#babyshark

[bunnys-cove]

Emma Nolan is not Hispanic, she’s a francophone.

Her actress, Laëtitia (Leh-tea-see-a) Hollard is a from Guadeloupe and identifies as Afro-Caribbean. Guadeloupe is a French creole speaking country in the Lesser Antilles islands of the Caribbean.

When Emma is speaking french with Princess in episode 1 it’s not because Emma took French throughout high school and college, it’s because that’s the language she speaks at home with her family. Laëtitia has said in interviews that her background of growing up Caribbean in Wisconsin deeply influences the story we get with Emma Nolan.

So please let’s do some research before people just go erasing a Black Caribbean woman’s Creole identity when y’all write her.

I’m from Saint Lucia myself, and being an Afro-Caribbean Creole woman as well I feel very protective of her identity in this fandom.

I know many have never even heard of Black Francophones or Creole people in the Caribbean outside of Haiti but trust me there’s a lot of us, you just have to look.

We can have the discussion about whether or not people consider Francophones Latinas another day

**sorry for any grammatical errors**

[ohbo-ohno]

i mean god when is "big scary burly man who assumes he's married to the cute mousy girl" and "cute mousy girl thinks they're just play flirting" NOT going to hit, yk?

[pittposting]

emma cockwarming park in nothing but her nikes and fringed ankle socks. her legs spread over too-wide thighs. squirming and trembling as he splits her in half on his big, mean cock. park fisting her braids. “what did I say about staying still?” only she can’t, he knows she can’t. he’s counting on it.

[yeyinde]

based on this post but;

Emma's experience with relationships (or—relationship, singular, really) was largely built on pressure and reciprocity. the very fundamentals of love and affection being hinged on a quid pro quo.

no physical, emotional intimacy without an equivalent exchange of something sexual. a caveat her ex-boyfriend (dumped after a lot of nagging from her peers who knew about him—but the final nail in the coffin being Dana's incredulous stare and miffed Jesus, kid, you lettin' him walk all over you like that?) used to whine about constantly—despite her repeatedly telling him she wanted to wait until marriage. she's just—used to being pressured into giving something up in exchange for something else.

it's just how it is, she thinks, because relationships, to her, are about a constant nagging, the whining, the guilt-tripping (don't you, like, love me, Emma? marriage doesn't even mean anything), and attempts at guilt-tripping and shaming her (because he's the only virgin in his friend group and it's kinda lame, waiting for marriage at their age—).

and when she ends up dating Park, she expects a lot of the same when she finally—in a stammering fluster—admits that she wanted to be a nun, but settled instead for waiting until marriage, and that sex isn't something that will unfold in their relationship anytime soon, if at all.

waits, tense and nervous in the front seat of his car, for the scoffs, the incredulity, the guilt-trips—the five stages of grief but it's a grown man being denied the immediacy of sex. braces for it, even, because there's telling a guy the same age as her that she doesn't want to fuck, and then there's telling a man twice her age—a man with stubble and chest hair and penthouse he owns all to himself; a career, a surgeon—and a damned good one, at that—and a respectable adult, a forty-one year old who is probably only dating her for the benefits, right? sex with someone so much younger. the novelty of it all—that it's not on the table.

but instead of whining, begging, scoffing, or dumping her on the spot, he just stares at her for a beat, mulling it over in his head, before he nods. a slow, easy thing. okay, that's fine. just like that. like it's no big deal. and it's a little too good to be true, isn't it? he's not the second, or even fifth, man she's dated within the last year after her breakup who said the same thing, only to begin pestering her once the novelty wore off and they thought they could convince her now that she was malleable, pliant—to no avail. she assumes it'll be much the same, and has one foot constantly out the door because she's set on her decision. set on her choice.

only it isn't the same at all because unlike her ex-boyfriend or the guys she saw before Park, he doesn't bring it up. doesn't expect anything at all after their dates, just drives her to her apartment, says goodnight, and walks her to her door, waiting until the lock turns and the lights go off before he drives away. intimacy—physical, emotional—are given when she needs them, but not in the way she expected to get them: little things, like his hand on her lower back whenever they go anywhere, his finger curling into her belt loop to keep her close, laying in his bed with him—fully dressed—while they watch old man movies he's so fond of but she's never seen; his eyes finding hers, immediately, in any room he walks into; his thumb brushing over the swell of her cheek before he leans down and kisses her. and it's always a chaste, soft thing that leaves her hungry for more in a way she never felt before—

in a way that makes her acutely aware of the ache between her thighs—a new thing she doesn't remember feeling unless she was alone in her bed, paper-thin fantasies spinning behind her eyelids—and an itch that burns, burrows deep, whenever she smells his aftershave on her skin when she's lying in bed, still dizzy from the way he kissed her senseless and then took her home, put her to bed with stubble-irritated skin, swollen lips, and a need so deep, she feels the sticky, slick slide of her thighs each time she moves; the wetness saturating her panties and sticking to mound every breath. it's a little unbearable, really. and makes her silently wish he was just like the rest—pushy and wanting and giving her ultimatums so she can finally give in, give up, and just let him fuck her—

but he doesn't. he won't.

and even when she's the pushy one, the one begging and mewling against his lips, leaving slick, open-mouthed pleas along his stubbled jaw to just do it, just fuck her, she doesn't want to wait, all he does is huffs—this chest deep exhale, like he's amused by her—and then grabs her wrists in his hand, before dragging her until she's sitting on his lap with her back pressed to his chest, his voice rumbling in her ear as he tells her to be good. puts on a movie as she squirms, feeling the thick, hard press of his cock against her ass, but unable to do anything about it because she doesn't know how, and he won't let her.

leaves her feeling needy and wanting and useless and half-crazed as he wraps his thick arms around her, and grunts come on, watch the movie, Emma—like she wasn't seconds away from giving up her oath, her promise; wasn't actively (and eagerly) throwing her consent in his lap for him to devour until there wasn't nothing left for anyone else. instead he leaves her a frustrated, weepy mess wishing he was just like her ex as he hums in her ear about whatever stupid movie he put on for them to watch, seemingly content to ignore the fever in her veins as Al Pacino struts on the tv.

and in the aftermath, Emma tries to find ways to make him break; and Park contemplates just how long he has to keep this going before she's too eager to say no when he finally pulls out the velvet box he'd gotten only hours after their first date.

[suziesybil]

buns 🍑

[zivistardust]

New In Town/ Babyshark

This is so a crack post treated seriously. + bdsm/dom-sub/daddy kink

After whispers around PTMC about how some resident swears to god they saw Brendon fucking Park in a kink club the other weekend, whispers rumors and theories spread like wildfire.

Ahmad’s most secretive and inappropriate betting board yet, wondering, what kinda wild shit is Park the Shark up to?

Obviously, the guy has to have some heavy sadistic leanings. Right. Come on, look at Park. He wants to hurt someone. …consensually of corse.

Whispers are spread in quiet hallways and elevators, in break rooms and ambulance bays. Whips. Paddles. Master, sir. Handcuffs or rope? Oh, he’s probably got a while dungeon in his basement. Clamps? Knives? Does he make them cry? Hurt hurt hurt. Brendon Park wants to hurt. He gets the gist.

A neurology attending had to yell at some interns about gross misconduct, how their behavior constituted harassment and was completely inappropriate and unprofessional.

That news didn’t do a damn thing to slow a single person down.

Nothing did.

It was getting old, yeah.

At first he was a bit embarrassed. No one would mention it to his face, he knew that. And if they did… well he could just bite their head off about it. But he was, under it all, a good bit embarrassed. But now he was just annoyed.

He had a nice time that night, actually. And he didn’t like how it was a fucking joke to other people. It was a weekend night, one where he was off, and had a full day to recover after. He wanted to unwind. And he needed a more permanent unwinding solution. So he went out to prowl. Find himself someone like… well, her.

He knew she was perfect from how out of place she looked. Soft fabrics and soft colors, no black or leather here. Just a soft, very short skirt, and a flouncy, little top. She looked out of place, but not unsure. She looked like she knew why she were here, and what she wanted. So he asked as politely as he could if he could buy her a drink.

She beamed. He liked girls who beam. Who wear every little happy expression all over their face. Thats exactly what he needs, what he missed, why he came here to find. Something sweet and soft to give his mind a fucking break. Pretty white teeth and eyes that crunched in the corners, beautiful. Just beautiful. Carefully styled curls, warm brown skin, soft eyes, and fluttery lashes. She had him in a fucking grip.

He knows he found what he was looking for. So now it was his turn to ask her. “New to the city, recent breakup back home. Looking for a new daddy” she admitted with only the softest little waver of insecurity on the last word. A little nerve is good. A little caution. She knew exactly what she was and what she wanted. Good.

“How’s that possible? How can anyone let such a pretty thing like you go? You couldn’t be on the market more than a second?” He cooed.

Sweet little flush. Perfect.

He brushed a short little ringlet of hair out of her face and she let him. A good sign. He took that as a sign he could keep touching her. In that area atleast.

She giggled.

“Why don’t you tell me your name, sweetheart? I’m Brendon.”

“Emma”

She offered him her hand. Cute. Clean short little nails. He expected something more… more. But he wast one to have an opinion on a woman’s nails.

He took it, and his completely fucking dwarfed hers. Damn it.

She was so small, so little. Maybe… little less than a foot below him? Everything about her looked so little. Little hands short stature tiny waist soft little tits. He would fucking dwarf her standing- or laying. She’d be so pretty in his lap, against his wall.

“Where’s home, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Michigan.” She answered. “New job” she supplied, without unnecessary details. Good. Smart girl. “Long way from home, are you? Hope the jobs worth it.”

A bright smile. “I’m really excited actually.”

The smile was contagious. “I’m glad to hear that. Why don’t you tell me more about what you’re looking for. One night or something more serious?”

She got a nervous look in her eyes- a fear of rejection, maybe- as she said the latter. He could work on that. He could heal that. Be safe and sturdy and a good daddy.

He interpreted it easily. “You want something outside this too?” He clarified. Another nod. “Okay.” He smiled. She eased. “I’ve got a million questions in my head, and I’m sure you have yours too.”

She nodded eagerly. This was going well. She was excited and he was too. Just had a better poker face. And it was so fucking easy, so fucking fast.

After that, things were good between them. They really did end up being compatible. And she was so… adorable. Not in the cute sense. Sure, that too. Cute as a fucking button, and she didn’t even try. But literally. Easy to adore. Sweet and kind and needy and cute and caring. Let him let his guard down. Let him be him. Let him take off the hard mask and be sweet to her. Kiss warm cheeks and carry her to bed and take control in a way that soothed him. He really had needed someone to take care of. And Emma was the perfect little thing.

They maybe moved too fast. One of them should have known better, been the mature one and insisted they got to know eachother better before they made it to bed. But drinks finished, faces flushed from conversations- about kink, about interests, about all of it- and they were stumbling into Brendon’s apartment at 1 am, and pretty little Emma was sprawled on his bed, crying out daddy as he fucked her deep and gentle and slow in her little butter yellow lace lingerie. Little bursts of saltwater on her lashes as she came again and again, soothed away by plush lips and sweet praise about her utter perfection. She had acne scars on her ass and stretch marks on her lower back and a couple moles on her collar bone. And he was fucking hooked on all of it.

He considered that he should have asked her about after care as he pulled out careful, shushing her uncomfortable little sounds as he pulled out, kissing her and calling her good.

Spent a few minutes holding her, practically a ball in his chest as he sat against his headboard, rocking, soothing, and kissing the sweet little thing.

“I’m gonna head into my kitchen and get us some water. And then I’d like to clean you up if you’re not too tired. Bath or shower, your pick.”

“I don’t wanna get my hair wet.”

He chuckled. “So you’ll put it up. Maybe a bath then. And if you’re gonna stay here sometimes we’ll get you some hair stuff to keep here. Whatever you need to keep here.”

The bath was nice. Emma liked it hot as hell like all women do. She liked his bath salts. “Makes sense. Clearly you work out” she coyly noted. “Oh yeah?” He teased. She looked down coyly. “You like my body? You can say it baby.” “I do. I like all your muscles. I like your body.”

He grinned. “Glad to hear it baby. All yours.” He promised. “You know just how much I like yours.” He purred.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They made out in the bath for a while, lazy and tired, giggily and sweet.

He dressed sweet Emma in a tee and his boxers after, she drowned in them but it was cute. She read his tee shirt. It was… probably as old as her, damn it.

“Duke?”

He hummed. “For undergrad. Cornell for med school. Couldn’t stand being in the south another minute.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“Orthopedic surgeon” he confirmed. “That’s cool. I’m- in 2 weeks I’ll be a nurse.”

A soft smile spread across his face. “Oh yeah? Suits you. Peds?”

She shook her head. “ER, actually.”

Something anxious came across his face. “ER nursing can be dangerous. In my hospital- let’s just say I’ve had to treat some of our ER nurses in the past. You keep your head about you, okay? Just because you’re trying to help doesn’t mean they understand.”

Emma swallowed hard and nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. Thanks.”

“Hey, I’m not trying to scare you okay? Not trying to rain on your parade. Just… protective of what’s mine.”

“And I’m yours?”

“What’s what we decided, right?”.

Emma smiled, burrowing into his chest happily. “Yes I am.”

“Yes you are. Two weeks?”

Emma hummed. “Wanted some time to settle in. It was how my lease worked anyway. My grandma helped me out with the first month.”

“Very kind of her. What do you start, first week of July?”

“I start on the fourth, actually.”

Brendon hissed. “That sucks. I’m working too but it’s different to start. I’ll probably be in my ER all day too, dealing with morns who blew their hands off with fireworks. Hell of a day to start but it’s good to jump in the deep end.”

Emma hummed in agreement. “I’m excited.”

“You should be. I’m sure you worked very hard to get here. Where are you starting, Presby?” He considered where the bar was, that was their side of the city.

“No, uh, Pittsburgh trauma medical center.”

Brendon should have seen it coming.

“Shit.”

“What? Is- is that bad?”

“Not bad, great hospital. But uh, I’m gonna be a couple floors above you, honey.” He explained.

“Oh. Shit. Am I- are we gonna get in trouble?”

Trouble.

Cute.

“Nothing like that. These things happen a lot. But uh. You might want to try to keep this as much of a secret as you can, alright? It’s not a good look on a new grad nurse, to be uh… screwing a surgeon. Looks like-“

“Right.” Emma flushed. “You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re not doing anything bad. You’re a grown woman, you can sleep with whoever you want.” Brendon insisted. “But. People talk, and say ugly things, and I don’t want you to go through that. So… let’s keep us between us for a while.” Brendon suggested. Emma agreed. It was for the best.

“Hey. After your first day, I’ll take you out alright? Not that I don’t plan on seeing you before that- don’t get it twisted, I absolutely do. But July fourth, after your very first day of being a nurse, I’m gonna take you out for a very nice dinner while you tell me everything, and then we’ll go see some fireworks together. That sound good?”

“Very.”

Emma Nolan fell asleep on Brendon Parks chest a few minutes after, with no idea what two weeks from now would hold.

[burstanddecay]

stained.

i come bearing babyshark that i horked up after a year of no writing. have at it, my loves. 700 ish words, very lightly hinted breeding kink and dom/sub dynamics, park is down bad bc it's what emma deserves. not beta read, i am going down with this like robby does with his mental health.

he stares at the spot as if it personally offended him. it did, really, seeing it mar the soft canvas that is his girl, the cute little thing wandering around the ED with eyes the size of saucers.

she is his. in his bed, in his house, in his shirt, smelling of his overly expensive cologne.

which is why he is currently staring daggers at the scraggly looking intern's spine as he is bent over her arm, cleaning up a cut and ruining his pretty little thing in the process.

god, he should've fucking chosen plastics. could've fixed her up himself, find an excuse about the tension of the skin and the location of the cut looking less than desirable. alas, he takes far too much pleasure in abusing bones back into their proper places, fixing faulty structures.

she isn't faulty. she's a fucking perfect example of a person, kind and gentle, a round ass straining against the fabric of the scrubs that look good on no one but her, the braids he does for her every morning before work brushing along her upper back, her smile, eyes, her voice-- god she would look so good with his kid in her belly, cooing to the little thing when it arrived, forever linked to him by proxy.

molars grit harshly as he stares across the pit, zeroed in on her as her skin gets stained with betadine.

it doesn't belong on her skin. it belongs on imperfect things that need to be fixed, and she never needs to be fixed. she is perfect as is. too good for this place, too good for him.

and yet.

he takes one last drag before tossing the cigarette onto the ground, crushing it with the heel before stomping inside, ignoring everyone as he marches over and fully yanks the curtain aside.

"move."

the intern he vaguely recognises startles, eyes wide as he looks up. "oh, uh, doctor park-, I, uh…" the kid stutters, looking like a mouse caught in a trap. "it's- this is, emma, she's a--"

"move," he snarls again, and the kid skitters off without opening his mouth again, leaving him to take his seat.

he flicks on a pair of gloves, eyes glued to the dark betadine stain surrounding a small cut on her wrist.

"what happened?"

she doesn't blink, doesn't protest as he gently turns her wrist, checking all angles. "tried to accept a scalpel back, except we both missed and it slipped," she softly replied. "bloodwork is already sent off, i'll hear back later."

his face remains emotionless, but he also knows she's beneath his skin in a manner that terrifies him. as much as he wants to devour her whole, he knows it would never happened if she wasn't on to him.

"glue should be fine," he grits out after scanning every possible angle of a cut that can't be bigger than a quarter. "i want you to take tomorrow off."

"it's just a cut."

"take tomorrow off."

"it is just a cut."

"it wasn't a suggestion," he snarls. "you are taking tomorrow off, and staying at mine. understood?"

for a moment, he thinks she'll go full brat on him, defy him even if she was the one to insist avoiding each other at work, never take that part of them along with them. she has her tells, head held high and jaw ticking, eyes turning frigid where they're always soft.

all the tells are there.

"fine," she settles on. "only if you do it with me, and we order potstickers."

"fine."

"fine."

she always looks like the cat that got the cream when she gets her way, even if it is really his way, the corners of her mouth curling up. he thinks she'd purr if she could.

he carefully pinches the sides of the cut together, checking one more time before barking over his shoulder.

"you. come here."

the same intern, the one that looks like he's been worked to the bone since he first drew breath if those circles beneath his eyes where anything to go by, rushes forward.

"it can be glued. clean up the skin after. do not let it happened again, understood?"

"y-yes, sir."

he rises and takes the gloves off, tossing them into the bin. he ignores the curious glances that he can feel on his skin, punching the elevator button to head back upstairs.

later tonight, he'll bathe her, make sure all that skin is in perfect condition and wholly his again, the exact way it should always be.

[basementcoffee]

the first time emma stays (a pre-planned stay, that is) at park’s place for a rare weekend, she shows up like she did the first day on the job—overpacked and over-prepared.

her backpack is stuffed to the brim with anything she thinks she might need—extra toiletries, skincare, hair care, pajamas (as if he’ll let her keep them on), spare underwear (not that they’ll last), her e-reader, allergy meds, a tide pen—everything she can think of, just in case.

she practically skips up to his car where he’s waiting outside her building, grinning wide ear to ear. she asks him to pop the trunk, but he doesn’t move, like he didn’t hear her at all. he’s staring instead, fixed on the oversized lump of her backpack.

“the hell’s that?”

“my bag?”

“you moving in already?”

her eyebrows pop at that. “uh, n-no! i was, it’s just what i need,” and she can’t stop herself from nervously rattling off her list.

he stops her the second she gets to the fucking tide pen. puts up a hand, cuts the engine, and climbs out of the car to haul the heavy bag off her back. it’s a miracle she didn’t tip over under it.

“um, what’re you doing?”

“c’mon. back inside,” he says, gruff, settling a hand on the crown of her head to turn her gently back toward the building. “we’re gonna ditch two-thirds of this.”

“but—but i need—”

he ducks down close enough that all she can see is her own doe-eyed reflection in his black lenses, and his sharp, pearly-white smile just beneath them.

“anything you need, we’ll get a version of it for my place, or a better one. unless moving in sounds good after all.”

he gives her ass a light pat to hustle her up the steps, meanly teasing her the whole way to her unit about how much shit she packed for two days.