seongje as ur partner in crime ? partnerincrime!seongje x fem!reader smau swearing reader is silly ok 👌 they more like friends but seongje has a soft spot there’s a plot but i kinda lose it lmao incorrect timestamps
name.priv🔒 posted 20:38
tagged @gmsj🔒
name.priv🔒 getting stacked up
liked by imningning🔒, gmsj🔒, imnotwinter🔒, and 12 more
⤷ Cook Ragebaits but he also pays majority of the bill so…
°˖➴ Sfw!
Roommate! James Cook who saw your cry for help on social media in dire need of a place to stay. As an old friend from school (friend is an understatement) it only seemed logical to accept his offer when he messaged you about staying with him—but…you soon realized it was a small ploy to get a girl to stay at his place 24/7 without the hassle of making one stay.
You’ve seen the woman he indulges in, cute, skinny and a bimbo personally — clearly he has a type— But they easily catch on to his game and storm out of the house leaving him no room to state his case.
Unfortunately, your stuck here having to bear witness to it all.
“Is that Jess?” You question from the living room when he walks in with girl of the day 4.
“Who’s Jess?” She looks over at Cook.
“Nobody babe— ignore her.” He guides her to the room, throwing a glare over his shoulders at you. “My roommates just jealous I get some more than her.”
Roommate! James Cook who has no boundaries when it comes to personal items and space. He leaves his clothes everywhere, kicks his shoes off where he pleases, leaves cups and bowls on whatever flat surface is available— and if he doesn’t have one, he leaves it on the floor to clutter.
You’re not his maid, reminding him constantly with a flick to the back of his head and a hiss in your voice. but he thinks you would look sexy as hell dressed up as one— running around in a short dress and white stockings up to your thighs.
After tripping over the fifth pile of clothes, you stomp into the kitchen where he’s leaning against the fridge, thumbs pressing away on his phone.
“Can you clean your shit up?”
Cook almost laughs in your face. “Uh-uh— Who pays the bill?”
“Who knows karate?” You retort.
“Me, in fact—”
“and carries a taser?”
“Fine— okay. Geez. Don’t have to get violent.”
Roommate! James Cook who’s been banned from your room. You have a huge “DO NOT ENTER” sign posted on your front door.
Did he listen the first time? No
So you showed him what would happen.
You posted an embarrassing YouTube video of him sitting in the bathtub, drunk out of his mind, titled “Pussy cries cause he can’t get pussy.” He was sobbing and listening to Whitney Houston on full blast, screaming his exs name in-between the chorus and the second verse.
You got 1 million views— still trending.
He never went back into your room again.
°˖➴ Nsfw!
Roommate! James Cook who finds your mean personality and violent tendencies to threaten his life super duper hot. He’s had women curse him out, women who’s slapped him, women who almost kicked him in the balls— but there was something about the way you did it that made him questionable hard.
he won’t admit that he jerks it at night after you yell at him to clean something up. Picturing how cute you looked with your nose turned and brows furrowed.
Roommate! James Cook who has one of your panties stashed away in his room. He takes your “do not enter” law very seriously, so he waited until you left your laundry by the washer and snuck it then.
Finders keepers!
He keeps it hidden under his pillow, hoping it would magically send good vibrations and induce him into a wet dream state.
Trust him, it works 85% of the time.
Roommate! James Cook who waits until you leave for work to go into your room— not fully in, but he stands by the door, hands raised and pushed together making the shape of a rectangle. He tries and pictures himself— looking through the lens of a porno director— thinking about what position he would have you in when you finally can’t resist his sex charm and let him ravish you in your pretty pink bed.
Doggy style? Reverse cowgirl? Mating press? fuck it, any position would look good.
⤿ synopsis : all your life, you’ve always gotten everything you’ve ever wanted. no one ever told you ‘no’ until you met a drug dealer named cook who didn’t want to play into your little fantasy…
⤿ contents : fem!reader , reader is very much a spoiled brat , mentions of drug use (cocaine) and drinking , reader provokes/is a bitch to cook , slight dubcon , slapping , rough unprotected p in v in a car , doggystyle , gunplay , threats , freak!reader , face painting ! 18+ MDNI
w.c. 4.6k
⩩ author notes : second cook fic!!! this was pretty ambitious of me to write but i'm rocking with it! i almost wanted to give this to eric love but i decided he's not deserving of this type of treatment, so cook handled it instead. enjoy and please mind the tags!
┇likes, reblogs, and comments are highly appreciated! ❤︎
luxurious. lavish. expensive. three words that described your entire life. it had always been that way, ever since you were a baby until the present, you got all that you’ve ever wanted. the word ‘no’ wasn’t even a word that existed in your mental dictionary given the fact that you almost never heard it. you were highly spoiled and came from extreme familial wealth, solidifying your spot in every possible space you wished to join.
throughout your life, you were only gifted with the best; a picturesque home, professional babysitters, the top education available, and a life filled with extravagant experiences. those who didn’t know you called you a princess, those who did called you a rich bitch…and so what? they weren’t wrong. the hardest things you’ve ever endured in life were the times when your freshly manicured nails would chip, or when you just couldn’t decide what to wear while standing in a walk-in closet the size of an average person’s bedroom. you were out of touch with reality, and you liked that. you couldn’t fathom why the outside world needed your attention when you could simply live in your own plush bubble.
it wasn’t your fault however, that’s just the attitude you were constantly surrounded by and how your parents raised you to act. even your own friends acted in their own selfish ways, always flashy and trying to one-up you as if seeing who was more wealthy was the ultimate game of life. it was bothersome, but you could handle it no doubt. i mean, why let such minor troubles affect you when you were off attending the best university in the country, partying til dawn every weekend and getting with every boy you laid your eyes on. life worked in your favour, and to say you had tremendous power over people was an understatement. that’s why when one person resisted your efforts, you were enraged.
it all began when an invite to a party was sent to your instagram dms. a house party, tucked away near the outskirts of the city at someone’s family mansion. nothing you weren’t used to. as much as you liked partying on campus and your dorm only being a short distance away, they were more monitored therefore you couldn’t let loose as much. you were no stranger to a good party, as your friends often dubbed you as the ‘party itself’. it was happening on a weekend to celebrate the end of the first term right before the second one started, and best believe you needed a huge house party after the unbearable amount of exams you just took. you weren’t the smartest girl out there, but you certainly weren’t dumb. yes, your parents knew the headmaster well and put in a good word for you, but that didn’t mean you weren’t somewhat deserving of going to a nice school which is what you told yourself for comfort.
you texted your groupchat with your closest girlfriends asking if they received the same invite, to which they did. in fact, almost everyone in your year was. that was a lot of people, but the more the merrier. it was currently a tuesday, and the party was planned for saturday night, so you really had a lot to look forward to. the mere thought of it even gave you a sudden boost in motivation to get your assignments done early so that you could completely let go the night of.
that saturday afternoon, you stood in a fluffy robe facing your fully packed closet. your hand lightly glided over the hung up dresses, getting a feel for what kind of vibe you wanted to bring to the party. the party was only a few hours away, but you already had your everything shower, fully lotioned yourself from head to toe, hair was done, nails were done, and makeup almost fully completed. you tilted your head back in frustration, not understanding why it always had to be this hard when choosing an outfit. you thought about calling a friend to help you out, but you were all about surprises especially when it came to dressing up, so you scratched that idea off. instead, your mind wandered to the guy you’ve been seeing for awhile now. dominic. he was tall and charming, the one you could bring back home no problem. he approached you at a christmas party on the guise of having mutual friends, but he really only wanted to get you in bed with him. truth be told, it definitely wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had but it was manageable since you happened to be a mid dick magnet. you thought about dominic as you continued to decide what to wear. what could impress him? more so, what could show him you were that girl? you finally landed on an outfit; a mini dress straight from an archive fashion collection. your silhouette was hugged in all the right places and there was no doubt that anyone would be wearing something similar. you paired the dress with some kitten heels, your signature jewelry, and a clutch. standing fully dressed in front of your mirror, you took a few mirror selfies before stepping forward and pressing your glossy lips to the cold material, symbolizing good luck.
you shared a limousine with your friends on the way there, making sure to pregame with a bottle of champagne. the mansion came up on a hill and was absolutely stunning. it was an older french country mansion, not like those lifeless modern homes that were composed of giant rectangles. you didn’t know the host well, but you knew his family had good taste. it was around dusk when you arrived and the house was nearly filled by now, with some people choosing to stand out in the front and the back for personal space. you and your friends walked into the large foyer and was immediately met with the smell of perfume and weed. there could have been hundreds of people in this house. suddenly, dominic came into your peripheral and hugged you, which did shock you slightly.
“always good to see you, babe. how are ya? you all just arrived or what?” he said into your ear, almost slurring his words like he was drunk. he definitely smelled like it.
“yeah i’m alright, we just got here…you can let go now” you said uncomfortably through a smile, itching to get his paws off your dress.
dominic let go but continued to hold your hips as he leaned down to kiss you. your friends let you know they were going to walk over to the bar and asked what they could get you, and the thought of getting another drink instantly pulled you away from his lips.
“a glass of red!” you said desperately. wine loosened you up like no other drink could.
“ohh fuck, ‘forgot to ask you if you wanted something..” he says, cradling your cheek. you winced at the smell of booze in his breath and you leaned away.
“don’t worry, you’ll know for next time” you flash him a smile that makes his knees wobble, and he chuckles.
“glass of red for the little party girl!” one of your friends hands you a generously full glass, and you immediately begin chugging it like it’s beer. you were famously irresponsible with your drinking but you always denied it, mostly because you never remembered much when you were drunk.
for the first half of the night, you chatted and danced like a proper party goer, and you were always the one who stood out amongst the crowd. the second half of the night was a little different. it was already a little late by then, around 10pm, but the house was now at full capacity. some people were fully drunk, others jumping into the pool outside, and some upstairs occupying the guest bedrooms. the basement of the home was where the more ‘lucrative’ part of the party was happening. obviously you had to go down there. dominic told you about the host hiring some drug dealers to deal to the party goers, almost in the same way you hire clowns to entertain children at a birthday party. it intrigued you. you hadn’t really done drugs except a little weed here and there, and one magic mushrooms trip when you were 14. dominic led you down the winding stairs towards the basement, making sure to keep your tipsy self from falling. the basement was darker and the smell of weed was much stronger. it was buzzing with people, and dominic was eager to get some coke from one of the dealers. he pulled you along through the groups of people until he came up to a man sitting at a couch with drugs laid out in little baggies in front of him. girls tripped over themselves as they waited in line for more drugs when they clearly had enough, while some guys stood anxiously as they attempted to get a lower price on the coke, but the dealer kept firm on his prices. when it was you and dominic’s turn, you took a moment to register his look; he had on dark clothing that blended into the couch he was sat on, shaggy cropped hair, pale skin, and a face that made your stomach flutter. he was laid back on the couch nursing a beer bottle.
“what can i do for ‘ya, mate?” the man said as he leaned forward slightly, looking up at dominic.
“just some coke man, nothin’ crazy” dominic said trying to joke around, although it sounded annoying coming from his mouth.
“anyfin for your lady?” the dealer said looking up at you while taking a sip. you liked the way he looked at you, even if it was just a regular stare.
“we’re sharing” said dominic.
“‘course, mate. how much?”
“an 8 ball.”
the man sorted through his little baggies and pulled out one that was filled to the brim with the powdery substance. dominic pulled out his wallet from his pocket and hands the dealer some money, while grabbing the bag in the other.
“gracias my amigo” dominic says again in a cheesy voice, and it literally grates your ears to hear him try to be funny.
“enjoy” the dealer says kindly, although annoyed by dominic’s presence.
dominic takes you to another couch, still in view of the dealer, and flops down.
“you ever done this before?” he says while scrambling to find something with a flat surface, instead opting to use his phone screen.
“mm, no” you say sounding uninterested, your eyes completely focused on the dealer handing out more drugs. you wondered what his name was, how the host knew him, and if he went to your university.
“wanna sniff the first line?” dominic already had two lines created in the time you spent staring off.
“i don’t think i want any coke tonight, sorry babe” you say with a fake smile, feeling a little uncomfortable.
dominic pauses and furrows his brows, “okay so, i just spend money on coke for the both of us, and you’re saying you don’t want any?”
“i never told you i wanted coke.”
“yeah, but i was under the impression you wanted some since you wanted to come down ‘ere so badly.”
“you’re having a laugh, babe.”
he uses his money that he rolled up to sniff the coke while you talk, and he takes a hard sniff to really get it up his nose. you could tell he just wanted you to piss off already.
“this couch is reserved for people who do coke.”
“guess i’ll go back upstairs then. text me when you wanna stop acting like a dick” you huff, grabbing your clutch and storming away from dominic. you head towards the stairs, but you take one last look at the dealer, and he’s looking at you too.
3am was rolling around, and the party was wrapping up. the host noted on the invite that everyone would be kicked out at 3 because their parents would be coming back at 7am. the mansion was pretty trashed at this point, beer cans were littered all over the property, some toilets were clogged, the smell of weed couldn’t have been removed even with 100 candles burning, and not to mention all the people who were passed out. this house would probably never see another party again. you were still annoyed at dominic for how he treated you, but you also couldn’t keep your mind off that dealer. you needed to know his name at least before you left. dominic had already left with a few friends, coked out of his mind, so you felt okay going back into the basement. you told your friends you needed to use the toilet before you left, and they waited in the foyer for the limousine driver. you made your way down the stairs of basement, and felt your nerves twisting as it was pretty quiet down there. there were only a few party goers left, most passed out, but the dealers were packing up. you spotted him on the same couch, packing his things into a backpack, completely oblivious to you padding over to him until he felt the couch dip slightly beside him. he quickly turned his head to look at you and raised his brows in surprise.
“shops’ all packed in now, babe. you could’ve bought sumfin’ 10 minutes ago” he says as he returns to packing.
“not looking to buy.”
“whatdya’ want then.”
“your name.”
he looks back at you, even more surprised but also a tinge of confusion as well.
“cook. james cook. and yours?”
you gave him yours in the sweetest voice you could put on, using your charm as a weapon like a snake with venom.
“nice to meet you, cook.” you say quietly but genuinely as you admire his facial features. he had a boyish beauty. a little rough around the edges. the fact that you felt some attraction was incredibly weird considering you went for preppy guys, but in the moment you didn’t acknowledge it.
“say cook…why don’t we have a little fun in that bathroom over there?” you tilt your head with a pout.
cook laughs awkwardly and looks at you, then shakes his head.
“nah, babe. weren’t you here with some bloke? the unfunny one?”
you frowned, feeling insulted.
“that’s not my man, he’s just some guy i shag…not that he’s any good though” you trail off slightly on that last part, a quiet admission of truth.
“sorry ‘bout that. i’m not doin’ any shagging tonight though, sweetheart.”
you understood the concept of consent, but the concept of being told ‘no’ was making you visibly upset, not to mention the fact that you were pretty drunk.
“every guy wants to shag me.”
“every guys’ not me, babe.”
“but..i always get what i want.”
“dunno ‘bout that, darlin'.”
you slumped back into the couch in defeat, you didn’t even realize your protesting was becoming embarrassing. for a moment, cook looked back at you, slightly entertained by the spoiled brat sitting next to him.
“whatever, i’m too good for you anyways, so is this pussy” you say angrily while getting up.
“you keep tellin’ yourself that” cook says in a nonchalant tone, which riles you up even more.
“fuck you! you don’t even know who you’re talking to, you knob!” now you’re yelling, and people are looking.
cook just laughs, the same way he used to laugh when he was younger and some idiotic scenario was happening in front of him. he was throughly entertained by you.
tears start forming in your eyes quickly from both the humiliation and the fact that your charm didn’t work. you made an angry groan before thumping the floor with one foot like a child throwing a tantrum, and stormed off again. this time not looking back.
the ride home was a disaster. two of your friends got motion sickness, another was arguing on the phone with her parents, and you were sat there sulking. never in your life have you felt so rejected, that’s how ‘perfect’ your life had been. to a normal person, this would’ve been a regular occurrence but for you this was a horrible situation. was cook still attractive to you? yes. was he a massive dick? also yes. you started to think about how it would be if you fucked a drug dealer, how dirty it would be. not only would your family cease to speak to you, but it would be such a bad look for you. did it really matter though? technically, you were seeing dominic, but it wasn’t like you’ve never been unfaithful before. you’ve done plenty of things with plenty of guys while being in relationships all because you weren’t being satisfied at home. it would’ve been your little secret anyways, to fuck cook. you were notorious for making extremely bad decisions. you were going to see him again, and you would be getting exactly what you wanted.
some time had passed, and the party started to become old news. you never stopped thinking about cook though. you spent hours searching his name on google, instagram, facebook, snapchat, you name it, and he just wasn’t there. your only option was to get in touch with the host of the party, but they had their phone taken away for awhile for obvious reasons. when you did get in touch, they told you that they only knew one dealer from the group, and that dealer brought his friends with him. they offered to give you his number and you happily obliged. you immediately contacted the dealer and asked for cook. he asked for the reason and you told him you wanted to buy specifically from him. the dealer said okay and would set up a time for you and him to meet. when he asked for your name, you gave a fake name so cook wouldn’t cancel for any reason. after the conversation ended, you smiled excitedly at the thought of your redemption. this was your greatest masterplan yet.
you approached the car in the half empty car lot somewhere outside the city, heels clacking on the pavement. you had decided to wear a little disguise; a designer trench coat with some dark sunglasses. after all, you really weren’t supposed to be out here doing this. you walked up to the drivers side door and leaned down to look through the glass. cook rolled his window in confusion, and you took that moment to remove your sunglasses.
“thanks for meeting me” you say with a tone of faux innocence, knowing damn well this was his job, not some hangout you two planned together.
cooks’ jaw falls slightly in shock, but then he just chuckles.
“‘course it’s you again.”
you walk around to the passenger side and made yourself comfy in his car, even going as far as to pull down the passenger mirror and check your lipgloss.
“whatdya’ want, then” cook watches you, not fully believing you were just here for drugs.
“oh, you know, an apology.” you say as you used your fingernail to clean up the bit of gloss around your lips.
“and why’s that?”
“i’m sure you remember, you were rude to me the night of that party.”
“s’not rude, just didn’t wanna bang ‘ya.”
“why not? tell me why you wouldn’t fuck me?”
“you were clearly pissed, and i don’t shag girls like you.”
“girls like me?”
“just spoiled, petty, bratty. i don’t get on with those types of girls.”
his words were a slap to the face. it wasn’t the first time you heard someone call you those words but his words stung harder.
“well i don’t shag guys like you. guys who sell drugs for a living like an absolute loser in dishevelled cars, like what a joke.”
cook huffs out a laugh but it’s not because he finds you funny, you genuinely hit a nerve. cook never wanted to be a drug dealer, he was just doing this to survive.
“you think you can just sit up in ‘ere and chat shit about me and what i do to get around?” he was actually a little upset now, but it only fuelled you in a disgusting way.
“yeah, i do.”
“get the fuck out me car, mate.”
“i’m not your ‘mate’.”
“i’m not gonna say it again.”
you wouldn’t say it, but you were absolutely getting off on cook’s anger like the sick person you were.
“what if i don’t get out?”
cook was done. he reached into the waistband of his jeans and pulled out a handgun, aiming it right in your face. in one moment, your face went from smug to shocked. there was a click. he turned the safety off. you couldn’t even move, you were paralyzed in his passenger seat as you realized this could’ve been it, the end of your life at the hands of some drug dealer.
“get in the back, then” cook said, gun unmoving. he motioned with his head to the backseat of his car. you tried to speak but only a breath came out, a weird incoherent sound.
“don’t say nuffin’. get in the back now.”
you moved very slowly, crawling over the console into the backseats. cook waited until you were fully situated and then climbed over himself, gun still in his hand.
“d-don’t hurt me…i’m s-sorry..” you’re unable to control the shake in your voice, tears on the brink of your lower lash line.
“not gonna hurt you. just gonna teach you a lesson” he says gently but it still feels very condescending, rightfully so.
“get on your hands and knees for me.”
your heart dropped. somehow it was exactly what you wanted but it wasn’t at the same time. when you didn’t acknowledge his words, he pointed the gun in your face again, and that got you moving.
“good girl” he said under his breath as he watched you take off your coat, and position yourself so that you were facing the outside window and your ass was facing cook. you were wearing a black slip under your coat, nothing too sexy but obviously it was for easy access incase cook gave in. cook got up on his knees and lifted your slip over your ass, revealing a black lacy thong. you felt his hand smooth over one cheek before feeling a painful smack, earning a shriek from you. his digits pulled the lacy fabric down and used two hands to pull the two cheeks apart, inspecting your nakedness. your humiliation was beginning to turn you on. he removed one hand from your cheek and smacked your pussy, making you squeak and jump again. cook said nothing and continued to smack you, harder every time. then you heard a belt unbuckling and a zipper being pulled down, then a warm nudge at your dampening entrance. you whimpered at the thought of him impregnating you. then he pushed in, slow and steady, and you felt every inch of it. he groaned above you, and it was filthy. cook began moving at a fast pace, like he was ready to get this over with so he could kick you out of his car. he slammed into you with every thrust, burying himself to the hilt. you couldn’t keep the moans falling from your lips, he was just too good, and you almost already knew that. you hated how every guy you’ve hooked up with were so passive in the bedroom, never wanting to get rough with you or treat you differently even for one night. cook was different; he wasn’t making love to you—he was fucking you. and he was absolutely fed up with you. his pace made you gasp every time his cock plunged into you.
“f-feels so fucking good! cook-”
before you could finish speaking, cook leaned forward, pressing his abdomen into your back and wrapping his free hand around your mouth abruptly, his other hand pressing the gun to the side of your head. it made you gasp under his rough hand. his pace barely slowed down.
“not a fuckin’ word from you. you say another word and i’ll hurt you” cook says threateningly into your ear, pressing the tip of his gun harder into your skull with every word. you can only close your eyes and nod, warm tears sinking down your face onto his hand.
the only sounds being made were the sounds of aggressive skin slapping and the occasional whimper from you. cook kept quiet for the most part, not wanting to reveal how good you felt clenched around him even though his mouth was still near your ear. your nails dug into the faux leather of the seat as you felt your orgasm approaching. your mouth hung open with brows furrowed as it was building rapidly, hoping no loud sounds would come out incase cook made good on his word. with a few more thrusts, you came, shakily exhaling as quietly as you could. your aftershocks pulled cook’s orgasm closer as well, and his thrusts became sloppier. then he spoke again.
“turn ova’, needa see your face” cook said breathlessly, making you think he needed to see your face to finish.
he pulled back and you quickly flipped over, revealing your fucked out expression. cook was tightly fisting his cock as he used the headrest to pull himself forward, nearing your face. oh, he was going to finish on your face. he tipped his head back for a moment and made a sound that was a mix of a groan and a whimper. you opened your mouth as you waited for his cum but cook angrily told you to close it. you squeezed your eyes shut and suddenly felt a warm liquid shooting at your face, making your breath hitch. cook grabbed the top of your head with his big hand and brought your face closer to his leaking cock, painting your face with his release. he chuckled wickedly, watching you turn from a petty snob to a whimpering coward. this was unlike anything cook had ever done to a girl, but you pushed him to be like this and that was his reasoning, not that anyone would know about this. you opened your eyes when you felt cook was finished and caught a glimpse of your face through the window. you looked disgusting. mascara pooled around the bottom of your eyes, your hair was dishevelled, and you had a man’s cum all over your face. somehow, a part of you was still into it.
“you can go now” cook said, “you got what ‘ya wanted, now fuck off” cook said looking down as he frantically pulled his jeans up and re-buckled his belt.
you turned to open the side door and awkwardly stumbled out, quickly grabbing your trench coat and using it as a wipe for your face. cook moved to the front of the car again and handed you the sunglasses that you left on the dashboard. you put them on immediately to cover more of your face. then cook started his car and drove out of the parking lot, the exhaust blowing in your face as he left. you stood there, watching his car disappear, wondering what brought you to this point. you took a deep breath and called an uber home, returning back to your normal, cozy bubble but deep down secretly hoping you would cross paths with cook again.
CONTENT - headcanons of dex being obsessed with you. mention of killing. (after all, he's a killer so...)
WC - 1k
NOTE - I can't fix him but I could make him worse.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who sees you as the only thing that really matters on his life. You are everything he has. His life is built around you, because you are his life.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who thinks you are perfect. I mean it. He thinks you make no mistakes, everything you do is for a good reason and he doesn’t need to question it. He trusts you with his body and soul. You are his favorite person. For him you are a literal divine being, and he’s your loyal follower. He puts you in a pedestal.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who thinks you are the only person who can save him. Therapy is not even needed anymore; he got you, why would he need to talk with some stranger about his feelings? You know what’s best for him, after all, you love him.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who would and will kill for you without a second thought. Actually, you don’t know it but he already did. Your coworker who touched you four months ago and suddenly was fired, well; Dex made him ask to be fired, snuck into his flat and killed him with a kitchen knife. Now, you’re safe to do your job in peace.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who is fascinated by you. He loves to memorize your habits, every little thing you do without noticing – Dex notices it. He knows everything about you, how you take your drinks, what kind of meds you take, what kind of music you listen to, who you hate and who you admire, he knows it all. Hell, he could probably say that he knows you better than yourself.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who has a hard time with boundaries, he just loves you so much that he want to be with you all the time. If you’re mad? He is not leaving your side until you two fix it. Sad? Well, he will make you feel better. Tired? Okay, you both are going to sleep together. He knows it can be suffocating, he just can’t help it. His whole body aches if he’s not around you.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who is so scared that you will leave him. He can be too much sometimes but that’s because he’s terrified of losing you. You are the only good thing that ever happened with him. He will do anything to keep you – literally anything.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who tries to be better for you every day. It doesn’t mean he actually is getting better, but trying is better than nothing. It’s hard for him. Since he was a kid, he was always so angry at everything, most of time he doesn’t mean to be violent with people. It happens all too fast. Things who were supposed to be small are enough to take him over the edge. And he’s always so full of guilt, of regrets and then he gets mad again, mad for not being normal, for not being better. He is not a good person and he knows, but he swear he will try as hard as he can if it means he get to keep you.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who never felt like he deserved to be with you. He made way too many mistakes in his life. When he looks at you, he wonders, how he got so lucky this time? He thinks about it and then gets overly protective over you, he feels like someone is going to steal you from him or that something bad will happen any time. He doesn’t trust people, he doesn’t even trust himself sometimes.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who hate when you two fight. He doesn’t process emotions like everyone else, so he gets angry – but never at you, mostly at himself. He knows that’s something is wrong with him. He also doesn’t trust himself to be close to you after a fight, he wants to be with you, but if he’s mad? He can’t. He could lose his head and hurt you, and for that, he would never forgive himself. So he stays away for a bit. Locks himself at his room and listen to his tapes. Focus on random patterns and take deep breaths, reminding him that things are okay; that he is okay.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who is very awkward around kids but also weirdly good with them. Meeting your brothers or sisters? One of happiest days of his life. Make them all laugh for hours, teach them about baseball, rate their drawings – all with a big, gentle smile. After that day, he’s in bed and he confess to you “I would be the happiest man on earth if I had kids with you” and he was so sweet with it, making plans about getting out of hell’s kitchen and moving to a quiet, nice place. ‘But if you don’t want kids, it’s totally fine with me. Having you all for me sounds quite nice.”
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who touches you as if you’re sacred. He doesn’t believe in god. Never did. But, something like you had to be created by perfection itself. Is crazy about everything on you, every curve, every sign, and every detail is loved by him. On special nights, he get on his knees for you and kiss every spot of you – not even sexually, just worshiping you. He thrives on telling you how much you matter to him.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who could never get tired of you, and make sure to let you know that as he look at you with big puppy eyes and kiss you, letting his hands please you as if his life depends on it. He is down to whatever you say, you want to try something in bed? He’s already there waiting for you. He’s yours – and you are his.
BENJAMIN POINDEXTER who sees you as his north star. He’s not leaving you. You’re stuck with him until the day he dies – and maybe even after death, he will come looking for you again.
Park the shark x reader who's equally as intimidating as him <33
Med students and some residents— hell even some attendings are scared to both of them 😆
I wrote it w the intention of making up a patient but then ended up writing it on baby jane doe. park isn’t in here really until the end. an introduction to the intimidating peds dr that is coincidentally married to the intimidating ortho dr lol. f!reader implied
ONE FISH, TWO FISH
"put in your orders dr. mohan."
robby snapped off his gloves and looked to the resident. clearing his throat before finishing. “—and get peds in here.”
samira stuttered in movement before she glanced to the attending. “peds?”
it wasn’t a question of reasoning but rather an echo of his request. a clarification to make sure she heard him right. robby nodded. tight lipped as he swiveled his head to the side. “yes.” but the way the word was said made it seem like he was second guessing. robby looked to baby jane doe and then to samira. exhaling through his nose and nodding without saying anything. his hand wiped across his face. “yes, get peds in.” and left.
samira stared at the small patient before whispering under her breath. “shit.”
—
her fingers faltered at the tablet, trying to keep her mind on the patient as she waited. ogilvie stood off to the side. eyeing her as he himself waited. dana had told him to assist. insisted on it apparently. from what ogilvie told the resident.
and when robby came by to see where things were at, looking to samira for an answer on why the student was in there—without actually asking—she carefully explains. “dana thought it’d be a good opportunity for him to—”
“I don’t know why- i was looking to get in on the trauma that came in. I wanted to practice my intubation for my medical procedure log but I was told I’d be learning a lot if I were to help dr. mohan.” the med student interrupts. robby and samira share a quick look before robby clasps his hands together and nods. albeit not being okay with the charge nurse assigning his students to cases without letting him know, he sees…why she did it.
the attending bites his lower lip. “I think dana is right. you’ll learn from this so just uh—” he scratches his beard. “wait for peds. dr.park is an exceptional pediatrician—”
“dr. park?” ogilvie asked looking to samira then back to robby.
“yes, she's—” “a child was abandoned?” your gloves snapped on as you walked in.
“dr.park.” robby acknowledged. you spare a side glance and a lifted hand. a wave. “present the case.”
ogilvie speaks as samira opens her mouth, "sats 99 on room air, normal bp, normal pulse…” your eyes brief them over, before shifting your attention to the small patient.
“well hydrated.” robby says from behind.
“how’s she doing?” you asked as you adjusted the blanket.
“she's seems happy enough. we got a quick a point-of-care CBC.” samira said softly. patiently waiting for you to examine baby jane doe.
“we don’t know the birth history and—” he speaks again.
“I’m aware.” you interrupt this time. sparing the kid a look. “you said so in the case presentation and it’s the indication you gave me. unless you—” “I know I just wanted to validate.” samira and robby don’t say a thing.
your head tilts as you stare at him. eyes sharpen. “student?” you question.
“dr. ogilvie. I’m actually a student doctor,” “I didn’t ask. it was a yes or no.”
that seemed to shut him up pretty quick.
“are you aware that you interrupt, doctor ogilvie?” not even looking at him when you speak as you go back to checking the child. it wasn’t even said as a correction to his introduction moments ago. but rather a bite to his need to have that acknowledgment. you look at him. expectantly. waiting for an answer that has seemed to fall on deaf ears.
“I was just telling you.” it’s a poor attempt to explain.
robby shakes his head, hands behind his neck. lips pressed tightly together. this is why dana was insistent.
“and I’m telling you.” you correct him. your tone hard. no room for arguments.
you look back to the baby, offering a smile to her before dropping it when you turn to those standing off to the side. “she looks good, no obvious source of infection, there’s a possibility of it being benign but since we don't know her history," your eyes find ogilvie's. “let’s get labs done.”
you give your orders as the gloves come off.
“I’ll be back in a few to check in.” you walk around and begin to leave. “and doctor?” you direct to ogilvie, your hand on the handle of the door. the young man turns to you.
“I get wanting to learn, but this isn’t a competition. so few words of advice—considering it is a teaching hospital— learn a thing or two about respect. do not to interrupt when someone is talking to you.”you grit and push at the door. “—even my kids know that.”
it quiet for a minute after you leave, the only noise comes from the small patient as she coos.
“that was dr. park. she's one of our attending pediatricians.” robby starts off slowly, picking up from earlier. his head tipping toward where you just walked out.
the student stands there, looking startled. “she works with kids?"
samira gives a tight lipped smile and robby laughs before he himself walks out. “just you wait.”
—
the med student stared at the man, who was assessing the amputation in front of him. shocked. because that was not the doctor he saw earlier.
“—clean wound. no crush injury. rapid transport time. replantation is a go. I'll book an OR. irrigate the hell out of this with 3 liters."
"3 liters?"
"of saline, genius."
"thanks, shark."
the surgeon walks out but not before giving a side eye— glaring— at the two young men.
"I thought dr. park was a pediatrician?" ogilvie questioned. eyes on robby for clarification.
"dr. park is pediatrics." robby slowly nodded "dr. brendon park, her husband, is orthopedics." the students' eyes widened when he finally caught up to his words.
“there’s two of them?”
—
two as in two parks? or two as in two parks? more peds!reader
୨ৎ summary .ᐟ.ᐟ dr. brendon park operated like most shark, always patrolling and returning to where he was familiar. he knew how to fix fractures and re-implant amputated limbs with confidence. he was a master in his professional craft. socially—brendon didn’t have that same skill, and when you moved to the night shift, the atmospheric change was something he couldn’t stabilize like bones.
୨ৎ tags/warnings .ᐟ.ᐟ female reader, no use of y/n, no physical description, sexism/conflict in the workplace, pediatric/mass casualty cases, burnout, slow burn, grumpy/sunshine, competence kink, emotionally repressed brendon (he honestly needs therapy), power imbalance, this is just park realizing he fucked up and lowkey yearns for reader to notice him again lol
୨ৎ authors note .ᐟ.ᐟ here is the long awaited continuation! someone said something of a park pov and i couldn't resist it!! i hope this is a worthy part two (yall let me know honestly, okay?) i love brendon park y'all and i know you guys do too, so i really hope you guys like it (i have a validation kink)
୨ৎ word count .ᐟ.ᐟ 14.4 k
part one: find another soldier!
Brendon heard more than what he wanted to about the hospital and its staff. Even though staff were acutely aware when he was around (typically refraining from making obvious comments about him), he was still able to pick up a few things here and there.
Observations of potential flings and affairs between nurses and doctors. The ‘drama’ that occurred within departmental staff—some of them including married couples who challenge their vows by working together. The latest news on what residents royally screwed up or who had been reprimanded for forgetting protocol.
Brendon Park, who had the hearing of a shark, picked up those sociable conversations between colleagues. He always stood a comfortable distance from the parade, finding no satisfaction in bonding with people he was meant to work with. The absence of relation and sharing intimacy such as personal details didn't affect his work negatively, which was all that mattered to him
He told himself he didn't care about any of it, even when he heard a thing or two about himself. Internally, he knew that was the absolute truth. There was no exception.
Until he passed by the nursing station where Sully, his chief resident, was speaking with Dr. Emmick, the night shift attending. The two were off to the side, speaking among themselves like the two had done so before. Sully held a digital chart in his hands, but his attention was on Dr. Emmick, casually slumped with her hands in her jacket pockets.
“She’s doing perfectly on her own.” Dr. Emmick shrugged, a proud smile on her face. The relief that escaped Sully made something tick in Park. “I mentioned nominating her for chief resident next year. That just seemed to amp up her determination even more, if that was possible.”
“That's not surprising. She’s always been miles above some of the other residents.” Sully responded with a buzzing smile. Brendon had resorted to stopping by the printer behind the station, pretending to be shuffling through pages he had already arranged. “She’s managed to teach me a few things I plan to take with me.”
“I’m sure she’ll be sad to see you leave,” Dr. Emmick patted his shoulder, that softer smile she reserved for praises and quiet appreciations painting her face. Sully nodded along with her words. “But, she’s blossoming here. Before you know it, she’ll be running this place.”
“Dr. Emmick,” Park cut through the conversation, standing from across the nursing station. He held up the papers in his hand, a curt nod in her direction.
She offered one more smile to Sully as she moved around the desk. Park didn’t look over at her as the two merged to walk alongside each other. In the time Dr. Emmick had been at PTMC, she never once spent time alone with Brendon Park. The most solitude the two of them spent was when they had meetings, and even then, those events included other admin or members of the collective hospital boards they were in.
She figured out he was a lone shark when they first met, preferring to slip in and out the doors without so much of a ‘good morning’ or ‘good night.’
The least he could do was offer her a nod whenever they passed each other by hand-off.
Dr. Emmick walked with a small sway, too much energy for someone who spent the entire shift focused on an emergency reconstruction of a patient with an unstable pelvic ring fracture. Brendon sensed the small glances she sent him, and he sighed out through his nostrils, maintaining his aloof demeanor. If he acted normal, she’d keep the curious questions to herself.
“We’re only a few months shy from graduation again.” Emmick mentioned casually, maneuvering around some nurses passing by, offering small ‘excuse me.’ “Do you have anyone in mind for chief residents?”
Brendon barely flinched at the question, keeping his attention straight ahead. The two pushed through the first pair of double doors until they reached the nonclinical area of the surgical department, where his office along with the other chief surgeons and attending lounge was.
He snorted lightly, shaking his head. “At the rate my residents are working, we may have to settle on one, if we both agree on someone.”
“That’s a lot of responsibility for one resident,” Dr. Emmick snickered. She was aware what residents wanted the title, which came with the most attention from the attendings. All the other residents were their little ducks to watch, a true simulation of being an attending in a trauma-1 hospital.
Which came with the responsibility of their wrong-doings as much as their wins.
Emmick brushed her stray hairs behind her ear, “And if you can't settle on someone from the day-shift, I’d hate to hear what you think of those in the night shift.”
“I’m assuming you're asking because you had someone in mind.” Brendon diverted smoothly, his tone even and rested. Despite the fact he knew exactly where she was reigning the conversation, he still held the detached perceptive look he had when he was making an objective judgment.
She hummed, advancing ahead of Park to scan her badge to enter the hospital-staff exclusive area. With a beep, the doors clicked open and Brendon stalked down first. When the door shut behind Emmick she stepped back to his side, “It’s someone we both have worked with extensively.”
When Brendon reached his office, he bowed his head slightly to hide the twitch in his nose. Once he sat at his desk, he had put back the stoic expression. Emmick shut the wooden door, pulling out a chair for her to sit across him. Both her hands folded onto her lap, legs crossed. The small twitch in the corner of her mouth all but confirmed his suspicion.
When your name escaped her mouth, he straightened his back. He was recalling the image of him sitting on his desk, your buzzing body standing in front of the door, waiting for the moment to escape. You had left and never looked back.
Once the switch was made official, Park wasn't expecting there to be a lapse in his day-to-day life. It’s not like you had moved departments or hospitals. He would see you passing by the halls during hand-off, the back of your head or the familiar fleece jacket you sported in the eerily cold hospital; but there was a distance that didn't exist while you worked the dayshift.
Working under his command and his directive as his resident.
“What about her makes her ideal for the position?” Brendon questioned. The current quarterly review the two were meant to oversee before their meeting pushed aside.
The question was firm, like he was interviewing his colleague instead of searching for her opinion. She raised her eyebrows at him, an amused grin flashing back at him. “You want my professional opinion?”
“Obviously.”
“She is a good mentor, has great instinct and initiative. She keeps a clinical perspective while under pressure.” Emmick listed out concisely, opting to appease the language Dr. Park preferred. He didn’t care about the mush or the personable trait that made you stand out to him, even if Emmick felt those strengths were your greatest virtues. “As a third-year resident, she is already doing the job of a chief resident, without the title.”
Brendon remained silent, pressing his lips into a thin line. The subtle movement of his jaw, an obvious tick, made it evident what he refused to put into words. He had doubts.
“This observation is based on the last three months she’s been on the night shift?” He clarified while crossing his arms over his chest. Through the sleeves of his scrubs, his muscles tightened, pulling the fabric tighter.
Emmick confirmed with one silent nod, eyeing Park from her chair. “As well as the double and previous night shifts she has worked.”
“And you're confident in her abilities?”
The more questions he spewed, the more it resembled an interrogation. He was investigating a theory he was keeping to himself through the people who knew you, instead of addressing the source. In three months, it was clear that you were keeping a distance.
No one wanted to spend five minutes alone in a room with Park, let alone talk to him that long. In your case, you confronted him of the clear judgments he made of your work while under his supervision. The public displays of his criticism had pushed you into the deep end of a pool, and as you found an edge to climb off, you took the extra steps to never fall in that situation again.
If you had asked him, he’d describe it as running.
“You aren’t?" Emmick resounded incredulously, like it was unbelievable he thought contrary to popular belief.
“I think that in the majority of the three years I’ve witnessed her work, I’ve noticed moments requiring additional correction.” Brendon commented with no hesitation, as if he was waiting for the opportunity to let it out.
The frustration you caused when Mr. Stevenson suffered through compartment syndrome. The lack of awareness when you were run down through your double shifts. Even the lack of urgency when treating patients. It was all hindering your ability to be a perfect orthopedic surgeon.
“All residents need to be corrected.” Emmick remarks with a humorous scoff. Park ticked his head to the side, displeased with her dismissing his objection. “I’m not saying she’s perfect.”
“It was implied strongly by your choice of words.”
“Well, in comparison to some of the other residents, she’s damn near it.” Emmick cocked her head to the side, almost daring him to utter a word. Brendon kept his eyes on her, and all he saw were talons flared out, like a hawk ready to protect its nest.
Emmick had traits he respected in a colleague. Working together as attendings undertaking residents with shaky hands became a source of common ground. What divided them was their nonidentical ways of going about it. Emmick stuck her ground when Brendon might expostulate with gravity to the risks. She believed in a hand-on validating method. Brendon had to see it first to believe it.
“I thought maybe you might agree.” She mentioned casually, picking at a lint on her jacket sleeve.
Brendon nose twitched, leaning forward in his seat to rest his burly arms on the table. “Why is that?”
“Because I like to believe you couldn’t possibly deny when a resident is good at their job.” Emmick narrowed her eyes at him, tempting to push him just close enough to the edge where he’d have to turn and face the issue.
What Brendon thought was nothing was something worth omitting. He could brood all he’d wanted, and most of his residents wouldn’t blink a teary eye, but what he cursed Emmick over was her peculiar talent at observation.
“Especially not a resident like her.”
He huffed out a sigh, almost cracking his resolve. This had to be a joke. “The residents chosen for the chief position need to have earned my utmost trust. It’s not a title handed prematurely.”
“Like Sullivan?” She asked skeptically, arms crossing over her chest as she leaned back in the chair.
Her steady stare dragged across every inch of his face. He didn’t bother intimidating a colleague who had proven time and time again she wasn’t to be messed with; even when people assumed she was too lax in comparison to him.
But, she had a nasty bite.
Brendon knew exactly what she was insinuating. Apart from Sullivan (who was personally chosen for the role by Park) his co-chief for night shift was also a man who (in Parks terms) got lucky from the process of elimination. Despite the fact Emmick might’ve argued the two female 4th year residents would’ve made wonderful selections.
“Look, before you snarl your shark-teeth at me, let me say one thing.” She put up a hand to restrain his irritability right before they were meant to meet with administration.
When he mentioned nothing more, she sat up straight, leaning in closer like she might tell him a life-changing secret. “If this is about her moving to night shift, that might’ve been my doing more than hers. No hard feelings, Brendon.”
“What do you mean?” He entertained, eyes turning into slits as he stared curiously. Like examining an amputation on the field.
“I told her I could use a resident with her skill.” She mentioned casually, like the concept was known by everyone. Brendon was aware of what Emmick thought of you, as much as the other resident did. She didn’t hide her affection or pride with a firm guard as he did.
She shrugged, her smile upside. “I didn’t think she’d want to give up the chance to be taught by you, but here we are.”
Brendon's eyes moved down at the desk, feeling the oak from that night as he gripped the edge of his desk. He conformed to the idea his sudden dissatisfaction was from you standing over him, pointing blame for affecting your work. He was too hard, too malevolent, or contemptuous for your liking.
All the effort he put in was just him being too “proud” and “arrogant.” He expected more from you, and he didn’t need your honesty (as you had put it), to remind him that you weren't up to the plate.
“I still stand by the fact she’s exceptional, and it would be a disservice if we didn’t even consider her.” She concluded, with the firmness that came from working her way to where she was.
On the very few occasions that they spoke, Emmick had expressed small gratitude for the trust he had extended to her when she first transferred over. He didn't comprehend the need to “thank” him. He assumed the hospital was hiring competent attendings to take over the hard work while teaching naive residents and interns.
So when he thought of you, as chief resident or an attending, the bill did not fit. Nobody just deserved the title. It was earned from hard work. You had yet to work hard enough to garner a standing ovation from him.
Philosophy wasn’t Brendon’s strong suit. He didn't waste his time on debates, but he did have strong beliefs. Medicine was a rational practice. There were right and wrong things to do in a hospital—as a surgeon—that could put the lives of others in the balance. He was taught that lesson long ago, and when it came time for him to pass along his teachings, he made sure to drill it in all his residents.
‘Your patient can die at any moment. Don't be the reason they don’t make it.’ was something he had reminded them time and time again. He didn't need to be pulled away from one life-saving surgery to futilely attempt another. His residents should be covering all bases, without serving any reminders.
He hadn't forgotten the occasions you had failed at that.
It was rookie mistakes unsuited for third year residents. When he enforced responsibilities, he expected stellar work in return. If the residents signed up for the work of orthopedic surgery, they should be held accountable for every action and inaction that they take. He expected them to enforce that upon themselves.
He had put that weight on you.
He was unapologetic for what he had done while you worked with him. It was all for the sake of the patients, himself, and you. Your work was a reflection of him, and if you couldn't figure out how to stand on your own two feet, how could anyone trust the training you had to save lives?
You had not seen it that way. Brendon shrugged it off in turn.
Maybe he was vindictive, waiting for Emmick to see the dangerous flaws he did. He expected Emmick to see it as he did, but she had other pillars in her teaching.
He saw it the way she smiled whenever you showed up around her. Brendon noticed it from inside patient rooms, behind nursing stations, and the few occasions you two were in the same space together. Emmick praised you with the same ease as breathing.
Everyone was aware how rare Dr. Park complimented anyone for his or her work. Marla Emmick operated oppositely.
She’d pat your shoulder, whisper something with that curled grin of hers, or give you a fist-bump as a supportive nod of your actions. Brendon rolled his eyes at it.
These weren’t kindergartners who needed a gold star for accomplishing something required of their program. These were grown adults who needed to comprehend the intensity of their choices, their observations and evaluation of patients, and the importance of knowing what they were doing as much as showing up to do it.
He was trying to make competent surgeons capable of saving fragile human life and he would do that at the expense of feeding the “shark” persona everyone saw. Cold-hearted, detached, and mean.
Even while you were under the supervision of Emmick, he still tried to figure out whether you had learned anything from the time you spent with him. He needed to see whether Emmick was right about her observation.
Park was making his way to the patient waiting in the pre-op wing. He stalked around, looking for the small group of residents making their rounds. He nodded at Annette, the charge nurse, as she pointed over to patient room three. When he made his way to the room, he saw the collective group of residents standing at the foot of the bed. He stood by the doorway, listening to the hand-off Reddy, the senior residents for the night, conducted.
Frank Giles, a 65-year-old, needing a total hip replacement after a nasty fall in his home, sat on the bed. He was cracking jokes with the residents, who seem to go along with it.
He was looking around the crowd, in search of someone specific. Frowning, he looked at Dr. Reddy, “Where is that one doctor? She’s the one who spoke with me when they first admitted me.”
Reddy furrowed his brows, glancing up from the device in his hand. He paused for a moment before speaking your name. It rang bells in Mr. Giles face as his smile widened, “Would it be too much to ask if she could do the operation?”
Sully smiled sincerely, standing center at the foot of the bed. “Her shift ends soon, unfortunately. But knowing her, she will likely check in with you tonight once you’re resting up in post-op.”
Mr. Giles conformed to the idea, despite the fact his smile was nearly as bright as before. “Good friend of hers, I assume?”
With a flustered grin, Sully nodded. “Roommates. Given the amount of time we spent together, I would hope we are.”
A belly laugh filled the room, and Mr. Giles identified with something Sully said. The endearing look on his face made it clear to Brendon, watching the old man examine Sully like he were someone familiar. “Reminded of my late wife and I.”
Brendon could make out a quiet condolence from Sully. Before Mr. Giles could go on a tangent, Sully smoothly transitioned the conversation into pre-op protocol. Reddy jumped in easily, going over the diagnosis.
He nodded along to what Reddy explained about the procedure assigned to Sully. After a couple of questions, the residents paid their farewell and filed out in a line.
Park stood back, waiting for the senior residents to emerge from the room. When his chief resident noticed Park, he gave him a silent tut of his chin. He fell in line beside him, silencing the quiet conversation between Sully and his co-chief resident.
“Where is Dr. Emmick?” Park asked without invitation. The question was directed to Dr. Reddy, who lifted his brows in response.
Park expectantly looked at him with hooded eyes. He shook himself from the daze, “She got stuck in a complex acetabular reconstruction. 3 hours and counting.”
“Alone?” Park followed up, eyes darting in front of him as he counted the back of the resident's head.
He knew exactly who was missing. He didn’t need to specify where his curiosity lied.
“No,” Sully jumped in, glancing at Park from beside him. Despite the fact they were about the same height, he still towered over the senior resident. He then said your name with a smile, “Dr. Emmick managed to rope her into a possible ten-hour surgery. Although, I doubt she would’ve said no to it.”
“Better her than me.” Reddy had mumbled under his breath, presuming his comment could be omitted from Park the Shark.
“As a fourth-year resident, it should be you.” Park swiftly remarked, barely jerking his head to look at Reddy. He did extend his arm to Sully, silently taking the device in order to sneak a look at the operation details. “How do you intend to make up for your lack of exposure in a different hospital? By choking up the minute you’re standing over a patient with everything at stake?”
Reddy's wide eyes panicked and landed on Sully, hoping the person supposedly in his corner would save him. Sully gave him a menial headshake, refusing to intervene. Reddy sighed in defeat, shoulders sagging. “It was a joke.”
Park didn’t elaborate more on the matter as he glared at him from the corner of his eye. As he opened the operation details, he read about the patient suffering a work-accident. Based on the intake details and initial imaging once in the ER, it was an unfavorable surgery to hop on while almost done with a 12-hour shift. With a both column fracture involved, you two were bound to be stuck there for ten hours.
Before Park could rip Reddy apart even more, he excused himself to debrief about a patient in post-op. Instead of joining the group, Park stopped by the nursing station, investigating the details of the case further. Of course, Emmick would choose her most prized resident to join the surgery.
However, Brendon couldn’t help but wonder whether you agreed for the experience and bragging rights that came from being selected over your senior resident only.
Sully stood in front of him, hands in his pocket while glancing between his fellow residents in the patient room and his attending. He leaned back on his heels, “I heard the patient was in a pretty bad state when he came in. Dr. Emmick might be stuck in there a while, if you needed her.”
Park huffed out a sigh, shaking his head slightly. With your absence, he was able to gauge what type of doctor Sully would turn out to be. He was the same ambitious and focused resident he always was, even without you to support him through every surgery.
Whether he wanted to or not, he had asked Park for a recommendation letter for an attending position he planned to take at a trauma-1 hospital in Chicago.
Brendon never embellished the truth—whether personally or professionally. There was no way he would lie on a rec letter for a resident, no matter how much they relied on it for a position anywhere. But, he hated to admit, Dr. Sullivan had managed to push Park to add some flourish to the letter.
“Maybe this is out of place, but I know talks about chief residents are being held around this time.” Sully leaned in casually, still keeping his focus mostly on Reddy and the other residents. They both could hear enough from outside the room. “Do you mind if I give you my opinion as their predecessor?”
Park lifted his gaze up, hooded eyes staring back at Sully, who waited patiently for a response. Looking bored, Park sighed, “Something tells me you’re going to give it to me regardless.”
Sully chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck casually. He shrugged, “I want to make sure you and Dr. Emmick consider everything to make the right choice, not that you need me to do that.”
Remaining silent, Park stared blankly at Sully. After a beat, he understood Park wasn’t going to welcome the suggestion verbally. That was beneath him. Sully leaned onto the nursing station, eyes focused on Dr. Park. “I don’t want you to think this is some plug just because she’s my roommate or because we’re close.”
Brendon didn’t need any more explanation as to who he was referring to. The utterance of your name from him was something he was starting to dread after the last conversation with Emmick. Sully stared skeptically at Park, trying to read into the stoic demeanor he had all the time. “She is a good surgeon, and as her chief resident, I do believe she could fulfill the position with ease.”
“Are you sure she’ll survive without you?” Park questioned, his eyes now narrowed on Sully. It wasn’t the type of concern Emmick would’ve shown him. It was a mockery of what Sully just expressed. The everlasting doubt in his resident still understands the work. He didn’t agree, but he didn’t vocalize it yet either.
Sully cocked his head to the side, “I don’t doubt it. The real question is if I’m going to survive without her. I got too comfortable having her around, I guess.”
Brendon saw the slight tenderness in his eye. Something soft he didn’t get to see every day between him and you. He could almost sense your presence while you were holed away in an OR. The way patients asked for you with the same affection they’d search for a comrade. He was aware of what the residents thought of you, often turning to you to save them from a sinking boat.
It was like they knew you’d throw them a life preserver, unlike the harsh suggestion to ‘figure it out’ on their own like Park would do.
“The lease of our apartment is already under her name. She is set for next year.” Sully mentioned coolly. Park hated small talk, but he found it odd within himself to hesitate with cutting the conversation short. He stared with the same blank expression at Sully, completely unsure what to do with that information.
Sully chuckled, “If she weren’t set on staying, I would drag her over with me.”
Brendon forehead creased in the center and his jaw clenched, similarly to when attending a consultation in the ER. A solid focus on trying to capture every detail of a patient’s leg, arm, or other joint susceptible to needing care under his department.
He never questioned where a resident went once they were done with their program. They all couldn’t stay here, and the ones that attempted found it hard to continue with the pressure pushed by ‘Park the Shark.’ Even if there were a resident whom he deemed sufficient to fill an attending position, he’d never advocate on their behalf.
Brendon didn’t get where he was by accepting a hand-out from anyone.
“I’m still going to hold her a place over there just in case.” Sully continued, still hanging around Park like there was more to discuss.
Park caught the residents leaving the room, walking over to another a couple of doors down. His eyes followed their movement, barely blinking when he looked back at Sully, questioning glare. “Shouldn’t you be doing hand-offs with the rest?”
Sully didn’t look over his shoulder, or show any attempt to attend to his duties. There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation, not even when he saw the glare from Park, staring him up and down. He was a man determined to do a job Brendon saw no point in. “I’m telling you this because I’d hate for you to come to the realization how critical her contribution to this hospital is until it’s too late.”
Brendon grinded his jaw slightly. Had Sully conspired with Emmick to shove you down his throat? Or maybe this was a lousy attempt at your end to get an apology out of him. Park didn’t relinquish. He didn’t care how much people argued the contrary, he refused to give in on what people may think was “best” for his department.
“You may not need her, but that doesn’t eliminate her worth around here.” Sully stated with firmness.
From the hardened stare of his resident, Brendon knew exactly what Sully was referring to. He didn’t doubt that you’d share the hostility brewing between him and you. It wasn’t exactly a secret. Park would not shy away from exposing a resident for their wrong doings.
What he was starting to notice was the courage of certain residents willing to put their foot down on what they saw was unjust.
They handed him the short end of the stick during his residency and med-school years. His teachers and attendings didn’t make it easy, and they certainly wouldn’t have tolerated being advised by residents like you and Sully.
Instead of picking a fight, he chose the silence. It was early in the morning to dig into Sully. He’d chosen to wait into swatting him around like a shark with its fin. It took another minute for Sully to realize Park the Shark was opting to glare at him, inserting dominance until he got the hint.
Park handed him the device back. Sully took it without question, swiftly turning to head in the direction the residents disappeared. Standing firm in place, he watched the cloud of plum scrubs move around the post-op floor.
He knew exactly which ones would cry over his directive before the start of their next year. Who would hesitate and second-guess themselves the next time they answered a consultation. He could acutely guess who would be eaten alive by the other attendings across different departments. If they couldn’t handle the likes of Robby or Walsh, then he saw them quitting sooner rather than later.
Yet, you didn’t fit that image, physically or metaphorically.
You, who was off doing a surgery only he trusted senior staff on, were ambitiously seeking to make yourself indispensable. There was no need when you had staff like Emmick and Sully in your corner, even the dreadful surgical attendings like Walsh were jabbing at Park to ‘ease up’ on the only resident able to keep up with him.
He heard it all and up until now, it never made sense to ‘ease up’ on his residents. It was far from his natural instinct to push until they finally figured to pull themselves up, even as he had control of the rope. You had managed to deny him that pleasure, opting to climb the side of the cliff with your bare hands.
Now, he was left watching and waiting, with the rope still in his hand.
When Brendon heard about the opening of OR 5, cleaned up after the complex acetabular reconstruction, it was past noon. He was doing the afternoon check in with Annette, and he hadn’t realized how late the surgery ended.
There was no sight of you or Emmick. He would not have assumed either of you were going to stay longer than necessary once charting was done. It was a difficult procedure based on the pre-operative details. The day had been lulled by a scheduled base itinerary that the residents could handle with limited supervision. He had time to spend, and he was analyzing the patients chart as if he was going to scrub in for surgery.
It was obsessive, but the compulsion to understand every surgery in the department he commanded, was a given.
He happened to be going around the post-op ward. Checking in with residents as patients moved out of surgery to observation or were discharged or transferred elsewhere. As he was passing by the room in the far corner, he heard a familiar belly laugh. Unrestrained and engrossed in whatever made him laugh.
Brendon peeked his head first, checking in through the window. Mr. Giles sat on the bed, glancing to his left with a toothy grin. The surgery had been done in a few hours, and although he’d probably feel better sleeping the entire procedure off, he had his own form of treatment.
He was staring fondly at a female visitor. It was hard to make out who they were from their face, but the silhouette was too familiar. He noted the black backpack sitting beside the chair, pulled close to the bedside. It wasn’t until the voice started laughing along with Mr. Giles that it clicked.
“I swear, I’ve never seen anyone slip so animatedly as then.” You breathed out, the laugh subsiding into giggles as you tried to catch your breath.
Stopping beside the filler of the wall between both rooms, he crossed his arms. Without realizing, he was inclining his ear closer to listen. You sighed out dramatically, “He’s not the most graceful, but he can suture up nerves and tissue even with his eyes closed.”
“So, how come he’s leaving?” Mr. Giles questioned, interested in the explanation. He cleared his croaky throat.
There was a beat of silence, and from the corner of his eye, Brendon noticed how you shrugged. “He doesn’t see himself staying here. This was always temporary compared to where he wanted to be.”
“And how about you?” Mr. Giles proposed, smiling again. “You’re pretty good at what you do. Where do you want to be?”
You hummed, nervously laughing after as you tried deflecting the comment. Too humble to know when to just take the compliment. “I haven’t decided yet. Dr. Sullivan has invited me to join him once my residency is over, but I still have a year to figure that out.”
“Don’t wait too long.” Mr. Giles advised in the antiquated fashion Brendon’s parents did to him.
Marriage. Kids. Retirement plans; personal-life-milestones Brendon put aside. He didn’t have to think about that while focusing on his career. As long as he could continue to be the chief orthopedic surgeon at PTMC, his life was as fulfilled as he felt it could be. He didn’t need personal distractions to keep him occupied.
“Sometimes, the things that are good for us are the things we let go.” Mr. Giles warned, turning his head to look up at the ceiling. “If I had taken my own advice, I would’ve married my wife before going to the Marines. I was lucky enough she came to find me once her first marriage ended.”
Brendon glanced down at the watch positioned on the inside of his wrist. It was past one and he didn’t need the liability of restless residents staying around past their bedtime. He advanced towards the patient’s door, one hand braced on the frame of the open sliding door.
He spoke your name briskly, title and surname firm into the air. You turned towards the door of the room, eyebrows raised to your hairline. Staring at you with heavyset eyes, he saw the casualness of your attire. Plum scrubs more than likely in the dispenser, changed into relaxed jeans, a grey t-shirt, wrapped in your fleece jacket.
Rotating from the hip, you put on a tight lip smile. “Dr. Park. Did you need to check in with Mr. Giles?”
“No,” The firm definition of his arm around the sleeves of his scrub tightened, gripping tighter to the frame. “I’m here to make sure all my staff is where they need to be.”
With the pronunciation of his possession over the day shift, you heard the message clearly. Facing Mr. Giles, your body relaxed with the revelation of his soft expression. With one hand stretched, you patted his hand lying flat on the bed. “I will check on you tonight.”
He scoffed, the corner of his lip curling up. “So soon? You just can’t stay away from this place, huh?”
While reaching down to slip on your backpack, you smiled coyly. You pushed the chair back to the corner, and once back by Mr. Giles bedside; you paused with your hands in your jacket pockets. “What can I say, I love what I do. Rest up, Frank.”
Making your way out the room, Brendon pulled his arm back, stepping aside to give you an undisturbed exit. The air that hit him as you were passing by was colder than the fuzziness between you and Mr. Giles. Brendon still found himself venturing in the same direction as you.
“If you’re looking for Dr. Emmick, I last heard she was speaking with the wife of the steel-yard worker.” You directed to Park walking behind you. As you turned the corner, walking in the direction of the elevator, he was still behind you.
“How did the surgery go?’ He asked with no change in the equilibrium of his tone.
You sighed, shaking your head. “He’s in the ICU. Apart from the fracture and the reconstruction, he suffered major trauma to his internal organs. Spleen was compromised, and Dr. Walsh removed a part of his kidney.”
The way you noted all the information was robotic. It was like having an automated voice read the chart. If he had wanted the differential diagnosis of the patient, he wouldn’t have asked. His eyes lingered on the back of your head, suddenly determined to leave the hospital as rapidly as possible. As if your pit stop to see Mr. Giles wasn’t the true reason you had delayed leaving.
Instead of heading straight for the elevators, you derailed into the residents lounge, slipping in and letting the door fall behind you. Park, with the reflexes from his childhood, pushed the door back with his palm. Inside the lights were dimmed, and you walked over to the fridge, as if you were utterly alone in the room.
“How come you were pulled to assist?” Brendon ruminated, eyes narrowed at you.
When you stood back up straight, you had an energy drink in your hand. The crack of the seal echoed and you shrugged while sipping the beverage. He awaited a verbal response. Some nonsensical explanation for an answer you had no way of knowing.
You took a couple of steps, in his direction, before stopping. He didn't move from the path to the door. With wide eyes and an awkward tight lip smile, you rocked on your feet. “Is there something else you needed to know about the patient, Dr. Park?”
The question wasn’t proposed because you wanted the conversation to continue. If it was the only way for you to be able to leave the confined space, you would; but you make it practical. About the patient care and the workload, the night shift was leaving the day shift. Nothing of the sort that related personally to you and him.
He knew with the scheduled double shift you were blocked for must have been a dread. If the current direction this conversation was heading was any clue, he could see the double shift being the last thing you want to do.
Working for 24 hours—half of them stuck with the attending you shunned from your education. Brendon was anticipating some form of retaliation. Letting your professionalism turn to spite. Lying in wait to see whether you’d give him the same treatment you felt you unjustly earned from him.
“Typically a fourth-year resident would perform or assist the procedure.” Park responded, completely guiding the conversation in the opposite direction.
You didn’t remove your eyes from him. They were glassy, and the way your lids would flutter ever so slightly, weary. With your lips sealed, you slowly nodded your head, as if remembering for the future. Don’t get used to this treatment. It’s not meant to last.
“I responded to the consultation and it was Dr. Emmick’s directive to have me on the surgical team.” You plainly renounced. This antagonistic approach was doing nothing in his favor. From the way you kept looking at him with the blank expression, he had more luck talking to a wall. “It was a learning opportunity.”
Brendon curtly nodded once, flexing his jaw as his teeth pressed against each other. Firmer than before. How were you supposed to be ‘equals’ if you could barely speak words to him?
“I have to go home. I work another shift tonight.”
Silently, you maneuvered around his body. As he felt your arm come up against his, he finally retracted himself. You only opened the door wide enough to slip your body, letting partial light from the hospital peek in the ambient lounge.
Brendon’s hand reached for the handle, pulling it open wider. You glanced up when you noticed the door leave your grasp. You spun around once stepping out the room, eyeing Brendon peculiarly.
He stood opposite of you, shoulder tall and pulled back. He nodded once more, “See you next week for day shift.”
Brendon prided himself on the control he had. The influence in his department that allowed him to rule over his residents prevented health violations and potential lawsuits from knocking on his door. It saved him from unprecedented headaches. The less likely he was to have an unplanned meeting with Admin, the better.
That idea was expanded to his residents. He deemed it efficient to harbor the tenacity his attending preached. If they put on a mile with an inch, they could potentially save someone’s quality of life.
That is a lot harder said than done when patients weren’t easily agreeable to their plan of care.
Which was the only reason Brendon was tenser with pediatric cases. With more parties involved with the care, there was more time dedicated to explaining operative procedures and post-op care. Everything was done for the consideration of the children, but Brendon didn’t understand that type of reliance.
Being a single man in his early forties, he had yet to figure out that stage of his life. There was no personal life with a wife or children waiting for him outside the hospital doors. So his approach was practical when explaining, but it was failing him at the moment.
A 12-year-old girl was trembling in fear, tears staining her cheeks, while sitting on the hospital bed. Her parents were sitting beside her, and after Brendon thought they might be able to proceed with the open reduction and internal fixation, they were pulling out with the consent forms before them.
“We just don’t feel as comfortable as we did before. I mean, how do we know the probability of the risks?” The father reasoned, similar in build as Brendon, one arm filled with tattoos. He twisted at the hip, as one hand held the smaller one of his daughter, while facing Brendon.
He shouldn’t have sent Jones to sign the consent forms.
“We don’t have precise numbers, but most children recover well.” Brendon’s concise answer was honest, not medically malicious. He couldn't provide them false hope. That was a lawsuit waiting to happen.
“But, could she develop this growth plate injury the other doctor mentioned?” The mother questioned, leaning forward in the chair. Her eyes were sunken from the exhaustion, and despite the fact, they had only been there for three hours, the hospital air and lights were draining the youth in her.
“So we aren’t even sure if she will be able to dance, let alone move normally?” She continued with a shaky breath.
He was totally going to rip Jones a new one.
Before Brendon could make a feasible attempt to remedy their concerns, they all heard a knock come from the door.
You peeked your head in, one hand braced on the door you slid open. Your eyes landed on the couple and their daughter, and as if you immediately sensed the tension in the room, you smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow Dr. Park for a moment.”
When your attention moved to Park, he let out a heavy sigh, one raised eyebrows in your direction. What is it?
The subtle shake of your head, Not in here.
Brendon grabbed the device the parents put at the edge of the girls bed. The father stood up, wiping his hands on his black denim jeans. “We will need more time to think about this, anyway.”
“Let the nurse know when you’re ready.” Brendon curtly responded.
You opened the door wider, stepping back to let him through. Closing it gently once he stepped out, you spared the family a soft smile. You both walked away from the glass, over to the nursing station. Brendon put down the device, “What is it?”
“ER needs a consult.” You informed him immediately. He put his hands on his hips, turning to the patient's room.
When he glanced at you, he noted the army green scrub cap, beige stars littered around it. It seemed new. He shrugged his shoulders, lips pursed. “Why hasn’t anyone gone down?”
“Bryant did.” You affirmed, shaking your head as you scoffed. “Dr. Robby must be in a mood because he sent him up immediately. I just happened to catch him groveling when I left the OR.”
His eyes wandered up to drink in your nurtured appearance. Despite the last shift you worked being night shifts, you managed to come rejuvenated for the day. This was no longer the shift you mastered, but you appeared the same as before.
Except Park knew things were different. Unexplainable, but it was messing with the ‘control’ he had within himself and in his habitat.
When you came in for hand off, you joked with the night shift. Hugged and laughed along with whatever funny patient interaction they had that night. When you came around Emmick, she’d check in with you, tease you about the change of schedule.
Once Park came around to collect all the residents, he caught the slight wink she sent you when you both looked in his direction. Like the two of you had always spent your residency as close friends.
“So, how come you're here telling me this?”
You chuckled, grinning subtly. “It’s better than having to hear about you ruining another resident's spirit.”
The knowing look in your eye that twinkled before you looked away didn’t go amiss. That was shady, but something told him that’s exactly what you meant to do. Even if he couldn’t admit it, you were intentional with your action.
You looked back over your shoulder to pre-op room 6. “Was that the girl with the Salter-Harris fracture?”
Park hummed, shifting on his feet. You had noticed the patient from looks alone. The only time you could’ve heard of the patient was from nurses when they transferred her up from the ER, before participating in the rotator cuff repair. You had the faintest idea of who she was, but you were aware from when you walked in.
“Seemed tense.” You noted cautiously, eyeing Park from his face alone. It was like you were trying to angle out his response without words. You had been able to read any room you had entered, which is why he believed in practicality.
No need to play different parts every time you enter a room.
He looked down at you. You mimicked his posture, less weight on your shoulder, appearing casual. “Blame Jones. He’s freaked the patient out, and now the parents are hesitant to sign the consent forms.”
He scowled and there was a beat of silence.
“Is there any way I can help?”
The question was assertive. You weren’t planning to be overlooked, and you needed an answer. You weren't going to walk away without an answer. It was the drive he kept alluding you were missing. Whatever pushed you into wrapping your soul around another was showing up more in this two-minute conversation than before.
The private check-in that Brendon had never acknowledged as you were looking out for a colleague (as much as a supervisor) was an ‘act’ that disappeared in three-months. In that time, you had erased the previous routine and rapport with him, and started new. Brendon knew it was taking everything in your power to restrain yourself from doting on him as much as anyone else you worked with.
He was also acutely aware you didn’t stray away from what mattered most to you. Professionally or personally.
Brendon reasoned. This was genuine, but the way your steely eyes waited expectantly, it felt like looking in a mirror. He was sure the residents recognized the impersonal stares from the countless times he stared down at them. He didn't hide the fact he was displeased, stressed, or irritated with an outcome.
No one wanted to be the one sent to bother him during those moments. You had dared to step up to the plate in place of an intern.
“Why not answer the consultation?” Brendon fixated on the fact you heard of the consultation and preferred coming to him personally to let him know. You hadn't responded to it, nor were you aware there was a consultation to see until a few minutes ago.
You cocked your head to the side, playfully rolling your eyes. “I’d rather not get on Dr. Robby’s bad side.”
Fair, he supposed. You set boundaries with your own attending. He couldn't say he was shocked you’d do so easily with someone who wasn’t directly your supervisor. The slight stretch of his neck managed to pull at the muscles down to his shoulders, and the dread of the patient in room 6 was getting to him.
Before Brendon could assign you to some scheduled surgery to busy yourself, you pointed your thumb back to the room. “I will talk to the parents. It is best that they make a decision soon before the girl takes a turn for the worse.”
He was left with no choice but to stiffly agree with you. The careful steps you were taking backwards put immense distance again. “You better head down to the ED before Robby rips you a new one.”
The smooth turn you made flipped a switch. You sanitized before knocking the door. When you opened it, he could make out the faint sound of you greeting them properly while introducing yourself . He could see you smiling all over again. It wasn't just the bed-side manner you put for patients, but the authentic side of you that was patient and illumining.
Brendon buffered for a minute, waiting to see whether you’d come out, deferring to the idea of appealing to their psychological needs. After what felt like minutes, you hadn’t come out at all. No inkling of a potential departure.
Daring to fight against the curve, Brendon stalked close enough to peek in the room from the window. To any nurses or doctors passing by, he was the leader taking mental notes of what was happening in his area of control.
He saw your figure first from the angle. You were sitting on a chair, nodding along to something the girl was saying. Beside her, the parents were grasping onto her hands, while the 12-year-old patient let tears roll down her eyes.
You were on the mothers opposite side, listening intently like any other adult patient. Yet, this patient was comfortable being a frightened 12-year-of girl. The father jumped in, speaking at you with more elaboration as his hands moved.
The transition was simple, still empathetic and understanding as they explained in detail what they couldn’t tell Park standing in the room. You spoke slowly and steady, much more available to sit and reflect on every aspect of a surgery you had done before.
When Brendon assumed time was escaping him, you weren’t fighting nearly as desperately as he was. He was endeavoring to make it worth his while. You were working at the pace that suited the patient under your care.
While being young and having better neuroplasticity than him, you were malleable with every experience. You were adapting to every interaction with patients and coworkers—which explained why you were unrecognizable in an element Brendon Park had no intervention in.
No control over a habitat you were reigning with your mind and fortifying with your heart.
And after answering the consult from a brooding Robby and booking an OR, he found you sitting in the dictation room, typing away. You had lost the scrub cap, letting your hair be free. You hadn’t moved when he walked in, as if you had been expecting him to look for you.
He was looking down at the consent forms, initial and signed by the parents.
“How did you manage to get them to consent?” Brendon queried. He stood at the door, holding the device up.
There was a small hum to fill in the silence of the room. He awaited there, like you had the knowledge of the Holy Grail—waiting for you to bestow upon him the privilege of knowing.
Standing in front of anyone, he’d feel like an idiot. Standing in front of you, he was trying to get to know what everyone else saw. The missing piece to his elaborate puzzle with a decades work into.
You lazily lifted your head, briefly confused until you realized what he was alluding to. Shrugging your shoulders and leaning back in the chair, you sighed. “I just sat there and spoke to them.”
“The parents and the girl had questions they felt Jones didn’t address.” You clarified, simplifying the previous trouble Brendon was having.
You made it sound like the antiquated practice had somehow been lost between consultation and transfer to the surgical floor. “They just wanted to have a conversation instead of being mandated to agree with the surgery.
Standing up, you wandered over to the coffee pot with a mug already in hand. Pouring the liquid, your light breathing was calm. You weren’t rattled by emotionally distraught parents and frightened girls.
The same way standing up against him came out as if you had done it before.
The coffee pot clicks back on the machine. You carefully moved around, grabbing sugar packets and powered creamer. “They knew it was necessary, but it didn't stop them from feeling scared.”
“It’s all for the benefit of their child.” Brendon responded. You were a doctor. He was aware you knew that. It was a reflex. It was the practical answer.
It should’ve been a no-brainer. For you and for the parents. No parent should neglect or delay care necessary, especially if the odds of them being mobile without the procedure was at risk.
You stared at him with wide eyes, before chuckling. “They know that, Dr. Park.”
With the stare of your eyes, you were communicating what you weren’t going to put in words for him. They’re still human and afraid. It was redundant considering Park had scolded you for such. You weren’t going to bother with explaining yourself anymore.
“I also spoke with Jones about appropriate verbiage when getting consent from patients, specifically in pediatric cases.” You informed, holding the mug in two hands while
heading back to your workstation.
He shook his head, squeezing his teeth together until they rubbed. You stuck a hand out, halting whatever tangent he was going to start. “Not everyone’s preferred method of criticism is from Park the Shark.”
The small grin on your face while you typed didn’t agitate him as much as it would’ve from anyone else. Walsh would’ve earned a scowl. He might’ve glared at Emmick from the corner of his eye, with a strained stretch of his neck. Garcia knew better than to poke the Shark when she saw him send the senior resident out of the OR as a second year.
And while he thought he had sunken his teeth deep enough to be able to pull you from making grave mistakes, you had slithered from his grasp. You had him chasing your tail in a trail that would end with him going to the depths of the dark ocean.
“Some of us learn differently. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You casually mentioned, clicking around on the computer and typing. “The point is we learn to do better next time, right?”
When his brain registered you were talking with him, he huffed out a breath, tempted to let the corner of his mouth curve. He picked up the subliminal message. You were becoming braver with your jab; and even while you pretended not to be overtly interested in to stare him in the eyes, you were making precise stabs.
Before he could push the conversation further, there was a beep. You both glanced down at each other's pagers and the small scrape of your chair against the floor followed. You breezed past him without a second thought, leaving him in the wake of your sunshine. Even with the glumness of his personality, you were shining the darkest of places. He was inches from touching the sunlight, but some cloud always obscured it.
Brendon looked at the door click shut and he saw the same cloud shutting his limited sunlight once again.
“All non-emergent surgeries will be rescheduled. We need to focus on OR turnover to be quick. Some of these patients may not be able to wait five minutes.” Brendon instructed precisely, staring at the patient board over the nursing station. His arms folded over his chest, musing in thought.
“My nurses know what they’re doing, Dr. Park.” Annette joked, frameless glasses sitting on her nose as she stared down at her device. Her fingers moved eagerly to start moving the scheduled times of the current list of patients.
Brendon shook his head with a small hum. He heard the clacking of shoes down the hall and his head followed the noise. Emmick was typing rapidly on her phone, while approaching him. “What is the current count?”
“17 including children, right now. It can change soon.” Annette responded, glancing at Emmick who stood close to them.
Emmick sighed, pocketing her phone. She shook her head as she saw a couple of the residents rushing by to reach out to loved ones and run to the bathroom before they were buried in their work. A multi-vehicle pileup on the interstate, including an 18-wheel truck. Once the mass size of the gasoline truck flipped over, the rest of the cars followed, and the casualties were increasing by the second.
“Have you reached out to the rest?” Brendon asked, turning to Emmick.
She stiffly nodded, interlocking both her hands behind her head. “I’ve debriefed with the residents in the lounge. A couple of them will be going over 24 hours on their feet.”
He knew exactly who was supposed to be done with a double shift. That didn’t stop them from their responsibilities. They knew medical emergencies occurred at all hours, and anyone’s life could hang in the balance. Their job was to react to the trauma at hand and do everything in their power to stop the emergency.
As on cue, you were coming around the corner with Sully by your side. He was handing you a paper cup, probably filled with coffee, to push you through the unexpected extension of your shift. Despite this being your third consecutive shift, you were synchronized with Sully’s steps. He was light and energized, and with each sip of coffee, you were pacing yourself to reach the same determination.
When Sully found the two attendings standing in the small circle, he smiled casually, as if a car pileup was an everyday occurrence. “Residents are getting in their last moments of freedom. Let us know where you want us, Captain.”
“Trauma down stairs will determine priority. Dr. Emmick will run point with Garcia.” Brendon informed, tutting his chin to his colleague.
“Lovely.”
Emmick rolled her eyes, dropping her hands to her hips. Brendon briefly ignored the annoyance with a slight glare. “I will assign you all to cases as they come in.”
Sully and you both nodded to Brendon’s command. Emmick bumped your arm with her elbow. “Want to help me downstairs? Could use the second pair of eyes.”
“I’m going to need all R4 and R3’s in the OR.” Brendon intervened, glancing between the two of you through his hooded eyes. “I won’t have to check the work of the interns.”
Emmick narrowed her eyes while she pursed her lips. To the two residents in question, it would seem like Emmick was challenging the decision. It wasn’t rare that on occasion the two attendings would butt heads, like hammer-head sharks fighting for their space. But to Brendon, this was a jest. One more feather in her cap about how well she knew him while barely speaking to her.
“Fair point.” Was all Emmick mustered, suppressing the small grin on her face.
When Brendon looked over at you, there wasn’t any deflation of his prerogative. You weren’t visibly upset as you were focused. While still taking sips of your coffee, you were simply listening to the instruction. He could safely assume you were high-strung, from the small shift of your feet and your eyes to the group of your supervisors and friends. You didn’t let your face show it.
“Will you be able to manage?” Brendon questioned in your direction.
Humming, you furrowed your brows at the question. He crossed his arms, “I’m going to need you to be alert. Sometimes you’re going to have to work through the fatigue for the sake of patient-care.”
The statement wasn’t wrong. It was an observation any rational teacher would warn their student. Accepting to work at a trauma-1 hospital brought the exhaustive workload. If he was going to trust any of the residents to demonstrate leadership and initiative, it was a moment like this to prove it.
He noticed the hesitant eyes from Sully and Emmick, caught off guard from the warning. You nodded once, ignoring the uncertainty for your closest work-partners. “I understand, Dr. Park.”
Satisfied enough with that answer, he looked back to Annette who was watching the interaction carefully while speaking on her spectralink phone. She muttered small replies before hanging up. “Ambulances are 7 minutes out.”
“That’s my cue.” Emmick announced, clapping her hands together. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, sending you a small wink. “See you once the dust settles.”
Brendon scoffed, shaking his head. Emmick began her tread backwards, pointing a finger at Brendon. “Don’t’ go biting any of my resident’s head off!”
Sully snickered, covering his mouth with a hand and with the two of you standing in front of him, he didn’t see that task as impossible. He motioned his hands outward. “Get your nerves out before either of you kill a patient.”
You pushed a smiling Sully in the direction that Emmick went down, your free hand resting lightly on the back of his arm as you guided him away. He was mimicking an aggressive bite, chomping his teeth at you. Retracting your head, you laughed, eyes crinkling into little slivers.
The energy changed two hours later. With the surgical unit bustling with all the possible staff available, his residents were no longer smiling or kidding—covered in blood stained gowns, dispersed between the 25 operating rooms. Brendon stepped out of OR 17, doffing the gloves he was wearing. When he walked down the hallway, he noted another door slide open farther down.
You stepped out, hands on your hips as you sighed. When you looked in his direction, he was already heading towards you. “What do you have?”
“Bilateral wrist and humeral shaft fracture with a radial nerve injury. Put in plates and screws.” You sanitized your hands, rubbing vicariously through every side. Motioning your head to the ER you just exited, you sighed. “May is closing up.”
The double doors down the hallways clicked open. Turning both your heads at the sound, a patient was being wheeled in with a small group of doctors and nurses surrounding the head of the bed. Brendon recognized the vascular surgeon, Greg Norton tying up his scrub cap. He greeted Brendon with a grin, hands landing on the bed railing. “Park, ready to make mincemeat with this poor fellow?”
When the bed came up towards where you both stood, you had moved beside Brendon, hands on your hips as you stared down at the patient. He noticed the quizzical look in your eye, staring at the lower extremities. “I won’t be scrubbing in.”
You turned to look at him as Dr. Norton furrowed his brows, his grin faltering. “What? Don’t tell me you’re going to send me one of your pups?”
Looking down at you, there was a moment of doubt, like you couldn’t believe Park was actually looking at you. “Possible posterior wall acetabular fracture with hip dislocation. Emmick called beforehand about it.”
“What did imaging show?” You questioned, already honing into your diagnostic skill. Your eyes shifted around his face, and your mind was moving at an incredible speed attributed to the neuroplasticity you sharpened.
“Come on, Park.” Dr. Norton interrupted, leaning forward as to cut into the silent digression of the case. His thick New England accent bounced off the walls with the heightened volume he always spoke at. Brendon crossed his arms as he reluctantly glared at the older, fuller man. Dr. Norton then looked towards you, nose scrunched slightly. “What are you, sweetheart? R3?”
“I’ve done this procedure before.” Your calm voice still gives way for the displeasure of his dismissal.
It wasn’t disappointment, it was anger. Despite being 20 years his junior, you maintained a sense of composure for your age. Some might have acted ferociously. Brendon knew there were attendings that would not have kept up appearances for the sake of respect in the workplace.
Dr. Norton snorted, shaking his head. “Nothing against you, honey, but this procedure is made for meticulous hands. I don’t need the trouble of some shaky, doe-eye resident screwing this man’s possibility of walking.”
Brendon's own disbelief didn’t seem as animated as yours, widening your eyes while tilting your head to the side. Dr. Norton had been around since before Brendon joined the hospital. He always poked at the fact Brendon didn’t smile for a doctor with ‘razor sharp’ teeth. He thought Dr. Brendon Park was as animalistic as people described him to be, he’d flaunt it.
Before you could proceed by jumping into a pit of fire, Brendon crossed his arm, squaring his shoulders. “Dr. Norton, I assign the cases, and if you have a problem with that you can take it up with me after my resident performs the surgery.”
Dr. Norton snarled, lifting his top lip to his nose. He looked at you before smacking his lips. With the menial glare from Brendon, he could see his ego visibly deflate. If he wanted him to show his teeth, he should have asked nicely.
“You ready?” Dr. Norton grumbled, motioning his head to one of the OR’s down the hallway. He was turning his father away from Brendon and avoiding your gaze, as if you had ripped his jugular.
Offering a polite nod, you took a step back, still staring at him. “I will meet you there after looking at the imaging, Dr. Norton.”
Dr. Norton grumbled, signaling for the nurses to continue down the hall to the OR. Brendon stood there, eyeing Dr. Norton as he passed, burly arms crossed to intimidate with his physicality as much as his personality. When the doors to OR 22 closed behind the transfer team, Brendon finally turned to face you, who was staring up at him with a deadpanned expression. “I didn’t want you defending me.”
Brendon pressed his lips in a thing line. You didn’t deny that you needed it. Dr. Norton didn’t know how to talk to his female colleagues, and his brusque manners didn’t rub people the right way, regardless. You had worked with him before, under Brendon’s guide, which left you in the limelight compared to center stage.
The overcasting shadow of his reputation protected you from the scrutiny. While stranded at sea, you had to find your own anchor to throw.
“I wasn’t.” Was all he plainly said.
He wasn’t defending you. He was defending your knowledge. Had you been Jones or Reddy, he wouldn’t have jumped so eagerly. There were weaknesses in all his residents, some more than others, but you had been the exception in most areas. Even if it didn’t come at first, it came from work. You could not have survived up to 27 hours of traumatic repairs if you had not put sweat and tears into getting it right.
“You better hurry and scrub in.” Brendon advised, cocking his head to the side. Go look at the images and prove to him he’s wrong. Prove to me you’ve got this.
With less visible friction, you walked around Brendon, heading in the direction of the double doors. You walked with the power of someone prepared for the challenge. When Brendon turned around, he noticed another figure had joined the hallway, having exited OR 2.
Sully stood outside the door, speaking at you quietly. He furrowed his brows, hands on his hips as he saw you walk away. You nodded in response to his question, pushing the door open with you back and slipping through gracefully.
Brendon sighed, walking down the hall and nodding to Sully in acknowledgment. “You done? I have a couple of open-tibia fractures that won’t heal on their own.”
Buffering for a moment, Sully complied with a small smile. He turned back to the door, forehead pinched as he tried deciphering the scene. Park, you, and Dr. Norton. From the small snort, he had picked up all the clues necessary to make a bold assumption. It didn’t help Norton spoke with the volume of twenty people.
“Thank you, Dr. Park.” Sully gently grinned; slyly leaning forward as he suggestively spoke.
The word rang in his ear repeatedly: You may not need her, but that doesn’t eliminate her worth around here. Sully was assuming Brendon thought the hospital couldn’t utilize your brilliance. That the hospital didn’t need surgeons with exemplary bedside manner that matched their skills in an operating room; or that he couldn’t use someone he could trust at this very moment to dedicate themselves in a surgery he trusted himself to do.
In typical Brendon fashion, he stared at Sully, lips in a tight line that strengthened his jaw and cheeks even more. Sully pushed the limits by still standing before him and that distressed him more than he liked. He didn’t know whether it was the fact that Sully had thanked him something he saw as unnatural, or the fact you had yet again dismissed his efforts others would consider valiant.
He didn’t want to be a hero of any sort (not that you needed it, he was starting to realize). You could snarl just as nasty as him, but it wasn’t your preferred method of surviving—because you weren’t just surviving your residency. The formulated relationships with your co-residents, attendings, and patients were your life mission, apart from learning to improve someone’s life while living their worst day.
The vulnerability that he considered not outfitted for the workplace led to how you operated. Your life, the patients, even the residents you helped when they just were not there yet.
Brendon didn’t see the future as optimistically as you, and when the shattering reality came of how it could look different to what he was used to know, it did break his stride. The built of momentum between you and him—his correction and your fear of fucking it up—was his everyday routine. Not to minimize you, but to build the tools to survive.
Of course, the method didn’t work. And he stupidly realized he was attempting to survive on his own like a shark in a tank.
It was a hard lesson you were teaching him while baiting him. He was rolling his neck around trying to compose himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Right.” Sully responded, raising his chin higher as he squared his shoulders. The same self-satisfied grin gracing his youthful features. He watched for any unwelcoming passersby before leaning in. “Better you than me. I might’ve socked the guy.”
Brendon's lips twitched, and he looked at Sully thoughtfully. He definitely had the build. He had seen him work out at the gym across the street from time to time. “You wouldn't have.”
“For her? Yeah.” Sully confirmed breathy as he scoffed from the disbelief. “Like I said Dr. Park, she could survive without me, but I don't think I could’ve made it without her.”
“I don't take lightly when people dismiss her.” Sully stuffed his hands in his scrub pockets, shuffling briefly like the admission was something too vulnerable. For a conversation with Dr. Park? It was a revelation that went beyond professional bounds.
You had taught Sully a thing or two about being attuned with your inner spirits—and if that meant warding away what ate the center of it—there was worthiness in the cause. Park saw the deep resemblance in the now stoic impression on Sully’s face. Bold and Brendon couldn't ignore it.
Sully took careful steps backwards, arms falling to his side. “So, thanks, Dr. Park.”
“I’ll book the OR.” Brendon announced walking out of Trauma 2 in ER. He ripped off the gloves he was wearing, tossing him in a nearby waste bin. It was an ironic day to get into a motorcycle accident while the interstate was still being cleared from the debris of the MVA in the morning.
What more could you expect from a 21-year-old boy whose frontal lobe still had not developed.
It was almost 2 and the majority of the patients that came in during the accident had been moved to the post-surgical unit or the ICU while waiting for follow up surgery for open wounds. The surgical department had cleared half of its staff that stayed overnight or pulled the spontaneous shift. Those still on the clock were dragging their feet and it was taking everything in him not to bite. When the night shift residents were able to leave, they were also zombies walking.
All, except one. When he got up to the surgical floor, he walked into the viewing room, where their charge nurse could gauge operations with the camera live streaming it all. He could see OR 22 running up to 8 hours of operation time. He mostly was staring at the different scrub caps to distinguish all the involved staff.
The only one missing was a green cap.
“Are they finishing it up?” Brendon questioned, turning to Annette sitting at one of the open tables, typing into the device.
She hummed, head still lowered. “Ortho is done with the reconstruction. Vascular and trauma is finishing up.”
Brendon nodded curtly before heading back out the room. The surgery couldn’t have been too complicated if you were done in roughly 7 hours. He had slipped in once as he continued assigning residents to the incoming patients. You had stayed stuck there for the majority of it, and Brendon didn’t feel the need to come in after that.
His immediate thought was to check the dictation room. If you were still lingering, you’d probably be trying to finish up work you had, which meant charting. To his luck, when he peeked through the window on the door, he found you hunched over a computer. The same station you sat at the last week he had spoken to you.
Inhaling a sharp breath, he twisted the door open, and the click caught your attention. Lifting your head and eyebrows simultaneously at the direction of the door, your body visibly jolted. He knew you were awake enough to orally translate your notes, but your body kept succumbing to the sleep it needed.
“How was the surgery?” Brendon questioned, approaching the desk with his hands in his scrub pockets. With the height advantage, he had a clear view of the desk. You had a paper cup of black coffee, an open energy drink, and a small bottle of ibuprofen.
Straightening you back as a way to stretch your body, you shrugged. “Went better than expected.”
“Did Norton give you any grief?” Brendon followed up, not taking his eye off the obvious display of you recklessly messing with your body’s melatonin. From the look of it, you didn’t have anything of substance to run off.
You gently twirled your wrist to reboot your dexterity and putting down the microphone in your hand gave you the break your body needed to lean back in the chair. The question caught you off-guard, leaving your mouth open, while your brain lacked the reflex to come up with a response.
“He was fine. Didn’t talk much unless he was bragging about his NFL athlete son to the nurses.” The small scowl on your face made him bite back the laugh he wanted to let out.
He heard the stories. The accolades he made about a son who mostly sat on the bench. He couldn’t remember the last time they had even aired his face on anything bigger than a phone screen. Brendon crossed his arms, the slight cure of his lips gave him away. “He's the 2nd running back on a good day, at best.”
You bit your bottom lip, shaking your head lightly. “Have you told him that?”
“Almost.”`
The loopy grin on your face made you look cuter, as Emmick or Walsh might describe it. He was aware what staff liked you for your personality and which other liked you for something other than work-appropriate. In an objective sense, none of them were wrong, nor did it concern him or HR yet. Your hands rubbed the back of your neck, easing it from side to side. “Apart from that, he is a respectable surgeon. He just lacks the social cues to elevate him to a standard that I could befriend.”
Brendon arms crossed over his chest. When he looked away, he was starting to see there were some lessons you felt he needed reminding of. Brendon had casual friends, people from college or med school he kept in touch with enough to be invited to weddings. He didn’t plan trips to see them across the country, but he thought being mutual on social media made up for that.
When in comparison to you, he did fall flat of the mark. You had the charisma that engaged everyone, and no one forgot your name because of it.
In no way was it to save face for anything you may lack. It was your greatest strength, which as healers earned more respect that skill did.
You let out a choppy yawn, attempting to hide it before it just came out altogether. He cocked his head to one side, tightening his stance. “You’re exhausted”
“No, I'm fine.” You corrected him. He could not help to think that if Emmick were standing here, you would be more subject to her compassion than his no-nonsense tone. “I have charting to get done.”
“Which you are barely awake for.” Brendon pointed out.
The sigh that escaped you paired with the glare of your bloodshot eyes confirmed it all for him. You were past your limits, and there was no reason to prove you were capable of heaving the heavy load. Not to Brendon’s eyes.
He watched you reach for the energy drink and before you could take a sip, it was pulled from your loose grasp. You stuttered, sitting up taller while staring accusatory to Brendon, holding the now relatively small can in his hand. Before you could utter a word, he leaned over to grab the cup of coffee with the other. “You don’t need this. You’re frying the melatonin in your brain telling you to go home.”
“I am needed here.”
He scoffed, turning his back to you as he found a way to keep the caffeinated drinks from your reach. He opted to put it on a nearby counter, leaning back into it with feet crossed to hide the mere temptation of sight.
“If I did need you, I’d need you to stay awake and alert.” Brendon grasped the edge of the counter underhanded, flexing the muscles in his biceps. “Right now you are neither of those things.”
Sagging in the chair turned to face him, your computer with the dictation notes still open abandoned, you frowned. “You could use the help.”
“No, I need you to go home.” Brendon emphasized his stare glued to your tired body. You didn’t have the precision to walk in a straight-line let alone cut into someone and know the difference between each ligament in a fractured tibia. It wasn’t an undercut. He wasn’t even sure it was out of pity. It was the rational thing to do for both you and him. “I can't work if I'm concerned about the moment you come down from the adrenaline of everything else.”
“You’ve been working over 30 hours straight. Either go home or sleep in the on-call room until Sullivan is out, but I don't want to see you in any OR, understood?” He questioned the way a parent might give an ultimatum to their preteen.
With those options presented to you on a platter and not some vicious stab of his displeasure of your character, you came to your senses. “You’re right. It was stupid.”
“It’s the exhaustion.” Brendon huffed out, standing from the counter. He turned his back to you and dug in one of the cabinets.
“Is Park the Shark making an excuse for his resident?” You mused and he could imagine the dopey grin on your face.
“You’re my resident now?” Brendon questioned back, shutting the cupboard while hiding the item he grabbed in his wide fist. He glared at you through his eyelashes. It wasn’t nearly as fierce as Park the Shark could be.
“Honorary resident, depending on how I feel.” You joked, while craning your head back the closer he approached you.
The bags under your eyes were deserved. Not in a derogatory sense to put you down for your appearance, but because it felt like a badge you could brandish. The hard work you put while he pushed his thumb into your back, grinding your gears until you saw the same perspective from ten-feet above the ground, and you stood on your toes to match. It was an effort he could recognize in few residents.
Except not all dare yank him down to see it from their eyes. You had all but grabbed him from the collar and shook him. With dignity and pride to recognize yourself for something more than the surgical ‘pipsqueak,’ you humbled him.
That wasn’t an easy feat, and Brendon hadn't even snarled his teeth.
He held out his one curled hand, a protein bar in a plastic wrapper facing you. When you look back up at him, lips curled inwards and eyebrows curved in confusion, he sighed. He rolled his eyes, “Eat something. You’ve had enough caffeine to kill your heart two times over.”
Skeptically, you took the protein bar in your hand and muttered a small ‘thanks.’ Slowly peeling the wrapper apart, you took a generous bite. He stepped away, stalking around from behind, still making sure you were chewing properly the only piece of nutrients you’ve had in hours.
After sufficiently breaking down the food and digesting it down your esophagus, you spun your chair around, catching Brendon before he approached the door. “I appreciate your endorsement, by the way. With Dr. Norton.”
He looked at you from over his shoulder, before turning his body to get a better look. You nodded appreciatively. “I probably didn't deserve it, but I couldn't have entered that OR without some of your help.”
The cheeky smile on your face made him narrow his eyes humorously at you. He twitched his nose to hide the smile that wanted to break. If there was anything you were good at besides completely reconstructing the stability in someone’s hips, it was pecking at him with a double edge sword.
“If the patient makes a full recovery, Dr. Norton won’t have anything to complain about then.” He shrugged. It was a safe response. One that didn't compromise the stone-cold persona.
He knew you thanked him because you meant it, but also because he had already extended one hand to pull you back towards him. One step closer to reimagining what you both thought couldn't align.
“Not to be cocky, but I’m sure he will.” You said softly, the opposite of bold and pretentious. You hopped back on the computer, rapidly typing and clicking around on the screen.
Brendon snorted, enjoying the bona fide assurance. It’s the only reason he hasn't loiter or probe the medical judgment you made in the OR. Even with the pressure boiling like a cooker pot, you had earned the space to own the operation room he typically did with years of experience.
“I better not see you in my OR.” Brendon looked at you pointedly. “Not until your next shift.”
Now leaning in the chair, with your free hand, you lazily saluted to him. You brought up the protein bar and chewed lazily through another bite. He cocked his head to the side, awaiting a serious response from a third year resident.
“I promise, Dr. Park.” You added, reaching down for your backpack. With raised eyebrows, you wait for him to move along, proving he was satisfied with the response.
He looked you up and down once more before heading for the door again. With his hand on the door knob, he heard the shuffling of the chair and your bag. He opened the door and stopped when you called his name one more time.
With the sound of your voice, he pressed his back against the door, keeping it open while turning his head once more. You were approaching him, backpack hanging low as you trudged it. Slipping in between him and the space he held open with his body, he had to crane his neck down to watch the top of your head travel past him.
“Have a good rest of your shift, and I’ll see you around, Dr. Park.” There was a faint smile on your face as you started walking backward, still looking at him.
He stayed frozen holding the door, half his body stepping out into the hallway. You spun gracefully, fiddling with the wrapper of the protein bar. He believed the words, because they came tenderly from your lips. The easy steps of your walk communicated what you didn't say with the words. He was one step closer to getting in your good graces, and he rubbed away the stiffness in his jaw as he bit back the grin.
it’s ongoing but my god is it good. The FMC is standing up for herself after park one too many mean « teaching » moment and is shining through after that.
I really like that by becoming her better self once she break through from park it makes him rethink his position slowly but surely
getting pretty tipsy and texting dilf pat a picture in the bar bathroom, black top pulled up showing off your tits in a lace bra (he probably bought her) or just some simple cotton bralette. pat opening it and getting out of bed to pick you up, pulling up the the bar to watch you crawl into the passenger seat all flushed and giddy. having to emergency park in some side alley because your hand won’t stop rubbing over his semi and he’s about to crash
!!! this after Patrick broke it off with you because he was getting too attached and he’s too old for a fling like this. to be sneaking around and having sex in the back of his car like he’s seventeen years old. you cried about it for days and promised yourself you’d never ever talk to him again. eventually, you tell your friends (who vaguely knew of the hot older man you’d been hooking up with). they told you there’s no way he sticks to his word. that they always come crawling back, age doesn’t matter. and they were right—within ten minutes of you snapping a picture of yourself with your skirt hiked up and your bra showing, Patrick is texting you that he’s coming to get you. his own way of saying he misses you. and you’re so happy to be in his truck again with his hand on your leg and his cologne tickling the back of your throat that you’re all smiles. staring at his profile and how his thumb taps the leather seam of his steering wheel because he hit another red light and your foot is rubbing against his dick. Patrick swings the car around to park in an abandoned bank’s parking lot and grabs your jaw to give you a filthy kiss, all tongue and disappointment in himself for being so weak. He all but pushes you into the backseat while he undoes his belt.
“you missed me, honey?” he asks, spreading his legs and tapping his lap for you to straddle him.
you nod, finger tracing up his stomach from under his shirt. so confident, yet strangely shy.
“yeah? show me how much.” He’s quick to push his pants down so they pool around his ankles and you move your panties to the side and sink down on his cock easily, wet from the anticipation, from him just being here with you, paying attention to you.
your moans are drawn out as you fuck him slowly, wanting to feel every ridge of his cock, the pull of his tip nudging against your entrance. how his fingers dig so hard into your ass that it hurts but you want it all. soon, you’re bracing your hand against the window to move down on him faster, obsessively chasing your orgasm and needing to make him cum so he won’t leave you again.
SUM. they’re actually really soft boyfriends outside of the union
(WHC MLST) . includes: park humin, na baekjin, geum seongje, do seongmok, baek dongha · est. relationship, domestic fluff, sfw
PARK HUMIN
• buckling your seatbelt
"i can do it myself you know?" looking at your boyfriend, he was leaning over your seat, his hand on the buckle as he tried securing you in.
"i know." he said, glancing up at you with a gentle smile on his face before returning to the task at hand. "but you don't have to."
you sighed, rolling your eyes, however you were far from being annoyed. if anything, in some strange way — to be loved is to be considered and that is exactly what he was doing.
"i'm not a baby, baku." your words held a bit of amusement to them, your boyfriend finally making eye contact with you after he safely secured your seatbelt.
"well not exactly, no." he shook his head, looking off for a bit as his thoughts wandered. "but you're my baby." he looked back at you, nothing but admiration and love in his eyes. it had you almost feeling as if you were falling in love all over again.
"i love you." you muttered out, planting a kiss to his lips.
"i love you, too." he replied back before fastening his own seatbelt and reversing out of the driveway.
NA BAEKJIN
• looking out for you when you’re drunk
"y/n get down."
you looked at your boyfriend from your spot on the bar counter where you danced, mentally cursing at him for being able to handle his alcohol so well unlike you. you ignored his extended arm to assist you, instead singing along to the lyrics of the song that played as the rush of liquid courage got to your head.
"you're going to get hurt." he tried again, this time much more stern and insistent. "i'm not going to tell you again. get down."
"no." you said stubbornly, a pout forming on your face as you crossed your arms.
baekjin sighed, looking you dead in the eye for a few seconds before moving too fast for your drunken brain to process. in record time, you were swept off the bar counter and back on the floor. you attempted to swat him away after you were placed safely on the ground, however it was no use as his hand was quick to grab your wrist.
"y/n." he sent you a warning glare.
you grumbled, muttering a pathetic apology before a smile spread across your face at the change of song and you forgot all about what was happening. "this is my jam!" you yelled out, running to the dance floor as baekjin was too late to grab ahold of you before you could wander off.
you were going to be the death of him.
GEUM SEONGJE
• tying your shoes for you
"what are you doing?" you looked back at your boyfriend as you took notice of how he stopped in his tracks.
"c'mere." he said, grabbing at your waist to guide you to a nearby bench.
you two were taking a midnight stroll through the park, you deciding it would be nice to spend some quality time together and finally pull him away from his video games. everything was going smoothly as you two walked quietly next to each other, until he managed to take notice of something that you apparently hadn't yet.
seongje kneeled down, bending his knee out and tapping at it. "give me your foot."
"what?" you asked, still oblivious.
"your shoe, y/n. it's untied."
looking down at your feet, you finally noticed that the laces of your sneakers had managed to come undone. "oh." you said before you placed your foot on his extended leg.
seongje began to tie the two strings together for you as you watched him with amusement. you let out a snort as you replayed the scene of his seriousness back in your head.
"what?" he asked, taking his eyes off the bow he was tying to look at you in question.
"nothing." you responded, but gave in quickly as the thought became too amusing for you to keep to yourself. "i just thought it was funny how you're concerned about my shoe laces coming undone. usually you’d let me trip and laugh about it.”
seongje smiled through his glasses as he finally finished off tying the laces, gently placing your leg back on the ground. "i’ve decided to give you a break." he said, grabbing at your hands and pulling you up to kiss the side of your face. "plus, you’ll always do something else clumsily to make me laugh at you."
you pouted up at him with eyes loss of pride to which he just couldn't resist the urge to kiss your lips as soon as it was in his line of vision.
"right."
DO SEONGMOK
• making you use your words
you were exhausted. it had overall been a terrible day from start to finish and as you got home and were finally able to get out of your uncomfortable work clothes, the weight off the world came crashing down on you.
the smell of the delicious dinner your boyfriend was cooking lingered in the air as you trudged your way down the hall and into the kitchen. you stood behind him, watching as he chopped away at the vegetables and occasionally stopped to stir the food on the stove. when he turned around to grab something, you nearly gave him a heart attack as his hand flew to his chest due to shock.
"y/n, what the hell."
you stared up at his tall figure from under the blanket you threw over your body as an attempt of comfort. "hi." you said, your voice small.
seongmok was rather quick to take attention to this, setting the spoon down on the counter and raising an eyebrow at you. "what's the matter, babe?"
you shrugged, looking down and avoiding eye contact with him.
"do you need something?" he asked again, lowering his head as he attempted to get your eyes back on him.
once again, you shrugged. although you did in fact need something after the terrible day you just had, you've always had a problem with voicing what you wanted and seongmok knew this better than anyone — in fact, he knew exactly what you needed. he just wanted to hear you say it.
"you gotta use your words, babe. i can't read your mind." his voice was soft as he gently tried to coax a verbal answer out of you.
taking in a deep breath, you finally lifted your head to peer up at him. "a hug." you said so softly, he almost didn't hear you — but he knew.
his arms were quick to wrap around you as soon as the words left your mouth and you buried your head in his chest as you hid away from the rest of the world in them.
BAEK DONGHA
• feeding you when you’re “too busy to eat”
"open."
your lips parted at his words, eyes not moving from your laptop once as he shoveled a spoonful of food into your mouth. after much argument about how you needed to get your paper done and didn't have time to eat — dongha planted himself right next to you on the couch, deciding he would take it upon himself if you ”didn't have the time."
as soon as you began to chew, your stomach betrayed you as it let out a loud grumble.
"i thought you said you weren't hungry." dongha asked, his eyes narrowing in at the side of your face.
you could feel him glaring at you, but you still refused to take your eyes off the keyboard. you meekly shrugged, not wanting to get scolded. "i lied."
your boyfriend sighed, shaking his head before scooping up another bite of food and holding it to your mouth as he spoke the same words yet again. "open."
꩜ ─ A young couple fights to hold their relationship together as a memory loss virus spreads and threatens to erase the history of their love.
꩜ ─ Go Hyun-tak x fem!reader.
꩜ ─ Inspired by the movie Little Fish (2020). Doesn't follow the events on season 2. Fanfic/Smau.
1 ─ The beginning.
You stepped out of the car already holding your phone, checking if this was really the place of the so-called party. A whistle coming from above startled you; as you looked up, you noticed him with his usual smile, waving at you from the balcony of an apartment. Beside him were three other boys: one slightly taller with a wide smile on his lips, one wearing glasses who was much shorter than the other two, and another with a somewhat unenthusiastic expression — all pairs of eyes curiously fixed on you.
— Hey, are you dressed as a bride? — Hyuntak asked, noticing your costume.
— Oh, no! I’m Christine Daae!
— Who’s this Cristina? — The tall boy asked.
— From Phantom of the Opera… You don't know it?
The boys let out small chuckles together, shaking their heads.
— Come up, I’ll open the gate for you. — Hyuntak said, already disappearing from the balcony.
You walked, still slightly uncertain, toward the gate, which with a sharp buzz from the intercom, opened. A few steps ahead, you saw him again — this time up close, able to notice his casual clothes and his slightly flushed expression. He gave you a sly smile, looking you up and down, almost impressed by your effort to look ridiculously beautiful in white.
— Christine Daae, the opera singer that the phantom becomes obsessed with. Where’s your phantom?
— I left him at home today. — You laughed softly. — So, are you dressed as a guy who hates Halloween parties?
— Exactly. You’re the first one to get my costume, actually.
For a brief moment, the two of you simply stared at each other. The soft breeze from the building’s cold walls made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up — or maybe it was the intensity, masked by curiosity, in the boy’s gaze in front of you. The small, crooked smile on his lips was almost magnetic, even as you resisted the urge to stare at them.
— Are you going to invite me in or…? — He laughed nervously, scratching his hair.
— Of course, sorry, come in. I’ll introduce you to everyone.
Inside the apartment, you felt like you were stepping into a small piece of his mind. The white walls, with a few hanging pictures and some medals pinned up, felt strangely familiar — as if this place reminded you of home. A safe, peaceful place. It had an atmosphere that smelled like his cologne.
The boys were quick to introduce themselves, treating you as if you had been friends for years. Park Hu Min, or Baku as he liked to be called, was the most extroverted among them; his loud voice echoed easily through the cold walls, but not in a bad way — in an almost warm one. Yeon Si Eun was quieter, but just as polite. And Seo Jun Tae was as sweet as a puppy, with a soft voice and bright eyes.
The night passed effortlessly. As the hours stretched on and the moon shone brighter in the sky, you found yourself on the balcony, contemplating the feelings growing in your chest — unsure whether they were the effect of the many glasses of wine or something reserved especially for that night. You didn’t notice Hyuntak’s lingering glances on your back, much less his silent steps as he stopped right beside you.
The dark-haired boy admired you under the moonlight, noticing every detail of your face and watching the wind mess with your hair. He felt incredibly at peace — well, not entirely, because you wandered through his mind, stirring thoughts and feelings he had forgotten what they felt like.
Jun Tae appeared suddenly, catching both of you off guard. He placed himself between your bodies, looking up at the moon with a content smile on his lips. It was only then that you noticed Hyuntak’s eyes fixed on you, and he made sure to offer you a shy smile before turning back to the moon once again.
notes : I'm so excited to finish this... also y'all should watch that movie, it's a masterpiece!!
Hi! I am absolutely obsessed with your weak hero smau's and I was wondering if I could make a request? 💖 If you want to, please could you make texts messages that the boys would send you if they missed you while you were working and couldn't check your phone? Thank you so much for considering it, you are so talented!
WEAK HERO CLASS SMAU.
synopsis - they text you while you're at work.
characters - Yeon Si-eun. Ahn Su-ho. Oh Beom-seok. Park Hu-min. Go Hyun-tak. Na Baekjin. Geum Seong-je.
notes: you're so sweet, thank you for the request angel 😭 I hope this is not as ooc as it feels tho....
As you lay side by side, under the soft moonlight filtering through the window and the cool breeze brushing against your skin, you feel a kind of peace you once thought was impossible. But it’s in the quietest nights that your mind begins to plant cruel doubts - and before you can stop the words from slipping out, you confess in a painful whisper.
"I don't like touching my own skin… and I hate the thought of someone else touching it even more. It feels like there’s something rotten inside me, and sometimes it spills over onto my body. I’m scared that one day someone will feel it and realize it’s just another thing that’s wrong with me."
"Can I touch you?"
"Only if you promise not to lie."
"I never lie."
His fingers move with quiet reverence as they trace your skin. With the lightest touch, he follows every small bump along your arm, feeling the way you shiver beneath him.
Slowly, he maps the traces of time on your face — the faint lines left by laughter and pain, the tip of your nose, your warm cheeks, your faded brows, your dry lips. Then, gently, his hands come to rest in yours.
"Your skin has texture. Is that what you're afraid of?"
"It feels like more than that."
"Then you're not feeling it right."
notes: babies i actually hate writing with quotation marks, it doesn't feel right 😭 anyways, am i crazy or this is not really ooc? cause i could totally picture sieun being direct but also soft about your insecurities... right??
SUMMARY: Random messages with the Weak Hero Boys.
PAIRINGS: Yeon Sieun, Ahn Suho, Oh Beomseok, Park Humin, Go Hyuntak, Seo Juntae, Na Baekjin, Geum Seongje.
WARNING: Baku is still dumb, Gotak still ragebaited, nothing really changed (let's all collectively stop traumatizing juntae)
NOTE: part two as promised (btw didn't mention this on the first but all of those texts are from pinterest, none of them belong to me!! very lazy posts i know sue me) and yes again baku and gotak have the most but they're the easiest to find lwk💔
TAGLIST — @whcfreak, @suhoholic, @10baku, @christinamadsen, @heartshapesandcigarettes, @vamp18e, @ashayein, @stasiamazia
I’M NOT A PARK ANYMORE, I TOOK MY WIFE’S NAME … ❤︎ park sunghoon
PART ONE. TWO ─── bored of your life, you go on tinder and match with a hot guy named park sunghoon, who in his bio, states that he’s “date to marry.” but he offers you a deal: fake a marriage with him to annoy his obnoxious family and he’ll pay you for it.
or you’re in a fake marriage with sunghoon and he takes your last name to piss his relatives off. oh and did i tell you that he’s lowkey obsessed with you? even though he’s just your “fake husband.”
starring husband!sunghoon x wife!reader ₊˚⊹♡ genre smau, romcom, strangers to lovers, fake marriage au, obsessed!hoon, opposite of slowburn 𑣲⋆ warnings use of y/n, profanity, suggestive jokes /•᷅•᷄\੭
( ℰ🪽 ) —— first enha smau >< hope u guys like it :P likes, comments, & reblogs r appreciated <3 btw i have never used tinder so i js edited shi .. also there's a videocall part that'll take a few seconds to load.. also pls their texts gets funnier, its still pt1!
( 🪽 ) —— TY FOR READING! worked on this baby for a WHILE... finally posting it FAHH. do comment if u wanna be tagged in the next part :P i'll try my best to post the next part asap (as i literally have 3 ongoing smaus rn..)
tangentwithtanner
areudirty
andulkaphoto
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
snowghoul
kianamaiart
