❥ Occasional Interests
╰┈➤ Binge Reading Fics from the fandoms of DC & The Batfam (especially Jason Todd), Marvel, Doctor Who, Spiderverse, Medical Dramas & whatever else I'm into at the time. I'm also a sucker for crossovers - there are never enough.
╰┈➤ Musicals (Hadestown especially has me in a chokehold) currently Next to Normal is on Repeat
╰┈➤ A love for murder mystery film & tv powered by Murder, She Wrote and Only Murders in the Building
╰┈➤ a deep love for reading Before the Coffee Gets Cold series & other books, especially healing fiction.
Check out my Good Reads to follow along at Lana (๑╹ω╹๑ ) ♡
I mainly reblog fics I enjoyed and things I found amusing -- occasionally posting my own stories or musings once in a while
⭐️ Requests are open! for fem and GN!reader requests (Welcoming requests for characters from The Pitt: Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch, Jack Abbot, Brendon Park, Dennis Whitaker, Mateo Diaz, John Shen and Jesse Van Horn. Also welcoming requests for Jason Todd) - just send in the character and an idea of what you're looking for, I can't guarantee I'll be fast, but there's a good chance I'll work on your request ☺️ - no NSFW
Clark Kent x Editor!Reader [Job is really only for additional description]
Summary: She couldn't understand why Jimmy got all the attention when the perfect man was right next to him.
Warnings: Cursing, Superman slander said in front of Superman, Crude comments made (by reader) about a coworker (Clark)
A/N: Long time no see, I'm still writing for F1 (I have a Lando fic on the way) but now I write for Superman as well! Hope you all enjoy! Requests open!
She arched her brow, watching as Jimmy held court in front of a small cluster of interns who could often be found gathered around his desk. Their eager smiles and nervous laughter were almost as entertaining as Jimmy’s ability to juggle charm, conversation, and work all at once. While it was no longer a shock to witness the kind of pull the man had, it was still one of her favorite parts of the day.
Lois spun her chair toward the Planet’s newest editor, knee bumping into hers just as the last intern finally took the hint that Jimmy wasn’t going to pursue them, no matter how many flirty comments and batted eyelashes they threw his way.
“How many hearts have you crushed today, Olsen?” Lois teased.
Jimmy swiveled to face them, a sour look on his face. “You say that like I enjoy it. I can’t help it if people just…” He gestured vaguely to himself, “can’t resist all this.” He finished, faux arrogance in his tone.
“I don’t get it,” the editor spoke flatly.
Lois barked out a laugh, “Thank you! Finally, I’ve tried to tell him for years that most people don’t ever experience… whatever that is.”
Jimmy rolled his eyes, “You two are really sweet, you know that?”
“No, Jimmy I mean- I can understand it.” She corrected, causing both Lois and Jimmy to raise their eyebrows. “Not like that. You are a great guy, Jimmy, just… I wouldn’t have pegged you as the office’s resident eye candy.”
Jimmy feigned offense, one hand clutching his chest while Lois’ eyes lit up.
“Well, who would you nominate then?” Lois asked, ever the investigative journalist.
“Kent,” she replied without hesitation, as if the question was as simple as what color the sky was.
A beat of silence passed as her coworkers registered her words.
“Clark Kent?” Jimmy asked, sending her an incredulous look.
“Yep.”
“Him?” Jimmy pointed across the bullpen. Clark was at the coffee station, ineffectively blotting at a fresh coffee stain on his shirt, the tower of napkins in his hand threatening to fall.
She didn’t even flinch. “Absolutely.”
Most would have probably been turned off by such a sight, but that clumsy man had wormed his way into her heart, and she wasn’t about to be put off now.
She looked back at her coworkers’ aghast faces and instead of backing out, she doubled down. “I’m serious, he is the total package.” She answered, only slightly cringing when he dropped the stack of napkins, sending them everywhere.
“Well, good news for you.” Lois spoke up, watching the scene in front of her with both amusement and pity, like watching a toddler throw the tantrum to end all tantrums over a dropped ice cream cone. “I don’t think you have much competition.”
They all watched as Clark walked away, presumably to the bathroom to try to save his shirt.
“Wait, seriously, him?” Jimmy asked once more.
“Okay, ignoring the… latest disaster,” she said, “you’re telling me you don’t notice? Six-foot-something, 200 pounds of pure farmboy muscle, a beautiful face hiding behind those... unfortunate glasses, and still somehow manages to be the nicest guy in the building. That man is the word ‘dork’ personified in the best way possible,” she sighed longingly, “I’d climb that skyscraper like Spider-Man if I didn’t think it would kill him.”
Her answer was met with stunned silence, that was until Lois once more started laughing so hard she would have fallen over had she not already been sitting, the loud noise making Jimmy wince.
Deciding she had made her point, she turned around and took a post-it from her desk, scribbling a quick note before grabbing the Tide Stick from her bag, placing the two things on Clark’s desk before walking away.
There were many moments in Clark’s life where he wished he hadn’t had Kryptonian hearing, most of them inappropriate to talk about in the workplace.
This, however, was a moment where he just wished he didn’t make a fool of himself whenever he heard things not meant for his ears. He had been across the room refilling his coffee when he heard what she’d said. The shock alone from such a confession was enough to make him spill half the cup down the front of his clothes.
She hadn’t been at the Planet long, but she’d made a strong impression on Clark from the moment she walked in. Having transferred from the Daily Bugle in New York, Clark hadn’t known what to expect from his new coworker.
He certainly hadn’t expected… her.
She was kind and polite, but anyone who talked to her for more than a minute knew she was opinionated and utterly unafraid to say so. She was truthful, unapologetic about it, and she wasn’t one to hide her true feelings on something in order to save face.
It’s what Clark liked most about her.
The first day they met, Lois had lovingly introduced him as “Superman’s biggest fanboy”. Instead of politely laughing, she’d just smirked and took the moment to tell him just what she thought of the “Midwest jerkoff with his panties over his leggings”.
As Superman himself, he probably should’ve been offended. Instead, Clark had surprisingly found himself fighting a smile.
When he finally returned to his desk, shirt damp and still slightly stained, the Kryptonian was surprised to find a stain remover pen with a note attached:
Don’t know how much it will help, coffee’s a bitch to get out. Maybe you and I could grab some one day to make up for the one you spilled?
It was a good thing he was facing away from her, Clark thought, because his entire face went hot, accompanied by a smile so big it hurt his cheeks. He waited a moment, forcing his grin into something less embarrassing, before turning to face her desk.
She sat there working, gaze firmly on her screen, not even sparing him a glance.
But the accelerated heartbeat he heard told him everything.
A/N: I want to bully him so bad then kiss his stupidly beautiful face. Hope you enjoyed! I have a kinda part 2 of this! You can read here
last song: Buckle by Florence + the Machine (literally have had this on repeat all day) 💗
currently watching: Taskmaster UK (rewatching season 14, one of my absolute favs) 😂
current obsession: hmmm...the Pitt has a pretty strong chokehold on me and my mind.
currently reading: Peter Parker and Frank Castle fics as well as a side serving of Clark Kent
currently working on: my Never Too Late series ft. Jamie Tartt x Reader, as well as a new WIP ft. Dennis Whitaker x Reader x Peter Parker 👀 (super excited working on this)
currently wearing: pyjamas (blue singlet and butter yellow flannel bottoms cause its cold)
last google search: Madagascar 2 Cast (...yes...that's really what I last googled...I forgot how funny that movie was)
favourite flower: there's a lot to pick from (and I love the meaning behind flowers) but if I had to choose I always gravitate towards hydrangeas, baby's breath, lisianthus and I have a particular fondness for beautiful big oriental lilies
If you're interested in flower themed fics! check out my Jason Todd x Reader Series, Quiet Affections here! 🌹or I even have a Bouquet of Love Stories ft. characters of the Pitt x Florist!Reader 💐
No pressure tags! and I'm sorry if you've already done this tag game before 🫶 @lakeybobakey @kandyscorner @rufles2 @pinksirensong @the-sassy-one @mysweetstrawbby @amoebadue @dimas-deli-fangirl-no2
(I know it said 10 people, but I've only tagged mutuals)
Dr Brendon Park x Wife!Baker!Reader, Dana Evans x Daughter!Reader
Find My Pitt Masterlist here
Read Previous Here!
A few wise words. Trusting your parents and the advice they have to offer.
Following their lead whilst you create your own family.
Through it all.
Through the highs and the lows.
Brendon is always right there by your side.
A home built on love, on trust, and the promise of forever.
This is the life of the Park's family.
Notes: some strong language, established relationship. Brendon being so sweet for you and your babies - literally just absolute tooth rotting fluff. Mentions of pregnancy and past miscarriages 💗
Word Count: ~4.5k
The Evans house had always been loud.
Not chaotic.
Not messy.
Just...
Comfortably lived in.
Warming and so inviting.
A home filled with endless stories, if only the walls could talk.
And with each weekend, almost every single one, it would be filled with your family, always there to spend a family dinner together.
To take the time to cherish each other’s company, to be able to see each other.
The dining table was stretched to its fullest length, every chair occupied. Platters passed from one pair of hands to another. Your dad was laughing far too loudly at something Ellie had said. Liv insisted she'd done absolutely nothing wrong, which only made everyone suspicious.
Dana sighed into her wine, "Every time you say that, I know something’s about to bite me in the arse."
"Mom," Liv groaned, “I really didn’t do anything that bad”
While you only laughed harder.
"And yet I don’t feel any better from you saying that," your Mama teased her.
Your Dad chuckled from beside her, he adds, "And I've learned not to ask questions,” whilst your Mama elbows him lightly.
Around the table, conversation flowed effortlessly.
Rosie and Finnick–now four years old and full of boundless energy–had long since abandoned the adults in favour of playing with their cousin in the lounge room.
Or...
At least they had.
"Daddy!"
Brendon looked up from helping your Dad clear a plate, "Yes, sweetheart?"
Rosie's curls bounced as she ran into the dining room, eyes gleaming whilst she pleaded, "We need you."
He smiled, tilting his head, "What for?"
"A very important meeting,” Rosie declared, about as headstrong as her grandma you thought.
Finnick appeared beside her, gripping a tiny plastic teapot, "You have tea."
Brendon looked at you.
You bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself laughing, "I think you've been summoned."
Your Dad took the plates from Brendon’s grasp, "Oh, you've got no choice now,” he said with a knowing look. The look of a father who had been dragged into many tea parties before.
Dana didn't even look up from cutting another slice of roast, "Good luck."
Brendon sighed with exaggerated resignation, "I suppose duty calls,” but even he couldn’t suppress the smile that spread across his face when Rosie seized one hand. And Finn took the other.
Between the two of them they practically dragged the six-foot orthopaedic surgeon down the hallway.
Finn instructed, "Daddy sit!"
"I am sitting,” he claimed.
"No,” Rosie pointed firmly, "There."
"Oh. My mistake,” he nodded before he folded himself with surprising grace onto a tiny pink plastic chair that looked as though it might collapse beneath him.
It somehow survived.
Barely.
His knees were practically level with his shoulders.
The children immediately began issuing instructions, "Cup,” Rosie poured a cup of tea for him.
"Thank you,” Brendon nodded appreciatively.
"Cake,” Finn passed a wooden plate over to him with a fake slice of cake.
Miming taking a sip, Brendon plays along, just as he always had, just as he always will. Becoming putty beneath their demands, "Oh, very delicious."
"You have to pinky."
"I absolutely have to pinky."
They spent the next fifteen minutes correcting his tea-party etiquette with absolute seriousness.
"No, Daddy,” Rosie shook her head, “You sip. Like this,” Rosie demonstrated.
Your father laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes.
Dana quietly reached for her phone, "I'm taking a photo."
Brendon looked over, "Please don't."
"It's already been sent to the family group chat,” Dana claimed with a teasing grin.
"Dana,” he sighs, but no bite laced his words. In fact, the shine in his eyes led you to believe he was enjoying this all.
Everyone burst into laughter.
You couldn't stop smiling.
It was impossible to reconcile this gentle, endlessly patient father with the guarded man you'd first met all those years ago.
The one who had kept everyone at arm's length.
Who had spoken in clipped sentences.
Who'd hidden every vulnerable part of himself.
Now he wore a plastic tiara.
Entirely by choice.
This was your life. Your family. And you loved them all so much.
And yet–
Despite you knowing that.
Despite you being completely aware that Brendon would always love you.
You had a little niggling of fear.
Of worry.
Creeps into the forefront of your mind.
It was silly.
Really.
But weren't most fears at the end of the day, a little unfounded?
Fear might’ve been a bit too strong of a word. A better description for the way you felt might be fretting.
Yeah.
You were simply fretting.
Later, while everyone was distracted by dessert, by the orange and poppy seed cake topped with cream cheese frosting and slight shavings of dark chocolate on top, delicate and spongy with each bite.
Whilst they ate and enjoyed the night, you slipped quietly onto the back verandah.
The evening air was cool.
Comfortable.
Your hands rested unconsciously over your stomach.
You hadn't told anyone.
Not yet.
Not even Brendon.
The test sat hidden in your handbag.
Positive.
Again.
You should have been excited.
Instead...
The worry had arrived first.
The door creaked open behind you, "You've got your mother's thinking face."
You smiled faintly from the familiar sound of your Dad’s voice.
You simply stare out at the garden, not meeting his eyes.
Your Dad stepped outside, gently closing the door behind him. He leaned against the railing beside you.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
The silence wasn't uncomfortable.
It never had been.
"You alright, Cupcake?"
You bite your lip with a furrow of your brow, "I don't know."
That was enough.
He didn't press.
Didn't interrogate.
Just waited.
Just like he’d always done.
Just like he always would, for as long as you needed him to.
He always made sure his girls were all good.
And if they weren’t.
Well he always made sure you all knew he was there for you.
He was there for you during your first heartbreak.
He was there to quell your Mama when you had called home to say you were staying in Paris.
He soothed your worries, assuring you that your Mama was going to come around eventually.
He was there telling you he was only a phone call away if ever you needed.
Benji is the perfect girl dad.
Long before girl dads were ever a thing.
He was the original.
He was Brendon’s role model.
And your source of comfort without you ever asking him to be.
Eventually...
"I'm pregnant."
His head turned towards you. A slow smile spread across his face, he reached over and squeezed your shoulder, "That's wonderful."
"I know,” You swallowed, sniffling lightly, whilst the next words came out shakily, "I think."
He heard the uncertainty immediately, "You're frightened."
You nodded, feeling the burning well of tears threaten to fall from your eyes whilst you continued, "It just–It just all came back, the miscarriage, the waiting, the appointments, the heartache–"
Your breathing shakes, your heart races, "And then I started thinking...What if I can't do this again? What if I'm not strong enough?"
Your dad was quiet for a long moment.
Then he smiled, "Can I ask you something?"
You hummed with a slight nod, feeling your Dad’s arm wrap around your shoulder comfortingly.
"Have you met your husband?"
His question catches you off guard, whilst you raise your brow, “Dad, what–”
"I'm serious,” He laughed softly, before saying sincerely, "That man would move heaven and earth for you."
Your throat tightened, "You know..."
He looked through the window towards the lounge room.
Brendon was still pretending to drink invisible tea. Rosie was enthusiastically feeding him a plastic biscuit. Finn grinning whilst he drank from his own cup.
"It wasn't easy watching you girls grow up,” His voice softened, rubbing your shoulder, "I know every parent says that. But one day you're teaching your daughter to ride a bike...and the next she's building a life of her own."
But then he smiled proudly, "I worry, every father does, every parent does. I worried whether someone would see you the way I always hoped they would."
His eyes stayed fixed on Brendon, "I don't mean that in some old-fashioned sense. It was never about needing a husband. It was about hoping you'd find someone who made your life gentler. Someone who'd carry the heavy things with you."
He nodded towards the lounge room, "I found out I didn't have to worry."
You followed his gaze.
Brendon was now allowing himself to be crowned "Princess Daddy."
Without complaint.
Without embarrassment.
Without a single thought for himself.
Your Dad smiled.
"Whatever you decide to do...Whether you keep this baby. Whether life throws another curveball. I know one thing,” He squeezed your shoulder again, "Brendon's going to be there. For whatever you choose. He'll never let you carry it alone."
Your eyes filled, leaning your head against his shoulder, smiling softly, "Thanks, Dad."
"Anytime, Cupcake,” He nodded before grinning, "And besides–IIf he ever starts acting up. You let us know, you know your Mama and I won't let any nonsense or shit slide."
You laughed, with a slight shake of your head, "Dad."
"What?" He shrugged, “Just gotta keep him on his toes."
“You’re as bad as Mama,” you retorted.
He only shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your head, your tears now dried, while he adds, “We just love you.”
And just perhaps.
Your Dad’s words come into mind once more, later that very same night. After you had said your goodbyes at the doorstep of your parents.
Brendon carries both Finn and Rosie, while their eyes flutter close, exhaustion taking over the two little kids.
Taking Rosie into your arms, while you strap them both in the car.
Your Dad’s words enter your mind.
Watching Brendon’s careful movements, the unending admiration and love pooling in his bright blue eyes.
The very same eyes that promised you a life shared together, forever.
Your heart warms at the sight, and whilst he drives you all back home, his hand holds yours, gentle and sweet.
It is those little actions.
Those small moments.
That reminds you why you stay. Reminds you why you fell in love with him in the first place, and continue to do so.
That same evening, whilst you tuck the twins into bed,
Rosie pleaded for Brendon to read them a story. Precisely two, actually.
Finnick had corrected Brendon twice because he'd accidentally given the dragon the wrong voice.
Eventually...
Two sleepy goodnight kisses later...
The twins were asleep. Drifting off into a world of slumber.
Brendon quietly pulled their bedroom door almost closed. Walking quietly down the hall, he found you sitting on the couch.
One hand resting over your stomach.
And somewhere.
Deep down.
He had a feeling–an inkling about what was happening with you.
He had noticed, of course he had–he had seen the signs.
The vaguely familiar look in your eye.
"What’s going on with you?" He asked gently, stopping just a few feet away. Giving you space. Room to breathe.
You looked up, hands shifting to twist in your lap, "I found something out."
He crossed the room in three strides, kneeling in front of you, "Were you waiting for the right time to tell me?"
You nodded.
He smiled gently, "Okay."
You reached into your pocket.
Placed the pregnancy test into his hand.
He stared.
Then looked back at you.
Then back at the test.
His eyes filled almost instantly, "We're?–”
You nodded, a small smile spreading across your lips, "We're pregnant."
He laughed. The soft, disbelieving kind that dissolved into tears before it was finished, "Oh, sweetheart..." He rested his forehead against yours.
For a long moment he couldn't speak.
When he finally did...
His voice was barely above a whisper, "I'm here."
Those two little words.
Just as meaningful.
Just as profound as I love you.
The very phrase was more than just words, more than just a promise.
Because–
Because he always followed through.
Always stayed true to his word.
Because he truly was.
Always here for you.
"I know,” you smiled softly, eyes tracing the features of his face, simply drinking his appearance in.
No matter how many years pass, no matter how tired, exhausted, or whatever else.
Brendon was always the most handsome man in your eyes.
He cupped your face, "I mean it. I'm here,” softly kissing your forehead, "For whatever you choose."
You nodded slowly. Nerves on fire.
Mind buzzing from the way he made your heart pulsate.
Brendon never pushed, never demanded. Every decision was made together, with each other in mind.
Just like this one.
"I've been thinking–I think..." A smile spread across your face, "...We'll keep them."
His laugh escaped before he could stop it, "Them?"
You blinked realising your mishap. Grinning sheepishly, "Force of habit."
He chuckled softly, his thumb gently caressing your cheek, "Let's hope it's just one this time."
You laughed, smile widening, "I'd be happy either way, it’d be nice for Rosie and Finn to have another sibling."
"I like that idea too," he agrees wholeheartedly.
Silence settled between you.
Comfortable.
Warm.
You looked down, those worries coming back to your mind, no longer taking over, just simply there, always just there.
"You sure you're up for this again?” You asked, before listing off, “You know, with all the late-night supermarket runs, the cravings–"
He laughed softly, "You mean the night you absolutely needed watermelon and cheetos."
“Don’t forget the cookie dough ice cream,” you added, before stating with a dreamy sigh, "They were perfect together."
"They absolutely were not,” he snorted a small shake of his head.
"They absolutely were,” you protested. Before shifting slightly, reaching up to grasp his hands with your own, pulling them down into your lap.
Your smile dampens, “Can’t forget the mood swings–I remember being terribly angsty the last time…” your voice trails off, swallowing the thick lump beginning to form.
“And what if it’s not easy…What if it doesn’t go to plan?…” You say, airing out your fears.
Smiling softly.
Understandingly.
“Sweetheart–I’m here for it all,” His hands still intertwined with yours whilst he lifts them to press a gentle kiss to yours, eyes flickering up to meet yours.
"I didn't marry you because I thought life was going to be sunshine every day. And I didn't marry you simply because I wanted to wake up beside you,” he shared, "I married you because I knew life would be hard. Marriage is hard. Children are hard."
He pauses for a moment before adding, “Grief is hard, and so is growing old.”
His thumb brushed across your wedding ring, "I wanted every single part of it. Not because it would always be easy...But because it would be with you. The woman with such a big heart that in the first time we met, gave me a delicious slice of rosemary shortbread, the woman I fell in love with"
Pure adoration.
Pure love simply poured out of him, with each and every word, “I married you because I want to love you everyday, through every tough day, I want to be your rock through every curve ball. And simply be there with you through it all.”
Your heart simply melts from his admission.
From the way he looks at you.
Even after having been married for so long, he still makes your heart skip a beat just like the very first time he told you he loved you.
"And if that means driving across the city at midnight because the baby you're growing suddenly decides watermelon tastes best with cheetos, and cookie dough ice cream–” He shrugged, "Then I guess I'm buying Cheetos."
You laughed so hard tears rolled down your cheeks.
He kissed them away.
Just as he always had.
…
And true to his word. Loyal to a fault. His promise to you, to always be there for you, never breaks.
Brendon was there for you.
In every way that mattered.
He was there.
Through thick and thin.
Through the highs and lows.
Through everything that life brought your way.
Not only for the milestones people filled photo albums with–
But for the quiet moments that mattered just as much.
When your family gathered around the dinner table and you shared the news that there would be another little heartbeat joining the family.
When morning sickness stole your appetite.
When your ankles swelled.
When exhaustion made even standing at the kitchen bench feel like climbing a mountain.
He was there.
When your water broke halfway through baking a batch of madeleines. Whilst you had stared at the puddle on the kitchen floor.
Then at the tray still sitting on the bench.
Then back at Brendon, "I don't think these are getting finished."
He chuckled lightly, already moving to grab the preprepared bag, "The madeleines can wait."
A memory you both laughed about for years.
Especially after your daughter arrived.
Tiny.
Perfect.
Just a little impatient.
Little Madeline.
Maddie.
Named after the little cakes that never made it into the oven.
And just perhaps…
You just happened to know of a shark swimming in the gulf of Mexico named Madeline when she was tagged…just a little something you had seen when scrolling instagram.
You never told Brendon.
You simply smiled every time he called your daughter by her name.
A private joke you'd keep tucked safely away for another rainy day.
Maddie arrived with all ten fingers.
All ten toes.
Bright eyes and cherub cheeks.
A determined cry that filled the delivery room with relief.
It hadn’t been the smoothest of pregnancies–not the easiest of times.
Perhaps none of them ever truly were.
But she was finally here, in your arms.
Perhaps a little premature.
But she had made it.
You couldn’t help but sob when you heard her first cry, leaning into Brendon’s embrace whilst you cherished this moment together.
Brendon was there through all the moments that mattered.
The Emergency Department staff watched Rosie, Finn and Maddie grow up one homemade baked treat at a time.
You'd appear carrying tins of cookies balanced on one arm.
Baby Maddie strapped against your chest.
Finn clinging to your hand.
Whilst Rosie proudly announced to anyone willing to listen that Daddy fixed bones.
They cooed over your kids, and even more so when they saw both Dana and Brendon become absolute putty for the kids. So soft hearted, the polar opposite of the more hardened facade they put up at work.
You and Brendon were quite a team.
The perfect parental duo. Perfect might be a bit of a stretch….but you’d like to think you came pretty close to it.
You went through every experience.
Together.
Through scraped knees and bedtime stories.
Through toddler tantrums and endless "why?" questions.
Through to the first time you kiss your kids goodbye whilst they start their first day at school…
Until all too soon your little kids grow up.
Soon becoming their own person.
Through slammed teenage bedroom doors and arguments spoken in frustration rather than truth.
But no matter what the children always came home.
Sometimes late.
Sometimes sheepish.
Always to find the porch light on.
The kitchen, warm with fresh baked goods, ranging from cookies, to brownies, or even muffins or savoury delights waiting on the bench.
You learned something your own parents had taught you years before.
Understanding first.
Questions later.
A cup of tea before advice.
Knowing better than to scold before understanding–even if it takes everything within you not to simply ground them.
Brendon’s calm demeanor helps keep you settled, eased, before you completely lose it.
Though he struggles to conceal his own concern behind a thinly veiled facade…considering mere moments before he was almost definitely pacing the halls ready to jump in the car and find his kid.
Rather than pushing your kids away with screaming words and harsh conclusions…
You both learn to understand first.
Just to show them that they can always come to you if ever they had a problem–however small or big.
Brendon is right there by your side.
Especially when you hold back, fail to hold back tears. Holding onto your little babies, now grown and ready to flee the coop.
And with each child that leaves.
When Rosie, Finn and eventually Maddie leave home…
Each of them leave with a neatly made recipe book. An idea that Brendon had given you. Late nights spent awake working together to put them all together.
Inside were family favourites, each tailored to each child and their personal favourites.
From brown butter oat cookies, to crumbling melting moments with a passionfruit tang, or red velvet cookies with a cream cheese glaze.
The perfect recipe for flaky croissants. And all the little tips and tricks you had learnt written all throughout the recipe.
Varying versions of cinnamon scrolls. Always a crowd pleaser, whether they be coffee scrolls, vanilla scrolls or even your own specialty key lime pie scroll.
Apple crumble, Finn’s favourite adding rhubarb to the recipe whilst Maddie’s had raisins in the crumble mix for an added sweetness.
Pasta sauces, including your Dad’s signature bolognese, whilst Rosie’s book included a pesto sauce that Brendon prided himself with.
Each recipe accompanied by your neat handwriting.
For when the world feels too loud.
For celebrating good news.
For when the marks weren't what you hoped.
For feeding friends.
For impressing someone you secretly hope becomes something more.
For homesick days.
For remembering that home isn't a place–it's the people who love you.
You and Brendon had thought it all out.
Giving them a taste of home if ever they needed it.
Each time, his own tears remain unshed, just until they leave your view. Just until they’re out of sight. By then the tears flowed from both of you, simply holding onto one another.
Waited until the car disappeared around the corner.
Only then did his shoulders sag.
Only then did you wrap your arms around him.
And together...You mourned the beautiful ache of raising children well enough that they were ready to leave.
The hardest part was always saying goodbye.
Even if it was exciting.
Even if it was thrilling that your kids were finally going out into the world to make their own lives.
You were so proud of them…
But that didn’t mean it didn’t make you or Brendon any less sad to see them go.
Your Dad was right, saying goodbye and seeing your children leave was both the happiest and saddest part of being a parent…
…
“A vacation...really?” Rosie had asked whilst on the phone with you. Your phone precariously perched upon a shelf whilst your hands fold the dough before you.
Going through the motions like it was second nature.
The bakery had been going extremely well over the years, well enough that you had even established another two stores around the city.
And well–
Considering how hard you’ve been working as of late.
And how much Brendon’s been working…
You believed your family was overdue for a vacation.
“And where did you have in mind Mom?” Rosie followed up. Breaking you from thought.
Plucking a knife you begin slicing the dough into triangles. Preparing them to be rolled into croissants ready to be proofed, before sliding into the oven to become buttery flaky delights.
“Paris,” you said with a smile.
Mind drifting back to fond memories.
You and Brendon had gone back every few years, and usually around the time of your wedding anniversary.
And even going to visit Paris to further your own training and understanding of all the trade secrets from some of the world’s best bakeries and pattisseries.
But you had never once gone with your kids.
Sure you had all taken family vacations together. But Paris was special for both you and Brendon, simply waiting for the right time to take them.
“And why Paris?” Rosie probed.
You shrug despite knowing she couldn’t see you, wiping your brow with your elbow, the warmth of the ovens around you starts to get to you.
“I think it’ll be nice,” you vaguely explained, before rambling on excitedly, “We can make a whole trip of it, we can go to Paris and any other places in Europe, explore it together as a family, you’ve all got some time off between studies and jobs, and my bakeries will be fine–and your Dad has a lot of leave accumulated–so what do you say?”
“You still didn’t say why it has to be Paris specifically? Why can’t we just go to some resort and fully relax?”
You clicked your tongue, “Where is your sense of adventure?”
“Is something going on?” A tinge of concern laces Rosie’s tone.
“Nothing’s wrong, I just think Paris will be really nice–”
“I don’t know, don’t you think it’s a little touristy?” Rosie added a little unsure.
You could practically envision her mouth twisting in thought. The very same look Brendon would have at times.
“Did I ever tell you that me and your Dad went there on our honeymoon?” you said, whilst your fingers deftly arranged the croissants on the tray.
“Only about a million times–”
“Well have I ever mentioned that’s also where I fell in love with baking–and lived there,” you cut her off.
Somehow, throughout the years these little facts slipped through the cracks.
It was hard for kids to see their parents as their own people with their own histories. It was sometimes easier to just see them as only parents and nothing more…
“What? No! How did grandma react to that?” she exclaimed, whilst you laughed from her outburst.
“I could’ve sworn I had told you,” you said between laughs, “Doesn’t matter–I’ll tell you all about it, if you agree to come to Paris”
“Its a deal,” she said quickly.
“Great! I’ll call your brother and sister, and get them on board–”
“No need, I’ve messaged them already and Maddie’s already asking when to pack,” Rosie added, “–and Finn’s asking when he can start booking tickets for the galleries”
And so…
Plans were made.
Flights booked.
Hotels arranged.
And soon you’re all landing in Paris, ready to share a little slice of your youth with your children. Your arm wrapped around Brendon, both smiling warmly, feeling a sense of home overcome you both.
Walking the same streets.
Eating from the same little bakeries.
The city still felt like a love letter.
And Brendon still adored the way your face would light up, reliving the past, the way you’d still after all this time, lead him down narrow cobbled streets, past doors he could’ve sworn led to nowhere.
Regardless of that he trusted you.
Whilst you lead the way, finding the perfect hidden little secrets. Showing him a different side to Paris that wasn’t plastered across social media.
This time, however...
You weren't alone.
Rosie.
Finn.
Maddie.
All grown now.
Walking beside you, sending you a questioning look each time you led them this way and that.
A little story with each place you went to.
Now curating new memories with your entire family. The people you held dearest to your heart.
It brought you a thrill to see them enjoy the city you still treasured after all these years.
Seeing them explore and find little secrets of their own.
But today.
You were all together once more, strolling through the Jardin du Luxembourg.
Finn and Maddie rent one of the little sailboats to sail around the pond. In an instant their behaviour morphs back into the children they once were whilst they playfully argue on how to steer the boat.
Rosie sitting on one of the chairs, a sketchbook in hand supposedly tracing out the scenery before you…
Though you had a feeling she was sketching out anatomical images, her mind, not straying very far from her medical studies.
But then.
Just like that day all those years ago, despite the sun shining high in the sky. Clouds rolled in, sweeping overhead.
And then the rain falls without warning.
Soft at first.
Then steady.
Just as it had on your honeymoon.
The crowds scatter, umbrellas pop up.
But you can’t help but smile, closing your eyes whilst the rain cascades down and drenches your clothes and hair. A laugh bubbling out.
"So..." Brendon asked, already smiling, "Still think Paris looks prettiest in the rain?"
You looked around.
At your children.
At the city that had witnessed your honeymoon.
At the husband who still reached for your hand without thinking.
At the life you'd built together.
"I do,” He slipped his fingers between yours.
Exactly as he always had.
So warm and comforting.
Pulling you closer, just to keep you a little warm whilst the rain falls.
He hums lowly, a familiar tune filling your ears, whilst you rest your head onto his chest, falling into a gentle sway.
The quiet murmurs escape his lips, for your ears only.
I love you to the bone
I love every beat of you
Every measure and note
And so, if I stand the chance
May I ask you for this dance?
“Mom! Dad! C’mon!” Maddie calls out, all of your kids already ready to make a run for it, "Honestly. Now is not the time to live out the notebook!"
Rosie called out over the rain, "Can you stop looking at each other like that for five minutes?"
“We get it you’re in love,” Finn adds hurriedly, “Now can we please get out of the rain before we spend the rest of the vacation sick!”
Looking up you meet Brendon’s eyes, a little twinkle in them, full of amusement whilst you both laugh softly.
Then, wordlessly, he pulled back not before placing one sweet kiss upon your lips, lingering for just a moment, you feel his lips curve into a smile whilst they press against yours.
Sighing softly when he pulls away, his hand settles at the small of your back.
Your arm curling around his, before you follow after your kids.
Lightly jogging to seek shelter whilst the rain continues to pour.
Just as it had all those years ago.
"You know..." he murmured.
Looking up at the man who had loved you through grief and joy, through ordinary days and extraordinary ones, through every promise he'd ever made...
“Somehow, with each passing day I just fall more and more in love with you,” he pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek.
A wide grin spreads across your lips.
“Careful there, if you talk too loudly the kids are going to scold you for loving their Mom so much,” you tease lightly.
“Let them,” he shrugged, “Let them see just how much I love you, I don’t want them ever thinking that I don’t,” he says so tenderly and sweetly.
Your eyes drift up ahead, seeing Rosie, Finn and Maddie standing under an awning waving you both over, ready to spend the afternoon in a cafe and out of the rainstorm.
But before you manage to continue over.
Your sweet, dear husband.
The ever loving Brendon.
Twists you around, so smoothly, so fluidly.
Before leaning down to capture your lips with his.
Kissing you so slowly.
Tenderly.
Like he still had all the time in the world.
And perhaps...
He did.
Because the greatest love stories were never about the wedding. Were never about the honeymoon. Not even about the first date.
They were about choosing one another...
Again.
And again.
And again.
Every ordinary day thereafter.
He leans his forehead against yours, eyes peering down into yours, with an endless devotion that had never once faded.
Even through the hard times.
Through the arguments.
Through the fights.
You always found your way back together.
Hearts grow fonder and fonder of each other with each passing day.
Just as Brendon said.
You simply fell in love with each other more and more.
Your lips curl into a smile. Heart warming at the thought. Whilst his heart races, with one thought on his mind.
He would always be so grateful to you.
Grateful to share this life with you.
His face morphs into a gentle smile. A smile reserved only for you.
You were the only one who truly knew him, inside and out. Beyond the steely facade he wore to work. Beyond the shark, cold blooded persona.
"You are my home, my family, my life," you whisper softly, "my forever"
"I love you," he says sweetly, echoing the sentiment, "forever"
Burying his nose into the top of your head, holding you close. Cherishing this moment.
One you were sure to look back on fondly.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed part 8 and the series! Sadly it is the final part, but it has been so fun writing such pure sweetness for these two! I've had a blast and hope you have too! Hope you enjoyed the little full circle moment of ending it in Paris - Just know that I am picturing Rosie has gone off to study medicine (not necessarily to go into orthopaedics - but you're almost certain that she's into it because Brendon used to read medical textbooks to them as story books - worked like a charm to get Finn to sleep) Meanwhile I'm imagining Finn might fall in love with baking while on the trip to Paris, so he might take over the bakery business, and little Maddie is very keen on studying marine biology something about Shark's just make her absolutely light up ♥️
Let me know what you thought of this part or of the series in general✨
Read my Bonus Part: The Evans' Family Tree here!
Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕
Help yourself and check out my other Pitt Works on My Masterlist Here!
my mind is whirring from the concept. like uhhh yes please, I love these two immensely 🥰 and am so down to imagine both of them having a crush on reader
*let me know if you'd like to be tagged by for when I eventually start posting my fic for this concept
I'm planning for it to be a mini series, and write two alt endings for each of them.
it's still in my dot points in a doc phase but I'm fleshing the story out and hopefully have the first part posted sometime soonish - whenever that is
I'm picturing Dennis as your room mate, I'm imagining your friend from NY, Peter Parker comes to stay over the summer while he does an internship or smth in Pittsburgh ...both Dennis and Peter have feelings for the reader, it's just a matter of who's going to confess first, and most importantly which of them do you like?...
I'm imagining Dennis learning that your friend Peter is the infamous Spider Man ... and Dennis can't help but think that the spider's a real menace for his love life lol. This reveal may or may not involve Peter crashing into the apartment well after midnight stumbling through the bathroom trying to find a first aid kit…
I'm imagining the pining from both ends. the confusion on yours.
and Santos advocating for her avocado buddy to confess to you -- heavily trying to actively push you both together.
and yes. I am picturing the reader is part of the night shift crew (Shen and Parker have taken you under their wing, for better or worse, you are indoctrinated into the night)
*Also let me know if there’s anything particular you’d like to see within the story, I’m open to ideas 💕
Find My Jamie Tartt Masterlist here!
Read Previous here!
Jamie wasn't typically a jealous man.
Didn't normally feel that way.
If anything-
People were jealous of him.
But with Zava on the team. Jamie feels like he has something to prove.
He just doesn't quite realise that until Roy's snapping him back to his senses...
Making him realise-that Jamie's been a little unfair towards you.
Warnings: Strong Language (sorry Phoebe…just put it on Roy’s tab) a bit of fluff, a bit of hurt, a bit of self negativity...a lot of comfort.
Word Count: ~ 3.2k
Zava.
Was every bit of the diva he was rumoured to be.
And he certainly wasn’t a team player–at least from your perspective he wasn’t.
…But it seemed that the rest of the team were falling over their feet just to be in his presence. You could have sworn that if Zava had asked, Dani would shave off his hair for the man just to appease him.
And honestly?
You could not see what the big deal was.
They treated him as though his right foot was kissed by the Gods.
In your view, his arrogance was his achilles heel.
And it was clear.
From the brief fleeting glances you had sent Jamie’s way–that he wasn’t pleased by the addition either.
Zava had become a walking reminder of the arrogant prick that Jamie once was–a walking reminder of the selfish asshole he once was.
It felt like bringing Zava onto the team…
Was a step back in the wrong direction. He had become a fracture in the team. Even if the Greyhounds were now performing better than ever.
And Jamie hated to admit it…
So when he had passed by your office just after training…he had immediately froze. Eyes stuck on the figure of you.
Now Jamie rationally knew that this was your job.
Knew that your job was to make sure everyone was at their best physically…
Knew that your job as a physiotherapist meant you helped ease the muscle tensions, strains and sprains of his team mates…
And normally Jamie was fine with all of that–
Normally it didn’t bother Jamie–
But for some reason.
Seeing you working carefully to release tension from between Zava’s shoulders with a practised ease, Jamie was sure you could do it with your eyes closed.
Zava’s eyes closed, sitting perfectly still.
Looking almost…
Peaceful.
Calm.
Jamie bit his lip, swallowing the thick lump forming in his throat. He couldn’t explain it–couldn’t explain why.
But seeing you and him, not intimate, but so close.
It made Jamie physically recoil, stumbling back. Turning sharply away when he shook from his thoughts.
Not noticing the raise of your brows.
Not noticing the way you saw him leave.
Not noticing the small falter in your smile as you watched Jamie walk away.
Normally he’d swing by–stop and say hello, steal a kiss even if you pushed him away and scold him for being unprofessional.
So this.
Him leaving–
That had struck you as odd.
And that feeling carried with you long after the game, long after you had gone home to get changed.
Sending photos to Keeley trying to figure out what you should wear. Fretting over your hair, a swipe of lipstick across your lips and a glimmer of sparkly eyeshadow on your eyelids.
Checking yourself out in the mirror whilst Keeley sends you words of encouragement, words like bombshell, drop dead, and fucking gorgeous, all somehow making their way into her messages.
Bringing a bright smile to your face.
Before tapping to open up Jamie’s contact, before you could even message to ask him if he wanted to meet at Ola’s, a message popped up.
Jamie 💙: [ I’m just outside xx ]
Smiling softly at the words, you reach for your bag, pulling on your shoes before walking out to find Jamie standing at your door.
Seeming a little more like himself.
“Hey babe,” you smile.
His arm wraps around your waist, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Hi love–Can I just say that yeh look fucking stunning,” you feel his lips widen into a smile as they press against your cheek.
The low rasp of his voice, warm and sweet like honey as it trickles into your ear.
Feeling a heat rise up to your cheeks as they burn from his touch.
“And you’re,” you turn to press your palms to his chest slightly fiddling to adjust his shirt, while your other hand raises to card through his hair, “Very handsome–are you sure you’ve got the right house? The last time I saw my boyfriend he had a very pouty look on his face,” you teased.
And instead of retaliating.
Instead of giving you a teasing remark.
Jamie simply pressed a fleeting kiss to your lips–almost bristled by your comment.
You were none the wiser to the reason why–unaware that your comment had brought back the memory of you in the physio room with Zava…unaware that Jamie was unnerved by Richmond’s newest player.
His hand slips into yours, gently pulling you to the car.
Your brows dip in slight confusion.
But there’s no time to question it any further. Because just as soon as you get into his car, you’re arriving at Sam’s restaurant for the team celebration, and opening night preview.
“Sam! This place looks amazing,” you cheerfully compliment, catching said man into a hug.
“Thank you Y/N, it is truly great to see you, and Jamie, of course,” he smiles nodding towards Jamie.
Jamie grins, “Wouldn’t miss it,” clapping him on the back.
“Ok, now you two, enjoy. The bar’s over there–and please tell me what you think of the food, unless it’s not good, then in that case don’t tell me,” Sam jokes.
You laugh lightly, stepping back, catching a glimpse of Rebecca and Keeley who wave you over, before glancing back at Sam, “I’m sure everything here is delicious”
You lean into Jamie’s side for a moment, pressing a kiss to his cheek before telling him you’re headed over to Rebecca and Keeley.
Both of whom look absolutely stunning. Which comes as no surprise to you.
Whilst Jamie…
Well–
He slinks away the moment he catches word that Zava might make an appearance.
And for the most part you’re distracted by Rebecca while she talks about her strange coincidences that align with what her mother’s psychic had said.
The night was made even brighter when Sassy appeared.
Her brows dip when she pulls away from a hug with you, “And you–wanna tell me why it looks like your boyfriend is sulking in the corner?” she juts her head over to Jamie who sits in the corner, glaring at the drink in his hand like it had just insulted him.
Your lips shift from a smile into a frown, twisting into one of confusion, “He’s been a little off today–so I honestly don’t know,” you offer weakly.
Noticing the mournful look upon your features, Sassy nods, before squeezing your shoulder, sharing a look with the others.
“Well, then I propose we have a couple of champagnes to wipe that frown from your face,” she suggests.
Rebecca turns to the bar, “Can we get another champagne?”
The long stemmed glass appears and is placed in your hand, whilst they chatter away, but even their funniest stories can’t seem to occupy your attention.
As your mind can’t help but drift back to Jamie who sits alone in the corner.
Who only seems to sink further into his seat when Zava enters the restaurant. Swarmed by the team, while Dani seemingly becomes attached to his side.
Excusing yourself from your friends, you walk over to Jamie.
Tilting your head, you ask despite already pulling out a chair, “Mind if I take a seat?”
“Course, yeah,” He nods, a distant look in his eyes, barely lifting from his glass.
Leaning your arms upon the table, you perch your head upon your hand, simply observing him, trying to notice why he was so off tonight.
He seemed fine earlier.
This morning was great.
When he picked you up he seemed okay…
But now?
He seemed like his mind was in another world. With an expression that didn’t suit a player who was on a team with a winning streak.
“What’s got you so upset?” you questioned softly.
His shoulders freeze up, he shifts uncomfortably, and the words that spill from his mouth comes out far more defensive than he wanted them to, “I’m not upset”
Nodding with disbelief, “Sure you’re not,” you glance over to the others, as a round of laughter rings out, you jut your head, “Since you’re not upset, why don’t you come over and sit with me and the others.”
What he says next catches you off guard.
An edge, a sharp bitterness seeped into his words.
“No it’s fine, yeh go over and fawn over how amazing Zava is…just like everyone else,” he muttered. Hands clench around the drink in his grasp.
Your brows furrow in confusion. Leaning in, dropping your voice, with a small shake of your head, “Jamie–what?–”
He pushes away from the table, leaning back against the wall, averting his gaze, “Go on,” arms folding over his chest, “I’m sure he’s got plenty of stories”
Your frown settles deeper upon your features.
Brow creasing.
You lean away, the loud drag of your chair doesn’t even make him lift his gaze.
“Fine. But don’t think I’m going over there because of the stories. I’m going over because you’re being an arse right now,” you state, before walking away.
Sitting upright he looks up at your retreating figure, “Wait no ugh–” he sighs, dropping his head into his hands.
Way to fucking go.
It’s only when Roy confronts him. That he’s able to truly recognise why he had been so–off.
Why he had reacted–
Behaved that way.
And in that moment. Jamie realises…He has a lot of making up to do to you. For giving you such a cold shoulder, for brushing you off for things you had no idea he was feeling.
But in the midst of that conversation.
Jamie always signed himself up to be trained under Roy’s guidance…
Not realising it was going to be the training regiment from hell.
While the crowd thins, others begin to leave, Jamie falls into step beside you. No smile graces your features. Lips pulled taut into a thin line.
Whilst you walk out into the cold evening air.
Your arms shift to hug yourself, brushing up and down your arms trying to warm up. Feeling a chill run up your spine.
You hear him sigh from beside you.
Your steps falter when you realise he’s no longer walking beside you.
Turning back you’re met with the sight of Jamie staring down at the ground. His hands stuffed into his pockets.
A somewhat shameful look adorns his face.
He bites his lip, before taking in a deep breath.
Lifting his gaze.
The air is almost knocked out of your lungs from the clarity in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he says. Those words fill the air. Fill the space between you both, he scratches the back of his neck, embarrassment shifting to take place of the shame, “I’ve been an asshole–and I took it out on yeh–when it had nothing to do with yeh”
You take a step forward, offering a small nod, “Go on.”
“I just–with Zava joining the team, it’s brought up a lot of uh–complicated feelings…” he states.
You arch a brow, “If this is your way of telling me you have a crush on Zava, then I hope you know that Dani’s already called dibs,” you state with a small tease.
Breaking the sterile air that hangs between you.
He chuckles lightly with a shake of his head, while you laugh softly.
“No, it’s not–it’s not that,” he replies, “When I saw yeh earlier today with him–it just made me, uhm, what’s the word, uh–”
“Jealous?” you offered, a slight twitch of your lips, a little sliver of amusement slinking into your words.
“What?” he blinks, caught off guard by the word.
Jealous…it wasn’t a feeling Jamie was accustomed to. It wasn’t a word that came to mind often…
But with this.
“No–maybe,” he says.
You burst into laughter. Actually laughed, the sound was bright enough that Jamie immediately relaxed.
"Oh my God,” you managed to say between laughs, wiping away at the tears forming in the corners of your eyes.
Stepping closer to him, until you're right in front of him.
Your hands slip into his, holding them, your laughter fades but the smile remains.
“So this whole time–you’ve been jealous? Of Zava?” you question with a raise of your brows.
He sighed, “Not my finest moment,” he leaned his forehead against yours, eyes drifting close, feeling a weight lifted from his chest.
What he had been feeling now was finally out in the open.
Your expression softened completely, gazing up at him, "You don't need to worry."
He looked down, "Don't I?"
"No,” You squeezed his fingers, with a tiny shake of your head, "I love you."
“You sure about that?”
You stared, letting out a soft laugh, "Yes, you idiot."
"I love you,” The grin that spread across his face could've powered half of London. Before he leans down to catch your lips into a kiss, his hands slip from yours to trail up and cradle your face, deepening the kiss as he tilts your head.
You sigh, melting in his grasp.
Pulling back slightly to catch your breath, you both simply stand there. Relishing in each other’s company.
“Somehow I think I’ve agreed to have Roy train me,” Jamie states.
You snort, dropping your head onto his shoulder, he feels your body quake with laughter, “How?-”
He shrugs with a small chuckle, “I don’t know–he must have a soft spot for me,” Jamie jokes. Before adding, “He said I had to be up at 4?”
“AM?” you question pulling back slightly to see if he was serious.
“I think he was joking,” Jamie shrugs, both of you starting to walk back to the car.
You arch a brow, with a slight shake of your head, “Roy doesn’t joke”
Jamie waves you off, “Surely the old man won’t be up at 4”
…
The old man was up at 4.
You groan softly shifting beneath the sheets, annoyance seeping into your features, when you hear the banging at the door.
You crack an eye open.
Not a single sign that dawn was on its way.
The night sky still blankets the city.
Jamie snores softly from beside you, face smooshed into the pillow. Completely unaware of the incessant knocking on the door downstairs.
You sigh, glancing at your phone. Checking the time, you drop your head back down onto the pillow.
4:02AM
Closing your eyes.
You let out a long sigh.
“Jamie,” you call out, sleep still lacing your voice, thick and a little crackled. “Jamie!” you whisper a little more harshly.
But he doesn’t seem to wake.
So out of annoyance.
Out of an inability to think so early in the morning–if you could even call it that.
You kick him.
A little sharply into his side.
With a little more force than necessary.
He startles awake.
Shooting up in surprise.
So much so that he falls out of bed, the mess of sheets tangling him up. A simple thud sounds out when he hits the floor. A groan slips from his mouth.
“You okay?” you call out, shutting your eyes once more.
He hums in slight acknowledgement.
“Who the fuck is that at the door?” he asks from his spot on the floor. Rubbing at his eyes that cling to his exhaustion.
“I think that that,” the sound of knocks sound out once more, you joke already feeling sleep try to seep back in, “Is your 4AM wake up call”
The sound of steady breathing fills the air once more.
“Jamie?” you call out.
No response.
“Jamie!”
“Huh!?” he startles awake once more, now standing and shifting to fix the sheets to cover the bed once more, “I’m up”
“You know he’s not going to stop unless you go down,” you reply.
Jamie lets out a huff.
Muttering beneath his breath, “Hasn’t the old man ever heard of sleep–it’s fucking pitch black out there…”
You peek an eye open, catching sight of Jamie shuffling out of the room, your lips curve into a small amused smile, letting out a soft laugh from the sight.
Jamie always did run a little hot on the bottom…
…
Finding his rhythm as part of Roy’s new regiment for him took a little time.
Took a few kicks from you in the morning to get him out of bed.
But overtime.
He begins to find his footing.
Begins to get used to the early mornings.
Get used to Roy’s grumbled antics and brusque nature.
And whilst you might not be waking up to being in Jamie’s arms in the morning, missing the warmth of his arms curled around you. Feeling his lips pepper your skin while he gently wakes you up.
Instead what you do wake up to find–
Are little sticky notes, little notes scrawled out in Jamie’s handwriting. Stuck around the house, in the bathroom, the kitchen, the nightstand.
Anywhere he thinks you’d find.
Anywhere he thinks you’d look.
Each note reminding you of his love for you.
That you’re on his mind, in his thoughts.
Most are sweet.
Most are loving.
A few–a little more than a few are on the cheekier side of things.
It makes your heart warm to find them, collecting them each and every day. Tucking them away inside a little box you cherish with keepsakes, which fill up more and more with each passing day.
And with every passing day.
More and more of them are spent at his. More and more nights are spent staying over at his home.
A drawer soon becomes yours.
A shelf now holds most of your things.
Your favourite mug had even made its way into his cupboard.
Soon, you’re spending more time at Jamie’s than you are at your own home. Even your neighbour Sandy had noticed, with an arched brow sent your way when she does see you.
A little grin spread across her lips with a knowing look.
And then one day.
One afternoon, after having come home from Nelson road.
You're curled into Jamie’s side upon the couch, watching some show.
When he speaks up, “So I noticed a lot of your things are around now,” nothing accusing behind the words, nothing rude.
Just a plain fact.
“Sorry–If you want I can move some of my stuff–”
“No, no, no, that’s not–I didn’t mean anything by it, I just–” he stumbles out quickly, “It’s nice. I like it”
You smile from his words.
“I was just going to say, that you’re welcome to move more of your things in, if you want to,” he continues.
Tilting your head up to meet his eyes, which soften as they gaze upon you.
“Are you asking me to move in with you?”
“And if I am?” he replies a little tentatively.
You smile, pecking a quick kiss to his lips.
“I’d love to”
Jamie pulls you even closer to him, holding you warmly, peppering your cheeks with kisses.
Burying his nose into the crook of your neck, inhaling your presence.
You feel his lips curved into a smile, so wide, so brilliant.
“Then I’d love you to move in with me,” he murmurs between soft delicate kisses.
Whilst you sigh with a smile.
Things were going just great between you both.
Even if Jamie has to slip away from you at 4 in the morning...
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed part 9! I really enjoyed exploring a little jealousy from Jamie's side, and it felt like Zava was the perfect character to make that happen. And Jamie is totally taking notes from all the rom-coms you and he watch together now, trying to find the best ways to express how much he loves and appreciates you! also you're moving in together ♥️ (you're going to miss your neighbour Sandy, but just maybe, you'll have to join her yoga group and tease Roy whilst you're at it haha) Next chapter I'm planning on exploring Amsterdam and just maybe thread through a few little ideas of marriage and proposals??... 👀 Let me know what you think about it, and if you'd like to be tagged ✨
Read, Part 11: here!
Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕
Feel free to check out my overall Jamie Tartt Masterlist here
Clark Kent x Editor!Reader
Loose continuation to "'Dork' Personified"
Summary: The chances of working with, befriending, then dating two different superheros are significantly low... but apparently not zero
Warnings: Foul Language, Mentions of Spiderman (crossover ig), Written and not edited while I am super high so apologize
A/N: Overwhelmed by the support on my first Clark fic, so happy people enjoyed it. I'd love to write more so requests are always open!
Clark Kent had been through a lot in his life. He had fought beasts, other metahumans, evil billionaires with far too much money and time at their disposal, but nothing had left him feeling as terrified as he did at the present moment.
He watched as she read over an op-ed, mumbling about grammar mistakes and cursing the bloodline of the metropolitan man who ‘forced her to read through his bullshit piece and try to salvage what few molecules of intellectual commentary there are’.
His girlfriend of 7 months was the most opinionated person Clark Kent ever knew. Her lack of apology for her strong opinions and inability to hide how she felt is what had drawn him to her in the first place, especially when she had criticized Superman to his face the second she found out he was a “fan” of the Kryptonian.
Though he loved her for her sometimes rather brazen personality, it still terrified him, especially when he realized that he had to confess to her he was the man she had so lovingly called “Super-panties” in reference to his red trunks.
He knew she didn’t hate Superman, just that she had already been loyal to her home’s own superhero, Spider-Man, for years and wasn’t one to change up suddenly.
But, whether unfortunately or fortunately, Clark had found himself deeply in love with the woman and knew from experience that relationships never lasted long when he couldn’t tell his partners why he would have to suddenly leave and end up ghosting them for days.
He knew he couldn’t stand to let another good thing fall through the cracks because he couldn’t balance both identities.
“I need to talk to you.” Clark said, sitting beside her on the couch.
She didn’t look up from the piece of paper on her lap, filled with so many red marks from her pen that he wasn’t sure a single original word of the writer’s would be left.
“What's up?” She asked as he watched her cross out an entire sentence, writing a simple "absolutely not” in the margins.
“It’s serious, can I have a moment?” He asked, scooting closer and putting a hand on her thigh.
She finally looked up, noticing the serious look on his face but deciding not to comment on it… yet. “Sure, I have a headache after reading this garbage so I could use a break.” She drawled, hoping to wipe the downright terrified look on her boyfriend’s stupidly handsome face.
It didn’t work.
“Clark, you look constipated, what’s wrong?” She finally asked, speaking in a soft tone she rarely used, seemingly reserved only for the man she had fallen hard and fast for.
“I have to tell you something and I don’t know how you will react, or if it will hurt our relationship.” Clark responded solemnly.
She raised her eyebrow at this, “You’re making me nervous, Kent.”
He could feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. “Just know that, I really have… big feelings for you.”
She snorted, “Big feelings, huh. Just what every girl wants, a man who has ‘big feelings’ for her.” She teased.
He knew what she was doing. The teasing may have come off as rude when he was clearly in distress, but Clark knew she had only done it to distract him. The hand placed on his own a confirmation of her desire to help.
“I love you.” He said. He hadn’t said it before. She had, once, when they were going to bed about a week before. But she had been half asleep when she had uttered the three words he had desperately worked to earn from her and when he turned over to ask her to repeat herself, she was already snoring softly. He hadn’t asked her about it since, chalking it up as a mistake brought on by exhaustion.
Her breath caught at his words, she looked away as she tried to blink back tears. He doubled down. “I really, really love you, honey. I need you to know that.” He cooed, bringing his hand to rub circles into her back.
He watched her tense under the contact. “If you are about to tell me you cheated, Kent, I don’t want to hear it.”
That caused him to straighten up quickly. “N-no, never. Honey, I swear to you, I would never do such a th-”
“Then what is it, Clark? You look like you’re going to throw up and you are confessing your love to me while worried I am going to leave you. What are you trying to tell me?”
He took a deep breath.
“I’m Superman.”
Clark didn’t know what he expected. Disbelief, confusion, disgust, terror, betrayal maybe. He had been prepared for all of that. What he hadn’t expected was to watch his girlfriend of 7 months double over in laughter she couldn’t control, tears streaming from her eyes.
After a few minutes of uncontrolled howls, she put a hand up, telling Clark to pause, as if he hadn’t been sitting deathly still the entire time as he tried to figure out what was going on.
“Honey? Are you-”
“Please, Clark.” She wheezed. “I need a moment.”
She looked up at him for the briefest second, letting Clark see none of the negative emotions he had expected from her.
He let out a breath.
After a few more beats, in which she sat back on the couch and tried to catch her breath, she finally spoke up. “I’m sorry, Kent. That was probably not the reaction you had expected.”
“N-no it wasn’t. What the hay was that? Is the idea that I am Superman that laughable?” He asked, hurt laced in his tone at the realization.
“No, no of course not. I just- I had actually kind of suspected it a few times, but I had brushed it off because the chances of it happening again are so-”
“Wait, wait, stop. Chances of what happening?” He asked.
She sighed, sitting up straighter as she took both his hands in hers. While meant to be a comforting action, Clark felt anything but at the moment.
“When I was in New York, I started dating a guy I had been friends with for a long time. Eventually, I sort of… came upon the realization that the man I was dating was the secret identity behind Spider-Man.” She explained.
Clark shook his head in confusion. “I-I’m sorry, are you trying to tell me you dated Spider-Man?”
“Yep.”
“Spider-Man is your ex?”
“Yes, Kent.”
Clark paused for a second. “Should I be more offended that he is still your favorite hero? Does this mean that I get to be your favorite hero now?” He asked, hopeful. As much as he loved her, he was getting tired of her Superman slander.
“Well hold on now, you are asking for a lot from me.” She teased. “You, Clark Kent, are my favorite hero. That being said, even before I started working with him, before we became friends, before we were dating, Spider-Man was always my favorite. Plus we broke up on good terms, so I still need to be convinced that Spider-Man is worse than Super-panties.”
Clark rolled his eyes, pulling his hands out of her grasp. “You know, I thought you’d stop that when I confessed.” He huffed, before pausing. “So, you really have known and dated two superheroes?” He asked, still in disbelief.
“Well, technically I guess it’s two and a half, but I never dated Batman so-”
“Wow, that makes me feel much- wait you know Batman?” Clark asked.
She let out a sigh, trying to figure out how once again to explain all the unbelievable shit she has been through. “When I was at the Bugle, early in my career, I had… written a series of pieces on him, all of them equally unflattering. Despite my unyielding criticism, he reached out to me to try and quietly settle this one-sided hatred, off the record.”
Clark blinked, he wasn’t even sure he would be brave enough to face Batman after writing a critical article. “Wow, how did that go?”
“I ended up writing an even nastier piece, I mean it was rough. Despite the Bugle’s reputation as a… sensationalized gossip rag,” she snorted, “I wasn’t even allowed to publish it. So instead… I sent it to him.”
Clark just stared at her, his mouth slightly ajar, before he seemed to snap out of it.
“Didn’t you think sending something like that to a person like him isn’t such a good idea, honey?”
“I did consider it, but frankly I thought Gotham had been blowing too much smoke up his ass and he needed to know what other people thought of him.” She admitted, watching Clark cringe at her choice of idiom. “It honestly worked out for me. See, I didn’t tell him I wasn’t allowed to submit it, so instead I threatened to publish it if I didn’t get a personal interview. He ended up relenting and I got a piece that gave me a ton of publicity, even got me a promotion. Now we have a more… understanding relationship. Plus I wouldn’t have gotten my job at the Planet without him.”
Clark’s eyes went wide, “W-what do you mean?”
“Bru-” she stopped, almost slipping up. She wasn’t sure what the code was among superheroes about secret identities but she’d rather not risk anything. “Batman has some… connections at the paper. He knew I was looking for something else and I think he believed I would be less of a pain in his ass if I was an editor so…”
“So, you have a type.” Clark finished, a teasing grin on his face.
“I don’t think it’s my type, I think I just attract a certain kind of man.” She corrected him.
Clark looked at her and her infuriatingly smug smile and felt his chest become tight with the adoration he had for her.
Her face turned serious but sincere, “I love you, Clark Kent, Superman and all.” She confessed.
“I love you too, honey, Spider-Man fangirl and all.”
He kissed her before she could say whatever snarky retort he saw form in her head.
summary on a professional level, superman respects steve rogers in a way any other hero would. on a personal level, clark would highly appreciate steve keeping away from you, his fiance.
content warnings fluff. jealous!clark x meta-human!reader. steve is sweet but he loves causing drama, a habit he adopted from nat. avengers all call reader 'kid'.
notes this is sososo impulsive, i don't know where i'm taking this but i hope you enjoy this 4th of july special!
—
"sweetheart, i got it."
"i know you do, honey, but the people of new york are observant. they'll either think you're another super soldier or—"
clark sets down the insane amount of luggage in his arms at your knowing gaze, arms crossed as the cab driver that had just dropped the both of you off at the cozy cabin near upstate new york gawks at your fiance.
the cab driver hedges forward. "is he...?"
you shake your head with a firm press of your lips. "nope. my fiance's just from kansas. farm boy muscles and all that." while it looks like the cabbie doesn't really believe you, you've got that edge that all new yorkers never really shed so the man nods and drives off.
with no witnesses, clark lifts all of your luggage to bring inside without breaking a sweat. you sigh as you contemplate the chaos that'll most likely ensue at the avengers compound for the fourth of july weekend.
—
a month ago, natasha romanoff had arrived in your tiny box of an apartment in metropolis without even a text of warning. it would've been something you appreciated since clark had you on your kitchen counter, gently pressing you with a hungry kiss against the overhead cabinets as dinner burned on the stove. his broad frame was settled nicely between your thighs, his lips gliding down your jaw and neck before the apartment door swings open as if the intruder had a key—
"whoops. didn't know you had company."
you gasped and peeked over clark's shoulder who instinctively tried to shield you from natasha in all her sardonic glory. "nat—?!" you had wriggled away despite clark's insistence, ducking beneath his strong arm to meet your friend in your living room. "what are you doing here? is everything okay—"
"everything's fine," nat had cut in, her sharp gaze taking in clark behind you who looks more like guard dog than protective fiance at the moment. "i just wanted to drop in. i should've called though, that was on me…"
warmth bleeds into your back when clark had stepped forward, a silent wall of support behind you. he's not unaware of your past, of your healing powers that pulled you into nick fury's orbit. while you were never made into an avenger, you were the support they all needed whether it was to be healed or just to be around someone normal. it was about a couple years ago that you finally left new york, starting fresh in metropolis as a nurse. steve had been kind enough to help the move in process a lot more smooth than it would've been alone.
"um— sorry. nat, this is clark kent, my fiance. clark, this is nat, one of my closest friends from new york although i'm rescinding that title after her break in tonight," you sigh as you wave a hand between both.
clark's still a gentleman through and through, even in the face of superspies that like to cross boundaries, and shakes nat's hand before his hand returns to your waist. "what's the occasion?"
"tony's throwing a fourth of july-slash-steve's-birthday weekend barbecue, thought our favorite nurse would like to come," nat smiles. "you can bring superman over here."
clark chokes on his spit. "i— what? i'm not— no, he's—"
you pat his chest. "honey, nat knows everything, it's literally her job. don't worry, your secret's safe with her. and i don't know, clark and i were gonna just stay in."
"sounds like fun," he cuts in and that little smile, dimple and all, knows you're about to lose this one. "i haven't gotten the chance to meet your friends, sweetheart."
every argument you have dies in the face of your fiance's eager expression and you sigh quietly to meet natasha's triumphant little grin. "yeah, okay. we'll be there. is it at the compound?"
"yeah, there's your usual room—"
"no, clark and i wouldn't wanna intrude. we'll find an airbnb or something." there's an edge to your tone that leaves no room for negotiation and natasha has enough sense to back off, nodding as she starts to head out.
when the door shuts, you groan into clark's chest who rumbles in sweet amusement as he rubs your back. "superman meeting the avengers… what can go wrong."
—
a lot of things went wrong upon entering the cabin. for one, there aren't any furniture. two, there isn't any running water. frustration begins to build but before it can erupt out of you, clark's cupping your cheek to kiss your forehead and your phone starts to ring.
"stark."
"hey, kid. don't be stubborn and bring supes on over to the compound, your room's all ready for you."
"i hate you, tony."
"no, you don't. although this confirmed my theory."
you pause. "what theory?"
"you got a thing for goody two shoes. tell me— does kent say 'language' during your rated-r rants?"
you hang up the call, cutting off tony's obnoxious laughter on the other end.
—
now that the both of you are on avengers' property, your privacy is all but secured against the general public so clark had seen no issue in just flying you and your luggage over. it's a bit unsettling to see him fly in his civilian clothes but you cling to him all the same, carried bridal style while the luggage hang from his hands. you aren't sure how he isn't losing his grip but you land in the open bay where natasha and steve is waiting to greet the both of you.
the luggage are set down first, clark still hovering and once his hands are free, his feet land with you still securely in his arms. "clark?" you prompt and your adorable, beefcake of a fiance startles as he reluctantly sets you down while nat and steve approach.
"miss romanoff," clark tips his head in polite greeting but then his voice drops slightly, taking on the 'superman' voice when he turns to steve. "captain, happy birthday."
"thank you, superman," steve greets as he offers his hand. clark takes it with a solid 'clap' and a firm shake. your eyes flitter between each of them in slight anticipation because in this moment, it isn't superman and captain america facing off.
it's clark kent and steve rogers with you caught right in the middle.
something lights up in natasha's eyes and you suddenly fear for the weekend ahead.
—
fortunately, the main living space of the compound is cleared of any superheroes in favor of setting up for the outside where the main party's happening. it leaves you and clark the space to settle in and when you step in your old room, nostalgia feels like a punch to the gut.
it's still the open space layout as before, patterned after a luxury studio apartment with your own mini kitchenette. cold and impersonal for the first few minutes of stepping in but then clark walks past you to set your luggage in, his large frame somehow bringing light to the place you could barely call home. when he turns to you, gives you that smile that you've fallen so hard for, it feels like you're back in metropolis. "what?"
you shake your head with a smile, step into clark's space and giggle at the blush that he never can tamp down when you're near, and kiss his dimple. "nothing. i just love you."
"love you too, honey."
—
after changing into something more comfortable (and doesn't smell like plane) over your bathing suits, you and clark walk hand in hand towards the noise that crests and wanes from the other side of the compound. where there had been an open field meant for training (specifically for any flight simulations or volatile powers that should not be indoors), it's been fashioned into an americana-esque backyard with an actual inlaid pool.
"what the— when did you guys install a pool?" you gape at the giant, bean-shaped pool complete with a patio and a giant cabana built above it. beside it is a familiar face manning the grill.
tony flicks his sunglasses down to peer at you above them. "a week ago. had to go all out for dear ol' cap's birthday. nice of you to join us, sweet cheeks. you gonna introduce us to your hunk of a man?"
your eyes roll but the pride in your smile is undeniable as you bring clark forward. "everyone, this is clark kent. my fiance."
an impressed whistle escapes from rhodey who tips a beer up in salute towards you. "nice rock, kid." he gives a nod to clark next. "you did good."
"gosh, thanks." clark says, rubs his neck in that sheepish way that you've found endearing every time you see it. however, it has the rest of the avengers staring in utter befuddlement. tony mouths 'gosh' in emphasis to bruce who waves his judgement away.
"cap, you got someone out for your title for boyscout," tony crows happily as he flips a patty with ease. steve, who has been lounging beneath the shade with his own lemonade, looks up from his conversation with clint and laura. when his eyes find yours then clark's, something unnameable passes through his eyes before he's striding to his feet. all six foot two of him.
clark straightens his posture. all six foot four of him.
immediately, your eyes roll. "i'm going to go say hi to the girls. you two? behave."
"honey—" clark splutters but his priority will always be you so he concedes, quietly takes the offered glass of lemonade from steve before he attempts to play nice. if he can keep civil with steve lombard at work, he can be the nicest guy in town for the super soldier that may as well be an ex with how his eyes follow you.
—
to his credit, clark gets along well with all of your friends from new york. tony's crass but he's got a heart of gold with his closest circle of friends. bruce and clint had teased him the least about his midwestern countenance while laura had been interested in his career as a journalist and as a superhero. natasha had been very impressed with his ability to juggle his secret identity on top of everything.
"so how'd she find out about your other identity?" rhodey asks later on as the two of them sit at the chaises by the pool. clark is polite but his eyes cut to you occasionally where you're splashing in the shallow end with laura and clint's kids, your laughter providing a soothing background to the chaos of tony and bruce arguing over what music to play.
"ah, well. i was fighting an imp with the justice gang, should've been an easy fight but it was evening and i'm not really at my strongest at that time. i fell on her roof and she was there reading. she… healed me." a besotted smile grows on his lips. "the day after that, she ran into me as clark but i didn't realize my biology had been something she could sense. she pulled me into an alley and just asked if i healed right."
rhodey laughs quietly. "she's a little spitfire, ain't she?"
"i wouldn't have it any other way," clark muses. the both of them turn their attention to you, nearly missing the way tony hits the top of the grill with his tongs to call out—
"soup's on!" he hollers as he gestures to the cheeseburgers laid out to the table beside him. clark gets to his feet, ready to serve you, except—
"got all your favorite fixin's," steve cuts in, that boyish half grin that's made nearly all of america swoon, as he offers you a plate. with clark's heightened vision, something ugly turns with indignance that steve did get all your favorites.
but clark will not be beat so he rushes over to the coolers, pulls out your favorite drink, and all but flies over to offer it to you. "can't forget your usual, honey," he smiles sweetly, popping the tab for you and everything. you're still halfway out the pool, one foot out and on the edge with the other still in the water, with both men offering you a plate and a drink.
"thanks, guys… mind if i dry off first?"
you carefully sidestep away from both of them, refusing to enable or participate this odd dick-measuring contest they've started. once you've dried off, you settle into an available chaise and nearly startles when steve and clark kneel on either side of you. you could barely get a word in as captain america himself carefully sets the plate down on the small table beside you and your darling fiance adds in a straw as well.
"okay, both of you shoo—" you wave them off. "seriously. i know both of you, you two can eat tony out of all of his homes so go. you must be starving."
when both men trudge off, natasha takes their place but she's got enough sense to at least wait for you to take a few bites of your food before she starts.
"you know, it's kinda cute."
"don't you start, nat."
"no, no. it is! you got america's heroes fighting for your attention like overgrown puppies. it's cute."
your eyes narrow. "… you know something."
she zips up her lips before she dives into the pool, effortless without making a splash.
you huff goodnaturedly. "show-off."
—
"come on, you two. nathan, lila, out of the pool." clint claps his hands to grab his two youngests' attention. the sun's setting behind him and even you can't deny there's a slight chill beginning to settle in.
you nod and raise your arms slightly with the intent to herd the little ones out. "you two heard your dad, let's head out. if the grown-ups say yes, we can get some s'mores started, maybe set up some lights like a campfire… what do you say?"
that gets them out and when clint gives you a thankful grin, you wave him off before padding out to clark where he's already got your towel out. "thanks, baby," you smile as he wraps it around you, bundling you into his arms to press a soft kiss to your lips.
behind your back, steve stands with a fresh towel and clark fights the urge to stick his tongue out at him. no, that'd be very immature of him.
—
despite the chill that's threatened to drive the party indoors, tony gets a bonfire started in a fire pit he had dug out from the giant warehouse storage along with some string lights from a box labeled 'christmas?'.
the kids are drawn up in a tizzy at the thought of having christmas in july, their little hands diving into the box with the sole intent of decorating the giant cabana. you're in the middle of it all, helping them all detangle the wires while tony's sent back inside to look for an extension cord of all things.
"hold on, sweetheart," you laugh as nathan tries to climb your back while you draw yourself back to your feet, watching as his little arms try to reach up and hook the lights up. in the corner of your eye, steve approaches your periphery, hands nearly raised as if he's got the intention to lift you by your hips but—
clark's hands find you first, his chest brushing against your back. "i got you, honey," he murmurs in your ear before giving nathan a little grin. you feel his strong grip brace your waist, firm but not uncomfortable, and lift you high.
then… lifts you higher.
you turn your head to see clark levitating to help you hook the lights up at eye-level. nathan gasps in excitement and nearly drops the lights in his own hand. "oops— careful, buddy," you chuckle as you hand back the wire.
"me next, me next!" lila squeals from below and you laugh as clark does as asked, nathan reluctantly set down for you to carry his older sister next while clark lifts you back up with ease.
by the time the entire cabana's decorated, the kids are returned safely to their parents.
"that was nice of you," steve hums to clark once the two of you are back on solid ground, offering two s'mores on a plate.
clark takes it, almost wary, but he sees something you don't and his spine relaxes imperceptibly. "thank you," he murmurs while he places a warm hand at the base of your spine. steve nods his head and when he turns to you, he ruffles your head.
"be good, kid," he tells you instead before he walks off.
—
although tony had intended steve's intention to be an absolute rager, it still turned out to be a family-friendly event. something that steve had been banking on.
"kid just landed," tony had remarked earlier, the both of them setting up the cabana after FRIDAY had updated him on your flight status. "you gonna say something?"
steve just chuckles to himself, readjusting the stability of the cabana's legs. "tony, i don't know how many times i have to say this. nothing ever happened between me and her."
tony's eyes roll. "i know. you two cost me $300 because of it, by the way."
"serves you right for betting on your friends' love lives, stark."
"yeah, yeah, whatever. but back to the question at hand— have you met her fiance?"
"superman? i don't know him personally, but he seems like a good man, someone good for her," steve shrugs, unsure of what tony's getting at.
"hm. sure, the media definitely paints him that way," tony says. "but as her closest friends and honestly— the closest thing she has to a family— we need to make sure he's good for her."
steve pauses for a moment, gives his friend a sidelong glance. "what do you have in mind?"
"easy." both men startle at the sudden appearance of one natasha romanoff. "make him jealous. see how he reacts when steve moves in on her, it'd be enough to see his true colors."
tony snaps his fingers. "operation: battle of the boyscouts is a go."
"… i resent that name."
—
on the morning of july fifth, the avengers compound is the ultimate postcard of serenity. sun's sitting high, a gentle breeze wafting through to carry in the scent of nature. a butterfly settles upon a blooming flower bud—
"ANTHONY EDWARD STARK."
your shrill voice cuts through the peace. the butterfly flies off.
"you tried making my fiance jealous for some inane dick-measuring contest for your own fucking entertainment—?!"
"language."
"language, sweetheart."
steve and clark share a surprised glance and right as they're about to exchange a little chuckle, maybe even bro it out with a fist bump in their matching flannel pajamas, you direct your glare to the both of them.
without a word, steve backs out with a sheepish grin while clark approaches to give you an apologetic kiss to your forehead.
"it's a habit, i'm sorry," he mutters against your hair and despite tony's stupid games, you melt in your fiance's arms. "i love you."
"i love you too, sweetie." tony takes the chance to inch away as you decompress in clark's arms but you huff against his chest. "clark, i'm gonna kill him."
"... it wouldn't be very 'superman' of me to let you get away with murder, honey."
thank you for reading! likes and reblogs and comments are highly appreciated!
Dr Brendon Park x Wife!Baker!Reader, Dana Evans x Daughter!Reader
Find My Pitt Masterlist here
Find my Brendon Park Masterlist here (includes the other parts of Sugar & Spice Series)
Just a few notes that I had whilst writing the story. A little backstory if anyone's interested for what I envisioned for the Evans' family.
And a few little other tidbits.
Also a short little Drabble exploring Brendon seeing Dana after her assault
Basics about the Evans' Family:
Close knit family, always in each other’s business.
3 daughters including you.
Eldest: Eloise (Ellie*) – her husband is Liam, they have a baby girl called Isla.
Middle: You
Youngest: Olivia (Liv*)
Growing up you all grew used to Dana’s busy schedule.
But you all knew how much she loved you all.
Much like Dana, her daughters grew to develop her strong headedness and her dry wit.
Stubborn.
That word could be synonymous with the name Evans.
Benji is an absolute sweetheart.
An electrician - so he's very handy (a trait he made sure to teach all of you)
A supportive rock
He loves gardening and cooking. And always makes sure his girls are all good.
He was there for you during your first heartbreak.
Your dad helped quell your Mama when you had called home to say you were staying in Paris.
He soothed your worries, assuring you that your mama was going to come around eventually.
Telling you he was only a phone call away if ever you needed.
Benji is the perfect girl dad. Long before girl dads were ever a thing. He was the OG.
There for PTA meetings. There for bake sales. There for everything. No milestone considered too big or too small.
Dana balanced out Benji’s softness.
You remember the days where your Mama would come home hours after she was meant to. Bone tired, fatigue in her eyes. But at the sight of you and your sisters and her husband, she’d instantly brighten.
She always did her best to hide how her work exhausted her. To conceal the heavy weight she bore.
Listening intently as you and your sisters chattered about your day.
She was there to braid your hair.
Tuck you into bed when you were kids.
No matter how busy she was, you knew she was always there for you all.
Family was always important to her.
Especially making sure she spent as much time as possible with you all.
Because she lost her mum when she was only 16, she understands how precious life can be, how precious time can be
Dana Evans is a straight-shooter with a tough exterior, built from years running the ER.
She's pragmatic, cutting through nonsense with a sharp, dry wit that keeps everyone in line.
She doesn't sugarcoat.
Whether it's dismissing rumors or giving blunt advice. Observant and discreet, she picks up on personal struggles but respects boundaries, only stepping in when it matters.
Dana's protective of her team, guiding them with a firm hand, but she's not warm or overly nurturing; her care is practical, not emotional. Resilient under pressure, she handles chaos calmly, though a rare crack in her armor shows when the job's toll—like a patient's attack—makes her question how much longer she can take it. Her loyalty shines in small gestures, like joining colleagues for a drink, but she's private, keeping her doubts and weariness mostly to herself.
Though rare, Dana is not above raising her voice if needed, as demonstrated during arguments and confrontations.
As you inherited her stubbornness.
The Evans' household was no stranger to their fair share of fights.
Often with your dad playing mediator.
It could be the most trivial things such as borrowing a shirt without asking. Or as big as arguing over a certain sister’s current boyfriend.
But no matter what, you always went back to each other.
How Brendon Fits Into All Of It:
When Brendon joined the family, it was new, strange. Not something he'd ever really known.
Mostly estranged from his family.
Being welcomed into yours, took a lot of adjusting.
But once he grew used to your sister's nosy behaviour, their teases and jokes.
Once he grew used to your Dad always there to talk and listen, a complete opposite to his own.
Once he grew used to the way Dana showed her love - not to dissimilar to his own.
He cherished it all so deeply.
Protective over them and loving them all. Just as much as he loves you.
I just know for a fact that the time Dana gets punched, just know Brendon comes down to check on her as soon as he gets out of surgery – insists on driving her home.
...
WC: ~600 words
Dana had almost made it to the staff exit before she heard footsteps catching up behind her.
"Mrs. Evans–Dana"
She turned.
Brendon Park was still wearing his surgical cap around his neck, scrub top creased from hours in theatre. His pace slowed as he reached her, eyes immediately finding the bruising beginning to blossom along her cheek.
He frowned, brow set in a creased line,”I heard–"
"News travels fast,” she shrugged, trying to minimise the concern she could see in his eyes.
He hummed at her words, eyes searching and checking her over. Checking to see if she was truly ok.
He knew how stubborn the Evans could be…he had of course married one.
Dana folded her arms. "I'm fine,” her eyes flicker around them, before pulling him aside, away from prying eyes and ears.
"I know."
She narrowed her eyes, "No, you don't."
"I know you're capable," he corrected gently, "That doesn't mean you should be driving after taking a punch to the face."
"It's only a bruise,” she argued.
"It could also be a concussion," he said with a pointed look.
She sighed, rolling her eyes, "I've already been checked,” though she couldn’t deny that her head was throbbing, her eyes stinging from the fluorescent lights above.
This place made her stomach twist. A heaviness in her chest.
After everything today, she wasn’t sure if she ever wanted to step foot in here again…
"I know,” Brendon said once more.
She arches a brow, trying her best to keep her steady resolve, "You seem to know everything."
A small smile tugged at his lips, "I try."
Around them, staff drifted past without paying either of them much attention.
Most knew better than to pry, especially when it came to PTMC’s shark…everyone simply kept their head’s down.
For all they knew, this looked like nothing more than an orthopaedic surgeon asking the charge nurse about a patient…
Not realising the patient he was questioning about.
Was her.
Brendon lowered his voice, "Please."
One word.
Quiet.
Earnest.
"I'll drive you home."
Dana studied him for a long moment, "You've just finished surgery."
"And I'd rather spend another twenty minutes driving than spend the rest of the night wondering whether you got home safely,” he replies.
She huffed, unconvinced, "I've driven myself home after worse."
"I know."
"You really need a new line."
"I'll work on one."
Despite herself, the corner of Dana's mouth twitched, "You are remarkably stubborn."
He cracked a small smile, a soundless laugh, "So I've been told."
She had a feeling that his stubbornness might have stemmed from a certain daughter of hers…
She had no doubt in her mind that you had somehow caught wind of this.
But the concern in Brendon’s eyes wasn’t just born out of an obligation to you.
It stemmed from a love for Dana, a care for the mother he never got to truly have. He was truly concerned for her.
She could see it in his eyes.
Could hear it in his words.
He shifted his weight, "I promised someone I'd look after you."
Dana's brows lifted, a small smile creeping onto her features, "You did, did you?"
"I just..." His voice softened, "I'd feel better knowing you got home alright."
Dana looked at him for another long beat.
There was nothing performative about the concern written across his face.
She let out a long sigh, "...Fine."
Relief washed over his features so quickly it was almost amusing.
"But–"
He straightened.
"I hope this isn’t your way to try and earn any brownie points"
He snorted, with a roll of his eyes, “I know–I wasn't."
She picked up her bag.
"Though..." She glanced sideways at him as they began walking towards the car park, with a small shrug, "...it doesn't hurt."
Brendon laughed quietly.
Hope you liked my little head cannons for them 🥰 and the little snippet exploring Brendon and Dana after she was assaulted by Doug.
Find My Jamie Tartt Masterlist here!
Read Previous here!
Healing came slowly.
Learning to block out the noise and opinions.
Even slower.
But.
Jamie was always there to make you smile. To reassure you.
And the helpful words of a Mr Trent Crimm, as well as Keeley, helps you cement your realisations.
That the love Jamie had for you outweighed all the baseless opinions out there.
Warnings: Strong Language (sorry Phoebe…just put it on Roy’s tab) a bit of fluff, a bit of hurt, a bit of self negativity...a lot of comfort.
Word Count: ~ 2.4k
There were still mornings where you’d catch yourself opening an article–muscle memory taking over.
Before your fingers would stop short.
Jamie’s voice filtering into the forefront of your mind.
It’s just poopeh…
You’d wrinkle your nose. Letting out a small laugh, a little shake of your head, before you’d close the tab.
It didn’t always stop the sting.
But it stopped you from drowning beneath the words of the public. Learning to let it all simply fade and morph into background noise.
Made even easier when it came to having Jamie by your side.
The best moments, your favourite moments, were the quiet ones.
Late nights.
The television playing softly.
Tea growing cold on the coffee table.
One particularly exhausting evening found you curled against Jamie's side. Tension settled heavily in your shoulders.
Tension that he noticed immediately, "You alright?"
"Fine,” you said, mind elsewhere.
Since your admission a few weeks ago–admitting that the world had pulled you beneath the waves of their insults and opinions.
Jamie had done his best to pick up on the moments you weren’t quite yourself.
Pick up on when your mind led you elsewhere.
"You say that like Ted says 'no pressure.'"
You laughed tiredly, "Long week."
Without another word, Jamie shifted, "Come here."
"What?" You asked with a raised brow.
"Turn around,” he simply stated.
Confused, you obeyed.
Gentle hands settled against your shoulders.
Careful pressure.
Massaging sore muscles.
You immediately melted, "...Jamie."
"You spend all your time looking after everyone else,” His voice softened, "Let me look after you, love." He ducked down to press a kiss to the top of your head.
Emotion caught unexpectedly in your throat.
Because people didn't often think to take care of the caretaker.
But Jamie always noticed.
His fingers worked patiently.
Slowly easing tension away.
"You don't have to–” you try to say.
"I know,” His lips pressed gently against your temple, "But I want to."
Your eyes stung slightly.
Stupidly.
You leaned back against him.
Relaxing completely, "I love you,” you sigh, with a wide smile upon your lips. Eyes drifting close.
With them shut you weren’t able to see the way Jamie’s were so filled with hope.
Wonder.
Love.
Completely written all over his face.
His smile appeared. And the emotion you felt was reciprocated tenfold, "I love you too."
Hands still moving to delicately ease the tension from your shoulders, before you felt him shake lightly, a rumble escaping him whilst he started to laugh lightly.
Warm and disbelieving, "You know."
"What?" your lips curled into an amused smile.
"This all happened because you accidentally told me to get my shit together," he chuckled.
You laughed leaning back into his arms, whilst they slipped down to encircle your waist. Your head against his shoulder, tilted to look up at him, you cheekily remarked, "I stand by it."
It came as no surprise. That everyone at the club was completely thrilled to see you both back together.
No longer burdened or strained beneath the opinions of others–of strangers.
But no one was happier than Keeley and Rebecca–well, maybe–
Ted would argue that he was the happiest to see you two kids work it out. Bringing joy back into the club.
A little reminder that love was always just around the corner.
And perhaps just always a little too much in the forefront of everyone’s attention. Something you didn’t particularly enjoy all the time.
Thankfully, when it came to being part of the Richmond Greyhounds–there was always something happening to occupy the spotlight.
And this time it came in the form of Richmond gaining another outsider.
Or perhaps more accurately–
Another victim of Roy Kent's terrifying death stare, "No one talks to him."
You blinked up from the makeshift treatment table outside, for just in case there were any injuries during practice, "Sorry?"
Roy folded his arms, "I'm serious."
You looked over his shoulder.
Across the training ground, where Trent Crimm–no longer from The Independent, now independent– stood awkwardly with a notebook tucked beneath one arm.
Rebecca and Ted had both given him permission to shadow the club for the year, to spend the season around the club, documenting Richmond from the inside.
The players treated him like he'd wandered in carrying the plague.
Will actually turned around and walked the other direction.
Colin suddenly became fascinated with a traffic cone.
Even Higgins had developed somewhere incredibly important to be.
"...Roy,” you said with a light scolding.
He only grunted in response.
"That's incredibly mean,” you added, folding your arms over your chest.
"He writes."
"He writes,” you say aloud. With slight disbelief that this was all Roy was annoyed about.
"He asks questions."
"That's generally what journalists and writers do."
Roy grunted, "Exactly."
You shook your head, waving him off, "I'll go say hello."
Roy's eyes narrowed, "You betray us..."
You smiled sweetly, "And if you do anything about it, I'll make your rehab exercises harder."
"That's blackmail."
"It's physiotherapy,” you say, poking out your tongue with a grin.
Trent looked pleasantly surprised when you approached.
"I was beginning to think I'd accidentally become invisible,” he said, whilst his eyes remained trained on the team, noting the way they operated, the way Ted operated…
You laughed, "No. You've just become...Roy-proof."
His lips curled into a small smile, "I've noticed."
You held out your hand, "I'm not sure we've officially met–Y/N L/N, team physiotherapist and the one keeping the people on the team from breaking"
He shook it warmly with a small chuckle, "Trent Crimm, and if I recall correctly, we’ve met once before”
You think for a moment before clicking your tongue in realisation.
“Right–How could I forget the journalist that didn’t have anything better to ask me than what I thought about Jamie Tartt’s return to Richmond,” you replied with a slight tease.
He put his arms up in mock defense, “I was just trying to find out what I could–”
You laughed, with a small nod, “I’m pretty sure my answer was ‘yet to be decided’,” you added.
“And what would be your answer now?” he asked with a knowing look in his eye.
“One of the best things he’s ever done,” you said with pride, glancing over to find Jamie already looking at you, his smile widening when your eyes meet his.
Turning back to Trent, you snort, “If I remember correctly you called me pithy back then”
Both of you simply laugh lightly from the memory.
Eventually walking back over to your treatment table. Conversation came surprisingly easily.
Far easier than you'd expected.
He wasn't trying to pry.
Wasn't fishing for gossip.
He simply...
Asked thoughtful questions.
About recovery.
About psychology.
About how athletes coped with pressure.
Eventually...
The conversation drifted, "I hope you don't mind me saying this."
You looked up from reorganising ankle braces. "Go on."
"I imagine the last few weeks haven't been especially kind
Your hands paused.
He wasn't being nosy.
Just...
Observant.
You sighed, "Is it that obvious?"
"You look happier. But–" He tilted his head slightly, searching for the right words, the correct sentiment, "Still cautious."
You smiled faintly, "I suppose."
Silence settled comfortably between you.
Then–
A question pops into your mind.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Of course,” he nods. It’s not like anyone else on the team was talking to him.
"Why,” You hesitated, "Why do they do it?"
He already knew who they were.
"The press, the tabloids, the comments,” You swallowed, "Why do people say things like that?"
Trent considered the question carefully.
Long enough that you knew he wasn't reaching for an easy answer.
"Attention."
You frowned, "Attention?"
"They're not paid to be accurate,” He leaned back against the counter, "They're paid to be noticed. I was paid to make headlines."
His thoughts drift to a particular article he wrote about Ted. The happy go lucky coach, battling anxiety…
The very article that pushed Trent out of The Independent.
He offered a sympathetic smile, "And outrage gets noticed."
You were quiet.
"So...They manufacture narratives, they simplify people, they create heroes,” He lifted one finger, "And villains."
Another finger.
"And relationships."
Another.
"And scandals."
"They're selling emotion. Not the truth,” he states. A knowledge stemmed from his own experiences.
You looked down, "So it isn't personal?"
"It rarely is,” His answer came immediately, "You simply happened to become visible."
That...
Helped.
More than you'd expected.
“And from what I’ve seen, and from what Ted has told me,” Trent smiles sincerely, whilst he compliments you a little indirectly, “Those articles out there and opinions are unfounded.”
You glanced toward the training pitch.
The players were still giving Trent a wide berth.
You smiled knowingly, "Don't worry."
"Hm?"
"They'll come around."
"You sound confident."
"I am."
He raised an eyebrow, "You've worked out why they're avoiding me?"
You grinned, "Oh. They're not avoiding you. They’re just avoiding the wrath of Roy."
He nods slowly, before asking, “You don’t happen to have a timeline on when the freeze out will end, do you?”
You click your tongue with a small shrug, "Whenever Roy comes around–If I were you, I’d ask him”
“If only it were that easy,” he said.
Whilst you laughed in response with a nod of your head in agreement.
And just as you said.
Roy did eventually come around…
The team eventually opened up around Trent. No longer holding their breath whilst they walked past him.
All the while you and Jamie were happier than ever.
Most evenings...
Jamie simply appeared at your front door.
Sometimes with takeaway.
Sometimes carrying ingredients because he'd suddenly decided the two of you were making pasta from scratch.
Once...
He'd proudly announced he'd learnt how to make pancakes.
The smoke alarm had disagreed.
Jamie was a pretty open book.
A very pretty open book…
But as of late there had been times where he’d share something new.
Whether it be a small or big fact. A little tidbit of information.
A moment of vulnerability.
Peeling back the layers of his facade, little by little.
A side to him only you bore witness to.
In your arms he wasn’t famed footballer, Jamie Tartt, doo doo doo doo doo doo….
No.
When Jamie was in your arms.
He was just Jamie.
And he loved that.
Loved that he was able to be himself with you.
No pretence.
No need to be anyone else.
But yours.
And so…
He had begun letting you into those small little details often kept concealed behind a facade.
At one point you had fretted about this being a mistake to Keeley…
Those doubts clouding your judgement once more.
And Keeley was having none of it.
As she had quickly snapped you out of your panic.
Not the Jamie Tartt that the press painted him out to be.
Reassuring you that this was not the same Jamie Tartt that she knew when they dated.
And he was certainly not the Jamie Tartt who was on Lust Conquers All…
That comment had made you laugh, breaking you from your little pity party.
In fact.
She pointed out, that who Jamie was now.
Was far more considerate.
More thoughtful.
More sincere.
Loving.
And not at all the selfish prick she once dated.
You almost blurted out an apology right then and there until she had quickly told you that she was so happy for you.
That she was so happy for you both.
Truly.
Deeply.
Happy.
Smiling brightly whilst she hugged you.
And so those fears and worries quelled once more.
In a bizarre twist of fate.
When your text was sent to the wrong person.
Was sent to the person who now held your heart.
Who made you laugh.
Made you smile.
Made you feel loved and cherished.
The person who had become your closest confidante whilst only sharing messages.
Was Jamie Tartt.
Someone who you had once deemed an asshole.
All because of a few nasty articles, and from what you had heard.
Now you realised.
That whilst that might have once been true.
People were always a little more nuanced than that.
Just like you were.
So nuanced that no single article could ever portray an accurate depiction.
And if the press had gotten it so wrong once before.
Then just perhaps.
They were wrong again this time, when they spoke of how you were unfit, not pretty enough to be Jamie’s girlfriend.
Besides.
They had no say in deciding who was wrong or right for him.
The only opinion that mattered when it came to this.
Was Jamie’s and yours.
Later that evening...
Curled together on the sofa. Jamie frowned thoughtfully, "I've been thinkin'."
"Oh no,” you said with a teasing smile.
His lips curled into feign offence, "Oi."
"I'm kidding,” you giggled.
He looked genuinely serious, "...You're not my number one."
You blinked, practically stuttering, eyes wide, “–What?"
His eyes widened immediately, shaking his head frantically, "No."
"No?" you looked at him expectantly, pulling back just slightly.
"No–” He sat upright, panicked, "That's not–”
"Jamie…" You lift your brows.
"I've messed this up”
You snort, "You think?"
He rubbed both hands over his face, "What I meant was…”He pointed helplessly at you, "...You're not my number one."
"I'm really feeling the love right now,” you huffed,
“Ah–why doesn’t it, I just want to say this sounds a lot better in my head,”
“I bet,” you remarked dryly.
Shifting he leans over to grasp your hands gently, "Cause–You're my only one."
Biting your lip, trying to stop the wolfish grin from forming upon your lips. Whilst you watched him physically cringe.
"I feel like a right prick," he groaned. Dropping his head onto your shoulder, while you wrap your arms around him, hands carding through his hair.
You smiled, "Yeah. But that's okay."
He looked up. Those beautiful big brown eyes peering up at you. Making you fall in love all over again.
"Because you're my prick,” you said sweetly while a laugh bubbles from within you.
He laughed. Relief washing over his face, "I love you."
"I love you too."
He leans up to press sweet kisses all over your face, leaning back into the couch, while he pulls you with him.
Holding you so sweetly.
Tenderly.
The press could go fuck off.
Jamie loved you. And only you.
Proven by all the ways he shows you how.
By all the little gestures, the little actions and all the kisses he peppers across your cheeks.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed part 9! Nothing too much happening, just a bit of fluff and a little comfort for these two lovebirds. I loved the idea of you literally ignoring Roy's piercing gaze and just talking with Trent (new friend collected! hah) Possibly thinking to explore Zava joining the team, perhaps a little of Jamie's own insecurities seeping through. And eventually I will be exploring Mom City!! (Jamie's Mum is going to adore you that is for sure) Let me know what you think about it, and if you'd like to be tagged ✨
Read, Part 10: To Be A Little Less Jealous here!
Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕
Feel free to check out my overall Masterlist here
summary: jack abbot tries out wearing perfume, but he didn’t know that the scent of it will only bring up the memories of the past that you have been avoiding.
warnings/tags: grief, angst with comfort, a bit of jealous!jack, mentions of late partners, a lil ooc jack
a/n: i thought of this premise while commuting, i hope i did it justice. i kinda wanted to experiment shit. enjoy!
By the nurses' station at 6:50 PM, Jack is already there. He's always in the emergency department either an hour or half an hour before his shift. Not because it's part of his nature to be prompt, well, it is, but because the earlier he's there, the more cases he gets to be involved in. The more cases he takes, the deeper he gets to bury whatever turmoil he refuses to face.
Right now, he's browsing through medical logs in one of the computers, checking on what happened to some patients that he handed over to the day shift earlier. It's part of his routine to see how they're doing, whether they have been admitted, sent home, or didn't make it—which is something he always hopes to never see.
As he continues to scroll through the computer, Shen wanders over to Jack, peeling himself away from the cluster of day shift staff who are guiding medical students along with other night residents on how they do hand-offs.
The attending can already sense that something's unusual the moment he's within Jack's proximity.
"Something's different about you, Abbot," Shen points a finger at him, while still holding his cup of iced coffee.
He takes a deliberate sniff of the air and raises an eyebrow, "Huh, are you wearing perfume?"
Jack shifts uncomfortably, feeling conscious about the comment. He spent a good minute of debating with himself if he's gonna wear the perfume or not before leaving for work.
"I'm just trying out a gift," he grumbles, still crouching over, facing the computer.
"A gift? From who?" Shen asks with a teasing grin, wondering if this is juicy material to probe him more about.
"From that anemic kid's mother the other day, the one whose child goes to a private school. She dropped it off as a gift," Jack responds.
Shen nods, remembering the kid from a few days ago, "Oooh, her. Yeah, that family seemed fancy. It smells good."
After a brief pause, he adds, "It's weird though."
Jack stands up properly, already done with the computer. He finally looks at the other attending, raising an eyebrow, "Weird because?"
"You don't usually… smell good," Shen makes a vague gesture with his free hand.
"Are you telling me I usually smell bad?" Jack asks flatly, he hopes that's not the case. He may not have a very thorough self-care routine but he makes sure he always has a clean hygiene.
Shen shakes his head, chuckling at his annoyed expression, "No! No, you usually don't smell like… anything."
"I mean he has that signature veteran old man smell," Ellis butts in, walking towards them as she invites herself into the conversation.
"What the hell does that even smell like?" Jack asks, almost offended by that.
Ellis just shrugs, "I don't know, smells like usual you I guess."
He sighs, putting his attention back to the computer to browse for anything else to keep his eyes off of the two clearly making fun of him. "Man, I shouldn't have worn that perfume if I knew I was gonna be made fun of."
"Oh come on, doc! Lighten up," Shen pats his shoulder.
Jack just huffs, rolling his eyes. He doesn't bother butting in when Shen and Ellis continue to describe what absurdly specific thing is close to Jack's usual smell—something about wood, old books, or whatever is closely related to an old veteran.
Fortunately, he finally hears that familiar voice. The voice he always looks forward to hear every shift—greeting the guards, nurses and doctors as usual. His head immediately turns, watching you finally walk in for tonight's shift.
You go straight towards them with that smile of yours, clearly and already intrigued by what's going on.
"Hey everyone, what's going on here?—"
You cut yourself off as soon as you finish your sentence. Your brows immediately furrowing. Jack caught how you stopped abruptly. It's part of his nature to always keep a close eye on you, and he always hopes that you never call him out on it.
"We're making fun of Abbot's smell," Ellis grins, nodding towards Jack.
Jack sees how your expression smoothens itself out, going back to whatever expression you had earlier before you walked to them. It's almost as if what Jack noticed earlier was something he hallucinated.
"Oh! Are you wearing perfume, doctor Abbot?" you turn to him, asking him so sweetly, or maybe that's just Jack's deluding his hopeful mind.
He nods, feeling a bit sheepish about it even more now that you pointed it out, "Yeah."
God, he hopes that you don't make fun of him and join in on Ellis and Shen's bullshit. He will let himself get shot on his next SWAT mission if you did.
But thankfully, you just nodded.
"Smells nice, doc," you smile politely. Jack smiles too, but he forces himself to keep it small—so that he doesn't give away how much he likes hearing that from you.
"But it's weird, right?" Ellis butts in and Shen laughs.
"Let's not be mean, you two," you wave them off and walk away before they can even drag you to whatever they're talking about.
The two continue to discuss, while Jack's gaze follows you as you make your way to the lockers.
A small smile creeps up again to his face, but he forces it down before anyone can even see. Right now, his cologne doesn't bother him as much since you think it's nice.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
Despite getting bombarded by patients who have been waiting for hours or brought by paramedics; by interns, residents, and nurses who need consults and instructions; and by the general chaos that occurs in an E.R functioning at night. Jack can't help but notice something different, it has been in the back of his mind even when he's hands deep in a patient's cavity.
He can't help but wonder, have you been avoiding him for the last eight hours?
It is such a dumb thing to think about, and yet, despite how noisy and overwhelming the department is… he can't help himself.
All the yelling staff and patients, beeping noise from medical equipments, and the collective chatter in the E.R, Jack still noticed how you haven’t approached him once to ask for his opinion on a case. The only time you did was when Shen wasn't available. But then again, you rarely go to him! Jack was always your first option, not him—no offense to Shen. But that's how it has been going for years.
You only come to Shen when Jack is busy. It's always Dr. Abbot that you call for first and not the other attending.
Not only that, he noticed how every time he walks towards a station you’re at, you suddenly find somewhere else to be. How you suddenly have something to do on the other side of the E.R when he's near you. How you have kept your conversations brief and strictly hospital-related. How you have been keeping every interaction short.
He tried asking Shen if something's up with you, but he just shrugged and said that nothing seems unusual about you—not even the fact that you have been approaching him a lot more instead of Jack.
Upon the 7th hour of the shift, he noticed the same pattern in every encounter: you have been avoiding his proximity.
Now it's been an hour ever since he reached that conclusion, and Jack still can't figure out why. The man who has always been good with figuring out why people are they way they are… can't figure this one stupid thing out.
Did he say something that ticked you off? Did you take it the wrong way when he corrected your plan of treatment hours earlier? What is something so bad about being near him that you always come up with an excuse to stay far away from him?
Jack knows that he shouldn't be preoccupied by this. By the mere theory that he conjured in his mind that he is being shunned by his senior resident. He shouldn't be thinking too much about this. After all, your work perfomance is still good—great like always.
You still keep the E.R going, so he shouldn't be too bothered by how you have been distant with him lately.
So, he should focus on just working, right? Focus on patients, focus on keeping the staff in life, and not on his pretty senior resident.
But he can't help but let that irritating inkling fester his mind.
Not knowing why you're suddenly avoiding him today is driving him nuts. So he makes it today's goal, his mission, to find out why.
ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ
By 4:00 AM, only three hours left before your shift ends, Jack finally sees you alone, and unaware of his existence as your whole undivided attention is on your charts.
Jack watches you from afar, contemplating if he should even talk to you about what has been bothering him for 8 hours. Jesus, he still can't believe you've been avoiding him for that long.
He wonders if he's pushing professional boundaries. But of course, he manages to convince himself that this is purely professional. After all, a senior resident being uncommunicative with an attending physician imposes a high risk of operations going disastrously.
Yes, that is professional. It's totally not because he is starting to get upset because his favorite resident is ignoring him.
After instilling that in his mind, he walks towards you. You don't even look up when he stands in front of you.
"Hey, you got a sec? I need to speak with you," he says.
Your hands stop moving on the keyboard, eyes still on the screen.
"Oh uh… yeah sure, sure," you nod, saving your work before standing up from the chair.
Jack leads the way toward one of the empty patient rooms on the farther end of the E.R. He opens the door, letting you enter first before him. The room has already been cleaned, and the curtains around the bed is pulled open.
You hear the soft click of the door being closed, then Jack stands in front of you.
"Are you okay, doc?" he asks, hands on his back like usual.
"Uh.. yeah, yeah of course, I am," you nod, a little confused as to why that question needs to be asked in private.
Jack keeps his eyes on you for a moment, waiting if you'd say anything else. You do seem okay, but he wants to know if you are okay with him.
When nothing is said after, he follows up, "Are you sure? You can tell me anything."
He immediately sees the second you clench your jaw, it seems like that got you unnerved. But you quickly mask that with an awkward smile.
"I am sure. I'm sorry, doctor Abbot but what is this about?" you chuckle awkwardly.
He can sense how nervous you are, especially when you start cracking the knuckle of fingers with your thumb, a nervous tell he picked up on months ago.
"You’ve been avoiding me all shift," he says bluntly. It almost sounds like it's been nagging him this whole time.
Your brows furrow immediately. “What? No, I haven’t," you answer like that's a stupid thing to assume of you.
But is it stupid if he's right?
He tilts his head slightly at your tone, clearly unconvinced, "I just want to make sure that everyone in my department is comfortable in their working environment. We can't have that if you won't tell me what is bothering you."
"What? I swear, I am not—"
"I noticed how you would walk away when I walk towards your direction. You haven't consulted to me first for anything at all for the past 7 hours. You even leave the break room without finishing your food just because I walked in. Do you want me to list some more down?" he cuts you off, exhaling quietly, almost incredulous now that he’s saying everything that has been bothering him out loud. He would definitely list a lot more, but that would give away that he has been observing you all this time.
You keep your gaze at him, because if you look away now, that might just give you away. You wonder if he's been watching you for the entire shift, it's quite unnerving if you think about it.
"If I did something, I’d rather you tell me directly."
You finally break your gaze away, you can never outlast Jack with eye contact, not when he looks at you like he's trying to see every gritty part of you through your eyes.
You sigh, rubbing your forehead. Maybe it would help shut your brain up from screaming at you not to tell him what is bothering you.
"It's… stupid, something that you shouldn't worry about," you mutter, almost inaudibly. You believe that it is dumb for him to be even concerned about this.
"If it's stupid then we wouldn't come to this, right?" he insists.
You stay quiet, taking a one small step away from him as his presence is starting to overwhelm your senses. You don't want him to know. Fuck, you have been so distracted by whatever is bothering you whenever he's around and the reason behind it is just… weird, and pathetic if you're being frank.
"Come on, just talk to me—" he pushes again.
"It's the perfume," you cut him off, blurting it out as fast as you can to just get it out there.
You couldn't even dare to look at him even just for a millisecond.
You let out a breath through your nose, looking embarrassed now that the words are out there.
Jack frowns, "I… Do I smell bad? Does it smell that bad that you've been keeping your distance?" He asks in confusion, his heart already sinking into the depths of his body. It would be utterly embarrassing if you genuinely think he smells bad and you were just being nice earlier.
"No, no… it smells good. Please don't get me wrong," you quickly disagree, hoping you didn't offend him that deeply yet.
"Then what is it about?" he quickly follows up. He really wants to know how he can fix whatever he has to fix, so you'd feel comfortable around him like before.
You manage to finally meet his eyes. It feels like you're confronting so much of your turmoil just by looking at him, and your heart aches at the genuine concern and confusion on his face. God, you can't help but soften at how he looks right now. He looks like a puppy.
So naturally, you relent.
"Your perfume. It reminds me of someone from my past," you finally say.
"Someone bad?" he carefully asks.
"No. Not bad. It reminded me of my boyfriend."
Jack feels a strange twinge in his chest. He admittedly doesn't really know a lot about your personal life. What he learned about you at work, were the only things he knows about you.
You don't seem to share a lot about yourself too. You like to talk to people, but you limit it to your interests, hobbies, what you watched, read and ate. But you didn't share anything more than that.
Suffice to say, Jack is more than surprised to hear the word boyfriend—
"My late boyfriend. He passed two years ago. A year before I started working here, actually," you quickly follow up. "He loves wearing that perfume and I guess… being around you really messed up with my brain."
Then, a soft sad smile appears on your face, as if your heart instinctively lights up at the memory despite the dread it brings.
"I'm sorry… I didn't know," he really didn't.
"Don't apologize. I never really told anyone. I don't like to make them feel uncomfortable and forced to feel bad for me," you respond, waving your hands to affirm that it's fine.
Talking about your late boyfriend has always made things weird with people. You have been made aware of how it makes the air… suffocating, of how it put people in land full of eggshells without you meaning and intending to. Most people you have met don't really know how to interact with someone grieving, especially when they have had the fortune to not experience how it's like to lose their partner.
Jack hums in agreement, it is one thng to carry such grief, it's another to carry it so carefully around others. It's a burden that is unexpectedly tied with having to continue living on without them anymore.
"I… People start looking at you differently after they find out.” Your eyes stay fixed on the floor. “I don't want to bring any of that shit here, not when people will probably start acting weird and treat me like I'm going to break any second. It's just so awkward and weird and just… a little frustrating to deal with," you mindlessly ramble.
Jack exhales quietly through his nose at that. He knows exactly what you mean.
"I get it. I'm unfortunately familiar with that," Jack almost says humourously, making you smile.
You remember that was one of the things you learned about him in your first month in the PTMC. You overheard it from a few nurses one night while charting near the station, quietly talking about why Doctor Abbot still wore his wedding ring even though nobody had ever seen a wife waiting for him after shifts or calling the hospital.
He’s a widower, one of them had whispered.
At that time, it had been more than a year since your boyfriend passed. Learning that fact about Jack, has made you drawn to him ever since. Because even if he didn't know about your baggage, it just felt nice to be around someone who is going through something similar.
"It really does get tiring, doesn't it?" you exhale with a tired smile.
"Yeah, it does," he nods.
For the first time in your life, you finally feel relieved that someone can actually understand what you are going through. You couldn't help but start spilling as if Jack's presence has opened the dam that has been persistently keeping your vulnerability in place.
"When I recently lost Andrew—that's his name—it was… well, exhausting. People I worked with knew him, so they got uncomfortable around me. They either get too careful when they mention him or they just avoid bringing him up altogether," your voice starts to break so you try to laugh it off, even if it's weak and a pathetic attempt to conceal how you're already breaking apart.
"Missing Andrew, and having to deal with people being uneasy around me was too much. So, I ended up moving to work here."
Jack sighs, his chest aching at the sight of you being so vulnerable. He has seen you go through a couple of rough patches, but you were too stubborn to let them bring you down. This is probably a first for him to see you like this, and it pains him that the perfume he tried is what provoked it.
He understands your pain so well too. Because he went through the same thing when he lost his wife, and it was a nightmare to go through that on the first few months after the funeral.
Jack had to prove to his peers again and again that he is capable of doing his job, that just because his beloved wife has passed doesn't mean that he's too unwell to do his duties in the emergency room.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to vent like that. That was super unprofessional," you rub your eyes too quickly.
"Please, don't apologize. I'm just glad that you told me," he pats your shoulder, squeezing it to reassure you that he's there for you.
"Yeah well, I don't like telling people about this. I honestly thought I'm doing better but I guess… I haven't really moved on just yet," you say meekly.
"Grief doesn't work like that, you have to cut yourself some slack," he believes that you should take your time.
"It's just… I made all this progress and… a whiff of perfume undoes all of that? It’s embarrassing ,” you murmur. “I spent so long trying to stop associating random things with him… The songs he liked. Places we used to go to. Certain food… and eventually it got easier. ”
Your eyes flick back toward him briefly, your eyes sting from how you have been stubbornly keeping your tears back.
“Then tonight it felt like my brain just dragged everything back out again. Stupid perfume bringing all that shit back."
Jack doesn’t know what to say to that. Because there’s no reassuring response that doesn’t sound empty. Despite being on the receiving end years ago, he still doesn't know what are the right things to say to someone who is grieving.
And God, for a fleeting moment, he hates how much he wishes the memory of someone attached to that look in your eyes had been him instead. The thought comes sudden and ugly enough that he immediately feels ashamed of it.
Of all the times his mind and heart start to be selfish, why now? Of all the times, why does he let his heart ache at the thought of your heart still holding on to someone who is no longer in the land of the living for two years.
It is sickening to be jealous of a dead man. What a terrible thing to think about. But he can't help it when he has fallen for you for quite some time.
Jack still carries so much love for his late wife, because loving her was something he is okay with continuing for the rest of his life.
But his heart has made room for you anyway.
He fully knows how it must be so difficult to be in your place. Your boyfriend passed just two years ago, which seems like a long time but it's really not. Jack's wife have passed a decade ago and yet sometimes the most mundane things pull him back to her.
You quickly wipe away your tears with a couple of sniffs, an attempt to stop yourself from falling apart even more in front of your superior.
"I guess that means I'm never wearing that perfume again," Jack jokes, and fortunately you laugh. It was a pretty risky gamble for him to even use humor right now.
"It is a good perfume, I'll tell you that," you smile.
Jack chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I hope you feel better now," Jack breaks the silence. Despite the heaviness in his heart, he hopes that meant he has made the weight on yours lighter.
"Y-yeah. Thank you." There's that weak smile of yours again as you collect yourself.
The both of you stand there in silence. Jack's eyes stay on you, stays where he is, giving you the space to leave whenever you want.
Yet, your eyes linger on him. You look like you still have something in your mind, because you do.
You hate yourself for thinking about it, for even considering, and for giving in to say it out loud—
"I… I have a weird request, if you don't mind," you force yourself to meet his eyes.
"You can ask me anything," he assures you that whatever you say won't be weird to him at all.
"Can I hug you? Just… for a while?" you ask sheepishly, but as soon as those words leave your mouth, you fully realize how inappropriate that sounds. "Wait no-sorry. Forget that I asked—"
Jack didn't let you finish your sentence, immediately pulling you by your arm and wrapping you in his embrace. You immediately melt into it, the perfume filling all of your senses and clouding your rationale.
He pulls you deeper to the room until the back of his legs hit the bed, his other hand pulling the curtain to cover the both of you to avoid getting seen by the staff.
"I'm here, okay?" Jack mumbles into your temple.
You only realize that Jack almost has the same build and height as your late boyfriend.
It almost feels like you're hugging him again after two miserable years of missing him. You close your eyes, wrapping your arms around his body.
Jack wonders if, with your eyes closed, you're pretending he's someone else, especially with the perfume he's wearing.
Jack is painfully aware that maybe he is just a placeholder. A placeholder for someone you loved—no, still love. He knows that you're relishing his warmth, not because he's giving it to you, but because you're tricking your grieving mind that the universe has given you the impossible chance to have the man you have been missing for years, back in your arms again.
But he likes to look at the bright side of things, he knows that he might never get this chance again. So, he lets himself enjoy your arms around his body.
He is more than willing to be the safe place, waiting to comfort you when your grief finally catches up on you.
Yet, the selfish part of him still nags him in his mind. The stupid selfish part of him that has fallen for you, hopes that somewhere beneath the memories, beneath the perfume, beneath all the years of missing another man… you're also finding comfort in him.
Maybe someday, you'll reach for him, for his embrace, because he's Jack.
But he throws all those ugly thoughts away and lets himself return to your warm embrace.
Because whether you're holding onto Andrew's memory or Jack himself. He knows he'll remember the feeling of your arms around him long after you've let go.
a/n: i sometimes wonder why do i write shit like this even if it makes me a lil sick also the border i got online is so cute!
Dr Brendon Park x Wife!Baker!Reader, Dana Evans x Daughter!Reader
Find My Pitt Masterlist here
Read Previous Here!
Inspired by Beam Me Up by P!NK
Sometimes you can't help but think of how you got here to this point.
How you got through the pain...
The tears...
The grief...
And then you're given some reminder, however small it may be.
A reminder to be grateful.
That through it all.
Brendon has always be true to you.
Has always been here.
For you.
Notes: some strong language, established relationship. Brendon being so sweet for you and your babies💗 mentions of miscarriage, pregnancy and loss, hurt/comfort.
Word Count: ~6.1k
Brendon had held you through every tear.
Through every wave of heartache and grief. Through the nights where all you could do was stare blankly at the empty nursery.
Holding you.
Steadfast and true.
He was beside you.
Staying strong for you, even whilst his heart broke. Even whilst he dealt with his own grief. All he wanted to do–all he could do, was hold you.
Dana had quietly appeared at your doorstep with homemade soup that your dad had cooked, clean laundry you'd forgotten you'd left at her house, and enough love to hold you together when you weren't sure you could manage it yourself.
Your sisters would stop by unannounced. Doing what they could to make sure you were ok.
Never asking, simply being there.
It hadn't erased the grief.
Nothing could.
But none of them had ever tried to rush you through it.
They simply stayed.
And when hope eventually returned...
It arrived in perhaps the most you way imaginable.
Brendon had wandered into the bathroom one Saturday morning to find seven pregnancy tests lined up across the vanity.
He'd stopped dead, "...Sweetheart."
You had looked up guiltily, biting your lip with a nervous energy, "Hi."
"I understand taking a few to be sure,” He slowly counted them, "But seven?"
You'd shrugged, "I was checking for false positives."
He blinked, nodding slowly, "False positives."
"You never know."
"I might've eaten too many poppy seed muffins or something."
He stared.
Then blinked again.
Shaking his head in question, "What?"
"I've heard they make tests funny,” you shrugged, as though it were obvious.
"Sweetheart–” He stepped closer, trying very hard not to smile, "No."
"They don't?" You raised your brows in surprise.
He softly chuckled with a shake of his head, "They don't."
"Oh,” You looked back at the tests, "Well–then"
A beat passed.
He followed your gaze.
Six bright positive lines.
One unmistakable negative.
You pointed triumphantly, "See? One of them was wrong."
“I think you’re thinking of tests for opium–”
You pause, thinking over where you had heard this theory, before your mouth forms an oh…”Now that you mention it–I think I might’ve seen that on mythbusters”
Brendon laughed so hard he had to lean against the sink. Then, almost immediately afterwards…
He cried.
He stepped forward to hug you tightly, peppering sweet kisses all along your face whilst you let out a bright laughter.
So light, so filled with joy.
Because six positives were more than enough.
Enough to dare hope again.
Enough to dream.
Even if both of you were still terrified to believe it.
…
And that unbelievably joyous moment had led you to now.
Making your way through chairs, submerged in the familiar environment once more after months away from there.
Smiling brightly, waving at the familiar faces whilst you push the twin stroller along.
“Hey Lupe” You smiled with a little wave, stopping before the screen.
She looks you up and down, before her smile widens as she catches a glimpse of your two twins.
Rosie sat on the left, with Finnick on the right. Bright eyed and ever so curious.
Both buckled securely into their seats.
Rosie's little rabbit was clutched tightly against her chest, one floppy ear hanging over the edge of the pram, while Finnick had somehow managed to remove one sock during the journey and was now enthusiastically trying to convince a stuffed Nemo to share the same fate.
His tiny fingers were remarkably determined.
“You’re looking great–They’re just as cute as the photos Dana’s been sharing,” she coos, “Everyone is going to be so happy to see you”
You raised your brows, “Happy to see me? Or happy to have some freshly baked cookies?” you teasingly say.
She laughs lightly, “You, of course!–But I can't deny that cookies sound good right about now,” before she juts her head, “You’re all good to go through”
"So good to see you!"
You lifted a hand in greeting towards a nurse hurrying past.
Another wave.
Another registrar grinned at you as he disappeared around the corner.
"Morning!"
"Morning!" you called back brightly.
The twin stroller rolled smoothly across the polished floors, the wheels clicking softly over the joins in the linoleum.
And nestled carefully beneath the twins, tucked inside the stroller's storage basket, sat several airtight containers stacked neatly atop one another.
Cookies.
Still faintly warm.
The smell followed you through the department before you even reached the nurses' station.
Nutty oats.
Brown butter.
Just enough flaky sea salt to balance the sweetness.
One of those recipes you'd stumbled upon by accident one rainy Sunday afternoon and had perfected ever since.
Quick enough to throw together during nap time.
Comforting enough that Brendon claimed they could solve almost any bad day.
The recipe itself was wonderfully uncomplicated.
Brown the butter until it smelled almost caramel-like.
Stir through rolled oats, plain flour, brown sugar, baking powder and just enough grated nutmeg to make people wonder what the secret ingredient was.
A splash of vanilla.
Roll them generously.
Scatter a pinch of sea salt over the tops.
Bake until the edges turned golden while the centres stayed impossibly soft.
A deliciously balanced sweetness.
Comfort in a single bite.
Just as you approached the hub, you relished the feeling of being back here. It had been so long since you had walked through here. Had seen all these people who you considered friends.
The last time you were here–you had been briskly rushed upstairs to give birth to the two twins now smiling and babbling in the stroller.
It brought a smile to your face, despite the chaotic nature of the ER.
You had missed this.
"Oh my God,” Princess looked up first. Her pen clattered onto the desk, "They're here!"
Every head lifted.
Like clockwork.
Whitaker appeared from one bay.
Mel poked her head around a curtain.
Jesse emerged carrying a chart.
Even Robby paused halfway through speaking to Cassie.
The department collectively lost all semblance of professionalism. They hadn’t seen the babies since they were born. Despite it only being a handful of months, the twins had already grown so much.
"They've brought the babies!" Princess practically skips around the nurses' station, beaming widely whilst she declares, "I call first cuddle!"
Perlah shakes her head with a smile before following after her.
"You absolutely do not," Dana called without even looking up from the chart she'd been signing.
Princess stopped mid-step, "Excuse me?"
"They're my grandchildren."
Princess folded her arms dramatically, before stating, "They're our department babies."
Dana finally looked up.
One glance at the stroller.
And every trace of her usual composed authority simply...
Melted.
"Oh,” A smile spread across her face before she could stop it, "My little sweethearts."
You couldn't help smiling.
There it was.
The expression.
The one Dana reserved only for family.
It softened every sharp edge she'd ever possessed.
Rosie spotted her immediately, hands reaching out in a grabbing motion. Reaching for her ever doting grandma.
And Dana walked over, already reaching into the stroller, scooping her out of the stroller in an instant. Booping her nose in the process.
Rosie simply laughed.
Your daughter immediately rested her little head against Dana's shoulder as though she'd been doing it her entire life.
And in a way, you suppose she had.
Princess looked pleadingly at you, before you nodded with a smile, watching whilst she picked up little Finnick.
“Oh aren’t you just adorable–” she cooed.
Finn’s eyes peered up at her, wide and curious, tilting his head. As though trying to figure out what was happening.
He babbled a little, whilst drool pooled from the corner of his mouth, you were quick to gently swipe it away.
“I’m convinced that Finn has my smile while Rosie has Brendon’s eyes,’ you say with a proud smile, before ducking slightly to pinch Finn’s cheeks, “Don’t you agree hun? My little gummy shark”
His hand curls around your fingers with a wide gummy smile.
“Gummy shark? Really?” Santos interrupted with an arched brow, looking questioningly at Finn.
You nod with a hum, before jutting your head over to little Rosie, “And over there is my little lemon shark,” your lips curve into a smile, admiring your little baby, dressed in a butter yellow top.
Santos chuckles softly, “The nicknames are a little on the nose aren’t they?”
Mohan elbows her slightly, before deafening on your behalf, “It’s sweet”
Around Dana, stood Whitaker alongside Javadi both leaning in, bright smiles whilst they entertained little Rosie, cooing at the young baby who peered up at them with such wide eyed curiosity, taking in everything before her, every sound, colour, shape.
Dana had shown her colleagues plenty of photos, in fact at the station, she had a little collection of photos of her sweet little grandchildren.
Who she never failed to dote over.
A proud beaming smile spread across her features each time one of her colleagues brought them up.
The absolute delights of her life.
Your heart squeezed.
Watching your mother so openly in love with your children never ceased to amaze you. For so much of your life she'd expressed love quietly.
By making sure you ate.
By waiting awake until you got home safely.
By fixing problems before you'd even realised they existed.
Now...
She cuddled the twins without a second thought.
Spoke in a softer voice.
Smiled more. There was a levity to her actions, as though when she held your babies, all her worries melted away.
It suited her.
“So how’s Mama life treating you?” Princess asks, gently swaying little Finn whilst he giggles. A bright smile spread across her lips from the sound.
“It’s–you know, taking a little adjusting, not so much the early mornings, but just learning to trust I’m making the right choices–Mama’s been a great help, and my sisters too, Dad’s always coming around with food, and well Brendon–he’s just been so great. Truly–and not in the bare minimum sort of way. Wouldn’t you agree, Mama?” you said.
She nods, with a slight reluctant hum, “He’s been good–don’t tell him I said that,” she retorted pointedly.
“Don’t tell who?”
As if summoned, Brendon appeared,
He sent you a small smile, an inquisitive raise of his brow. Before turning his gaze back to Dana.
She shrugs, before remarking, “I was just saying that a certain son-in-law of mine is ok”
“Right,” he nods, doing his best to conceal his smile, “Well you know I’m always trying to be better”
And that. That response was exactly why Dana knew you and Brendon were always going to be ok.
No matter what happened.
No matter what life threw your way.
She knew that Brendon undoubtedly loved you with his whole heart.
Watching while he gently takes Rosie from Dana’s arms, how sweetly he holds Rosie, the way he becomes soft for his family–not a single reservation. Her eyes flick around the room, watching her colleagues stare with stunned expressions.
She couldn’t quite blame them.
When she had first seen Brendon so soft hearted, so openly caring–she couldn’t believe it.
Such a stark contrast to the steel eyed, guarded ortho. Whose gaze would send med students running, would send interns ducking for cover.
Here he was.
Practically melting from the pure little giggles that escape Rosie.
The way he works to bring a smile to her face.
He was a good dad. And you…
You were a great mom.
Dana was certain of it.
Standing there she admired both you and Brendon.
It made Dana think of herself–back when she and Benji had first had Ellie, back when they had you, and Liv.
Dana was simply so happy to see you so supported just like she was. To see that her Baby girl was so deeply cherished, respected and loved.
Something that was not always guaranteed when it came to love…
But it warmed her heart seeing you, to have someone like Brendon by your side.
She knew this hadn’t always come easy.
She understood that your life together wasn’t always smooth sailing.
But together.
You have made it through.
And you both would continue to do so...
“Oh!” you blinked in realisation, “Before I forget–” you bend down to grasp onto the containers, “I made you all some cookies”
You popped open the lid, and before you could even set down the box, they had all swarmed you plucking cookies from the box.
Bright smiles, and words of praise and thanks sent your way.
Santos let out a groan in delight while she took a bite, “Oh god, I missed this”
“These are seriously the best things I’ve ever eaten,” Whitaker claimed.
You laughed, “You say that every time I bring something”
“And every time it’s true,” he replied. Savouring the taste of the cookie, letting the vanilla and hints of nutmeg melt onto the tongue.
Robby stopped before you, “You really didn’t have to bring these–”
You twist slightly putting the cookies out of reach, “Oh then I guess you don’t want one–”
“Now I didn’t say that,” he countered, before you laughed and offered him one.
Taking a bite he smiles, “This is probably one of the best things you’ve brought, thank you”
“Maybe I should bake more cookies when I’m on 5 hours of sleep,” you joked.
Meanwhile, Brendon tucked the twins back into the stroller, making sure everything was all in order, he waited for you, simply admiring you.
The way you were endlessly generous, thoughtful and sweet.
Just another reason he loved you.
Handing over another box to Robby, “If you could make sure the night shift get these, and tell them In said hi”
Nodding, he takes them from your hands, “Sure, of course, I’m sure they’ll really appreciate them”
Turning back, you falter for a moment, caught off guard by the way Brendon looks at you. The pure admiration seeping into his gaze.
No matter how many times you catch him, it never ever fails to make your heart skip a beat.
The picture before you made your heart race.
Standing there before you.
Was your endlessly supportive husband.
Who was known for being so fierce, so cold.
And yet for you.
For you, he was as soft centred as the cookies you had just handed out. As sweet and delicate when it came to you.
And seated in the strollers were you two little precious treasures.
Little Rosie and Finn, who with every passing day grew more and more. With each passing day they became their own little person, with their own interests, likes and dislikes.
It was unbelievable to think that this was your life…
That you were so lucky to call them your family.
The loves of your life.
It was difficult to believe…
Because it hadn't always looked like this.
…
It had taken years…
Years of hoping.
Years of planning.
Years of disappointment.
Years of quietly wondering whether this picture would ever exist outside your imagination.
There had been days when this future had felt impossibly far away.
Days when hope itself had felt dangerous.
Days when all you wanted was to hear tiny footsteps echo through your home.
Instead...
There had only been silence.
The kind that settled into every corner of the house after the miscarriage. A silence that no amount of kind words could truly fill.
There's a whole other conversation going on
In a parallel universe
Where nothing breaks and nothing hurts
There's a waltz playing frozen in time
Blades of grass on tiny bare feet
I look at you and you're looking at me
The memory settled over you with a heaviness that only old fears could carry.
Because while Brendon had always been good to you–
He was still human.
And so were you.
And humans were prone to making mistakes, making missteps in communication.
And with your nerves on edge from being pregnant there were times that you simply snapped pulled too thin beneath the pressure of it all.
Love didn't erase miscommunication.
It didn't stop exhaustion from sharpening words that were never meant to wound. It didn't magically quiet the fear that grief had planted inside you after the miscarriage.
Pregnancy after loss was a strange thing.
People congratulated you.
Smiled.
Celebrated.
But beneath every congratulations was a voice that whispered–
What if it happens again?
Every cramp made your heart race.
Every appointment felt like holding your breath.
Every ultrasound became the only thing keeping you together until the next one.
You didn't feel pregnant.
You felt...
Terrified.
Terrified to become attached.
Terrified not to become attached.
Terrified that if you loved them too much, somehow the universe would notice.
Terrified…that all this hope, all this joy…would only lead you back to what had happened once before.
To the moment your heart was cracked beneath the grief of loss.
Brendon noticed the fear before you ever admitted it aloud. He noticed the way you'd wake in the middle of the night, your hand instinctively resting over your stomach.
The way you checked the toilet paper every single time you went to the bathroom.
The way you'd pause in the middle of conversations because your thoughts had wandered somewhere darker.
He never told you to stop worrying. Never said, "Everything will be fine."
Because he couldn't promise that.
Despite him wanting to protect you from heartache–protect you from that grief.
He couldn’t guarantee that it wouldn’t happen again. It made him feel useless–helpless.
So he did the only thing he could…
He simply took your hand, so sweetly and so gently, "I'm here."
With unwavering conviction.
Always those two words.
I'm here.
But fear has a funny way of finding cracks. Seeping in and bleeding into the forefront of your mind. The memory of loss clawing back at you.
Fearful it could happen again.
Could you beam me up,
Give me a minute, I don't know what I'd say in it
Probably just stare, happy just to be there holding your face
Beam me up,
Let me be lighter, I'm tired of being a fighter, I think,
A minute's enough,
Just beam me up.
And one Thursday evening...
It finally found one.
You'd spent the entire afternoon alone.
The twins–still only tiny enough to fit beneath your ribs–had been unusually quiet.
You knew rationally that they were still too little for consistent movement.
You knew.
But rationality had stopped being particularly persuasive weeks ago.
You'd tried calling Brendon once.
He hadn't answered.
Surgery.
You understood. He was busy. He was working.
And yet–
The irrational side of your brain couldn’t quite comprehend that.
So you'd texted instead.
How much longer do you think?
No reply.
Again.
You understood.
He was operating.
Except every minute that passed stretched impossibly longer than the one before it.
Six o'clock.
Then seven.
By eight, dinner sat untouched on the stove.
You reheated it.
Twice.
The house felt unbearably empty.
And yet within your mind, there was a loudness that couldn’t be contained. Couldn’t be dampened.
You hadn't wanted anything extraordinary that evening.
You hadn't needed solutions.
You hadn't needed advice.
You had simply needed...
Him.
Some black birds soaring in the sky,
Barely a breath like our one last sight
Tell me that was you, saying goodbye,
There are times I feel the shivering cold,
It only happens when I'm on my own,
That's how you tell me, I'm not alone
The front door finally clicked open just after nine.
Brendon stepped inside looking utterly exhausted. His scrub top was creased. His hair, a mess. Dark circles sat beneath his eyes.
"I'm so sorry,” He hadn't even managed to put his bag down before speaking, "Emergency surgery. It just came–"
"You could've texted,” The words came out sharper than you'd intended. Punctuated with the panic you had felt, and yet it had come out accusatory.
He nodded slowly, a small dip in his brow, "I tried–My phone died halfway through theatre."
You folded your arms tightly across your chest, "So borrow someone else's."
"I didn't really have–” Brendon sighed, shuffling into the kitchen.
"You had time."
An anger brewing within you. Spilling out.
"I didn't."
"You always have time for work."
Silence.
Brendon looked at you for a long moment, "I know you're upset."
"I'm not upset,” you shook your head, arms folding over your chest.
"You are."
"I'm angry."
That’s not true…just tell him–why can’t you just tell him–
"I can see that,” he said softly, not accusingly. Just stating that he understood.
"You weren't here,” there was a strain in your voice, a pain that bled into your words.
His expression softened, "I know."
"No,” Your voice cracked, "You don't–I needed you."
The words hovered there.
You'd finally said them.
Except...
Instead of stopping...
Everything else poured out too.
"You always choose the hospital,” whilst the words fell out of your mouth, your mind screamed at you. Screamed at you to stop. To stop lashing out. To simply–
His face fell, “–Sweetheart."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You do,” a finality to your tone. Unwilling to change your belief.
"I couldn't leave surgery,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache begins to form. He hated fighting with you.
"You could've found thirty seconds."
"I couldn't."
"You didn't even try."
His shoulders sagged, "I did."
"You didn't."
Before he could argue any further, you added, "I was terrified,” The admission escaped before you could stop it.
In my head, I see your baby blues
I hear your voice and I, I break in two and now there's
One of me, with you
The room fell silent.
Brendon stepped towards you. Tentative, brows furrowing, hurt seeping into his features, “I’m sorry–”
Mouth agape.
You took a step back, "I spent three hours wondering whether something had happened–I sat here convincing myself..." You laughed bitterly through tears, "...that if something went wrong I'd be completely alone."
His heart broke, "That’s not fair–I never wanted you to feel alone."
"Well, I did,” you turned from him, arms folded over your chest. The words hung between you.
Heavy.
Painful.
Unfair.
Because they weren't really about tonight.
They hadn't been for a long time.
Brendon recognised it immediately.
But neither of you knew how to untangle it.
Not while emotions sat this close to the surface.
"I think..." He swallowed, "I think we're both too upset to keep talking."
You nodded stiffly, tone clipped, "Fine."
"I'll sleep downstairs," he felt his chest tighten, his words strained. He just wanted to go and hold you close, let you crumble in his arms and hold you tighter.
Kiss away your worries.
But there you stood, not even able to look at him.
You didn't answer.
You couldn't.
Because if you did...
You'd ask him to stay.
And somehow your pride wouldn't let you.
So you listened.
To the cupboard opening.
The spare blanket being taken out.
The soft creak of the couch downstairs.
Then...
Silence.
Whilst you walked away back to your room–
You barely slept.
So when I need you can I send you a sign
I'll burn a candle and turn off the lights
I'll pick a star and watch you shine
Every time you closed your eyes another horrible possibility took its place. The memory of your first child–haunting you.
What if tomorrow's appointment went badly?
What if the babies stopped growing?
What if you lost them?
What if–
What if Brendon realised this wasn't the life he'd imagined?
What if all this fear became too much?
Too exhausting?
Too much work?
Then the morning arrived grey and quiet.
You found him already in the kitchen.
Decaf coffee sat waiting for you exactly how you liked it. With perfectly frothed milk and just a hint of vanilla sugar.
Toast.
Your prenatal vitamins.
He'd even warmed your favourite mug because he'd once read somewhere that hot drinks stayed warmer longer that way.
Neither of you spoke.
Not at first.
You sat opposite each other.
The silence wasn't angry anymore.
Just...
Fragile.
Hanging between you.
Brendon finally looked up, "I'm sorry."
You immediately shook your head, fervently, "No. I am–You don't have to apologise."
"I should've found another phone," he said.
"You couldn't."
He offered, eyes gazing at you, "I would've if I could."
"I know," you nod, taking in a deep breath.
Another silence.
Then quietly–
You said softly, "I was scared."
Brendon reached across the table, your fingers slipped into his automatically, “I’m here now”
And somehow...
Those three words shattered what little composure you'd been clinging to.
You burst into tears.
Not graceful tears.
Not quiet ones.
The kind that stole your breath.
Your shoulders shook so hard you could barely speak. Brendon was beside you before the chair had even finished scraping backwards.
One arm wrapped around your shoulders.
The other gently rubbed circles against your back.
"I can't do this,” Your voice dissolved into sobs, choking for air, "I can't..."
"You can,” he said with a strength
"How do you know–I–” you sucked in a harsh breath, “I won’t lose them”
His embrace tightened, "I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, before saying, “But I know you can do this”
"I can't go through that again."
"I know,” He rested his cheek against your hair.
You shook your head desperately, "What if something's wrong with me?"
His entire body stilled, "What?"
"What if..." You couldn't even look at him, "What if I'm broken?"
His heart shattered, "Sweetheart..."
"It took so long,” You cried harder. Hands twisting into the fabric of his shirt, clinging onto him while your sobs wracked your body, "And then..."
Another sob. Another harsh breath.
"...Then we lost the baby–And now..." You pressed trembling hands over your stomach, "I'm so scared I'll lose them too–I don't know how to be excited. I don't know how to stop waiting for something awful to happen."
Your breathing became uneven, "And–I can’t help worrying–wondering–" You whispered the next part so quietly he almost didn't hear it, “–What if you leave?"
Brendon pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands clasping your cheeks, shifting you to look at him, his heart breaking from your words, "What?"
"What if this is too much?"
"It won't be,” he said firmly.
"What if–" Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks, "What if you decide you don't want someone who's..." You couldn't say it.
He waited. Brows furrowing with a deep sadness whilst he looked at you.
"...Broken,” The word barely existed. Barely louder than a whisper as it fell from your lips.
Brendon stared at you.
Utterly devastated that you'd been carrying this alone.
His fingers gently swipe along your cheeks, wiping away the tears that continue to fall. Holding your face as though he was holding the entire world in the palm of his hands.
And to him.
You were his entire world.
Holding you firmly enough that you had no choice but to meet his eyes.
"Listen to me,” His own voice trembled now, "You are not broken."
You tried to shake your head.
He held you gently still.
"You hear me?"
"But–"
"No,” His thumb wiped away another tear, "You lost a baby."
His own voice cracked, "We lost a baby–You grieved and so did I. That doesn't make either of us broken. It makes us parents who lost a child."
Fresh tears gathered in his own eyes, "I would go through every ounce of that pain again..." He swallowed, "...If it meant I still got to find my way back to you."
You stared at him.
Speechless.
"I didn't marry you because I thought life would always be easy. I married you because I wanted every version of life..." His forehead rested against yours, "...As long as it was with you."
His hands found yours, "I need you to hear this. No matter what happens. If these babies arrive healthy…I'll love you. If something goes wrong...I'll love you. If we have ten children...I'll love you. If it's just us,” he pauses for a moment, a small twitch of his lip as it curls into a heartfelt smile, "I'll love you."
The pure sincerity of his words, the way his eyes glisten whilst they peer into yours–you can’t help but let yourself believe him.
Just a little.
"My love for you is not conditional. It isn't something you earn by giving me children. It isn't measured by pregnancies. It isn't dependent on outcomes,” His voice softened into little more than a whisper, "It is constant. I chose you. I keep choosing you."
Your chest squeezes. Warmth blooming as it rises to your cheeks.
"And there is absolutely nothing..."
He kissed your forehead.
"Nothing"
Another kiss.
"And I mean there is nothing you could ever do that would make me stop."
You closed your eyes.
Leaning into him.
Finally allowing yourself to be held instead of holding yourself together. He wrapped both arms around you.
One hand gently covering yours where it rested protectively over your stomach.
And then he bent down. Speaking quietly to the tiny lives growing beneath your heart, "You two..." A watery smile appeared on his face, "You've already got the strongest Mom in the world."
He kissed your stomach, "And whether we get to meet you in a few months..." His voice caught, "...Or whether all we get is today..."
He looked back up at you, "We're going to love you every single second we're given."
You broke all over again.
Not from fear this time.
But because, in that moment, you finally believed him.
Whatever happened next...
You wouldn't face it alone.
Just beam me up,
Give me a minute, I don't know what I'd say in it
Probably just stare, happy just to be there, holding your face
Beam me up,
Let me be lighter, I'm tired of being a fighter, I think,
A minute's enough.
…
The memory dissolved like rain against a window.
The weight in your chest eased as the sterile white corridors of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center came back into focus.
Not the past.
Not sleepless nights filled with fear.
Not endless waiting rooms or whispered prayers.
Just...
Today.
Your hand was still intertwined with Brendon's.
Warm.
Steady.
"Ready to be brave today?" Brendon murmured in question to his two little angels, whilst bending down to readjust the straps of the stroller.
Your lips pulled thin at the reminder. Unfortunately, you weren’t here just to say hi. You had come in for an appointment.
Pediatrics.
Routine vaccinations.
Necessary.
Important.
….But still enough to make your stomach twist.
Brendon noticed immediately.
His free hand found yours.
A simple squeeze, "You alright?"
You nodded, biting your lip, "I know they'll be okay."
"But?" His eyes searched yours, noting the worry in your tone.
"I don't like knowing they're going to cry,” your lips curled into a frown, glancing down at your two babies.
His thumb brushed gently across your knuckles, "I know,” before lifting them to his lips, gently reassuring you, “But they’re going to be ok, you know that”
You sigh with a nod.
“It’s a small prick, and then it’ll be over,” your Mama came up from beside you, rubbing your back, “They won’t even remember it.”
“Thanks Mama, I’ll see you on the way out,” you promise.
She only waves you off, with a small shake of her head, “No need–You can just get the two little Bubbas home, I’m sure they’ll be tired after their little day out,” she said, before squatting down to steel one last kiss from the two babies, “Now you two, be good for your Mom and Dad”
With a final wave to the others, sharing a few little goodbyes and hugs, you and Brendon make your way to the pediatrics ward.
Where the sterile white walls blend into bright swirls of colour, shifting into a more inviting atmosphere.
Brendon's thumb absent-mindedly brushing over your knuckles as the four of you made your way down the brightly coloured hallway.
Rosie babbled happily from the stroller, waving enthusiastically at the painted jungle animals decorating the walls.
Finnick followed her gaze a second later.
Completely captivated.
His tiny mouth rounded into a perfect little 'o' before he pointed with determined enthusiasm.
You smiled.
It was strange.
Looking at them now.
These two beautiful little people who filled every corner of your world with laughter and crumbs and toys and tiny socks that somehow vanished into thin air.
It felt impossible that there had once been a version of yourself convinced this future would never happen.
Convinced your body had failed you.
Convinced Brendon would one day realise loving you came with too much heartbreak.
You glanced sideways at him.
He caught you looking immediately, with an arch of his brow, whilst he pushed the pram, "What?"
You smiled softly, "Nothing."
He shook his head, "I know that look, and that wasn't nothing."
You shook your head, "I was just thinking…” Your voice grew quieter, "It's funny what fear convinces you of."
Understanding flickered across his face.
He knew exactly where your thoughts had wandered.
Without saying a word, he leaned over and kissed your temple.
A silent reminder.
I'm here.
Just as he always had been.
Your fingers squeezed his, "Thank you."
He smiled, "You never have to thank me for staying."
"I know."
"You really don't,” he retorted.
"I know."
He looked down at the twins, "They were always worth waiting for."
Your eyes immediately stung.
Rosie chose that exact moment to clap enthusiastically at absolutely nothing. You laughed through the emotion, "I think she agrees."
The paediatric nurse greeted you with a bright smile, "Well, hello there!"
Rosie smiled back instantly.
Finnick, however, buried his face against Brendon's shoulder.
The nurse laughed, "I see who's the cautious twin."
"That would be him," you nodded, shifting slightly whilst Rosie wriggled in your grasp.
"And who's our adventurous one?" Rosie answered by attempting to grab the nurse's stethoscope, "There she is."
The room filled with quiet laughter.
Everything was routine.
Weights. Measurements. Questions about sleep. Questions about feeding. Developmental milestones.
Brendon answered half before you had the chance.
Eventually...
The tray appeared.
Two tiny syringes.
Your heart sank despite yourself.
And Brendon. He had noticed this immediately. Softly stating, “I can hold them”
You nodded wordlessly.
Whilst he held Rosie, as the nurse prepared the injection, a small swipe of alcohol upon her thigh. And then–
Her little face scrunched.
Those enormous brown eyes filled instantly. Then–
A heartbroken wail echoed through the room. The sound hit your chest like a freight train.
Before you could do anything, Brendon hushed and lulled her. Soothed her sweetly. Pushing back the little curls upon her head in a gentle manner, “I know, I know, it’s ok–Daddy’s got you”
Tiny hiccuping sobs escaped her. Fresh tears rolled down her rosy cheeks. Brendon kissed each one away as though he could somehow erase the sting itself, "I'm so proud of you. You were so brave. So brave."
Gradually...
The sobs became sniffles.
Then tiny hiccups.
Then simply quiet little breaths against his shoulder.
You watched them.
Your heart overflowing.
God.
He was such a wonderful father.
There was never any frustration.
Never impatience.
Never embarrassment.
Only endless tenderness.
The kind that made your heart fall in love with him all over again.
He carefully took Finn in his arms, whilst he placed Rosie into yours.
Watching him effortlessly comfort one child while reaching for the other…
Watching Rosie already recovering enough to pat her brother's arm as though offering encouragement...
Watching the man you'd once feared might leave if life became too complicated...
You almost laughed at your younger self.
Those fears had felt so real.
So convincing.
And yet here he was.
The same man who had sat on the bathroom floor counting pregnancy tests.
Who had slept beside you after every nightmare.
Who had whispered promises to two babies before they'd even been born.
Now gently bouncing your son after another round of tears, kissing the top of his tiny head.
Brendon looked up then.
Meeting your eyes across the little examination room.
The look he gave you was the very same one he'd worn the day he'd married you.
Steady.
Certain.
Overflowing with quiet devotion.
He smiled. Not the smile of someone enduring fatherhood. The smile of someone who had always wanted this.
Always wanted you.
And in that small paediatric room, filled with sticker charts, cartoon giraffes and the fading sound of two babies recovering from their vaccinations, you realised something.
The future you'd once been too frightened to imagine...
Was now sitting right in front of you.
One twin asleep against your husband's shoulder.
The other reaching for your hand.
And the man who had promised his love would be constant...
Keeping that promise in every ordinary, beautiful moment.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little story ♥️ oh, it hurt my heart to make them go through a little angst, but these two will literally make it through anything! Just making my own heart swoon to make them such doting parents, especially Brendon! I also listened to the songs Small Bump by Ed Sheeran and More by Halsey both of which literally shattered my heart as they explore pregnancy loss. Let me know what you thought and if you'd like to be tagged for future parts of this series✨
Read Part 8: My Home, My Family, My Life, My Forever Here! 💖
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Dr Brendon Park x Forensic Pathologist!GN!Reader, The Pitt x Reader
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Read Previous here!
In your search for caffeine.
at least some coffee that's a little more decent than the one down in the morgue...
It leads you to PTMC's most chaotic department.
The Pitt.
You're reminded just why exactly you enjoy the morgue.
And they're introduced to the fact that you, the funny, the slightly odd-
Mole of the Morgue...
Is in fact dating the steely eyed, intimidating, menacing-
Park the Shark.
Notes: some strong language, medical inaccuracies, quirky and gender neutral reader who works in the morgue, secret relationship revealed💗
Word Count: ~3.1k
The emergency department was loud.
No.
Loudness was something you could handle.
Loudness was when you played your music on the speakers to drown out your thoughts, to drown out the sound of your voice whilst you sing along.
Loudness was fine…
The ER wasn’t just loud.
It was chaotic.
Monitors chirped from every direction.
Stretchers rolled past.
Someone shouted for respiratory.
Someone else was arguing over whose turn it was to restock sutures.
Compared to your usual workplace...Compared to the peace of your morgue….Compared to its tranquility…
It was sensory overload.
You paused just outside the department entrance, "...I miss my dead people already."
No one heard you.
Probably for the best.
As your words drowned out beneath the chaos of the department.
There was a reason you liked working in the morgue.
There was a reason you didn’t often stray from your own department.
Didn’t stray from its peacefulness.
Didn’t stray from its calm.
There was complete control over the environment. Unlike here…Where it seemed like everyone was doing their best to wrangle something.
Normally.
You wouldn’t be caught dead here.
Normally you’d choose to be in literally any other department…you’d take pedes over this place any day. And their chaos was fairly comparable.
But then your eyes glanced down.
Down at the empty thermos in your hand.
Sucking in a deep breath you do your best to calm your mind, to drown out the chaos and focus on the reason you were here.
The coffee machine in the ICU department was out of service. It had died a tragic death about thirty minutes earlier…
Something you had learnt when you stood before it.
Heartbreaking at the sight.
Your need for caffeine growing stronger by the minute. Fatigue settling into the depths of your bones, requiring a jumpstart.
And now…
All because it was broken. With a damn OUT OF SERVICE sign hung over it. Mocking you whilst you read it.
You had stood there for a full minute hoping it would somehow resurrect itself.
Hoping it was just a mirage.
Some cruel trick of the eye.
…No luck.
So here you were.
Venturing into the ER.
Because despite your reservations…
Despite your doubts…you go there anyway.
Because their coffee was…
…Acceptable.
Not good.
Never good.
But acceptable. Adequate…
Sometimes.
On a good day.
And today. You really hoped it was one of those good days.
At the very least it was the next best department to get a coffee, a fresh pot always brewing, always ready to go.
The one downside to working in the morgue.
At least the one downside in your opinion.
Was that the coffee was never fresh, and for some reason, even with the freshest filter there was always a mild taste of mothballs…and that was a mystery you weren’t set on solving.
You had learnt early on in your career that the best coffee was normally found in the ICU or the ER…
Threading through the chaos, doing your best to stay out of everyone’s way. Keeping your head down, weaving through.
You finally make it through to the staff room.
Letting out a sigh in relief once you walk into the room, letting your tense shoulders droop.
Your fight or flight response, slinking away for the moment.
You approached the coffee station like it had personally offended you. Already there was a bitter note in the air…
Already it felt different from the subtle blend of the ICU’s coffee…
"...This already feels disappointing," you muttered with a sigh, clasping at the coffee mug, before filling your thermos.
"You talking to the coffee again?"
Practically jumping out of your skin, almost spilling the hot coffee, shoulders tense up once more, before you looked over your shoulder, "Robby!"
You let out a deep breath, trying to shake the skittishness.
He wandered over with that familiar tired smile, looking every bit like a man halfway through a twelve-hour shift, "You escaped your cave."
"You know I don’t talk to coffee–I've just come seeking caffeine,” you gesture to the coffee.
"And you’re in the ER…why?” he quirks a brow in question.
You sighed dramatically, "The ICU machine died."
Robby placed a sympathetic hand over his heart, "I'm sorry for your loss."
"It knew me,” you said with a distant look in your eye.
He snorted, "It served you burnt coffee."
"It understood me,” you replied, with a very real sadness lacing your tone.
You follow him out into the midst of the ER, stopping at the hub, leaning against the desk while he talks with you, honestly just the brief snippet of his department was already giving you a headache.
The things you put up with for a cup of coffee…
Meanwhile, across the nurses' station...Several heads slowly lifted, eyes flicking over, doing their best to be discrete.
Because...
There you were.
The forensic pathologist. Not to be confused with the other people who worked down in the morgue…
You were the elusive one.
The one that ducked out of M&M’s. That would walk in the other direction just to avoid someone.
The one everyone knew of...
...But almost nobody actually knew.
Hospital gossip travelled ridiculously fast.
Especially in an ER.
Everyone had heard stories.
"Apparently they talk to the bodies."
“Someone told me they sing while doing autopsies."
"Apparently they're kind of terrifying."
"Apparently they're weird."
"I heard that they’re always hanging around ortho"
Nobody had really confirmed any of it.
You were practically hospital folklore.
The Mole of the Morgue.
Always underground.
Rarely seen.
So watching you stand beside Robby complaining about coffee...was unexpectedly normal.
"Oh, hey,” a small surprised voice enters.
You looked up as the person approached. Recognition clicked almost immediately.
"Oh!" You pointed at him, with a click of your fingers, "Emotional support physician."
Whitaker’s eyes widened in question, "Uhh–Excuse me?"
"You've come down to the morgue a couple times, with that threatening looking one,” their names escape you, but the memory of him being dragged down into the morgue with a stunned expression couldn’t be completely wiped from your memory.
You click your tongue whilst nodding your head, “That’s the one”
“Oh yeah, I can see it,” Robby adds in agreement.
And as if summoned, Santos strides over to stand beside Whitaker. Tilting her head whilst she looks you up and down, “Dr L/N, right?”
You nod, “Yup!” popping the ‘p’, before adding, “But my patients rarely call me that, so we can stick with Y/N”
“Uhh–but don’t you,” she clears her throat, not sure of what to say, “But don’t you work in the morgue”
“And let me tell you, their manners are shit,” you add jokingly.
Robby lets out a small chortle, while the other two look at you in light concern.
“Must be pretty cool, working in the morgue, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of stories,” Santos continues.
“Sure I do.” you shrug…
A silence stretches out.
Just waiting to see if you’d say anything more.
But you.
You look pretty content leaving it there.
And so, Santos clears her throat once more, grasping onto a passing Javadi, “Hey, Crash. You wanted to ask Y/N something, right?”
She probes…referencing the fact that just mere minutes ago, across the room.
The two of them had gone through a round of rock, paper, scissors…just to find out who had to ask this question…
“Right,” she laughs nervously, averting her gaze, whilst she quickly asks, “So do you actually sing down in the morgue? It’s just something we heard–I mean surely that’s not, that’s not–”
“Sure I do,” you say nonchalantly
"You actually do?" they blink in surprise.
"Sometimes,” you nod, before adding, "The acoustics are lovely."
Offering them a smile, "And they never complain about my singing." Not a single ounce of sarcasm in your tone, clear cut and plain. They had no option but to believe you.
And as she passes by, Princess lets out a laugh first alongside Dana. Nothing amused them more than seeing the pittlings become stunned by PTMC lore.
Whilst Robby does his best to conceal his amusement.
The three before you let out a small laugh as well. While Whitaker added, "You are nothing like I imagined."
"Oh?"
"I thought you'd be..." He hesitated a little warily, unsure of the right word to use.
Santos interrupted, “–Strange."
"I am,” You answered so sincerely, so proudly, that nobody knew whether you were joking. Then you smiled, "...Just selectively."
The tension dissolved instantly.
Within minutes, conversation flowed surprisingly easily.
You were...
Different.
A little eccentric.
A little socially sideways.
But kind.
Very kind.
"So you really spend all day down there?" Javadi asked.
You hum in acknowledgement.
Whitaker asked, "Doesn't it get lonely?"
You shrugged, "I've got company. Besides, they're excellent listeners."
Santos chuckled, "You've really committed to this bit. You know with the whole dead people thing"
"What bit?" You asked, looking at her with a tilt of your head.
"...Never mind.”
You took another sip of your coffee. Face scrunching immediately.
Robby looked over, "That bad?"
"I miss ICU,” you sighed sorrowfully. Mournfully looking at the cup of coffee in your hand. It just wasn’t the same…
"You've been here ten minutes."
"I've suffered enough,” you said, doing your best not to spit out your coffee.
None of them noticed the surgeon entering the department.
Not at first.
Brendon walked with purpose. Those who had noticed him, ducked their heads, walking in any other direction aside from his.
Takeaway bag in one hand.
Coffee carrier in the other.
His eyes scanned the department only briefly before finding exactly who he was looking for, "There you are."
His lips pulled thin, but a small light twinkled in his eyes. Eyes locking onto you.
Your head lifted.
The tiredness that had settled behind your eyes seemed to disappear almost instantly.
"Oh!" A smile spreads across your face, a little teasingly whilst you state, "And here you are."
Every single person at the nurses' station noticed.
Watched with baited breath as the fearsome Shark of Ortho, Brendon Park stood beside you…there he was. Being civil…no glare in his eyes. Instead a lightness.
"I stopped by the morgue."
You frowned, "I wasn't there."
"Clearly,” He handed you the coffee first. "And then I bumped into Maria, who said you went looking for caffeine."
You accepted the cup carefully. Quickly placing your ER coffee aside, quickly forgetting it whilst the delicate fresh coffee floods your senses.
Already feeling refreshed as you inhale its scent.
"She also said the ICU's machine broke,” he added knowingly, knowing for a fact that you held the belief that the ICU had the best coffee.
"So..." He lifted the paper bag, "I figured you'd end up here."
His eyes never leave yours. For all he cared. It was just you and him. And everyone else simply faded away.
You looked inside.
Your favourite sandwich.
A small container of fruit.
A lemon slice.
Your eyes widened, "They still had lemon slice?"
"There was one left,” he nodded.
"You fought someone for it,” you said, with an arched brow.
He shakes his head, pitch heightening ever so slightly, giving him away entirely, "They hesitated."
"I knew it,” A fond smile tugged at your lips, nodding gratefully, "Thank you."
"It was nothing," he shrugged. Simply warmed by the smile upon your lips. By the simple joy it had brought you.
Around you.
Your company had fallen into complete and utter silence.
Their eyes darted between you.
First they settled onto you.
Then Brendon.
Then the lunch bag.
Then to the way his hand naturally settled against the small of your back.
Their minds are completely flooded with questions. Stunned whilst they practically short circuit from the interaction they bore witness to.
"What?" Santos finally managed.
You looked over, blinking in complete unawareness, "What?"
She pointed between the two of you, "This–what? How?”
Whitaker looked utterly baffled.
Javadi’s jaw was practically on the floor, "...You're together?"
You nodded with a small hum,"Mhm."
"...Since when?"
You glanced at Brendon, raising a brow, mind drawing a blank, "About..."
"Eight months,” Brendon answered automatically.
You smiled approvingly, "You keep count."
"I remember dates,” he shrugs, as though it wasn’t a sweet sentiment. As though it was nothing.
Then her eyes flicker over towards Brendon. Shrinking down immediately beneath the weight of his blank stare, "And he's–"
She immediately stopped talking. Mouth clamping shut.
Brendon slowly turned his head, "And I'm what?"
With an expectant look in his eyes.
Javadi suddenly found the ceiling incredibly interesting. Averting her gaze, unable to continue, throat feeling completely dry in this moment.
Santos coughed into her fist.
Whitaker quietly took one step backwards.
Brendon's eyebrow lifted another fraction, "...Finish the sentence."
"...Intimidating?" Whitaker offered weakly.
Santos nodded vigorously, "Yeah–Terrifying," she doubled down.
You snicker while they describe Brendon. Letting your laughter fade whilst you look between everyone before shrugging, "He's pretty alright–you know considering his reputation and considering he tried to use me to cover up his crimes when we first met"
They almost choked on air just from your words. Taken aback by the bluntness of your delivery.
And taken aback from the way Brendon does nothing to retaliate…
No signs of exasperation.
If you were looking closely enough…You might even say he looked a little amused by it all.
You nodded thoughtfully, "I'm still figuring out whether to keep you or not."
The ER collectively froze.
Because your delivery...
Was so perfectly flat.
Nobody knew if you were joking. That seemed to just be the way you were.
Brendon, however...
Simply rolled his eyes.
The smallest smile appeared. The tiniest quirk of his lip, "Just let me know where you land on that."
He adjusted the lunch bag still tucked beneath your arm, "I'd prefer sooner rather than later."
You looked down at the food, “Well–It definitely helps your case that you brought me lunch."
"I hoped it might,” he said with a small chuckle.
You grinned up at him, "So things are looking optimistic for you,” You paused dramatically, "...Unlike my case this morning, now that–that was a pretty grim case. Terrible advice from him too"
Brendon sighed through his nose. A small shake of his head, doing his best to hide the laugh from escaping him.
And that was why he loved you.
You never failed to make him laugh. Never failed to bring a smile to his face. And truly. Brendon found it so refreshing to be with you.
Because you never tried to be anyone but yourself.
Never apologised for your quirks.
For your unique humour.
For your oddness.
In fact you took it all in stride. You took it all as a compliment. Character building.
The entire nurses' station was still staring.
Processing.
Trying to reconcile the stern, famously intimidating surgeon...
Was before them bringing lunch across the hospital because your favourite coffee machine had broken.
Brendon finally looked around.
Slowly.
Meeting each pair of eyes.
He didn't say a word.
Didn't raise his voice.
Didn't frown.
He simply lifted one eyebrow.
That was enough.
Before flicking his eyes over to Robby, “Doesn’t your department have anything better to do?”
Robby snorted, patting a hand on Brendon’s back before ushering everyone back to work.
Within seconds...
The station emptied.
"I swear. I've watched trauma alerts cause less panic,” Robby snickered, elbowing you lightly, “You know what this means right?”
“And what’s that Robinabitch?” his little nickname slipping off your tongue out of sheer habit.
“Everyone in PTMC is going to know about you both by sundown”
“Is that a bet?” you ask.
“I know better than to bet on gossip,” Robby claims.
You only scoff, “Sure”
He waves you off, before getting back to work.
And by tonight...whether you wanted it to happen or not.
Every department in PTMC would know.
The Mole of the Morgue and Park the Shark...
Were somehow, inexplicably...
A couple.
But for now, you enjoy just the simple pleasure of Brendon’s company, “Ok–We should go, before Robby’s circus and monkeys start giving me a stress headache,” you say.
Causing Brendon to chuckle, with a small nod in agreement.
Perhaps there was one good thing to come of this…
You no longer had to be secretive about your relationship with Brendon.
His arm remained settled naturally around your waist as the two of you headed toward the elevators.
Away from the constant alarms.
Away from the frantic pace of the ER.
Back toward the quiet basement. Toward your peaceful little corner of the hospital. Back to the place where it all began for you and Brendon.
The elevator doors slid shut with a soft chime.
Silence settled around you.
For the first time all day...
Real silence.
You let out a contented sigh, "Better”
"I thought you might say that,” he commented, whilst his lips stretched into a smile. Glad to finally see you so at ease.
You smiled up at him.
The fluorescent lights reflected softly in his pale blue eyes.
Without thinking too hard about it...
You rose onto your toes.
Your hand found the front of his scrub top, and you pressed a gentle kiss against his lips.
It was brief.
Soft.
Comfortable.
When you pulled away, Brendon rested his forehead lightly against yours.
"So..." He murmured, the huskiness of his tone sending shivers down your spine, "Have you decided whether you're keeping me?"
You pretended to think about it.
A long beat passed.
"I suppose..."
Another beat.
"...I'll keep you."
His lips curved into that rare smile that almost nobody else ever got to see, "I'm relieved."
You reached into the paper bag, pulling out the lemon slice, "Don't get cocky."
"I wouldn't dream of it.” he retorted.
"At the very least, cause you got the lemon slice, you've bought yourself at least another week,” you added with a slight teasing edge.
Brendon chuckled quietly, "I'll take it."
The elevator dinged as the doors opened onto the morgue level.
Cool.
Quiet.
Peaceful.
You slipped your hand into his as you stepped out together. Intertwining your fingers with his.
Even as you joked, even as you teased him, poked fun at him here and there. You knew you were so down bad for him.
And truthfully.
Brendon had no intention of going anywhere else.
Truly and quite frankly besotted by you and your quirkiness. That never failed to make his heart warm. Soothed in your company. A feeling of home settled into his bones whenever he was with you.
And you had no intention of letting him go.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Thought it'd be fun to have these two be revealed as a couple (and yes, they kept this thing under wraps for ages! but that's just because they normally meet in the morgue), really loved making Brendon be an acts of service kind of love when he brought you lunch, this guy really pays attention to your likes and dislikes, and literally isn't that what we all want from love? In return you never fail to make him smile and laugh, let his walls down because of your quirky nature. Let me know what you think! ✨
Feel free to check out my Brendon Park x Baker!Evans!Reader Series, Sugar & Spice here!
Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕
Feel free to find my overall Pitt Masterlist here!
Loudness was when you played your music on the speakers to drown out your thoughts, to drown out the sound of your voice whilst you sing along.
So real
You paused just outside the department entrance, "...I miss my dead people already."
🤭🤭🤭
The coffee machine in the ICU department was out of service. It had died a tragic death about thirty minutes earlier…
Rip 🙏🏻 a tragic loss
You sighed dramatically, "The ICU machine died." Robby placed a sympathetic hand over his heart, "I'm sorry for your loss."
He gets it 🙂↕️
You follow him out into the midst of the ER, stopping at the hub, leaning against the desk while he talks with you, honestly just the brief snippet of his department was already giving you a headache.
Understandable
The things you put up with for a cup of coffee…
Very real
The one everyone knew of......But almost nobody actually knew.
The mystery of the hospital personified
Hospital gossip travelled ridiculously fast.
Of course it does 🤭
Nobody had really confirmed any of it. You were practically hospital folklore.
Ngl that's iconic
"Oh!" You pointed at him, with a click of your fingers, "Emotional support physician."
Love it😅
“Uhh–but don’t you,” she clears her throat, not sure of what to say, “But don’t you work in the morgue” “And let me tell you, their manners are shit,” you add jokingly.
I'm so obsessed with her humor 👏🏻
"Sometimes,” you nod, before adding, "The acoustics are lovely." Offering them a smile, "And they never complain about my singing."
Fair enough 🤷🏻♀️
Not a single ounce of sarcasm in your tone, clear cut and plain. They had no option but to believe you.
🤭🤭🤭
And as she passes by, Princess lets out a laugh first alongside Dana. Nothing amused them more than seeing the pittlings become stunned by PTMC lore.
They are eating this up 🤭
Santos interrupted, “–Strange." "I am,” You answered so sincerely, so proudly, that nobody knew whether you were joking. Then you smiled, "...Just selectively."
Fair 🤷🏻♀️
Santos chuckled, "You've really committed to this bit. You know with the whole dead people thing" "What bit?" You asked, looking at her with a tilt of your head.
Certainly not just a bit 🤭😅
"Oh!" A smile spreads across your face, a little teasingly whilst you state, "And here you are."
What a greeting 🤭
Every single person at the nurses' station noticed.
If course they did 😅
Watched with baited breath as the fearsome Shark of Ortho, Brendon Park stood beside you…there he was. Being civil…no glare in his eyes. Instead a lightness. His eyes never leave yours. For all he cared. It was just you and him. And everyone else simply faded away.
🥰🥰🥰
"You fought someone for it,” you said, with an arched brow. He shakes his head, pitch heightening ever so slightly, giving him away entirely, "They hesitated."
Get you a man that fight/is so intimidating that everyone will hesitate for your sweet tooth 😍
"I knew it,” A fond smile tugged at your lips, nodding gratefully, "Thank you." "It was nothing," he shrugged. Simply warmed by the smile upon your lips. By the simple joy it had brought you.
The sweetest thing 🥹😍
"Eight months,” Brendon answered automatically. You smiled approvingly, "You keep count." "I remember dates,” he shrugs, as though it wasn’t a sweet sentiment. As though it was nothing.
Its the little things 🥰
The smallest smile appeared. The tiniest quirk of his lip, "Just let me know where you land on that."
He is always playing her games 🤭
He adjusted the lunch bag still tucked beneath your arm, "I'd prefer sooner rather than later." You never failed to make him laugh. Never failed to bring a smile to his face. And truly. Brendon found it so refreshing to be with you.
🥰🥰🥰
Because you never tried to be anyone but yourself. "I swear. I've watched trauma alerts cause less panic,” Robby snickered, elbowing you lightly, “You know what this means right?” “Everyone in PTMC is going to know about you both by sundown” “Is that a bet?” you ask. “I know better than to bet on gossip,” Robby claims.
Fair point 😅
You let out a contented sigh, "Better” "I thought you might say that,” he commented, whilst his lips stretched into a smile. Glad to finally see you so at ease.
To be loved it to be known 🥰
Even as you joked, even as you teased him, poked fun at him here and there. You knew you were so down bad for him.
🥰🥰🥰
And truthfully. Brendon had no intention of going anywhere else.
As it should be 🙂↕️
Truly and quite frankly besotted by you and your quirkiness. That never failed to make his heart warm. Soothed in your company. A feeling of home settled into his bones whenever he was with you. And you had no intention of letting him go.
Thanks for reading! and for reblogging your thoughts as always!! 💞 So glad you enjoyed and found it funny and sweet!
I had a blast writing for this iconic duo, who are totally the talk of PTMC since the news broke out. It's been so fun writing for a character a little more on the quirky odd side.
And they are both completely just in their own bubble of joy-without a care for how the others think of them.
Dr Brendon Park x Forensic Pathologist!GN!Reader, The Pitt x Reader
Find My Pitt Masterlist here
As requested here by Anon hope you enjoy! ♥️
A startled meeting.
A scalpel pointed threateningly at him.
A strange encounter.
Leads to many many more.
Brendon Park is charmed by your odd nature, allured by your humour.
And just perhaps.
You develop a soft spot for the Shark.
Chipping away at his steel facade, bit by bit, trying to find his funny bone.
Notes: some strong language, medical innacuracies, quirky and gender neutral reader who works in the morgue💗
Word Count: ~3.5k
Working in a morgue isn’t exactly everyone’s dream job.
A secluded space.
Often in the basement of the hospital.
Working beneath fluorescent lights where not a single ounce of natural sunlight could be found.
Walls of stainless steel cabinets. Everything is precisely controlled to ensure the delay of tissue degradation. Cool, sterile air with twangs of a metallic aftertaste as you breathed.
To some it contained a sense of eeriness.
The makings of a horror film.
Or the beginnings of a terrible nightmare.
Certainly not the makings of a rom-com film.
A sense of unease brewed in the pits of their stomachs at the thought of a morgue. The idea of being amidst the dead made them uneasy…
But for a few.
It was all part of the job.
In your opinion it was just as mundane as any other workplace.
You clocked in.
Did your work.
Said goodbye to some old ones, and then said hello to new admissions.
Examined a few bodies.
Wrote up your case notes and findings.
Had a coffee and snack somewhere in between.
Before clocking off.
Only to do it all again the next day.
Despite being surrounded by people. It was fairly solitary. Besides, the company you were in wasn’t the liveliest of bunches…
It was just your typical Wednesday afternoon.
Where you were in the midst of performing an autopsy. Fairly standard, nothing too unusual. From what you could find, the leading cause of death was pneumonia.
“Right–so as I was telling the other guy. Maria is so audacious, honestly. You wouldn’t believe the shit she’s been trying to pull–,” you muttered while you worked.
Some people journaled. Others spoke to friends or family. Or to a therapist. Just to simply let their thoughts and feelings out.
But you…
Well you spoke to the bodies you worked with.
A simple way to vent, let out your frustrations, make jokes that never really landed.
They truly were great listeners, especially when it came to shit talking about your colleagues…but as for their advice, well that was certainly not something you took into consideration.
“–Just last week I definitely caught her using my cereal. Completely ignoring the label I put on it. Honestly–” you muttered out, eyes scanning the organs, trying to find any discrepancies, anything out of the usual, anything needed to be noted down.
Too enthralled by your work, by your rant.
You failed to notice the opening of the door.
The faint footsteps approaching.
Until–
The clearing of a throat can be heard. Your brows deepen in concern as you look at the corpse before you…surely not…
“Hi,” a voice sounds from behind you.
You nearly jump out of your own skin, spinning around you clutching your chest, while your other hand tightly holds onto the scalpel, pointing it towards the person.
“Fucking cheese and crackers!” you exclaimed. Eyes wide as you look upon the newcomer.
The man steps back slightly, hands raised. Brows furrowed in confusion, darting between you and the scalpel within your tight grip.
You sigh. Letting your shoulders drop. Noting his scrubs and hospital badge. The relief doesn’t last as your annoyance bubbles up.
“Don’t sneak up on a person with a scalpel! I could’ve stabbed you. Didn’t your mom teach you better than that,” you said, before placing the scalpel down onto your tray, whilst it clattered upon impact.
You cross your arms over your chest, looking at him expectantly, “What are you doing here?”
It wasn’t everyday that someone decided to come into your workspace. The only times you saw doctors from other departments was mostly for Morbidity and Mortality meetings…otherwise known as M&M’s.
Those things always made you peckish…
But these meetings were always scheduled ahead. Always with plenty of time to prepare.
And well–you were normally able to palm them off to one of your other colleagues.
The man before you. Was familiar.
Not enough for you to remember his name. Or where he usually worked.
But the purple scrubs at the very least helped you recognise that he was a surgeon.
A sharpness to his features, a coldness that rolled off of him in waves. Broad stature.
To anyone else he may have seemed intimidating. Especially with those steel blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through you. But to you, he was no more intimidating than the corpse just behind you.
“I just wanted to check on a patient, just reviewing an M&M case,” he explained. Straight to the point. Words clipped. Precise.
The patient itself had died on the table, Brendon’s OR table, and whilst it is an unfortunate part of the job. He was always striving to do better. Always wanting to know what else could’ve been done.
Just so that next time, it could be avoided.
Ever since med school he had always been extremely particular when it came to these things. Always searching to know more.
“Right,” you nod, taking in his words. You arch a brow whilst looking at him questioningly, “And you’re definitely not here to cover up any incriminating evidence, right?–”
Before he could even mutter the word what? Completely thrown by your questioning. You continued, “Cause let me tell you…” you stand a bit taller, a bit more sure, before you add jokingly, “That would be a first for me”
He blinks in surprise, caught off guard by you.
The way you seemed to flip between sanity and absurdity was alarming.
If it were anyone else.
He’d have bit their head off by now. Chewed them out for their words wasting his time.
But with you.
He couldn’t quite place why.
But your odd nature.
Your strange humour.
Was something that he strangely…didn’t mind.
And then you shrug, before turning back around, pulling off your gloves before putting on a new pair, “Let me finish up on this one here, and then we can check on your guy–I’ll show you where the bodies are buried and what not,” you answered.
“I promise I’m not trying to hide anything incriminating,” Brendon claimed, for some reason he felt compelled to respond to your nonsense.
Glancing at him briefly over your shoulder, scanning him from head to toe, before your attention drifts back to your work, you reply, “I’ll believe it when I see it–I’m Y/N by the way”
“Brendon Park,” he responded, whilst you nodded in acknowledgement.
His name scratched an itch in your mind. But nothing you could quite place…Park. Now why was that familiar.
And somehow.
Your casual demeanor.
Your lack of care towards who he was.
And lack of fear towards him…besides the initial jumpscare.
Had made him start to fester feelings of respect. If just by a little. Watching whilst you worked diligently, and with care.
You were a little odd…
He had heard the rumours of course. But never paid much mind to them.
Had heard you described as recluse–hyper fixated on your work.
And on some level, Brendon could understand that. Could relate to that level of dedication. Of keeping people at arm’s length…
He could understand you–
The click of a finger, your mouth forms an oh.
“As in Park the Shark,” you said aloud in realisation.
Maybe Brendon spoke too soon…
It was an interesting afternoon to say the least.
…
The next time Brendon saw you was barely a day later.
He had managed to snag a few minutes to himself, about to eat, when he had discovered he had left his lunch at home.
With nothing else on offer, he had wandered to the cafeteria.
Certainly not his first choice.
But the hunger in his stomach simply needed to be fed.
Just as he was about to step in line, he stopped short. Eyes landing on you, standing just before him in line, eyes scanning the menu ahead.
“Oh, hey,” he greeted.
You turn around briefly, giving him a once over. With an arch of a brow, a blank look upon your face, “Do I know you?”
His name on the tip of your tongue.
But your mind draws a blank despite his familiarity…so you go with your instincts.
…You lie.
He’s taken aback for a second, “We met yesterday. I’m Dr Park? Brendon?”
Nodding you take in his words, before offering him a small smile, “Oh, sorry,” you wave a hand before your eyes, “I suffer from severe face blindness, so I didn’t recognise yah. How you been–”
That statement may or may not have been true…but it has definitely gotten you out of awkward jams before.
Especially when you forgot names. Which happened more than you cared to admit.
It was your favourite failsafe.
“What can I get for you?” The cashier asks when you step up, before you order, glancing back at Brendon with a grin, “Got anything incriminating you want me to cover up for you?”
He almost chokes from your sheer casualness. The deadpanned look on your face.
Made even worse by the wide eyed look the cashier sends them.
Startled, he shakes his head at you, before trying to regain his composure, “No,” he steps up to order while you move to the side.
You were strange, that much he was sure of.
But in the brief time he’d known you.
You’d been funny, you had been nice, not judgemental–which was more than he could say about a few of his other colleagues.
Jutting your head, you began to move, “C’mon Park, you’re sitting with me–gotta make sure you’re not doing anything sketchy,” you joked with a smile.
And Brendon.
Well he followed your lead.
There wasn’t a lot of crossover when it came to you and Brendon. The morgue was certainly out of the way, and you never had any reason to go to the other departments. Everything you needed was down in the morgue.
But your thoughts never failed to drift towards the image of the Shark…his face popping up in the most random of times.
And Brendon couldn’t quite shake the thought of you. Your image burrowed in the confines of his mind.
Inexplicably intertwined with each other.
…
The hospital auditorium was, without question, one of your least favourite places.
Too many people.
Too much talking.
Unlike the peace of your morgue...
"...and if everyone could please take their seats, we'll be starting in just a moment."
You sighed dramatically, "This is cruel and unusual punishment," you muttered.
Beside you, Robby snorted into his coffee, "You literally spend your days cutting people open."
"Formerly alive people," you corrected, wagging your finger, "Big difference. They don't make PowerPoints."
"...Fair,” Robby shook his head, amused.
Of all the physicians in the hospital, he was probably the only one you'd willingly socialize with.
Mostly because he understood.
There were patients that stayed with him.
The ones he couldn't save.
Every now and then, after a shift, he'd wander downstairs into the morgue.
Not because he needed answers.
But just...
Just to say goodbye.
You'd never interrupted him. Sometimes he'd stand quietly beside the body.
Sometimes he'd apologize.
Sometimes he'd simply whisper, "I'm sorry I couldn’t do more…”
Afterwards, you'd always leave a little extra time before beginning your examination.
It felt...
Respectful.
Since then, an odd friendship had developed.
You had grown used to his presence. As he had grown used to yours.
Your eyes lift to scan the room. These meetings were always something you dreaded, always tried to get out of and yet could never escape the grip it had on you. But then they land on the familiar face.
The friendly face – in your opinion, perhaps not shared by many others – of one Brendon Park.
“Hey–Brendon, over here,” you called out, waving him over.
Walking over to you, he takes the seat by your side, lifting a brow, “I thought you had face blindness?”
Robby snorts from the other side of you, “Did they tell you that bullshit too?” A grin spread across his lips while he shot you a look.
Only for you to shove his side, “Fuck off Robinavitch.”
He snickers from your annoyance. Hiding his grin behind his coffee cup.
Before turning back to Brendon, sighing, “Don’t tell anyone this. But–I just forget names really easily so rather than saying that, I just say I have face blindness,” you shrug, “Works like a charm”
Brendon asks smoothly, “Should I be flattered that you remembered mine?”
Rolling your eyes, leaning back into your seat, “Ok. Easy there. Still a long ways to go pal.”
The seminar finally began.
Graphs.
Mortality statistics.
Budget projections.
Someone talking far too enthusiastically about hand hygiene compliance.
Within seven minutes. You had begun doodling tiny skeletons in the margin of your notes.
Brendon noticed, murmuring quietly, "...Is that one wearing sunglasses?"
"They all deserve to look cool."
"..."
"This one's on holiday."
"You've drawn a skeleton in a hammock…" he said.
"Mental health leave,” you corrected.
Robby laughed quietly from beside you, with a small shake of his head.
Brendon looked down again.
Another drawing.
A skeleton holding a tiny coffee cup. With a speech bubble floating above, the words, Dead tired.
He felt it.
Just the tiniest twitch.
At the corner of his mouth.
Something you might’ve caught in the corner of your eye, and for one reason or another, it made you beam internally. Perhaps, a little proud of such a small achievement…
A new goal brewing in your mind.
A new fixation…
To find out if Brendon Park the Shark–
Had a funny bone.
And with each passing meeting. Each fleeting moment together. You had grown closer and closer. Growing more and more comfortable in each other’s company.
Brendon would find more and more reasons to come down.
Sometimes it was for necessity. For an M&M…but for most visits. If he were truly being honest with himself.
He was simply coming to stop by and see you.
Even if it were for only a few minutes.
Brendon couldn’t help but be drawn to you.
Not once had you ever seemed fearful of him.
Never once were you scurrying away from him.
Never once shying away from his company.
There was a lot to be said about that. Something that Brendon had grown used to. Had enjoyed.
In fact.
It was as though every time he saw you, you’d take the chance to go toe to toe with him. Trying to press his buttons and see what they’d do.
Trying your very best to make him crack.
On the surface Brendon kept a straight face. Steeley and composed. But beneath it all, with each joke you uttered aloud, your funny ramblings and stories all began to slowly chip away at his resolve.
Softening him from the inside out.
Your funny little jokes. Your off brand of humour.
All of which had charmed him.
Whether you had known it or not.
Brendon had become attached to you. Had begun to crave your company. And the way you made him feel.
And he was quickly becoming a bright spot in yours.
In the midst of closing up a patient, finishing up an examination, the door to the room opened to reveal Brendon walking in.
Your lips quirk up, “And what brings you down here?”
The words roll off his tongue, quick to match your wit, “Someone has to make sure you don't finally go insane talking to yourself,” he says with the faintest of smirks.
Without looking up from the autopsy, you replied, "Who says I'm talking to myself?"
Brendon raised an eyebrow.
You slowly looked toward the patient on the table, "...Was it you?"
Silence.
Brendon simply watches whilst you narrowed your eyes, questioning once more, "...Did you snitch?" Your tone, dead serious.
Brendon looked at the body.
Then back to you.
Then–
A tiny sound escaped him.
A short, involuntary snort.
He does his best to hold back the laugh threatening to escape, trying to break free, his shoulders shake a little from the silent rumble.
You froze.
Your eyes went wide.
You pointed dramatically, "There!"
He cleared his throat immediately, arms folded over his chest, "What?"
"You laughed,” you stated, with a wide smile, simply beaming with pride.
"I didn't," he denied, with a shake of his head.
"You snorted."
"I exhaled."
"You snorted," you doubled down.
"I disagree."
"Oh, come on!” You threw your hands up, "Throw me a bone here–I'm trying."
That earned another one.
Barely audible.
But undeniably real.
Brendon Park the Shark had laughed at one of your terrible jokes. You had finally cracked his steel facade, uncovering a rare secret held tightly within.
Brendon looked away, shaking his head, with a click of his tongue, "You're the worst."
Despite his words, no malice, no bite tinged his words.
Instead rounded off with a fondness to them.
"And yet..." You peeled off your gloves, tossing them neatly into the bin before wandering over until you stood directly in front of him, "...you keep coming back."
"Maybe I just like the atmosphere," he retorted coolly, eyes peering down at you. Unable to draw his gaze away.
Tracing every feature of your face, the curve of your brow, to the slope of your nose, the arch of your lips…
You looked around the morgue.
Lost in thought as they trace the rows of stainless steel. The bright fluorescent lighting. The unmistakable scent of disinfectant.
"Hm,” You hummed thoughtfully, "I think it's a little more than that."
"Oh?" He stepped closer.
Close enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.
Close enough that your teasing smile softened.
Close enough that his cologne enveloped you whole.
"So..." he asked quietly, voice lowering, testing the waters, "Why do you think I keep coming back?"
Teetering between the lines of friendship and something more.
You looked at him for a long moment.
Simply drinking in his appearance.
Trying to get a read on his thoughts…
Then your hands slowly slid up around the back of his neck.
Gentle.
Unhurried.
Bringing him just a fraction closer.
"I think..." Your voice dropped to barely above a whisper, "...You keep coming back..."
Another inch, "...For..."
His gaze flicked to your lips.
"...Me."
Silence.
Just the steady hum of refrigeration units. The distant echo of hospital life somewhere beyond the heavy morgue doors.
Brendon searched your face.
As if asking one last time.
Are you sure?
You answered by smiling.
Small.
Certain.
He closed the remaining distance.
His lips met yours with surprising tenderness.
Nothing rushed.
Nothing uncertain.
One hand settled carefully at your waist while the other rested against your back, holding you close enough to feel the quiet sigh that escaped you.
You smiled into the kiss.
Lips brush against each other, until you finally separate, only by inches, your foreheads brushed together.
His lips shift to trail alongside the side of your face, peppering soft kisses along the curve of your jaw.
The moment, tender, sweet–Peaceful.
Until you fracture it, joking lightly, “Are you just trying to butter me up to help with the incriminating evidence?”
He stops short. Dropping his head to your shoulder, mumbling out, “I can’t believe you,” muffled by the fabric of your scrubs.
“Sorry, sorry,” you laugh softly, a smile forming upon your lips, before adding, “Just had to check.”
Your fingers gently cards through his hair, before softly asking, “So what does this mean?–For us I mean…” Your usual humorous and witty tone faded, replaced by something a little more vulnerable.
A little less sure.
Something Brendon wasn’t used to.
His words softened, tone reassuring, “What do you want it to mean?” He lifts his head to rest his forehead against yours, icy blue eyes peering into yours.
You bite your lip “…I’d like this to mean something.”
He smiles, “Let me take you out. On a date–and before you ask I’m not using you as some alibi,” he asks you sincerely. Adding his own little joke, playing into your sense of humour.
You laugh softly, “You know me too well.”
His lips met yours again. Brushing against yours gently. Savouring the moment, drinking in every last second of it.
While the wait had been long. It was worth it.
Perhaps to anyone else, kissing in a morgue would've seemed strange.
Might not be quite romantic.
Morbid, even.
And most definitely not found in any rom–com.
But for you both right now.
Surrounded by silence, by lives honoured rather than forgotten, it somehow felt fitting.
It was the place where you had both met.
Where your relationship had begun. And now. It was the place it had become something more.
And somehow…
In the quietest place in the hospital–
You'd found someone who made you feel the most alive.
And that is how you, PTMC’s quirky forensic pathologist…
Managed to endear Brendon enough to become his partner.
His spice of life.
His reason for smiling.
And the only one able to make him laugh…
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed! Thank you for the request, I hope it sort of fulfilled what you envisioned, I tried to make the reader a little odd in an endearing way, but that's always a little difficult to translate in writing so I hope it's ok. (The face blindness bit was inspired by a character in Poker Face that actually had that, thought it was funny) and these two are just such an endearing pair, exploring them getting together was so fun. Let me know what you think! ✨
Find Part 2: Sensory Overload here!
Feel free to check out my Brendon Park x Baker!Evans!Reader Series, Sugar & Spice here!
Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕
Feel free to find my overall Pitt Masterlist here!
Well you spoke to the bodies you worked with. A simple way to vent, let out your frustrations, make jokes that never really landed.
Well why the fuck not? As if someone will complain about it 🤭🤷🏻♀️
It wasn’t everyday that someone decided to come into your workspace. The only times you saw doctors from other departments was mostly for Morbidity and Mortality meetings…otherwise known as M&M’s.
Makes me hungry too hahha
“Right,” you nod, taking in his words. You arch a brow whilst looking at him questioningly, “And you’re definitely not here to cover up any incriminating evidence, right?–” Before he could even mutter the word what? Completely thrown by your questioning. You continued, “Cause let me tell you…” you stand a bit taller, a bit more sure, before you add jokingly, “That would be a first for me”
Love her, think she is hilarious 😅
Had heard you described as recluse–hyper fixated on your work. And on some level, Brendon could understand that. Could relate to that level of dedication. Of keeping people at arm’s length…
As if he isnt the same just in a different font
Nodding you take in his words, before offering him a small smile, “Oh, sorry,” you wave a hand before your eyes, “I suffer from severe face blindness, so I didn’t recognise yah. How you been–” That statement may or may not have been true…but it has definitely gotten you out of awkward jams before. Especially when you forgot names. Which happened more than you cared to admit. It was your favourite failsafe.
Real 🤭😅
Jutting your head, you began to move, “C’mon Park, you’re sitting with me–gotta make sure you’re not doing anything sketchy,” you joked with a smile. And Brendon. Well he followed your lead.
Oh 👀
But your thoughts never failed to drift towards the image of the Shark…his face popping up in the most random of times. And Brendon couldn’t quite shake the thought of you. Your image burrowed in the confines of his mind.
What a perfect coincidence 🤭
Inexplicably intertwined with each other.
For real
You'd never interrupted him. Sometimes he'd stand quietly beside the body. Sometimes he'd apologize. Sometimes he'd simply whisper, "I'm sorry I couldn’t do more…” Afterwards, you'd always leave a little extra time before beginning your examination.
🥺🥺🥺
Walking over to you, he takes the seat by your side, lifting a brow, “I thought you had face blindness?” Robby snorts from the other side of you, “Did they tell you that bullshit too?” A grin spread across his lips while he shot you a look.
Whoops 🤭
Within seven minutes. You had begun doodling tiny skeletons in the margin of your notes.
Icon
Brendon noticed, murmuring quietly, "...Is that one wearing sunglasses?" "They all deserve to look cool."
Period!
A skeleton holding a tiny coffee cup. With a speech bubble floating above, the words, Dead tired.
Obsessed with her humor 🤭
Brendon would find more and more reasons to come down. Sometimes it was for necessity. For an M&M…but for most visits. If he were truly being honest with himself.
Of course he does 🤭👀
Your funny little jokes. Your off brand of humour. All of which had charmed him.
As it should be 🙂↕️
He does his best to hold back the laugh threatening to escape, trying to break free, his shoulders shake a little from the silent rumble. Brendon Park the Shark had laughed at one of your terrible jokes. You had finally cracked his steel facade, uncovering a rare secret held tightly within.
Wow
Teetering between the lines of friendship and something more.
Very close 👀
One hand settled carefully at your waist while the other rested against your back, holding you close enough to feel the quiet sigh that escaped you.You smiled into the kiss.
Finally 🥰
You bite your lip “…I’d like this to mean something.” He smiles, “Let me take you out. On a date–and before you ask I’m not using you as some alibi,” he asks you sincerely. Adding his own little joke, playing into your sense of humour.
A perfect match 🤭😅
🥰🥰🥰
His lips met yours again. Brushing against yours gently. Savouring the moment, drinking in every last second of it. While the wait had been long. It was worth it.
