 20s or 30s but could be in her 40s too, tried to keep it broad)

For those of you who read it the first or second time I uploaded it: during the days the fic was down, I expanded some scenes, added a bit more dialogue, and made it a little kinkier along the way. You might want to read it again for some extra content

He knew this was stupid, plainly a terrible idea. On any other day, the thought wouldn’t have even crossed his mind, but today wasn’t any ordinary day. Today was his birthday. Fifty-five years old, and he had never felt more lost in his own life. Nothing had turned out the way he’d once imagined it would. If someone had told him, back when he was a resident, that he would still be coming home to an empty apartment at this age, no wife curled up on the couch waiting for him with a tired but loving smile, no chorus of small feet thundering toward the door, shoving drawings into his hands and saying “Look what I made for you today, daddy!” he would have laughed in their face and called it a cruel joke.

Yet here he was. No relationship had ever survived the weight of the hours and the way his mind stayed trapped in the ED long after he left it. He couldn’t be present anymore, not the way a partner deserved. The job had hollowed him out in ways he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

It had been almost a year since he ended things with Noelle, not long after he returned from his sabbatical. He’d told himself it was the right thing to do. Maybe it really was better this way. At this point in his life, trying again felt pointless, almost selfish. He was saving whatever good women were still out there from the inevitable complications of loving Michael Robinavitch.

But today the emptiness hit differently. The apartment felt quieter than usual, and his thoughts were louder, circling like a vulture. He knew it was the birthday doing this to him. Birthdays had a way of dragging the sorrows out into the light, every missed milestone, every abandoned version of the life he thought he’d have. Jack had tried to pull him out of it, offering a beer after shift, but Robby had politely declined. He wasn’t in the mood for forced cheer, for anyone raising a glass to another year of the same.

He’d made it clear to the whole department that he didn’t want any birthday cake, no cards, no presents, nothing. Still, the well-meaning murmurs had followed him all day: “Happy birthday, Dr. Robby,” each one met with a progressively wearier smile until the words blurred together. By the end of the shift, he was only managing quiet nods of acknowledgment, the kind that said thank you and please stop at the same time.

So here he was, in an apartment that was too big for himself, lying on a couch that felt even bigger, downloading Tinder on his phone. He rubbed a hand over his face, he’d tried Tinder once, maybe two years ago. Downloaded it, swiped for a week, then deleted it when the superficial nonsense started bothering him too much.

He started with the basics. Photos. Robby opened his gallery and scrolled slowly through the meager collection. Most of the images were work-related, grainy screenshots of charts, or blurry shots of trees and roads he’d taken during his bike rides. After a long hesitation, he picked a silly selfie he’d sent Jack a few weeks earlier. He was holding up the book the two of them had been texting about, half-smiling at the camera like he felt ridiculous even taking it. It wasn’t terrible, he supposed. He looked… friendly. Approachable, maybe. 

Next, he chose one from the department barbecue he’d actually forced himself to attend last summer. He was wearing the sleeves rolled up on a button-down shirt, and holding a beer in his hand. He didn’t hate it, it showed a version of himself that still showed up for people, even when he didn’t feel like it. The last one was from the hospital fundraiser gala two years ago. He looked elegant in that photo in a black suit, but he had to crop Jack out of the frame, his face was still half-visible over his shoulder. Three photos, not exactly a compelling portfolio, but they were honest, he wasn’t pretending to be anyone other than himself.

He moved on to preferences. Gender: Women. Age range… His thumb froze. At first, he set it to 50–60. Women at the same stage he was, maybe divorced, maybe widowed, or just tired of feeling alone. But then something flickered in his chest, part curiosity and part desperation, and before he could talk himself out of it, he dragged the lower end down. Twenty to sixty. The wider net felt reckless, almost embarrassing. But what if the love of his life existed somewhere in that range? What if he missed her by something as stupid as a single year on a slider?

As if the love of your life was sitting on Tinder on a Sunday night, he thought. Don’t be fucking stupid, Robby.

He stared at the screen for a long moment, and with a quiet sigh that sounded too much like surrender, he tapped confirm. Now it was time for the bio. Robby stared at the blank field for a long minute. What the hell was he supposed to say? He wasn’t looking for anything specific. Company? Distraction? Someone who wouldn’t mind a man who came home at crazy hours, sometimes covered in blood and whocarried more baggage than he could carry?

He typed slowly what felt the most honest: “ER doctor in Pittsburgh. Love long bike rides to clear my head and 70s rock. Not entirely sure what I’m looking for here, but if you can handle sarcasm and odd hours, we might get along.”

He read it back. It sounded stiff, after all, he wasn’t used to this. But it was him, and so he hit save before he could overthink it more. The app prompted him to start swiping. Robby leaned back against the couch as the profiles began loading, smiling faces, pictures of holiday destinations, and bios full of lists of requirements. He swiped left on most without much thought. 

Left. Left. Left. Some of the women seemed nice, but nothing pulled him in. He kept going until the endless scroll of faces started blurring together. No one stuck, just the same hollow feeling that had driven him to download the damn thing in the first place.

But then your profile appeared. Robby’s entire body froze. The photo loaded first: you, one of his own residents. You were standing in scrubs outside the Pitt with the same smirk you got after a particularly chaotic shift. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered as the heat crawled up his neck. Awkward didn’t even begin to cover what he was feeling right now. 

At work you were talented and dedicated, but still green enough that he rode you hard during shifts. And here you were on Tinder, of all places. The thought that you, or anyone else from the department, might stumble across his profile made his stomach twist with embarrassment. He could already imagine the gossip: Dr. Robby on Tinder. How pathetic.

He should swipe left immediately, delete his profile, and pretend this never happened. Instead, curiosity won. Robby tapped on your profile, telling himself it was just… professional concern. Making sure you weren’t doing anything stupid. He cared about his residents. Yeah, that was it.

Your bio loaded beneath the main photo: “If you like girls who will force you to watch her Letterboxd top four and then talk your ear off for hours about the hidden meaning behind her favorite songs, then I’m your girl. Emergency med resident with zero free time. Not looking for anything serious, just fun, meeting people, seeing where it goes.”

Robby let out a chuckle despite himself, the sound was unexpected in the quiet of the moment. He had only ever seen you in the chaos of the ED, running on adrenaline and too little sleep. But this version of you felt… different. He found himself thinking about how little he actually knew you. How little he’d allowed himself to know.

He didn’t know where you were from, or what your family was like, whether you had siblings who called too often or parents you tried to make proud. He didn’t know what you did outside of the hospital besides the occasional beer in the park, or what made you laugh until your sides hurt. All those small and ordinary pieces of a life that existed outside the emergency department.

It felt strangely intimate, seeing you like this. Like stumbling across a part of you he wasn’t supposed to have access to. A version of you that wasn’t filtered through the hierarchy of resident and attending. Up until now, you had been “his resident”, contained within the professional boundaries he’d carefully maintained.

He started swiping through your photos. The second picture was you laughing in what looked like a group hike, with your hair windblown and your eyes bright. You looked undeniably pretty. Objectively, he’d always known you were attractive. The kind of natural attractiveness that turned heads in the hospital corridors even when you were exhausted and covered in sweat. But once again, he’d never thought about it. You were a resident, he’d gone down that path before, and it’d ended badly. That made you off-limits, end of story.

The third photo was of you in a cozy sweater, curled up with a book and a mug of coffee. It was cute, almost sweet. The kind of image that made the loneliness in his chest ache. He kept swiping until the last photo hit him like a defibrillator. You were on a beach somewhere sunny and sandy, wearing a bikini. Your skin was glowing under the sun, and you were smiling at the camera in a confident pose, the kind of effortless beauty that could stop any man cold. Holy fuck, your body barely contained by the fabric of the bikini, the photo capturing the gentle swell and the way the light played across your body. 

Robby’s mouth went dry, the heat flooded his face and then lower down his body. He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t let himself imagine you like this, outside the hospital, undeniably a woman and not just one of his residents. His pulse kicked up, the nervousness made his hands shake and his grip slippery. He fumbled the phone, trying to swipe left fast. Swipe left, damn it, he thought.

But he accidentally jerked his thumb the wrong way, to the right, and the screen lit up with that unmistakable animation. 

It’s a Match!

On the other side of Pittsburgh, you had been lying in bed, still trying to unwind after another brutal twelve-hour shift. Sleep felt miles away, so you’d given in to the guilty habit of late-night Tinder scrolling. Sure, swiping at 1 a.m. probably looked desperate to anyone else, but who cared? It wasn’t like you had much of a life outside the hospital anyway.

You swiped left with efficiency. Guy whose entire bio was just a link to his podcast. Left. Gym mirror selfies and nothing else. Left. Self-proclaimed “entrepreneur in the crypto market” with a Lamborghini in the background that probably wasn’t even his. Left.

How was it this difficult to find someone even remotely decent? You weren’t expecting to meet the love of your life in this digital dumpster, but was it really too much to ask for a man with basic social skills and a profile that didn’t scream immediate red flags? Someone whose opening line wasn’t just “u dtf?”

Guy who still clearly lived with his mom. Another left. “No feminists” in the bio, followed by a rant about “high value woman.” Left.

Then your thumb froze mid-swipe. Michael Robinavitch. Your heart slammed against your ribs. There he was, Dr. Robby, looking straight into the camera in one of the photos, that familiar half-smile you’d seen a thousand times in the ED, only now it was on a dating app.

You sat up straighter in bed, suddenly wide awake. What the hell was Dr. Robby doing on Tinder? You’d scrolled through this app for weeks and never seen him before. He must have created the profile recently. The man you’d been quietly (and not-so-quietly) thirsting over since your very first day of residency was right here. One match away. 

How could you not like Robby? He was everything you’d ever wanted in a man, strong, steady, impossibly smart, and so damn capable it made your legs weak every single time he gave you a calm and yet authoritative instruction in the middle of a trauma.

You’d lost count of how many times he’d gently reprimanded you for being distracted while charting. He always assumed you were just tired from the long hours. He had no idea that you kept getting lost in vivid daydreams about him: running your fingers through the silver-flecked hair and that coarse, greyish beard, feeling those big hands wrap around your waist, pulling you close.

You loved the way his eyes crinkled warmly behind his glasses when he smiled, the way his voice dropped into that gravelly register when he needed to command attention in the ED… it did things to you. Dangerous, addictive things. Sometimes getting in trouble with him felt more exciting than it had any right to.

His Tinder bio was unexpectedly adorable. He looked a little lost, like he wasn’t entirely sure he belonged on the app but was willing to put himself out there anyway. That bike is not the only thing I’d like to ride, you thought, as a little smile tugged at your lips.

His pictures made you melt and sigh at the same time. That warm, contagious smil, the glasses that struck the perfect balance between hot and endearingly sweet. The silver threading through his beard that made you press your thighs together at the mere thought of feeling it against your skin, between your legs, specifically. 

You swiped slowly through the rest of his photos. Those wide shoulders, that tall and solid frame, that soft belly under the button-down shirt… you wanted him in a way you had never wanted anyone before. 

It was almost pathetic the way your heart did a little skip every time he complimented your work on a tough case. The way your thighs squeezed together almost involuntarily whenever he stepped in close during a complicated procedure, guiding you step by step, his voice low and patient near your ear. “Yeah, grab the blade like that… make a two-inch incision, softly, very gently.” “Hold the tube with your left hand, tight, don’t move it.”

It made your mind wander to dangerous places. Was he like that in bed too? The kind of man who talked you through it, calm and devastatingly attentive? In your fantasies, he absolutely was. Late at night, alone in this very bed with nothing but your hand and your imagination, you could almost hear his voice murmuring against your skin: “Keep your legs open for me, nice and wide… just like that.” “Look at you… already making such a mess. I’m gonna start with one finger, okay? Think you can be good and take it for me?”

Should you swipe right? It felt like the only logical choice. If he swiped left, which seemed like the most likely outcome, he would never even know you’d swiped on him. But if he did swipe right… then maybe, just maybe, you could end up in Robby’s bed.

Your hopes stayed low. Never in a million years did you actually expect Robby to be attracted to you the way you were to him. You would’ve noticed something by now, maybe in lingering stares, subtle flirting, or any shift in the way he treated you. But he didn’t. He treated you exactly like the rest of the residents: a young doctor he needed to teach, who could sometimes be frustratingly distracted.

Still, you couldn’t contain the tiny, thrilled scream that escaped your lips when the screen lit up:

It’s a Match!

Robby had matched with you. He wanted you too.

“Shit!” Robby dropped the phone onto the couch like it had burned him. It bounced once and landed face-up, the match confirmation still glowing on the screen. He and you had just matched on Tinder. All thanks to that goddamn bikini photo and his clumsy, nervous fingers.

He stared at it, feeling his heart hammering harder than it had during the worst trauma cases. This was mortifying. You’d seen his profile, you’d swiped right, and now you were going to see that he’d swiped right as well. Part of him, the tired and lonely part that had downloaded the app and widened the age range, wondered what you’d think. 

A dozen what-ifs tumbled through his mind. What if you saw his profile and laughed? That disbelieving laugh when something genuinely surprised you. What if you messaged him first? Maybe it had been a mistake on your end too. Maybe your phone had slipped, or you’d been swiping too fast after a long shift, half-asleep and a little buzzed. Or maybe… maybe you’d swiped right on purpose, just to tease him. He could already picture the text popping up on his phone: “Oh my god, Dr. Robby. What are you doing on Tinder? lol.”

Robby ran both hands through his hair, exhaling sharply. He picked the phone back up, looking straight at the Send message button. He shouldn’t. The responsible thing would be to delete the app, pretend this night never happened, and go back to being your attending, not your Tinder match. 

Instead, he opened your profile again. Robby tried to move past it, he really did, but his eyes lingered on that last photo far longer than they should have. You in a bikini, your skin glowing under warm sunlight. He couldn’t believe that was what you looked like underneath the baggy scrubs you wore every day in the ED.

It felt wrong. Like he wasn’t allowed to see you like this, like he was intruding on something deeply private, crossing a line that should never even be approached between an attending and his resident. Guilt twisted in his stomach, but it wasn’t enough to make him look away.

His body reacted anyway, a sudden heat stirring unwanted, a throb of arousal he hadn’t felt this sharply in longer than he cared to admit. He shifted uncomfortably on the couch, hating himself for it even as the reaction deepened. What the hell is wrong with you, Robby? he told himself, but the self-reproach did nothing to dull the pull. What could he do? You were a woman. A beautiful one, and for the first time, he was seeing you not just as his resident, but as someone undeniably, breathtakingly desirable.

Before he could delete his account and go to bed as he should, your message popped up.

You: hii :)

Robby’s breath hitched in his throat. For a split second, he swore his heart actually stopped. Then it slammed back into rhythm, pounding so hard he could feel it in his ears, in his temples, in the tightness of his chest. The little smiley face stared back at him from the screen, innocent and cheerful, as if it hadn’t just flipped his entire night upside down.

You had matched with him. At eleven at night. On his lonely fucking birthday. What the hell was he supposed to say to you at 11 pm. after accidentally matching with her on Tinder? “Hey, funny seeing you” here felt pathetic. “This is wildly inappropriate” felt like a lie because the rush of heat still lingering in his veins said otherwise.

He set the phone down on the coffee table for a moment, dragging a hand over his face for the millionth time. Part of him wanted to delete the match immediately, pretend it never happened, and go to bed like the responsible, professional attending he was supposed to be. But another part, the part that had been sitting alone on his fifty-fifth birthday, couldn’t bring itself to swipe left on this one unexpected connection. So he picked the phone back up and stared at the blinking cursor in the message box.

Another message came through a minute later.

You: robby? it’s me from work... guess you saw my profile too haha

Robby let out a long breath, he couldn’t avoid it now that you’d initiated a conversation with him. It was better to be direct, explain the mistake to you, and shut this down before it got any more awkward.

Robby: hey yeah, I saw it listen, this is embarrassing as hell, i was messing around with the app, dropped my phone and it must have swiped right by accident sorry about that, didn’t mean to make things weird

He hit send and immediately regretted how cold it sounded, but it was the truth. The phone stayed quiet for a moment that stretched too long. He had his eyes fixed on the screen, waiting for your reply so he could shut down this awkward conversation and delete this stupid app before he accidentally matched with anyone else from work. 

You: oh. so it was a mistake? damn, i thought you had swiped right on purpose. bummer.

Robby’s eyes widened. You were being direct, not beating around the bush or deflecting by saying it had been a mistake on your end as well. He could practically hear your voice saying it with a teasing edge.

Robby: Sorry about the confusion  i know it might be awkward finding me on here. probably the last person you expected, i don’t usually do this. 

You: honestly it was surprising. didn’t peg you as the tinder type at all.  but hey, we all have our moments i guess

Robby: i’m not the type this is my second time ever downloading it and i already regret it, should probably delete the whole thing before i make an even bigger fool of myself.

You: yeah i get it. i thought the match was mutual so i figured i’d say hi. sorry for texting if it was just an accident. didn’t mean to make it weirder

Robby read your message twice. Thought the match was mutual. The words echoed in his brain. You had swiped right on purpose, not as a joke, not out of morbid curiosity about your boss’s sad dating life. You had chosen him willingly. The realization of what that meant sent a confusing rush through him. You liked him, that had to be it. The thought of you… having a crush on him made a warm feeling run through his body, one he immediately tried to shove down.

Robby: What do you mean you thought it was mutual?

You: idk... i saw the notification and figured you wanted to match with me since it happened. that’s why i said hi right away. didn’t want to leave it hanging if we were both curious

He stared at the screen, his heart beating a little harder. You were so honest and blunt about your feelings, he found himself almost intimidated by it. Some rational part of his brain was trying to tell him this had to be a big joke, there was no way in hell you could like him. You were… you. What would you see in a man like him?

Robby: you wanted us to match? seriously?

You: lol yeah i did swipe right, didn’t i? your profile was actually really nice. the book pic is cute and the 70s rock mention made me smile. plus... i don’t know,  you’re interesting. figured why not. no pressure though

Robby: i thought maybe you did it out of curiosity or just to see if I’d swiped on you didn’t expect you to actually want that

You: well i did. but if it was an accident on your end then no big deal. we can pretend this never happened and go back to normal tomorrow. i won’t mention it at work or anything. promise

Robby let his head fall back against the couch, closing his eyes for a long moment as he exhaled heavily. He knew exactly what the responsible Chief of Emergency Medicine should do right now: unmatch immediately, delete his profile, and pretend the entire night had been nothing more than a lonely fever dream.

But tonight… tonight he didn’t want to be responsible. He didn’t want to be Dr. Robinavitch, the attending who had sacrificed nearly every personal connection, every version of a fuller life, on the altar of the ED. For once, he wanted to be Michael. Just Michael. The man who had matched with you on Tinder. The man who was currently staring at his phone with his heart hammering like he was twenty years younger.

Before he could piece together a polite but firm way to end the conversation and retreat back into the safety of professional distance, another message appeared.

You: i think your profile’s part of the reason i swiped right. the book pic’s really nice

He smiled faintly at that, a rare genuine twitch at the corner of his mouth. Robby leaned forward, placing his elbows on his knees.

Robby: your profile’s pretty good too, better than most of the ones i’ve seen tonight

You: aww thanks. your’s so much better than the usual bullshit on here which is not that hard to be but still finding you here is a nice change :)

Robby: you on this app a lot? seems like you’ve got the profile down

You: not really. i’ve been on a couple dates from here but it’s honestly exhausting. hard to find someone decent in this city. most guys are either looking for hookups with zero conversation or they’re boring as hell. you know how it is

Robby: fair enough. your age range must be set pretty high if it pulled me up fifty five isn’t exactly the usual crowd for you or is it?

You: haha yeah well  i like older men

Those four stupid words hit him square in the chest like a defibrillator. “I like older men.” Robby reread them slowly, feeling a dangerous warmth bloom low in his belly and spread outward through his chest. He was an older man, and apparently, that fit exactly into your preferences. Was that flirtation? Were you subtly implying that he was the kind of older man you liked? Or was it just a casual, throwaway comment, something you’d say to any guy on the app who happened to have a few gray hairs?

No. He was spiraling too deep, overthinking it the way he always did. Your words didn’t carry some hidden, special meaning meant just for him. They couldn’t. And yet… No matter how hard he tried to talk himself down, he couldn’t ignore the flicker of validation that lit up inside him. He felt desired, really desired. Not just by anyone, but by you: someone younger, and so strikingly pretty it almost hurt to look at your photos for too long. Someone who, in his mind, was clearly way out of his league.

Robby: It’s okay to have preferences  everyone does.

You: yeah exactly. i just find older guys more attractive than the ones my age. they’re usually more mature, know what they want, have actual life experience. it’s... hotter, i guess. plus the conversations are better

He swallowed hard, feeling his throat suddenly dry. He could practically see your face as you typed those words, maybe biting your lower lip in that teasing way you sometimes did right after nailing a difficult procedure.

Then the bikini photo from earlier flashed unbidden through his mind, and the heat in his body flared hotter. He pictured you exactly as you’d looked in that shot: sun-warmed skin, curves barely contained by the fabric. The thoughts he had no right to entertain came rushing in anyway, pulling him deeper. Thoughts of having you all to himself, of finally being able to run his hands slowly over every inch of that bare skin, tracing the line of your waist, sliding up your ribs, cupping the soft weight of your breasts. Of putting his mouth on you and every sensitive spot until you were trembling beneath him.

Robby: makes sense i usually go for women closer to my stage of life we have more in common that way

You: do age gaps bother you?

Robby: in what way?

You: like as a concept. are they a problem for you?

Robby: i’m okay with consenting adults doing what they want as long as everyone’s on the same page it’s not my business.

You: have you ever been in an age gap relationship or anything like that?

Robby: i once dated a woman a bit younger than me but usually around my age

He paused before sending the next part, he shouldn’t keep engaging in this deeply unprofessional conversation, but curiosity was getting the better of him. And you were simply so easy to talk to that he couldn’t stop himself from letting his walls down a little.

He typed before he could second-guess himself.

Robby: how much older are we talking anyway? the men you usually like i mean.

Your reply came fast, like you’d been waiting with the phone in hand.

You: usually over fifty up until their sixties or so. around that range. but it’s just a preference, nothing crazy. i feel like older men usually treat you better. they’re more gentlemanly, know how to actually listen, and they tend to understand what a woman wants... in every way, if you know what i mean ;)

Robby read the message twice. Three times. Four. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me. You weren’t just being polite or making casual conversation. That winky face, the implication hanging there about “every way”. You were deliberately flirting with him, there was no other way to see it. He shifted on the couch, suddenly very aware of his own body and the fact that it had been a long damn time since anyone had spoken to him like that.

He took a slow breath and replied, trying to keep some semblance of control.

Robby: do you date men closer to your own age too?  or is it mostly the older crowd?

You: i have tried guys closer to my age. some of them are sweet but a lot are still figuring their shit out. you should try dating a woman younger than you sometime though. maybe it’s exactly what you need.

Robby didn’t know what to say. The words hung there, full of possibilities around them. He was still wrestling with a response when another message from you popped up.

You: anyway sorry again for the confusion earlier. i’ll leave you alone so you can keep scrolling through profiles. i’ll go back to robbing the graves haha (joke, get it? because i like older guys... sorry that was sooo bad)

Robby chuckled despite the whirlwind in his head. The joke was cheesy, so perfectly you that it cut through some of the tension. But it also gave him an out, you were offering to back off and let this weird moment fade into nothing before tomorrow’s shift made everything awkward as hell. Part of him wanted to take the exit ramp, wish you a good night, unmatch, delete the app, and pretend none of this happened. But another part, the one that had been sitting alone on his birthday didn’t want the conversation to end.

He tapped over to your photos again, almost against his will. There it was the last one. You on the beach in that bikini, with the perfect swell of your tits catching the sunlight. Holy fuck. He wanted you, the realization hit him all of a sudden, making him switch back to the chat and move his thumbs almost on autopilot.

Robby: Nothing to apologize for honestly you’ve kept me better company tonight than I expected

You: see? younger women can be good company too :) you shouldn’t close the door so fast. you could meet someone nice if you give it a chance

Robby: you shouldn’t close the door on guys your own age either there are decent ones out there, you’ll find someone who can keep up with you

You: out of all the guys i’ve matched with here... you’re easily the best one. no contest

Robby: Really? that can’t be right  you’re selling yourself short.

You: no i mean it. you’re exactly the kind of man i’d usually go for. tall, older, smart... and hot

The word hot hit him harder than it had any right to. His face flushed deeper, his clothes felt constricting, his pants uncomfortably tight. Robby’s cock was already half-hard, thickening and pulsing insistently against the zipper of his jeans with every new message.

All because you’d called him hot. Just a little cheeky, playful comment, and it was enough to unravel him. The touch starvation wasn’t helping. It had been so damn long since anyone had looked at him with real interest, longer still since he’d felt this fluttering feeling low in his stomach. This rush of ego, this sharp need to be close to someone, to be wanted, to touch and be touched.

Robby: thanks i guess you’ll meet someone worth your time, you’re a good girl 

The message was sent before he could fully reconsider the wording. The second it went through, Robby winced. It sounded weirdly sexually charged, maybe it was because he was feeling sexually charged, painfully so. A Freudian slip at its finest.

You: good girl? 😏

Robby: shit i didn’t mean it to sound weird just a figure of speech i suppose.

You: should i call you daddy then? ;)

Robby nearly dropped the phone again. The winky face, the bold suggestion, the way it played so perfectly into the tension that had been building sent a bolt of pure want through him. He could imagine your voice saying it, teasingly so, with that mischievous glint in your eyes. His mind supplied far too many vivid images: you in nothing but your skin looking up at him, you saying it in person with a flirty smile. He was fully hard. Actually hard, just from a fucking text conversation.

The professional alarm bells were clanging loudly in the back of his head. This was his resident, the age gap, the power dynamic, the fact that you’d have to face each other at the Pitt in a few short hours... it was all wrong. But god, it felt good. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

He glanced down at the obvious bulge in his sweatpants, his cock straining against the fabric like a flagpole. He couldn’t believe it. One flirty text from his resident and he was rock hard. Don’t get hard for your fucking resident, he thought. She’s one of your own. Off-limits. This is insane. He adjusted himself uncomfortably, trying to will it down through stubbornness, but the ache only sharpened.

You: too much? sorry i was just messing around lol

Robby exhaled and typed back, trying to sound more composed than he felt.

Robby: Don’t worry about it i know it was a joke, no harm done

You: it was... unless you don’t want it to be a joke 

He let out a surprised laugh, his cock twitched again at the follow-up, you were relentless, and something told him you were noewhere near done.

Robby: you’re funny, i’ll give you that.

You: that’s what i’ve been told. glad you’re having fun with me tonight

Robby: Well, I guess I should let you get some sleep early shift tomorrow and all

You: i don’t mind staying up. i swiped right on you, remember? yk for a minute i really thought you were gonna flirt with me or maybe even ask me to come over to your place or something

The words hung there. You had been excited, you had hoped he would flirt. The image flashed through his mind, you showing up at his door in the middle of the night, stepping inside and… He shifted again, pressing his hand down against his insistent erection through his sweatpants, trying to get some relief even as guilt gnawed at him. This was crossing so many lines he’d promised himself he wouldn’t cross after Heather. But the loneliness that had driven him to download the app in the first place was quieter now, replaced by an electric tension.

Robby: that would be very inappropriate i’m your boss and there are lines we can’t cross

You: but you’re not dr. robby my attending in here. you’re michael robinavitch, 55, the guy who loves 70s rock and long bike rides. and i’m not your resident in this chat. i’m just a girl who likes movies and older men... and who is really, really into you right now

You were separating the roles so cleanly, drawing a line between the hospital and this private space. It was tempting, dangerously tempting. 

Robby: you know it doesn’t work like that we can’t just turn it off when the shift starts tomorrow

You: nah i’m pretty sure i can

Robby: No.

You: If we really can’t meet then we can do it over text, you know.

He stared at the screen trying to guess if you really meant what you were saying. 

Robby: what do you mean?

You: sexting, duh

He let out a short breath, Jesus fuck you were actually gonna kill him tonight.

Robby: that’s basically the same thing.

You: no it’s not. technically we’re not doing anything if it’s just messages. no one has to know.

Robby rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind was screaming at him to shut this down, but his fingers were already moving. He couldn’t believe he was actually considering to do this.

This was a terrible idea. What difference did it really make whether it was real sex, his hands on you, feeling your heat around him, or just describing it in detail over text messages? A line was still a line. One he had promised himself he wouldn’t cross again. He didn’t want this to end with you giving up your residency, transferring to another hospital, another city, once things inevitably fell apart.

But fuck, his cock was achingly hard, straining against the front of his pants like a caged animal that desperately needed to be freed. The thought of you right now, maybe lying in your bed in, pressing your thighs together, that sweet slick already soaking through your panties because of him… it made it impossible to think straight. He couldn’t leave you like that, so wet, so needy, aching for him.

Robby: what do you want me to say?

You: i don’t know… just say something hot. you’re goot at being hot  

He hesitated, he wasn’t sure of what to say. He was scared of seeming naive and old school to you, but he wasn’t used to this whole… sexting thing. The most spicy exchange over texts had been insinuating pictures before asking someone to come over. Okay think Robby, if you can save someone’s life under extreme preassure then you can sext with a woman, just say something typical, he thought

Robby: who’s been a naughty girl?

The second he hit send he regretted it. He winced, already typing another message to backtrack when your reply came through.

You: lmao that was the best you’ve got?

Robby groaned out loud, dropping his head back against the couch. 

Robby: forget it. i’m going to bed

You: nooo wait. let’s try again :(

He should’ve put the phone down. He really should’ve. Instead he waited to see if you had anything else to say.

You: you’re so good at giving orders and guiding me at work. maybe you could do that now too? tell me what to do

You were right, in theory. He was good at instructing, guiding, teaching. It came naturally to him to step into that mentoring role, he had always been the one others looked to for direction.

Robby: i  feel stupid doing this.

You: pleeeease. i’ve always thought you were the kind of guy who talks people through it in bed. it’s the same here, just write it instead of saying it. tell me how you want me to touch myself

Your words hit him hard. He reread the message twice. He had never consciously thought about it before, but yes… that did sound exactly like him. Fragments of memory surfaced unbidden: the commanding tone he’d used with past partners, the way he’d instructed them. “Open your legs for me.” “Turn around.” “Look at me.” He remembered the way their breathing would change, the way they’d tremble under the weight of his voice and his hands.

Robby: you really want me to talk you through it, sweetheart?

You: yessss that was so much better. keep going

If anyone had asked you how it happened, you honestly wouldn’t have been able to explain it. You weren’t even sure yourself. One moment you were typing a slightly embarrassed apology to Robby for matching with him and the next, the conversation had taken a turn and you were the one demanding he sext you so you could get off. It was bold, stupidly reckless, and yet it felt inevitable.

Robby: good girl that’s exactly what I wanted to hear, i want you to get those pretty legs spread nice and wide for me, can you do that?

You whimpered softly and obeyed him instantly, letting your knees fall farther apart on the mattress. The cool air hit your exposed pussy making you shiver. 

You: yes. they’re open

Robby: Perfect i’d be on my knees between them right now if I could run your fingers up the inside of your thighs for me slowly, feel how soft they are

As you trailed your free hand up one thigh, you imagined his callused palms and the scratch of his greying beard following the same path.

You: doing it… feels so good thinking about your hands instead.

Robby: that’s my girl  now slide two fingers through your pussy and ell me how wet you are for me

You did exactly as he says, gasping as two fingers glided easily through your slick heat. You were soaked, embarrassingly so, the wet sounds filling the quiet bedroom as you stroked yourself.

You: So wet… i’m dripping. all because of you.

Robby: fuck i knew you would be i want you to circle your clit for me now Do it slowly and imagine it’s my tongue instead, licking you just the way you need i’d take my time, taste every inch of you

Your mons got louder, tipping your head back against the pillows as your fingers obeyed, traxing circles around your clit that sent sparks up your spine. In your mind, it was Robby’s mouth devouring you while his strong hands pinned your thighs down.

Robby: how does that feel, sweetheart? tell me

You: so good, i’m so sensitive. keep talking please

Robby: Good now slide one finger inside that tight pussy, nice and deep curl it up just like I would, searching for that spot that makes your legs shake i’d be watching your face the whole time, telling you how beautiful you look spread open for me, how good you are for listening

When you pushed a finger inside yourself, you curled it upward as instructed to hit that sensitive spot while your other hand kept working your clit in circles. 

Robby: add another finger and stretch yourself open i’d be so much thicker than your fingers, but we’ll start like this imagine me pumping them in and out while i rub your clit

Adding a second finger, you continued fucking yourself to the rhythm of his words on the screen. It was not enough, it was nowhere near enough to calm the hunger and desperation that was threatening to consume your whole being. You knew nothing would be enough, only feeling him inside of you.

You: wish it was you inside me. can’t get off like this. i need you robby please

Robby: you were the one who told me to do this 

You: i know i did. but it’s not enough send me your address

He was tempted, so tempted that for one second his fingers almost started typing on an impulse. But the reality crashed back in immediately. The risks, the morning after, the way he’d have to look at you during rounds, knowing what you’d done. He was rock hard and aching for you, but the responsible part of him still refused to crumble completely.

Robby: what for?  you’re not seriously thinking about coming over right now, are you?

You: robby i’m literally only like 2 miles away from you. are you dtf? not as dr. robinavitch and his resident, but as two adults who casually matched on tinder tonight. there’s no title or hospital here. it’s just us.

Two miles. You were so close. He stared at your message, feeling his heart slamming against his ribs. His cock gave another insistent throb, the head already leaking a little against his underwear. The thought of you actually coming over, right now, in the middle of the night, made his mouth go dry.

Robby: Send me your address and I’ll order you a ride. 

You sent your address a moment later. It really was only two miles away. He confirmed the ride, watching the estimated arrival time tick down. Fifteen minutes… only fifteen minutes until you’d be at his door.

You: this is exactly what i meant earlier about older guys. so much more gentlemanly. taking care of the details instead of just telling me to get there

You had no time to get ready, and honestly, you didn’t care. Makeup? Hair? None of that mattered when you were this desperate, this aching for him. You climbed out of bed still wearing the thin tank top and soft sleep shorts you’d worn to bed, and threw an oversized jacket over everything, one that swallowed most of your body and made you look far more put-together than you actually felt.

Your hands were shaking as you grabbed your keys and phone. The rideshare arrived sooner than you expected. The drive across the city felt both endless and far too short, but eventually the car pulled up outside his building.

You stood on the sidewalk for a second, staring up at the apartment complex, suddenly hit with the full weight of what you were doing, showing up at your attending’s door in the middle of the night, soaked and trembling with need, because a stupid Tinder match had spiraled completely out of control.

But you didn’t hesitate for long, you took a deep breath, pulled the jacket tighter around yourself, walked toward his door and knocked on it.

Robby opened it right away. He didn’t say a word, the second you were in reach, you had one of his strong hands cupping the back of your neck as he pulled you into a kiss. It was electric to say the least. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath. His beard was scraping deliciously against your skin as he moved his lips with experienced urgency. You melt into it instantly, fisting your hands in his shirt, tasting the pure, overwhelming taste of him. Finally. Here he was, kissing you like he’d been starving for it just as much as you had.

He kicked the door shut behind him without breaking the kiss, wrapping his other arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his taller frame. You felt the warmth of his hands roaming everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, squeezing the curve of your ass through the fabric of your shorts. In your mouth, he groaned, making a vibrating sound that went through you as he explored every inch he could reach, like he was memorizing the feel of you. 

Your breasts were the next to get his attention, he was cupping them with his big hands through your tank top, brushing his thumb over your already hard nipple, while he tangles his other hand in your hair, tilting your head to deepen the kiss.

You pulled back just enough to gasp against his lips, “It took you long enough.”

Robby chuckled, the sound coming out breathless. “Took you long enough. You have any idea what it’s like waiting twenty minutes for you with a hard-on?” He pressed you closer, letting you feel the thick and insistent bulge against your stomach. 

As if they had a mind of their own, his hands couldn’t stop moving, squeezing, caressing, claiming, running down your back, over your thighs, everywhere he’d fantasized about touching. Before you could respond, he bent slightly and lifted you effortlessly. You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively. 

The strength in his arms, the way his broad chest felt against you, sent a fresh rush of heat between your legs. He carried you through the house with purposeful strides. The door to your room swung open and he layed you gently on the bed, climbing on top of you immediately until his full weight pressing you deliciously into the mattress. 

The kissing resumed instantly, slower now but no less intense. Robby’s mouth was moving from your lips to your neck, sucking lightly and scratching you with his beard in the most perfect way. Now his hands got bolder, continuing their exploration but this time sliding under your tank top, pressing his palms against your bare skin. He lifted the fabric higher, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room.

“Fuck,” Robby groaned, and maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you, but you could see his soft brown eyes turning darker as he stared down at you. “Look at you. These tits… so perfect. So fucking pretty.” His voice was rough with want, the same commanding tone. He cupped them reverently, as if they were something precious, circling your nipples until they pebbled tighter under his touch. “They’re made for my hands. For my mouth.”

He leaned down and took one nipple into his mouth, sucking it gently at first, then harder, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak. The wet touch of his tongue made you arch into him with a moan, threading your fingers through his hair as he kept lavishing attention on your breasts. 

From one side to the other, Robby switched sides, licking and sucking the other while his hand massaged the first, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual sensation, the tingly heat of his mouth and the firm squeeze of his callused hand, had you writhing beneath him, making you so wet you were soaking through your shorts.

The humming of his mouth against your skin sends sparks straight to your core. “So responsive,” he murmured, switching back to the first breast and sucking it harder than before. “These tits are going to ruin me. I could spend hours right here.” Sliding his free hand down your side, Robby gripped your hip possessively, continuing with the worshipping of your chest, licking broad stripes, sucking marks into the soft flesh, massaging and kneading until he had you panting and grinding up against the hard line of his cock through his pants.

The age difference between you only heightened everything, his experience was showing in every skilled touch, in every perfect flick of his tongue. He was being patient but hungry, like he’d been holding back for far too long. You could feel how hard he was, he was making you feel it, pressing insistently against your thigh. The knowledge that you did this to him made you even wetter.

Robby lifts his head briefly to lock his eyes on yours. His lips were swollen and his beard slightly damp with his saliva. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, but his hands never stopped, squeezing and caressing, teasing your sensitive nipples with his thumbs as he waited for your answer.

You shook your head, pulling him back down. You’d rather die than stop right now. “Don’t stop. Please.”

His mouth trailed a hot path down your sternum, over your stomach, scraping you teasinglywith his beard against your skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His hands followed strong, sliding down your sides and gripping your hips as he settled between your spread thighs. The weight of him, the sheer size and presence of this man, made your core clench with anticipation.

“These shorts have been teasing me since you walked in,” he murmured with the same steady tone he used in the pitt, but now turned intimate and commanding. Robby hooked his fingers into the waistband and slowly peeled them down your legs, taking his time as he revealed more of you. “Lift your hips for me, sweetheart. Good girl.”

You obeyed instantly, lifting your hips so he could slide the fabric off completely, leaving you in just your thin panties and the tank top. Robby smoothed his hands up your thighs, spreading them wider with gentle but firm pressure. “Keep your legs open like that,” he instructed you. “Nice and wide for me. Don’t close them unless I tell you to.”

You were already moaning softly, and he wasn’t even touching your core yet. Robby dropped his eyes to the damp spot on your panties, making the fabric cling to your pussy lips, and he let out a groan of desire and hunger. He cupped you over the fabric with one hand, pressing his palm firmly against your heated pussy while his thumb found your clit through the material and began rubbing slow circles.

“Oh god,” you moaned, twitching up your hips into his touch, seeking more of the contact. The friction was simply perfect, it was teasing, and it kept building higher and higher. Robby’s callused thumb was applying just the right pressure on your swollen nub. 

He watched your face intently through his hooded and lustful eyes as he worked you higher. “Feel good?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady even as his own breathing grew heavier. “You’re so wet already. Soaking through these panties for me. That’s it… rock against my hand, sweetheart. Show me how much you need this.”

Your moans only grew louder and more unrestrained, as he kept rubbing your clit with precision. The fabric added a delicious layer of friction, and every circle sent sparks shooting up your body. He got you gripping the sheets, your thighs already trembling as you fought the urge to close them around his hand.

Robby leaned down to kiss the inside of one thigh, scratching your skin deliciously. “You want my mouth? Want me to taste this pretty pussy? You gonna wrap these gorgeous legs around my neck while I do it?”

“Yes,” you gasped, nodding frantically. “Please, Robby. I need it.”

He hooked his fingers into your panties and tugged them down slowly, revealing your glistening, bare pussy to his hungry gaze. “Fuck… look at you. So wet and perfect.” He kissed along your inner thighs, taking his time, brushing his lips and beard against the sensitive skin as he worked his way closer. “Wrap them around me, sweetheart. Lock your ankles behind my head if you need to. I want to feel you holding me right where I belong.”

You did exactly as he said, wrapping your legs around his broad shoulders and pressing your heels into his upper back. The position left you completely open to him, vulnerable and exposed. Robby groaned, the sound vibrating against your core as he finally leaned in.

The first lick of his tongue was broad and slow, dragging from your entrance up to your puffy clit. The sensation was overwhelming, and it made you cry out loudly, threading your fingers into his greying hair as he began to devour you with the same intensity he brought to every procedure at work. He licked and sucked with precision, alternating between long and flat strokes to tight and quick circles around your clit. 

His beard was scratching your inner thighs and outer lips in the most delicious way, adding a kind of texture that made your toes curl. “Robby… Oh fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, rolling your hips against his mouth. 

He hummed in response, pulling back with his lips glistening with your arousal just so he could speak to you. “Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. I want to hear it.”

“So good… your tongue—oh god, your mouth, Robby. It’s driving me crazy. Don’t stop, please.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, diving back in to suck your clit into his mouth, flicking it rapidly while applying suction with his lips. 

Before you could register it, he teased your entrance with two thick fingers, slowly sliding them inside you, letting your own greedy hole swallow them. Once he curled them upward to find that perfect spot, the sensation had you moaning loudly and arching off the bed. 

Robby pumped his fingers steadily, matching the rhythm of his tongue with his digits. A few moments later, he stopped again briefly, looking up at you with lust-filled eyes and shiny lips. “You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Spread open for me, taking my fingers so well. This pussy is perfect, made for me. Keep moaning for me. Let me hear how much you love my mouth on you.”

You obeyed, your moans spilling freely as he returned to his task with renewed hunger. The pleasure built fast and faster, making your thighs tremble around his head and your feet dig into his back as you held him exactly where you needed him. Robby gripped your hip with his free hand, holding you steadily while he worked you closer and closer to the edge with expert skill. Every command, every praise, every flick of his tongue pushed you higher. 

Robby didn’t relent, he kept his mouth latched onto your clit, sucking with rhythmic pressure, devouring you like a man starved. “Robby—oh fuck, yes!” The pleasure was overwhelming, every single nerve ending in your body was alight as he worked you higher. 

“Keep those legs open for me, sweetheart,” he growled against your clit. “Don’t you dare close them. I want to feel you squeezing around my fingers while I eat this pretty pussy.” He added a third finger slowly, stretching you wider, the burn blending perfectly with the pleasure. “That’s it… take three for me. Feel how full you are? You’re doing so well. Such a good girl taking everything I give you.”

The wet sounds of his fingers plunging into your dripping pussy and his mouth sucking hungrily on your clit filled the air. You were soaking his beard, his chin, his wrist, but he didn’t care. Robby slid a hand under you, grabbing a firm handful of your ass and lifting your hips slightly off the bed. The new angle let him bury his face even deeper, working your clit with more precision while he fingerfucked you harder. “Just like that,” he praised you between licks. “Grind on my tongue, baby. Use my mouth. Show me how bad you need to come.”

You obeyed helplessly once again, rolling your hips and bucking them against him as the coil in your belly tightened unbearably. The pleasure built in powerful waves until your thighs started to shake violently around his head. Robby kept talking you through it, pushing you closer to the edge.

“You’re getting so close, aren’t you? I can feel this tight pussy clenching around my fingers. Come on, let go. Cum all over my tongue. I want to taste it. I want to feel you fall apart for me.”

The orgasm crashed over you with blinding intensity, making your back bow off the bed, a loud and broken cry tearing from your throat as your pussy spasmed hard around his digits. Your thighs were squeezing his head tightly, your heels digging into his back as wave after wave of pleasure ripped through you. Robby didn’t stop though, he kept sucking your clit through the peak, curling and thrusting his fingers to draw out every last shudder.

You came harder than you ever had. So hard that your vision went white for a moment as the pleasure bordered on overwhelming. Your moans turned into whimpers as the orgasm slowly ebbed, leaving you limp and gasping on the bed.

Robby finally eased back, gently lowering your hips and kissing softly along your inner thighs. He looked up at you with dark and satisfied eyes. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “So beautiful when you cum for me.”

You lay there panting, your thighs were still twitching, completely wrecked and already aching for more of him. Robby climbed back up your body, kissing you deeply so you could taste yourself on his tongue. He was so close that his hard cock was pressing insistently against your thigh through his pants. 

“That was… amazing,” you whisper with your voice hoarse from moaning. “So much better than I ever imagined.”

Robby chuckled softly, the sound warm and genuine against your neck as he pressed a kiss there. “Yeah? Better than your hand?” His eyes were sparkling with lust. 

You laughed breathlessly, nodding. “So much better. Your mouth… God, Robby. I’ve never felt anything like that.”

He hummed in satisfaction, grinding his still-clothed erection slowly against your bare, sensitive pussy. The thick ridge of his cock was being pressed perfectly against your clit, giving him some much needed relief while teasing you both. “I loved doing that for you,” he murmured. “You were so good for me, sweetheart. So responsive, so wet. The way you moaned my name and squeezed my head with those pretty thighs… fuck, you have no idea what you do to me.”

Robby rolled his hips deliberately, the friction making you whimper and arch up into him. You could feel how achingly hard he was and how much he’d been holding back. You slid up your hands down his chest, feeling the soft flesh beneath his shirt.

“I want you,” you breathed, looking up at him with need. “Please, Robby.”

He stilled for a moment, as if to pulling himself together. “Tell me what you want. Be specific.”

You bit your lip, feeling the warmth invade your cheeks. “Your cock. I want you to fuck me. I need you inside me.”

Robby let out a groan, sitting back on his knees between your spread thighs. He reached for the waistband of his sweatpants, drawing out the anticipation. You sit up slightly, eager to help, moving your fingers to tug his pants down along with his underwear.

“I’ve been dying to see you,” you confessed as you pulled his pants down his hips. He caught your wrists before you could push his boxers down.

Robby looked almost nervous, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Wait… I, uh—” He cleared his throat, flicking his eyes away for a second. “I haven’t trimmed down there in a while. This whole night was… unexpected. I would’ve cleaned up if I’d known we were gonna end up here.”

He said it like it was something to be embarrassed about. Like it might actually make you want him less. It made you soft, you cupped his jaw, turning his face back to yours.

“Robby. Do you honestly think I give a damn about that? It’s just hair.”

He let out a self-conscious breath, still looking a little defensive. “I know. I know it’s just hair. It’s just… it’s probably a fucking jungle down there right now. You don’t have to— I mean, you don’t have to do anything if it’s too much.”

The way he was trying to give you an out was almost painfully endearing. You shook your head. “Just let me see you,” you whispered.

You slid his boxers down his thighs and freed his cock, it sprang out, thick and hard, the head flushed in a dark red with arousal. It was beautiful, so long, girthy, with a slight upward curve, prominent veins running along the shaft. Exactly like he’d warned, there was a thick, dark mat of coarse hair at the base, dense and untrimmed. He looked completely natural, it was so him, deeply masculine and unpolished.

A fresh rush of wetness slipped down your inner thighs. Your fingers twitched with the need to touch him there.

You looked up at him through your lashes “I love it,” you slowly carded your fingers through the thick hair at the base of his member. “You look so fucking hot like this. I like every single inch of you.”

Robby’s whole body shivered under your touch. “God…” he rasped as he stared down at you. “You’re gonna kill me tonight.”

Almost with instinct, you wrapped your hand around it, stroking the shaft slowly from base to tip, feeling the heat and weight of his member.

Robby hissed in pleasure, twitching his hips forward into your grip as he watched your hand move up and down his cock. “Fuck, your hand feels good,” he groaned, letting you stroke him for a while, savoring the sight of your smaller hand working his thick length, making a bead of precum leak from the tip.

After a few moments, he gently stopped you, wrapping his fingers around your wrist. “Lay back down for me, sweetheart. Keep those legs open nice and wide. Just like before.”

You obeyed, lying back against the pillows and spreading your thighs for him. Robby reached over toward the nightstand, stretching one arm past you as he pulled open the top drawer. He rummaged through it for a few seconds, before his hand closed around what he was looking for.

A moment later he sat back, a condom held between his fingers. He held it up, searching for your eyes with his. “I’ve got this if you want me to wear it.”

You shook your head, reaching up to touch his arm. “No. I want you bare. I’m on the pill.”

You both knew it might not have been the smartest option, doing it raw, with nothing between you. But there was a deep, unspoken trust between the two of you, forged through long shifts, that made you feel safe. And in that moment, that trust felt solid enough to lean on.

The hunger that had taken over both of you made anything else almost unbearable. The need to feel each other completely bare, skin on skin, heat on heat, with nothing separating you, was overwhelming.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He tossed the condom aside, leaning down to kiss you deeply again. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you whispered against his lips. “I want to feel all of you.”

He groaned, positioning himself between your legs and nudging the thick head of his cock against your slick entrance. The anticipation felt electric, this was the culmination of over a year of longing, of hours of texts, and now all that was left was this desperate connection. Robby gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he looked down at you with hunger.

The night is only beginning, and the way he’s looking at you promises he’s going to take his time ruining you in the best possible way.

As his cockhead was being rubbed up and down your folds, teasing your clit with every pass, coating itself with your juices, the sensation felt maddening, promising everything you’d fantasized about for so long. You whimpered, twitching your hips up instinctively to chase more contact.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” Robby commanded you softly, the same authoritative tone that had guided you through countless procedures was now guiding you through this. He cupped your chin gently, tilting your face so your gazes locked. “Keep looking at me the whole time. I want to see you while I fuck you.”

You nodded shakily, unable to look away even if you wanted to. Robby continued rubbing the head of his cock against your entrance, coating himself in your wetness, drawing out the anticipation until you were squirming beneath him.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your mouth. “So wet for me already. This pussy is going to take me so well. Breathe for me, relax and let me in.” He pressed forward slowly, breaching your entrance with only the tip. The stretch was immediate and intense, opening you up inch by inch as he sank deeper. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan, but you forced your eyes open, locking them on his as he watched every flicker of pleasure cross your face.

“Easy, baby,” he cooed, stroking your thigh soothingly while the other braced beside your head. “You’re doing so good. Feel how you’re stretching around me? So tight and warm… fuck, you feel incredible.”

You moaned loudly as he continued sliding in, the deliberate thrust filling you completely until he was buried to the hilt, until his hips were flushed against yours. The fullness was overwhelming, his thick cock stretching your walls like nobody had stretched you before, pressing against every sensitive spot inside you.

Robby stayed still for a moment buried deep, resting his forehead against yours as he looked straight into your eyes. “There you go. All the way in. You took every inch.” He started to thrust with deep rolls of his hips that drag his cock along your walls with exquisite friction. “Wrap your legs around me. Hold me close while I fuck you.”

You did as he said, locking your legs around his waist and digging your heels into his lower back. The new angle let him sink even deeper, and you cried out in pleasure, digging your nails into his shoulders. Robby kept talking you through it, just like he knew you liked.

“That’s my girl. Feel that? I’m hitting that spot inside you, huh?” He angled his hips slightly, grinding deep on every stroke. Robby slid one hand up to cup and squeeze your breast, rolling your nipple as he thrusted harder.

Robby moved his hand from your breast to cup your chin. His grip was gentle enough not to hurt, yet firm enough that you felt every one of his fingers pressing against the bones of your jaw. “Look at me. Don’t look away. I want to see how good my cock feels inside this tight pussy.” He tilted your face up and held it there, leaving you no choice but to meet his eyes.

And God… what a glorious sight he was. This handsome man, with his face flushed, his brow glistening with sweat, devouring you with his gaze as he kept driving his cock into you.

His face was only inches from yours, and he kept fucking you in long strokes while he held your chin like that, as if he were starving for every single expression that crossed your face. He loved watching the way pleasure wrecked you. The way your lips parted around helpless moans, the way you bit down on your lower lip only for it to slip free again with a broken sound. The way your eyes went glassy and pleading, silently begging him for more even as your body trembled around his cock. He drank it all in like a man who had been thirsty for years.

With his free hand, he gripped your waist, holding you in place so he could drive into you with more power. Every slide of his cock stretched you perfectly, dragging the fat tip along your g-spot like that was what it was made for.

“Robby—oh god, yes!” You moaned loudly, raising your hips to meet his thrust and tightening your legs around him. Your tits were bouncing with every powerful stroke, and he leaned down to suck one nipple into his mouth again, flicking his tongue as he continued fucking you.

“You feel so good,” he groaned against your skin, switching to the other breast. “So tight and wet around me. This pussy was made for my cock, wasn’t it? Taking me so deep.” His hand on your waist slid down to grip your ass, lifting your hips slightly to change the angle as he thrusted harder. “Lift your legs higher for me, sweetheart,” he said against your neck,kissing and nipping the sensitive skin there. Ronny held the back of your thigh, helping guide your leg up. “That’s it… over my shoulder. Let me get deeper.”

You whimpered as he assisted you, hooking your leg over his shoulder. He did the same with the other, folding you nearly in half beneath him. The new angle allowed him to sink impossibly deeper, until he was pressing the head firmly against that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, grinding against your g-spot relentlessly.

“Fuck—Robby, it’s so deep like this,” you moaned, fluttering your eyes shut for just a moment as the intense sensation washed over you.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he chided gently but firmly, cupping your jaw with his hand to tilt your face back to his. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Keep them open. I want to watch you while I fuck you like this. Don’t look away.”

You forced your eyes open, locking onto his hungry gaze as he continued hammering into you. The eye contact made everything more intimate and overwhelming. The feeling of his hand leavinf your jaw and sliding down between your bodies made you shiver. Robby found your swollen clit and began rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts.

The combined stimulation was devastating. The pleasure was burning higher in your core, so close to finally exploding. Your body was arching and squirming beneath his frame as you scratched down his back and trembled over his shoulders. Every thrust, every rub of his fingers on your clit, every moan and grunt that escaped his mouth pushed you closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” Robby groaned, never removing his sight from yours. “Look at you taking my cock so deep. You’re getting close again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you cum all over my cock. Keep your eyes on me when you do.”

You bowed your back off the bed as your climax took over your body. A loud cry tore from your throat as your pussy clenched rhythmically around his length. Your thighs shook violently over his shoulders and you dug your nails harder into his back when the waves of pleasure crashed through you. Robby sekpt thrusting through it, drawing out your orgasm with deep strokes and continued pressure on your clit.

“You look so beautiful when you cum for me… that’s it, sweetheart. Give it all to me. You’re being so good.”

By the time he finally slowed and gently pulled out of you, you were still trembling and gasping. Robby layed back on the bed beside you, with his cock hard and glistening with your release. “Come here, baby,” he said. “Get on top. I want to watch you ride me.”

He helped you shift positions, gripping your hips firmly to guide you as you straddled him. “Easy, sweetheart. Take your time… that’s it. Feel me right there? Let me watch you take every inch.”

You positioned the head at your slick entrance and began to sink down, inch by inch. The stretch was intense all over again, his girth opening you up as you lowered yourself onto him. Robby kept his hands still on your hips to steady you, stroking your skin soothingly while watching every expression on your face.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groaned. “You’re doing so well. Keep going… take a little more. Feel how full you are?”

Louder moans left your mouth as you sank lower, the fullness was overwhelming in the best way. Bracing your hands on his broad chest for balance, you finally took him to the hilt, resting your ass against his thighs. Robby squeezed your hips encouragingly. “Ride me. Roll your hips like that… yes, just like that.”

Whn you started moving, rolling, and grinding your hips in a steady rhythm, the pleasure built quickly. His cock was dragging along your walls as you found a rhythm that made your tits bounce and your clit grind against his pelvis.

Robby kept moving his eyes are everywhere, watching where your pussy stretched around his shaft, sliding up to your bouncing breasts, then locking onto your face. He reaches up with both hands, cupping your tits and rolling your nipples as you ride him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. You’re doing so well, sweetheart. Keep going… faster if you want. Take what you need from me.”

Without a word, you grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it upward. He sat up just enough to help you pull it off, and the second the fabric cleared his head, your hands were on him.

God, you loved his body. Your moved your palm slowly over his chest, feeling the coarse hair and the thud of his heart beneath your fingertips. You dragged your hands lower, mapping the soft, rounded curve of his belly with desire. It turned you on more than any gym-honed torso ever could. As you pressed your palms into the softness, your fingers dag in gently. Then you smoothed your hands over it again and again, savoring the way it yielded under your touch.

You were mumbling praises and moans between gasps, completely lost in the sensation. “Robby… you feel so good… so deep… fuck, I love your cock inside me…”

At one point, Robby planted his feet firmly on the bed, bent his knees, and started thrusting up to meet you. The change felt devastating, he was now fucking you from below with powerful strokes that made you cry out loudly as he droveinto you. 

The slap of skin on skin grew louder when the slamming into you intensified. “Fuck—Robby!” you moaned, letting your head fall back as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Eyes on me if you can, sweetheart,” he growled, moving his fingers down to rub your clit again. “I’m getting close. You feel too good. You’re gonna make me cum.”

You were a moaning and squirming mess on top of him, riding and grinding as he thrusted up harder. His fingers on your clit and his cock hitting deep pushed you toward another peak, but it was his impending orgasm that had you focused on him.

“I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, snapping his hips up faster. “Fuck—can I cum inside you? Please, I want to fill you up.”

“Yes,” you gasped, riding him desperately. “Cum inside me, Robby. I want it. Fill me up. Please—”

With a deep groan, Robby thrusted up hard one last time and came, pulsing nside you, flooding your pussy with thick and warm ropes of cum. He held you down on him, gripping your hips tightly as he emptied himself completely. The feeling of him cumming inside you, fully claiming you, triggered your own smaller orgasm, making your walls clench rhythmically around his pulsing cock.

You both stayed locked together, panting. Robby stroked your back and thighs as you came down from the high befor pulling you down against his chest, kissing your forehead, keeping his cock still buried deep inside you as his release slowly leaked out around him, so much that you could feel the hot nd sticky evidence of his climax.

There were no more walls, just the two of you, finally giving in to everything you’ve both wanted and repressed for so long. You stayed draped on top of Robby for a long stretch of time, both of you catching your breath as the intensity slowly ebbed. Eventually, you lifted your head and looked at him. “That was… amazing. I wouldn’t even have dreamed that it’d be that good.”

He hummed in agreement, continuing his soothing path along your back. “It was. Better than I let myself imagine. You felt perfect.”

The praise made a warm feeling bloom in your chest. After a few more quiet moments, Robby gently helped you sit up, easing you off his cock with a shared sigh. You both winced slightly at the loss of connection and the feeling of emptiness, but he pulled you down beside him on the bed, wrapping his arms around you again as you cuddled into his side.

“So… you don’t regret it, do you?”

He met your eyes as a small smile began tugging at his lips beneath the beard. “Right now? I can’t regret having amazing sex with you. My mind is still somewhere up in the clouds.” He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “I don’t know what will happen tomorrow when reality hits, but tonight… no regrets.”

You nestled closer, throwing one leg over his. The cuddling felt easy, natural, like you’d been doing this for years. For tonight, the outside world, the hospital, the guilt, the what ifs didn’t exist. There was only the two of you, and Robby might be right about reality hitting tomorrow, but right now, in the darkness of his room, everything felt right.

A/N: Two attempts at posting this fic, and two times Tumblr’s stupid AI mistakenly flagged it😭 I’ve spent days trying to figure out what was causing the problem and doing everything I could to finally get this fic posted for all of you. So if you’re reading this, it means it worked. Hopefully.

If you end up enjoying the fic, I’d really appreciate it if you could help me share it with a reblog (only if you enjoyed the fic) cause I’ve put a lot of work on it

Well, I hope you enjoyed this little something I worked on when inspiration finally struck me. I don’t know if I read it somewhere or if we all collectively decided it, but Robby absolutely feels like the type of guy who talks you through it. You’re telling me the man who spends all day teaching med students and residents how to do procedures wouldn’t also be guiding his girl in bed? It’s literally in his nature!!! This TikTok also got me inspired because, yes, he absolutely looks at you through it too.

I also think Robby’s canon texting style is weirdly inconsistent. In that scene in season one where he’s texting Jake, sometimes he starts messages with capital letters and sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he ends sentences with a period, sometimes he doesn’t. In my head, he has perfect grammar but deliberately tries to sound Gen Z and chill when he’s texting someone younger than him lol. Anyway, I tried to replicate that here too.

Thank you all so much for your patience. I really appreciate it, and I hope I can stick around for good this time🩷

dividers by: @cafekitsune

[p0tat0nug]

Can he be MY boss??? 😮‍💨

[romantic-insomniac]

being drunk and silly with your boyfriend jack abbot !!

had some tipsy jack talk with @mochapuppy and got to work!

! mdni ! smut below !

date night had been successful as always. the only hitch in your romantic plans was you getting accidentally wasted.

jack had insisted that the two of you could go to bed when you got home. that he wasn't expecting anything from you and didn't need anything besides you cuddling up in bed beside him.

but drunk you was persistent. you put on a tiny dress after all, did your makeup and wore a matching lacey set you knew he'd love. and by the time you pushed him onto the couch and dropped to your knees in front of him, he was already hard from your sloppy kisses and whispered dirty words in his ear. you couldn't just leave him hanging!

as you took his thick cock out of his boxers, you tried very hard to stay serious, even though everything got slightly fuzzy and realllyyy funny. so you decided not to look into your boyfriends eyes as you tried to suck his dick while shit faced.

you lean down to place a kiss to the head of him, then another. then another and another while giggling as you think about how cute his pink tip is. you hear him sigh impatiently and you blink up at him through bleary eyes. "s-sorry *hic* soryy jackie- 's jus sooo pretty."

he runs a hand through his silver curls before reaching down to try and haul you off your knees. his arms grip under your armpits like how a parent picks up a toddler. " 's alright baby you don't have to. lets just go to sleep alright?"

but you squirm out of his hold and firmly plant yourself on your knees. pouting all serious now. "no! i can do it *hic* promise!" after a second of scanning your face for doubt, jack nods and settles back into the couch when all he finds is determination.

you wrap your manicured hand around his pretty cock, a lopsided grin forms on your face when you hears jack's breath catch. you prop your elbow on one of his spread knees and rest your cheek against your fist as you stroke him way too slowly due to time meaning nothing to you in your buzzed state of mind.

you don't even realize you're eye lids drooping until jack thrusts up into your hand with a rough, "cmon baby." you jolt upright instantly, swallowing down a drunken yawn before forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand. sweetly saying "sorry jackie."

you bend forward to lick him, a long stripe from base to tip that has you smacking your lips with a "mmmm tastes good." jack huffs a laugh thats snuffed out by a groan when you take him in your mouth.

one languid suck of his length has you feeling dizzy. but not the usual kind of dizziness that blooms from pleasure, the intoxicated kind. when you bob back up the world spins, you mumble jacks name weakly before your hands shoot out to grab at his thick thighs.

he straightens instantly, cursing as he grips your biceps, hard cock still standing at attention inches from your face. "no more." he grunts with a grimace on his wrinkled face, looking like he's about to try and move you from your spot again.

but he's so hard! and you told him you wanted to do this. and you still do. you love making him feel good and getting drunk was not going to stop you from doing so. you start to whine and shimmy out of his hold. " 'm jus too dizzy. *hic* help me please?" your lower lip wobbles and tears brim at your waterline. jack gives you a doting smile and strokes your hair, not being able to say no to you. "course i can sweetheart."

thinking he's gonna fuck your face, you form an 'o' and go to take him back in your mouth. you squeak in surprise when jack grips your hair and gently tugs you back to look up at him. he chides "nuh uh baby. dont wan't you gettin' nauseous." before you can even argue he lays his thumb on your tongue and drags it outwards. "lemme do all the work. stick that tongue out. good girl- just like that."

you giggle at the praise, shifting on your knees so he has a better view of you all glossy eyed and pliant for him. jack takes himself in his vein covered hand and starts to leisurely stroke. watching him touch himself has your cheeks heating and thighs squirming. "jackiee" you whine, for nothing in particular.

but he just shakes his head as his movements speed up, grunting as he twists his wrist at the tip. "don't worry baby. just sit there and look pretty- fuck- y'so pretty sweetheart." after however long -you're so wasted you couldn't say- his jaw clenches and his thighs tense and you can tell he's getting close.

you see his aged face pinch as he squeezes the thick base with his hand while staring at you wide eyed for him. your hands start to feel real useless. so you reach out to grip his balls to help! he groans loudly as you start to massage them in your soft palm.

"fuck- just like that- doin so good-" his praises have you sober the tiniest bit, enough to lean forward and dribble some spit onto his glistening tip. jack throws his head back in a broken moan before gluing his blown out eyes back to yours. "gonna cum- tongue out f'me. now."

you obey him, instantly rewarded by the sound of jack cumming, groaning your name along with a string of lewd praises. "oooh fuck- fuck baby- so good. you're so good-" he tilts his hips forward as his hand jerks himself rapidly, his salty release spraying you from your extended tongue, to your smudged mascara covered cheeks, to the tip of your nose. he only collapses when you're entirely painted in his cum, slowly blinking down at you. his chuckle at your huge grin and sticky face is weak and satisfied.

you stick your tongue out to start to lick up his release but he stops you by successfully picking you up and dropping you on the couch. "leave it." he demands as he makes his way down your body to spread your legs with his large palms.

he tugs your panties to the side and sucks a hickey to your inner thigh after you nod at him as a yes, then rasps onto your skin, "want us to match by the time im done, baby."