𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛, 𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑎𝑛 ☽˚.⋆(b.p.)
Plot | The great shark struggles with modern dating --- a bar so low he keeps tripping on it.
Tags | no smut, mentioned skin to skin intimacy, virgin!reader (for the plot!), yapper!reader, celibate!reader but not fully, waiting for marriage reader, bad experience with dating (not with park), cursing, traditional roles, age gap (15 years), endearments (babydoll, sweetheart, sweetie, baby),
[Inspired by this drabble <3]
Brendon Park is a good man.
He calls his mother every week. Sends his father the good whiskey every year on his birthday. And does good on his job no matter how much he hates the … socializing aspect of it.
A good son, a good surgeon, and a respectable member of society.
“When are you gonna give me some grandbabies, huh?”
Just … a little delayed in certain aspects of his life.
It wasn’t on purpose.
When he was young, he was so deadset on becoming a surgeon that everything else became an afterthought. He maintained relationships here and there (he wasn’t a saint) but by the time he was an attending none of his girlfriends managed to keep up with his relentless schedule, demanding workload, and emotionally reserved nature.
Truly, he doesn't blame them. He wasn't exactly carving out the time for them either --- too focused on being the best and too single-minded in his career to put any relationship as a priority.
Long story short – good surgeon, bad boyfriend.
And then he woke up and he was 40 years old with a very pissed off mother.
When he reluctantly asked his friends about it, the warnings were immediate and repetitive.
Dating in the modern century is different now. The women are different. Difficult.
Too demanding. Too clingy. Too much.
By the time Yolanda sidelined him quietly with a proposition, he was already dreading the worst and preparing himself to disappoint his mother for the first time in his life.
You were a welcome (gorgeous) surprise.
Yolanda’s friend of a friend of a friend that she set him up with. Something about a ‘sweetie-pie that could just soften you up, big guy’.
What she failed to mention was the noticeable difference in years between the two of you.
He was never one to go for someone young just to compensate for a void in his life or make himself feel better about getting older. Even though he saw the appeal, it was never a requirement. If you had asked him before the date, he would’ve thought dating someone younger was more trouble than it was worth.
But watching you beam as he waits for you by the door of the café he had reserved a table for today’s date, holding a fresh pink bouquet of flowers just because Yolanda mentioned that it was your favorite, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was too confident with that assumption.
“Flowers on the first date? You’re winning me over already.”
He couldn’t help but frown in confusion, remembering a coworker's quip about not coming on too strong. Already feeling an unfamiliar feeling of minuscule panic creeping up his throat. “Is it too much?”
Your eyes widened, head shaking, “No! No, they're beautiful. It’s just – men don’t really – it’s less of a thing now.”
He hums, deciding that that was stupid. Especially when he saw just how beautiful the flowers looked when you held them --- like they belonged in your arms. He opens the door for you. “That’s a shame.”
You laugh, head back and so carefree. It warms something in his belly. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
The two of you continued a casual conversation as you lined up for your orders, an official introduction of sorts. Thankfully, it wasn’t as awkward as he dreaded, your cheerful disposition perfectly counteracted his restrained one.
He couldn’t help but notice you intimately checking out the pastries bar but not ordering any when you got to the counter. Thankfully, he was quick enough to take note of those that caught your eyes for longer than half a second, ordering it along with his drink and swiping his card for both of your orders.
As he pulled back a chair, he noticed the few seconds of shock on your face before you sat. A small touch on his bicep and a bashful ‘thank you’ had him concluding that this was also no longer ‘a thing’ in this generation.
If he were honest, he'd admit he was dreading this. It's been a while since his last proper date. He wasn't sure if he could muster up enough topics to keep the conversation going or accidentally say something rude or stupid that would turn this date into a humiliation ritual.
But you were pleasant company and a surprisingly great conversationalist. Picking up where he was prone to awkward silences. You carried the conversation with an ease that he admired. To his surprise, the conversation shifted from one topic to another, and by the end of the night, you somehow even managed to get him actually interested in the New York sports team you were dedicated to. A sport he had never given a thought to his entire life.
“You live in Pittsburgh.”
“So?” you giggle at his obvious accusation.
“Now, that’s just treason.”
That got an adorably loud laugh out of you that embarrassingly puffs out his chest – he knew he wasn’t exactly the funny type so to have you genuinely throwing your head back at his banter felt good.
Three drinks, 6 pastries, and too much caffeine later, he realized it had already turned dark outside and your friend (probably Yolanda wanting all the details) was already texting you incessantly about dinner.
“So, how much do I owe you?”
He looks down at you in confusion as he helps you put your jacket on.
“For what?”
A respectful palm gently leads you by the curve of your back and into his car, which was parked just a few feet from the café.
“Lunch.”
He shuts the door, still confused even as he pulls out of the curb.
“I asked you out, it’s on me.”
“Technically, you didn’t ask me out. We were set up.”
He rolls his eyes at that, huffing out a laugh. Cheeky brat.
“I’m the man. I pay for dinner.”
“That’s very old-fashioned of you, Brendon.”
“Well, I am 15 years your senior, baby." It doesn’t escape him how you press your legs together at that statement. Interesting. “I get to be old-fashioned, don’t you think?”
You turn your body fully toward him, blessing him with a shy, sweet smile.
“Old-fashioned enough to not to kiss on the first date?”
He takes a deep breath, pressing on the gas.
“Old-fashioned enough to ask first."
‘Busy morning and tied up in surgery this afternoon. I’ve got about 30 minutes for a call at 11:30 if you're free?’
‘Sounds perfect. Can’t wait <3”
“👍”
“What’s this?”
You flip the thick piece of paper back and forth as if the words were written in hieroglyphics.
He watches you register what he had just done.
“Tickets. For the Knicks game this weekend.”
You stare at him as if he just popped out a second head so he sighs and continues. “You said you loved them on our first date.”
“Brendon.”
“It’s the Eastern Conference Finals.”
“Brendon.”
“What?”
“It’s in New York.”
He cocks his head at another pair of tickets sitting on his coffee table.
“Those are our plane tickets.”
“You bought plane tickets?!”
“Can’t exactly walk there, sweetheart.”
“You bought Knicks tickets, plane tickets, and planned an entire trip without telling me?”
“Well, such is the nature of a surprise.”
You actually let out a snort of laughter before jumping into his lap on the couch pressing kisses and ‘thank you’s’ on whatever skin you could reach. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You haven’t even heard of the restaurant reservation yet.”
Or the fact that he somehow tracked down a friend of a friend of a friend who is somehow dating someone working game day operations just to make sure the kiss cam landed on the two of you during half-time.
And they said he wasn’t a romantic.
It took Park 3 months in your relationship to realize … you have never truly slept over his place.
When you mentioned on your second date that you were a virgin and that you planned to wait until marriage, he was – for the sake of honesty – taken aback.
Not that there was anything wrong with it and you had bashfully admitted that you were willing to do some 'other stuff' as long as you didn’t go 'all the way'. Something about a vow with the women in your family that the only man who should be able to touch you is the one who is willing to commit.
It makes sense, in theory. But they never took into consideration that the man who plans to worship the ground you walk on is a stressed-out orthopedic surgeon in a trauma center whose only source of relaxation is in between your thighs.
So, yeah. He was a bit taken aback. And frustrated.
But he respected it.
(He was too far gone for you to let this minor complication stand in his way.)
Sucked it up like a man, met your parents, swore to them that this relationship would end in marriage once you were ready, and now added meditation to his workout routine so he wouldn’t pop a boner every time you lounged around his place in just his shirt.
“What are you doing?”
He asks from the en-suite bathroom’s door, finally ready for bed after a long day of bullshit in the hospital only to find his girlfriend quietly trying to book a taxi from his bed.
“Oh! I figured you’d be too tired to drive me back home so I was just going to book a car.”
He frowns in confusion. Quickly walking to where you were lounging in his bed to grab your phone and cancel it.
“Wha – hey!”
“I think we’re past asking permission to stay over.”
You open your mouth to protest before hesitating, choosing instead to crawl to the edge of the bed so you can sit by where he was standing. The fresh smell of his soap, body wash, and clean skin lights your skin on fire.
“I don’t have my skincare stuff in here,” you weakly protested.
He hummed, hands petting the back of your head.“Let’s go buy it tomorrow after brunch. It’s my day off.”
You beamed, gasping in glee. “Really?”
"Really." He can’t help but chuckle at your delight – so pleased with a couple hundred dollars of products. Seems he wasn’t doing quite a good enough job spoiling you, he plans to change that starting tomorrow. “Anything else I should know before our first official sleepover?”
You rubbed your cheeks into his hands like a cat before shyly nodding.
“I know you’re having a hard time with the … abstinence thing,” you pout your lips up at him, your chin digging firmly on his navel which definitely didn’t help.
He clears his throat, taking a beat to look up at the ceiling and collect himself before letting his hands cup your cheeks, “I’m a grown man, babydoll. I can handle sleeping next to my woman without pouncing on her.”
“I trust you, Bren,” you insist earnestly. “But it doesn’t mean I want to frustrate you any more than I already do.”
“Hey, where is this coming from? I’ll behave,” he pokes the tip of your nose to lighten your mood but you only bit your bottom lip in even more hesitation. “Or is there another reason?”
He wouldn’t want to push you if you were truly uncomfortable.
“The thing is,” you groan, cupping the hands holding your face. “I can only sleep naked.”
If he had to go back to the bathroom for five minutes to listen to the calming meditation exercise his therapist recommended to him, it would be something the two of you agreed to take to the grave.
“Alright, my eyes are closed, babydoll.”
He prepared as best as he could.
Lights are off, sleep mask on.
Now he just needs to not think about his girlfriend sleeping naked beside him for the entire night. His adorable, sweet, angel of a woman who is not wearing a stitch of clothing on her bo –
“Thanks for doing this, baby.”
He sucks in a sharp breath when he feels you press a kiss to his cheeks.
He grips the comforter so tight he swears his nails ripped through it. “Warn a man next time.”
Your giggle disappears under the duvet. He makes it a point to put a pillow between the two of you – for your sake and mostly his.
It’ll be fine. Everything will be –
-- fucked! He is so fucking fucked.
The nudity wasn’t the challenge – difficult, yes but manageable with the proper monk-like focus. What you have failed to disclose was that you slept like a possessed octopus. Something he himself only found out when he felt your entire body weight on top of him at 2:47 in the morning.
Once he felt the swell of your chest on his ribs his entire body instinctively flinched so quickly, he almost developed a cramp.
“S-Sweetheart,” he whispered, trying to see if he could jog you out of your sleep gently to save him from the suffering of having to push you back.
To his horror, you just whined, grabbing even more tightly to his biceps as you dragged your body up the length of his so you could push your face in the juncture of his neck.
The contrast of the warmth of your skin on his, the small puffs of air a siren’s call on his ear, and the plump of your lips grazing his neck as you sleepily mumble mindless nothings was torture to his already frazzled sense of self-control.
He grips his bedsheet tightly, knowing his willpower would snap if his hands ever got ahold of you.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“’luv yu’, Bren.”
He sucks in a breath. What the – did you just say – “Babydoll?”
“So nice to me,” you whimper the words on his neck. “Love you so much.”
That felt like a jagged knife of guilt to his heart.
The shame and responsibility you felt for what he could only believe other lovers saw as a drawback or a burden. It must’ve been a heavy weight to carry for his sweet girl.
He swears you won’t have to carry it anymore as long as he is here.
He holds his breath for 10 seconds and lets it out for 5. He thinks about surgical risks, antibiotics, anesthesia regulation, and proper post-op instruction. Thinks about Gloria on his neck, the pressure to live up to their expectation as the upcoming Chief of Surgery. He thinks about Robinavitch’s jealousy even though the both of them knew the pressure Brendon was in would eventually fling the ER attending from the roof he so often escaped to.
Anything and everything to keep his mind clear and disciplined as he refuses to be another weak man who resents your boundaries.
With a deep breath he finally gathers you in his arms, curling around you until his body threatens to swallow you whole.
Saying instead the words that always seemed to get stuck between his heart and his tongue whenever you looked at him. Reminding himself to repeat it tomorrow before you could say it first.
He’s an old-fashioned man, after all.
“I love you, babydoll.”
'Going to the gym but i'm gonna be busy all day. Text me '911' if it's an emergency and my assistant will track me down.'
'Go it. I'm planning to cook you steak for dinner tonight, can I use your kitchen?'
'DON'T SEND ME MONEY. It's my treat.'
'I know your fingers are hovering Brendon Park. Don't!'
'Fine'
'Fine <3'
'Check your jewelry box. I slipped a spare key to my place there.'
'Okay <3'
'Wait what.'
“Hi, babyyyy,” you jump into his arms as he drops his work bag unceremoniously on the floor.
Your text that said you were going to spend your day off going to the grocery store and preparing him a steak dinner genuinely was the only thing that pushed him through a long day of surgeries and consultations.
He lets you rope him into a kiss, sitting the two of you down on his couch as you continue to map out his face with your mouth.
“Missed you so much,” you mutter in between kisses. He smiles at your earnest confession. “Say you missed me too.”
You press a finger on his chest, and he glances down at it as if unconvinced. You squawk in offense and try to get off his lap but not before getting caught in his arms and flipped into the couch.
“You’re all I ever thought about all day, sweetheart.”
You hum, running your hand on his hair. “That’s a dangerous habit, doctor.”
“Don’t worry. I’m a professional.”
With one last deep kiss he lets you out of his arms and back into the kitchen. He prepares to stand up and set the table but you pressed a hand into his chest with an explicit instruction to go shower and relax.
“It’ll be ready when you’re out.”
By the time he was done, you were already getting the wine out of the chiller. “Oh, by the way, some important-looking envelope from your bank arrived.”
You point a finger at the side table by the door. He opens it, his eyes moving carefully with each line.
“Babydoll?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you give me your landlord’s bank details?”
A pause, he turns back to see you staring at him in bewilderment.
“Uh, what for?”
He drops the letter on the coffee table before walking towards you. “I need it to set up an auto-pay in my account.”
You blink up at him as he casually presses a kiss on your lips before sitting at his seat beside yours.
“Are you … moving?” You ask even though you had to admit how incredulous it was. Why would he switch his immaculate penthouse to your subpar building? Is he buying the building then?
“No, for your apartment, honey,” he continues patiently, taking your hand.
Your eyes widened, finally getting what he is implying. “What?! Why – you don’t have to do that! I-I know I complain a lot but I’m fine really!”
He presses a kiss on the back of your hand. “I know, sweetie. But I’m planning on moving you with me by the end of the year, and I want that transition to be as smooth as possible for you.”
Your mouth opens and closes in shock as he drops two bombs on you at once.
“Are … are you asking me to move in with you?”
He slices a piece of his steak before feeding it to you.
“By the end of the year,” he reiterates casually. “At least that’s the deadline I gave my realtor.”
You audibly swallow the barely chewed steak, pushing it down with large gulps of wine.
“I … I don’t want to make it seem like I-I’m a gold digger or something.”
His face hardens at that. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m serious. People talk.”
“Let them talk,” the reprimand was there but it was gentle. “I know why you’re here.”
That softens you.
“Because I’m funny and a good lay.”
You almost snorted your wine into your nose and he finally smiles hearing you laugh. He raises an eyebrow as if to say ‘see?’.
“Brendon –”
“Hey,” he takes your hand, pulling you closer and letting the chair screech in protest. “You’re allowed to like the things I do for you. I work hard, I make good money. And I’d rather spend it making you happy than letting it sit there in the bank.”
He holds your hesitant eyes, only letting a victorious smile appear on his face when you let out a resigned sigh.
You stand up and he automatically pushes his chair back so you can sit in his lap.
“Okay. Thank you. I love you and I will move in with you by the end of the year even though you technically didn't ask.”
“You’re welcome,” he whispers on your lips. “Also, that was your new credit card in the envelope.”
“Brendon Park –"