THE ART OF LOVING.

[thelightofday]

𝐡𝐢, 𝐢’𝐦 𝐣𝐨𝐲!

— she/her. ♉︎. daydreamer. enfj. 27. nsfw.

— 💌 lover of old literature, film, poetry, hyperspecific spotify playlists, romance novels, boybands, hockey, top gun & tgm, twisters, tlou, cod, star wars, the pitt, avatar, etc.

— my writings currently not writing.

— sideblog

18+, minors DNI. blank/ageless blogs will be blocked.

[danger-z0ne]

Natural Predators

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

Brendon Park x f!reader

warnings/tags: female reader. smut, biting, cursing, oral (m+f receiving), hair pulling, piv, no mention of condom (don't do that gang be safe), minor dom/sub vibes, pain kink?, so much talk of teeth (I am who I am), nickname pup (get it. shark pup. idk dont judge me you know what you’re here for), maybe size kink? idk he's big man what can i say, possibly cnc (she say’s she doesn’t want it but they have a safe word established that she never uses so she does actually want it), animal analogies. ogilvie being annoying. canon typical medical discussion, mentions of chronic illness (reader and patient).

words: girl idk a lot I was not putting this in a word doc.

Brendon Park, otherwise knows as Park the Shark to his PTMC coworkers, has a reputation. If the nickname doesn't give it away, the way he eyes everyone as if they’re prey, the snap of his jaws when someone questions his judgment, or the sheer brawn of him, does. So when people call him Shark, it’s not entirely inaccurate.

You’re heavily inclined to agree with the nickname knowing what you do about him. You've gotten to know him better than anyone else in the hospital, both professionally and personally. All by being the nice, energetic and witty ED Doctor who Park, for some reason, doesn’t bite at. Verbally, that is.

Although, when needed, that kind demeanor of yours quickly shifts into something sharp and deadly. It’s what got you the nickname of Wolf down in the ED. Cute and sweet until you see the massive paws with claws to match, the bloodied maw growling in your face.

You always meet Park where he’s at. Both of you flashing your shiny rows of teeth in violent displays but never clamping down on the other’s jugular. It became a sort of dance between the two of you. Circling to see where any weak spots are. Whenever you disagree on a case, if you don’t like how he handles himself in front of a patient or vice versa.

The second the carcass is devoured though, you two go right back to easy conversation. Something PTMC staff didn't think Brendon Park was capable of. The pictures of civility. Which is also something people didn’t know Park the Shark was capable of.

Brendon outwardly intimidates those around him. Never smiling. Never giving you a flash of those pointed canines except for when he snarls. He moves through the world proud to show off his threatening demeanor. You think it secretly gets him off.

You, on the other hand, show all your teeth in every smile. Proudly display your most lethal weapon, canines sharp and shining. It's not scary upon first glance. The way you grin as you compliment another’s work, encouraging look on your face as you guide the student doctors through a new procedure. That makes it worse. When you do snarl and dig your claws in, it makes it all the more horrifying seeing the shift. How quickly you go from that sweet, docile, belly up puppy to a violent, raging, snapping dog.

Everyone sees Park as an ominous figure, it’s all he offers them a glimpse of. It's all they've come to expect. So they act accordingly. Everyone has been in the jaws of the Shark before and don't plan to find themselves back in it. Most people only hear stories of your lethal side. It’s enough for them to never want to see it, to never want to feel your teeth in their neck.

Ogilvie though, must not give a shit as he tries to take over presenting your patient to the infamous Park the Shark, his voice cutting off yours. You're in the middle of discussing next steps with Robby, preparing to give Park the rundown.

“Dr. Park!” Ogilvie is chomping at the bit to impress the man. “Patient is a 49 year old female, dislocated clavicle with a severe fracture to the ulnar and radius. Claims to have complex connective tissue disord-”

“Is this your patient?” Park cuts him off, tone short and annoyed like he’s already done with the conversation. He is.

“I’m on the case, yes, but-” Ogilvie pauses. Hesitant. Realizing his slip-up. Park raises his eyebrows as if to say “but?”

“But I’m the lead.” You cut in smoothly. Sharper than you usually are. Ogilvie senses it immediately. Stiffening in his place as if it will make you forget he’s here.

“Then why don’t you let her present me the case? I didn’t realize incompetence got you through med school nowadays.” He doesn’t bother to give Ogilvie as much as a side glance, eyes focused entirely on the scans in front of him.

You don’t hesitate to take over presenting. “49 year old female patient with a dislocated clavicle and multiple fractures to both radius and ulnar. Presenting with severe pain. She's unable to move her fingers, has lack of feeling below the elbow.”

Park begins to softly touch at the patients arm, assessing the damage while you continue.

“Mrs. Henderson has a complex connective tissue disorder, hypermobile Ehlers Danlos specifically." A glare directed at Ogilvie by you. "This presents more of an issue as she has a history of clavicle dislocation and asked us to not address it with surgery.”

You gave Mrs. Henderson nitrous oxide about 20 minutes ago. Wanting to help ease her pain but knowing Park likes patients conscious to assess their injury when possible. The gas leaves her loopy and slightly out of it, conscious but not fully aware.

Park asks, “Why no fixing the collarbone?”

“She’s had it dislocate multiple times previously and doesn’t want a plate put in because she’s been advised that it won't guarantee no more dislocations. She can handle the pain of one collarbone dislocated. Not two.” You recount. Before letting her fall into the soft lull of pain medicine, you took the time to understand her wishes and reasoning.

Park looks back up at you then. Eyes moving away from his hands that were feeling over the patient’s swollen flesh. To anyone else it would’ve seemed like he was thinking, but you know better. So does he.

He knows why you’re so interested in leading this case. Knows that you of all people understand the gaslighting that comes with connective tissue disorder. Months ago you’d explained to him your own condition, exposing your vulnerability to a predator. It's one of the things that made you so ferocious about a patient's wishes and lived experience. God help anyone who came between you and patient advocacy.

So right now, God should help Ogilvie as he opens his mouth to say the dumbest thing you think he's said yet.

“But it makes more sense to do the collarbone plate while we’re in there. Dr. Park I’d love to scrub in, I’ve never seen one done before.”

The room goes silent as the atmosphere shifts. Robby takes a step closer to the wall, leaning against it. Nurses and other doctors find anything to do other than look at the scene in front of them. They're all aware of the beast Ogilvie just woke up.

The only people who don’t look away are Ogilvie and Park. The former because he doesn’t realize the mistake he’s made and the latter because he knows he’s about to see something that’ll fuel his wet dreams for months.

“Dr. Ogilvie, do you have a hearing impairment or is your brain just so full of self centered thoughts that you can't hear anyone other than yourself?” You ask, brows furrowed in curiosity.

Ogilvie stares, unsure of what to say. You push on. "I'm genuinely curious as it affects my teaching you. Answer." You know the answer. Everyone in this room knows the answer. The ED has protocols and systems to help hearing impaired staff. Ogilvie isn't one of those staff members.

He's meek, glancing around trying to catch someone's eye. Decipher the situation. Get help. Something. "No."

“Then I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but this is my patient. You have no right trying to present the case to an attending without my explicit approval. Quite frankly, you don’t have the right to even touch the patient unless I say so.” Ogilvie gulps as he watches you. You’re seething. Anger barely keeping itself contained, pressing against the seams of your composure.

“The patient explained her wishes to us and we do everything in our power to respect those wishes. We don’t just do whatever’s easier. If you want easy I suggest you go twiddle your thumbs across the street in the park where that overinflated ego you’re dragging around like a limp parachute won’t be a trip hazard for the rest of us.”

Robby sighs from the wall, hand on his forehead. He knows this has been a long time coming for almost everyone who’s interacted with the new med student. The only reason he isn’t stopping you is because he knows Ogilvie needs a reality check before he kills someone. Who better to teach him submission than the Wolf?

“You are not special for putting in hard work. Everyone in this room has worked their ass off to be here. Do not discredit their efforts, my efforts by assuming superiority over us and trying to slack off and do the easy thing. This is someone's life. Their autonomy. Their body and choices."

You’re not yelling, your voice barely raising in volume as you reprimand him. That makes it all the more threatening. "The next time you want to try and play alpha and disregard my patient’s clearly stated wishes and consent, I suggest you remember who the fuck you’re talking to.”

Park has to remind himself he’s in public, with a patient, as he starts to feel blood rushing to places it shouldn’t be. The way your words cut deep and the rise and fall of your chest consuming his attention.

Ogilvie stands there gaping, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “You can’t-”

“Can’t what? Reprimand my student for trying to perform a procedure on a patient that they didn’t consent to and that isn’t medically necessary?" Your eyebrows shoot up, smug look on your face as you ask, "Who do you think the board will favor? You and your failed attempt at dominance or me and not getting sued for inexcusable patient care?”

Park’s voice cuts in, steadier than he feels watching your successful attempt at dominance. “I know who I’m vouching for.” There's a faint smirk on his face when he looks at you.

Ogilvie puts his head down, nodding and looking like he’s about to vomit. “You’re right, Doctor. I apologize.”

He sounds sincere enough, so you accept it and move on. You're certain he could make a good doctor, he just needs to get over that god complex of his and listen. As fun as it might be, berating him more will only lead him to shutdown. He isn't your first student like this and he won't be the last.

Ogilvie almost gets whiplash from how quickly you’ve gone back to being a gentle mentor. Explaining how you adjust based on vitals and scans in this scenario. Showing him how to prep the patient with a compliment and a “good job”. He wonders if he accidentally inhaled some of that nitrous oxide and hallucinated the last five minutes.

Before he leaves the room to assist McKay with another patient, Park stops Ogilvie with a hand on his arm. “If you ever disrespect your superior like that again, you’ll have a lot more to worry about than her just chewing your ass out.” This time, Park does flash his teeth. Not with one of those blinding smiles he gives you when no one is looking. With a look of distaste as he delivers the vague threat to Ogilvie. The ambiguousness makes it scarier.

Risking a glance at Park through the clear Trauma doors, you find him already looking at you. His eyes burning your skin before he walks away.

Hands ripping off the bloodied gloves and scrub gown, you check the board. Every patient is being seen and chairs is somewhat under control for once. Which means you get to take five minutes for yourself to pee without rushing for the first time today. Or all week. As you walk to the staff bathrooms, you think back on your first month at the PTMC.

Your coworkers came to the assumption that Park doesn't bite at you because the first time he did, you bit back. Harder. Deeper.

He tried to question your call on a pediatrics case and began to make passive aggressive comments about your skills. A warning bite. A challenge. So you went for blood.

You said nothing in front of the patient, not wanting to add more stress onto the young boy's already bad day. The second you cleared those curtains though, you asked Park to take a minute and speak with you. He barely acknowledged your request and began to brush you off. So you grabbed him by his massive bicep and dragged him behind you to a less crowded hallway. You can still recall the way your fingers unconsciously dug into the muscle.

You figured the hallway would be away from prying eyes and ears. But if there was anything the PTMC emergency department staff liked more than their jobs, it's gossip. Princess saw you dragging the large, brutish man behind you and immediately started smacking Perlah's arm to get her attention. When they subtly moved to the end corner of the hallway to listen in, their jaws nearly dropped at what they were hearing.

"You made a bad call-" Park's usual short tone, this time more heated.

"Fuck you." Their jaws did drop at that. "My call was perfectly within reason and it was what's best for the patient. You just don’t like the fact that it wasn't your call. That you didn't think of it first." The anger was evident in your voice. Peeking around the corner they see you standing no more than 5 inches from Park, forefinger stabbing into his chest.

"But that's not the point right now. The point is that you belittled me in front of a patient. You didn't question my medical choices, you questioned my person. There's a very big difference there. One that I’d imagine a man who is so full of himself because of his big brains and biceps would be able to notice."

Park scoffs at that, mouth ready to retort. "Who do yo-"

"I'm not done. Don't interrupt me."

Perlah is confident she has never seen Park shut his mouth the way he just did. So quickly and forcefully Princess thinks she heard it.

"I am more than happy to hear professional criticism but what you're doing is being a dick. If that's what you need to do to get by with the fact that you're so clearly lacking in other departments, then be my fuckin' guest. But don't you dare ever pull that bullshit with me again." You give him a once over, taking him in as he's almost pressed against the wall by your smaller frame.

"I know how good of a doctor I am and I don't need to make people feel like shit to prove it. Maybe if you got over whatever macho, hero complex you have, you'd be a fun guy to be around. Be sure to let me know if that ever happens." Your chest is heaving, out of breath from you verbal lashing. Face set in determination while he scowls at you. Not backing down.

"Now can we make nice or are we going to stay at each other's throats for the rest of our employment?"

Perlah and Princess are in shock at the scene in front of them. There's no way the entire hospital won't have had this recounted to them word for word by the end of the day.

Park's crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at you like he's ready to rip your head off. The bystanders have half a mind to try and save you from what they know is about to come. He opens his mouth and they prepare for what they know is going to be a bloodbath.

"May I speak now?"

What. The. Fuck.

You nod. "Yes, I'm done."

He starts. “If I don't agree with your medical opinion I'm not going to hold my tongue."

"Never asked you to." You quip.

"Good. I won’t."

"Good."

There's a long stretch of silence where neither of you say anything. Simply standing there looking at each other, both still coming down from the fuming anger that's trying to dissipate from your bodies.

Taking a step backwards, you make space so Park can leave. He takes a step forward, closer than you had gotten seconds ago and leans down to whisper in your ear, voice low and gravely. "Trust me, sweetheart, I'm not compensating for anything."

You don't say anything, only gasp lightly at the comment. The brush of his breath against your cheek making your heart race. Perlah and Princess couldn't hear what he said. His voice quiet enough for only your ears to pick up.

They do hear him bellow out as he walks away, not even turning back to look at you. "You're welcome to figure that out for yourself."

Rushing back to the nurses station, they conversed about the interaction in hushed whispers. And by end of day, everyone knew of the way you chewed out Park the Shark in a hallway. It's when the nickname Wolf started being thrown around.

Based off of that interaction, it gave some people the idea that Park respected you for your confidence. That you standing up for yourself so brazenly earned you some of his esteem. Which is partially true.

When someone else tried their luck with that method, it unfortunately didn't turn out the same way. Whitaker was the unfortunate sacrifice that allowed everyone to figure that out.

Maybe the way your lips quirk up at the memory of Dennis looking like the shell-shocked solider meme after learning that is a bit evil. You have to pee too much to care. Course headed for the staff bathrooms by the on-call rooms, you're quickly dragged into an empty on-call room and away from your bladder's salvation.

"What the fuck man!" You don't even turn to look and see who it is. Eyes still wistfully looking towards the bathroom that's being hidden from sight by the closing of the door.

It only takes a second for you to know who it is. The scent of his cologne, the familiar feeling of his hand on your arm, the warmth you dream about. Brendon.

"Is that any way to greet your superior?" You can hear the smirk in his voice.

"You're not my superior. You just work superiorly." He's technically got no rank over you. But he does have a fancy office upstairs above your department.

"I do a lot of my best work there, don't I?" He teases, hands moving to grab your hips as his face goes into your neck from behind. Laughing, you lean back into his warm body and the feeling of him kissing your shoulder.

"Perv."

"Good work with that hypermobile patient." His lips brush your neck, not trying to start anything but unable to hold himself back from getting a taste of your skin. The moment is incredibly sweet. Or it would be if not for your bladder.

"I'm going to piss on you."

Brendon pulls away quickly at that, turning your body to face him.

"Excuse me?"

"I haven't had a chance to pee since this morning and I feel like I'm about to burst." You whine.

Smiling he rolls his eyes as he opens the door, pushing you out towards the bathroom. Looking up and down the hallway to make sure no one is out there, he follows. "I'll see you at home."

Because that's the thing, Doctor Park the Shark does bite at you. When no one else is around. Physically.

Walking into Brendon’s house you find him in the kitchen.

“Honey, I’m home.” You call dramatically.

Something else that would send your coworkers brains reeling, Park the Shark is funny.

“How was your day at the potato factory?” He muses, not looking up from the vegetable he’s chopping. You’re not even sure what started this bit of yours, but it’s entertaining nonetheless.

“Long and horrible. The factory is falling into disarray.” He hums as if you’re recounting a serious topic and not some bullshit.

Wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, you appreciate the feeling of his strong core beneath your hands. “I got accosted in an on-call room by a coworker too. I might need you to beat them up for me. He tried to make me pee my pants.”

“Oh, is that so? Not what I heard happened.”

You busy yourself with placing kisses on his neck and jaw, leaning up to reach the exposed skin. After you make a noise of acknowledgement, he continues.

“I heard that you yelled at some innocent kid and jumped your boyfriend’s bones in the on-call room.”

Pulling away, you smack at his back knowing it wouldn’t hurt him (it’s a lot more gentle than you normally are) and gasp in offense.

“Ogilvie is nowhere near being an innocent kid. He’s been an arrogant asshole since he got there and someone needed to say something.” You defend.

Brendon places down the knife and turns to you, amused look on his face as you ramble on. “As for jumping my boyfriend’s bones? Yuck. Ew. I’m disgusted at the implication.”

“Oh?” He raises his brows.

Crossing your arms over your chest and rest your weight in one hip. Brendon’s eyes drop down at the movement. “I had to pee, I was sweaty and stinky from having to do CPR not even 20 minutes beforehand and we were at work.” You challenge.

Eyes slowly dragging back up to your face, Brendon challenges, “So?” He looks too damn hot for his own good.

That shouldn’t make heat start building in your stomach the way it does when you’re trying to act mad. Rolling your eyes, you stomp away. “I’m showering!”

“I don’t get a kiss from my stinky girlfriend?” He calls out after you.

Flipping him off, you hear his laugh follow you into the bathroom. It wraps around you while you shower. Plays on a loop in your head as you dress in a pair of shorts from the drawer he cleared out for you months ago and one of his t-shirts.

Walking back into the kitchen, he’s facing the stove. Hands slowly mixing ingredients and making sure nothing burns in his scrubs. They look good on him, his large muscles and bulk filling out every crevice in the fabric.

“I’ll watch this so you can go shower.”

It’s the routine at this point. He starts dinner and lets you shower, then you finish and plate while he takes his own.

“Thanks.” Placing a quick kiss on your cheek he rushes off, knowing better than to try and push his luck when he’s still in scrubs and you’re freshly clean. It doesn’t stop the hungry way his eyes roam over you before he turns. Mouth upturned in a way that tells you he’s going to be trouble.

As you’re putting the last of the dishes in the cabinet, freshly washed and dried, Brendon comes up behind you. His position similar to the one he had you in earlier in the on-call room. This time his hands slide under your shirt and begin to feel the bare skin beneath it. You can smell his soap and the faint lingering of damp heat on him. The scent pressing into your skin with his fingers.

“Dinner will get cold.” You reason as his hands begin to work their way up. Claiming more and more expanse until they cup your breasts.

“I’m not hungry.” He argues, mouth focusing on the soft spot behind your ear, teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

You let your head fall back against his shoulder, hand coming up to grip at his hair as you sigh. “I am, though.”

You’re torn. The on-call room stunt he pulled has had you fantasizing about this all day, recounting the heated look in his eyes from outside the Trauma room. But you also haven’t eaten since lunch and the food he made smells amazing.

“I’ll heat it up after and feed it to you by hand while you’re naked in bed.”

Decision made.

“What about you? Don’t you need to eat?” You ask. Unable to get rid of the urge to take care of him. Not sure of when he’d last had a chance to feed himself.

“Trust me, I’ll be eating.” The comment makes you laugh, your hand tightening its grip on his hair as you feel his teeth push into your skin.

Mouth open in a gasp, your knees start to weaken when you feel Brendon’s canines sink into the flesh of your shoulder. Not too hard, certainly not compared to some bites he’s left before, but enough to make your brain go fuzzy.

Kissing up your neck, he turns you with hands on your waist to find purchase on your mouth. There’s no hesitance to grant him access, letting his tongue brush into your mouth and bring the heat of him with it.

Your hands dig in to anything and everything they can. The hair at the base of his neck. His biceps and forearms as they wrap around you. The firm line of muscle on his stomach that leads down to his gorgeous thighs.

As the kiss deepens, one of those gorgeous thighs pushes its way between your legs. He’s so broad and massive compared to you you’re practically sitting on him like this.

The pressure of his thigh against your core has you breaking from the kiss to catch your breath. His large hands rock your hips as he taunts.

“Someone should really teach you not to speak to your superior like you did today.” Brendon’s voice is low in your ear, mouth brushing the shell of it before gently nipping at the cartilage.

Taking a moment to clear the fog in your brain that he’s creating, you decide play coy. “I have no idea what you mean. I’m the picture of innocence.” Batting your eyelashes, you look up at him sweetly.

You feel him twitch where he’s pressed against your hips as he cups your face with one of those giant hands of his.

“Not sure that’s the word I’d use.” Brendon’s voice is deeper, almost breathless as he leans in to reconnect your mouths.

Not wanting to pull away from each other, you stumblingly make your way to the bedroom. Not without a few pitstops against a wall or two, though.

With the backs of your knees against the mattress, Brendon wastes no time in sliding his hand underneath your shirt to pull it off. Leaning down, he kisses at your chest until he reaches your nipple, the other being covered by his hand.

Running your fingers through his hair, you reach your hands down the neck of his shirt to scratch up his back. His resulting groan vibrates through your chest from where he’s switched to offer the same attention with his mouth to your other nipple.

“Off.” You plead, hands dragging him up to paw at his shirt.

Complying, you’re graced with the sight of his bare chest, hands immediately running over the newly exposed skin. Thumbs digging into the muscle over his chest and shoulders. You’ve seen him naked plenty, but you never tire of the sight.

Trailing down the front of his chest, your hands take special appreciation of his v-line. It’s always made your brain melt in the best way possible. The sharp cut of muscle and faint trail of hair that gets exposed to you when he shifts the right way. The sight of it like this that only you get to see. It makes your mouth water.

Fingers sliding beneath the waistband of his shorts and boxers, you begin to slowly peel them down. Looking up Brendon gives you a faint nod, so you speed up your movements. Finally having him completely bare before you, you drop to your knees.

He’s already hard as you wrap your hand around the base of him while you bring your tongue out to gently lick at his tip. Lips pursing around him, Brendon curses from above you, his hands gently scooping your hair away from your face.

The taste of him drives you crazy, mind forgetting anything but the feeling of him against your tongue. Taking him as deep as you can, you hear him groaning as his hold on your hair tightens. When you swallow around him, he lets out a sharp hiss.

Using his grip, he pulls you off, a thick string of spit connecting your lips to his tip. "C'mere."

Big hands immediately pull you up, pushing you onto the bed as he places himself above you. He's so big. His body caging you beneath him. His arm bracing his weight beside your head shows off his bicep, the veins bulging down his forearm. It makes drool pool in your mouth with your desire to lick. So you do.

Turning your head, you drag your tongue across the skin, letting your teeth scrape gently with little kisses. The question in it is evident when your eyes flutter open to look at his, gaze searching. Free hand coming down to grab your throat, he pulls you up to meet his mouth in another sloppy kiss.

"Do your worst, pup."

That stupid fucking nickname shouldn't have you clenching around nothing like it does.

It's something people whispered about you when they noticed how lax Brendon was with you. Saying you were his shark pup. Like he was taking you under his wing. Whenever you heard someone refer to you as such it made you roll your eyes. But when Park first heard it, he just looked at you smugly and started using the name himself.

In public. At work.

Using it to call you across the room. After praising your work. When he was casually talking to you. You hate the name, think it's stupid and lame and inaccurate. Inappropriate.

But the way he says it, voice low and teasing. The other times he says it when you’re not at work…maybe it's grown on you a bit. It still pisses you off though.

In retaliation you let your teeth sink into his forearm. The muscle firm and delicious in your mouth. Feeling the smooth skin and slight prickle of his hair in your tongue. Brendon’s jaw clenches at the feeling. You have a habit of always clamping down a bit harder than him. He can take it.

"Sure you can handle my worst?" You challenge.

For the most part, Brendon takes control in the bedroom. It’s not without a fight. You don’t just willingly submit and give into whatever he wants. Even if you want the same things. You make him work for it, fight tooth and nail before giving in. Even then, you still like to make it difficult.

Your favorite moments are when he gets so fed up with it he pushes you down into the mattress with his entire body weight and uses his fingers in your mouth to silence you while he makes you cry out over and over and over.

There are also some magical times when you outlast him and have him pliant under your touch. He doesn’t admit how much he likes those times.

Leaning back on his haunches, he grabs at your shorts to pull them down. The action leaves you bare except for your underwear. "I can take anything you give me."

"Funny. I was gonna say the same thing."

Smirking, you reach your hand out to stroke him, thumb pressing down on his slit. His hips stutter forward into the feeling and his the muscle in his jaw ticks.

Running his hands up your thighs, he stops just short of your underwear. He looks up at you, challenge in his eyes. Your hand doesn’t stop its pace, languidly stroking him.

His warm fingertips brush just underneath the seam of your underwear, right over your hipbones. The touch makes your breathing pick up, antsy to feel him where you want him. It’s never that easy though.

Not when you have two apex predators fighting for dominance.

Smoothing over your skin, he watches you pull your hand back before relaxing into the mattress. Arms behind your head as if you were sunning at the beach. As if his hands weren’t less than two inches away from your soaked core.

Brendon moves the lazy drag of his finger closer and closer until he’s barely ghosting over where you want him. Cotton dampening even more when his fingers press just barely into your clit. Fingers hooking in the waistband of your underwear, he drags them down your legs before spreading you out.

You keep yourself relaxed on the mattress. Trying your best to seem uninterested despite the wetness seeping from your hole giving you away. Even going so far as to sigh out and close your eyes like you’re bored. That’s the final straw.

Bending down, you feel Brendon’s breath fanning over your exposed core as he says, “Hey, baby?”

Disarming. Luring. Setting the trap.

Humming, you casually lean onto your elbows to look down at him. The movements slow and drawn out as if it pains you to even bother moving.

The snare pulls taunt.

You answer boredly. “Wha-”

The second you meet his eyes, open your mouth to reply, he’s digging his teeth into the sensitive flesh of your inner thigh and pushing a thick finger inside you.

Your words are cut off at the feeling, head thrown back with a curse at the pleasure.

“Fuck.”

Brendon often makes comments about how his hands are his livelihood. Times like this, you think they’re your livelihood, unsure how you existed so long without feeling his hands on your body.

Curling his finger how he knows you like, he releases the skin of your thigh from his teeth, moving instead to sloppily mouth at your clit. Adding another one of his fingers, you keen into him, hands coming down to hold at the back of his head.

Moaning his name out, you can feel his smirk against you. Any other time you’d pinch him for being so cocky, right now you’re lost in the feeling of him working you closer to that beautiful edge. The most you can do is dig your nails into his scalp as you tug at his hair.

He feels you clenching tighter around his fingers and doubles down, sucking in place of the long stripes he’d been licking into you. The gush of wetness that meets his tongue tells him it’s working exactly how he’d hoped.

Your breathing starts to falter, muscles beginning to shake. He knows your body almost better than you do. You’re on the edge, barely holding on. When you feel yourself tipping over, your back arches with a cry of his name body tensing in anticipation.

He pulls back abruptly, taking with him your release. Asshole.

“Fuck you.” You whine, not even bothering to look at him, hands coming to cover your face in frustration.

Crawling up your body, he pulls your hands away from your face. Cradling them, placing a soft kiss to each wrist before holding them down against the bed in one of his own. Gently kissing your lips, he muses. “I plan to.”

Lining himself up he pushes in slow. Giving you time to adjust and feel every delicious inch of him slide in. His grip on your wrists tightens for a moment, muscles flexing as he breathes through the feeling of your tightness around him.

No matter how many times he sheaths himself inside your warmth, he can never get used to the feeling. He doesn’t know what it is, you drive him crazy every time.

When he’s flush against your pelvis, you pant at the feeling of fullness. You can never get enough of it. The weight of him on top of you. The ache in your hips as they spread wide to accommodate his large frame. Light pricklings of his happy trail and hair on your sensitive skin. The feeling of him so deep inside you that you can hardly breathe.

Bucking up into him, you try and get him to move, gently urging him with your hips. He’s steady above you. Staying still and looking down at you with that intense gaze that makes you bear down around him.

Brendon stays like that, unmoving atop you while you try and rock yourself into him, silently begging him to move. Minutes pass and you’re starting to feel deranged. Rabid.

You try and pull your hands free, but he’s not letting up, pressing more weight into your wrists to keep them pinned. You try and kick your legs, but the wide stretch they’re in makes it difficult. When you do manage to get a knee into his side, he just grabs it with his free hand and holds it still.

All his weight is being supported by the press of his knees in the bed and the grip on your wrists. The position makes him push deeper into you and the whine that comes out of your mouth is pathetic.

You’ve sounded desperate before. This is just sad. He looks at you with a sadistic grin on his face, waiting for you to say it. Waiting for you to submit. Show your belly. Expose your neck.

Your gums ache, the desire to sink your teeth into him so strong it hurts. There’s nowhere for you to go, he’s got you trapped completely beneath him. If you said the word, he’d be off you instantly, retreating and soothing you with gentle hands. Buttermuffin.

You don’t want that though. You want him to stay right here. Pushing you, forcing you into submission.

He coos at you, “C’mon sweetheart. Don’t you want it?”

He’s trying to ease you into it, make it less humiliating for you. Out of anyone he knows how hard it can be to be vulnerable, to give yourself up to someone else’s hold. No matter how much he loves watching you fight against it, see the way you thrash and snap at him with all your might, he still has some kindness in him to make it less humbling. Sometimes.

“No.” You snarl at him. Not wanting to give in. Trying to push him off you with your hips. It’s futile. You’re not even making a true effort.

“No?” He questions, tilting his head. Not in the cute way puppies do when they’re confused. In a deeply predatory manner, like he’s sizing up the kill. “So you don’t want this?” He mocks confusion before slowly dragging himself out and pushing back in just as slow.

“No.” You groan. But the way your body sucks him back in admits the truth. The heaving breaths you started taking the second he began to move speak volumes. The way you’re not saying it, Buttermuffin, tells him everything he needs to know.

“So, you don’t want me to do this then?” He pushes the knee he claimed up towards your head, the stretch in your thigh making you hiss as he grinds into you. Making you feel him so much deeper.

Your head smacks against the pillow beneath it and you let out a quiet curse, desperate to feel the drag of him. It’s been at least ten minutes like this, maybe three hours since he slid into you, you’re not sure. Time stopped mattering when you felt him where he belongs.

“Just-”, you stop. Throat tightening around the words even though you know they’re going to be your release. “Just fuck me.”

Brendon’s mouth quirks up at that, just slightly. His hand moves from the crook of your knee up to your jaw, thumb brushing your bottom lip. He’s staring at you with brows raised. Waiting. You know what he wants.

It’s a struggle to get it out of your throat, so he helps you. Big hand sliding down to rest over the delicate skin, gently pressing into the muscles on either side of your neck. It’s not enough to cut off oxygen or blood flow but it’s enough that he feels the wetness around him increase while your walls clench down involuntarily.

“Say it.” He taunts, fingers squeezing to prove a point.

You’re delirious now, eyes blurring and mouth falling slack. You want him. No matter how much you hate saying it. No matter how demeaning it feels. There’s nothing you’ve ever wanted more than him. You know he loves you. That he feels the same way. That he’d sooner walk through hell than not worship you. So you give in.

“Please.” It’s quiet, meek. More of a whimper than a word. On a different night, he’d be meaner. Make you say it louder. Over and over again. But not tonight.

Tonight, he smiles wickedly, giving you no time to prepare as he starts a brutal pace. Each time he slides home it’s deep. So deep, you feel like your choking on it, throat constricting on an exhale with each thrust.

You can’t speak, you don’t even know what you’d say. You’re not sure your mouth even works right now for anything other than moans and whines. Your brain certainly isn’t working.

Brendon drops his face to yours. Placing sweet kisses over your cheeks, down your jaw and neck as he destroys you. Breaks you apart and turns you into something better.

Fingers clenching, you want to grab at him. To feel his warm skin that you’re sure is damp with effort beneath your hands. He doesn’t give you the ability to, hand still keeping yours planted to the mattress. Keeping you restrained and open for him to do whatever he wants.

He does give you something better through, placing his neck in front of your mouth. You don’t know if he did it on purpose or not, but you’re taking the opportunity.

He’s groaning above you. From the occasional stutter in his movements, the feeling of his dick twitching inside you, you know he’s close. Not an issue, considering you’re right there with him.

Leaning up to close the small gap between him and your mouth, you bite down on the juncture where his neck meets shoulder. Teeth sinking into the firm muscle, feeling it jump beneath your tongue. Brendon moans out at the sting, the sound causing you to let out your own needy moan.

When your teeth dig in deeper, he tightens his grip on your knee and angles his head to nip at your bicep. When you feel his teeth on you, it brings you that much closer to the edge. Delirium sets in as you begin to beg. “Please, please, please, please.” Over and over with a whine, tears forming in your eyes from how badly you want it.

Anyone else would think you’re begging for release, but Brendon knows better. Leaning down to push his face into your neck, he saves you the embarrassment of making a comment about your pleading. Letting go of your knee he positions his arm in a way that your teeth can make their way back into his flesh.

The second his teeth begin to sink into your neck, you do the same to his forearm. The sensation has you tightening around him so much it’s hard for him to keep his thrusting steady. Hard for him to push back inside the slick heat of your core.

Sensing your incoming release, from the increased pressure of your teeth on his arm and the tightening of your walls, he fully bites down on your neck. That does it for you. The pain of his sharp canines. The overwhelming presence of him everywhere. His skin between your teeth. The feeling of consuming each other.

Groaning into his muscular forearm clamped between your teeth, your walls spasm around him. The pleasure making everything fuzzy, warmth flooding your body as your eyes unfocus.

You have to release him from your jaws to pant, trying to catch your breath and not pass out at the intense feeling taking over your body. Brendon loses himself in the feeling of your body sucking him in and follows after you. The added heat of his release only prolonging your high.

There’s nothing but the sound of breathing for a while. Minds catching up and body’s relaxing. Releasing your hands, Brendon gently massages the muscles of your shoulders and arms as he helps guide them back down.

His hands go to your hips next, digging into the flesh to soothe your muscles as he slowly pulls himself from you. Helping ease the ache as you readjust to a less spread out position. He’s mindful of the way your joints crack and pop back into place.

Brendon’s face twists in pain at a particularly loud pop, muttering a small apology. It doesn’t matter how many times you assure him it’s fine, that it’s worth it to be with him, he still feels guilty.

After another quick shower, this time together, he keeps true to his promise. Hand feeding you while you both lounge naked in bed.

Well, he’s naked. You’ve taken one of his massive button ups to keep you warm. Brendon complained, saying he was all you needed to keep warm but compromise was made. The buttons were left open.

“You think anyone knows we’re together?” You wonder aloud, mouth still finishing a bite of the delicious dinner he’d made.

“No way.” Comes his easy reply. “They all know you’re too good for me.” He places a kiss on your bare hip, looking up at you with a softness in his eyes that warms your chest.

“Or that you are way too hot to go for someone like me.” You reason. The soft kiss on your hip turns into a playful nip before he shakes his head.

“No way.” It’s the same reply. Different intensity now. You stare at each other for a long moment, seeing who goes belly up first. This time, he’s the one to submit. “I love you.”

Running your fingers through his hair, you brush your thumb over his cheek and he leans into the touch. “I love you too, my big, scary shark.”

Placing a kiss to your palm, you both laugh and finish eating. Then you lie tangled in each other, skin pressed together tightly. Two natural predators sharing space.

[thelightofday]

I NEED THAT BIG MEAN MAN TO SINK HIS TEETH INTO ME RIGHT NOWWWWW !!!!!!

[buffalokill]

“can I have some?”

he stares at the little boy through the mirror. wide eyes on brendon. interest piqued as he stares at dad apply gel to his hair. it’s too early for him to be up. brendon thinks. despite the boy being up pretty early any other day.

you weren’t even up. still sleeping in bed, an empty spot next to you from where your son had been.

“s’early little man, why you up?” brendon asks instead, still staring at the boy through the reflection. not intentionally ignoring his sons request from a few moments ago.

tiny feet pad up to him before he feels a small grip to his scrubs. finishing applying the product to his hair, brendon looks down.

the kids eyes now level with the bathroom sink, barely able to peer over the top even when standing on his tippy toes. it has brendon smiling softly at the attempt.

“can I?” his son asks again, finger pointing to the gel. his other hand grasping onto brendon still. he looks up at dad. he has your eye shape, but his irises are much like the taller of the parks.

brendon lifts him easily before setting him on the sink.

“you won’t like it, man.” brendon says lowly as he turns his son around to face the mirror. he himself doesn’t even like it.

his little boy leans back into him. “y’don’t know that.” brendons eyebrow quirks at the quip. smirking as shakes his head. the kid is too much like you.

“okay.” brendon nods, grabbing the gel. applying a small amount to his fingers before gently running it over his sons hair who closes his eyes instinctively at the feeling. brendon smiles softly again.

“why you gel your hair?”

“it’s for work.”

“why?”

brendon shrugs. his sons eyes still shut so he asks dad again when he doesn’t hear an answer.

“ ‘they make you?”

“no they don’t make me.”

it’s continues until brendon is finished. finger rubbing the last of it as he leans down.

“how’s that?” he asks.

his son opens his eyes to take a look. and smiles big. small arms extend out and grasp onto his dads head as much as he can from where he sits. brendon turning to press a kiss to his temple. “let’s get you back to mom.”

and when you wake up a couple hours later with your son, your eyes narrow at the difference in his hair. taking a picture and sending it to your husband with a “?” mark.

[thelightofday]

WE NEED MORE TEXTS QUEEN 🥰

more texts soon guys!! promise!

ive had the busiest two weeks ever 🥲

[thelightofday]

All of your Park fics are so good I’m giggling and kicking my feet!!!

thanks so much for reading friend!! 😙

[fluffy-duck0]

smoker abbot…

finding him on the rooftop after a shift, a cigarette between his fingers. he offers you it, something more heated flickering in his eyes when you stutter out a “no”

“we could shotgun,” he offers. it’s casual. quiet. a hand snags your wrist, and you’re enveloped in smoke as he pulls you closer. and then his hand cups your cheek, a calloused thumb stroking over your jaw, and abbot’s kissing you.

not exactly kissing, but it’s the closest you’ve had to one. his lips just barely brushing yours, making your breath catch in your chest. he exhales smoke between you, approval flickering in his gaze when you inhale on reflex.

“relax,” he whispers when he feels how your heartbeat rabbits under his touch. and then abbot’s pulling back, touch lingering before he steps away completely.

leaving you on the rooftop with your pulse going way too fast and a newfound crush.

[ghostgvrl]

SHOTGUNNING WITH ABBOT

SHOTGUNNING WITH ABBOT

SHOTGUNNING WITH ABBOT

[thelightofday]

someone get me a marlboro menthol right fucking now

[thelightofday]

friends… friends… walk with me…

park (a city guy through and through) gets swept out west for a week to be best man in a wedding and ends up falling for the maid of honor (who’d pick a dirt road over a big city any day) who makes him appreciate the slower lifestyle and wide open spaces and they end up getting tangled up (wink wink) before the wedding and tensions rise at the end of the week and neither are sure what to do with their feelings…

(photos used are from pinterest)

🍻🏔️✨

absolutely yes

lame

Voting ended onApr 30

[margottenenbaum222]

🥡 ︳grant reilly୨୧

[imaginesofwonder]

Attack of the Baby Shark - Brendon Park

Pairing: Brendon Park x Reader

WC: 1.4 k

Summary: A routine ER shift takes a sharp turn when fear sends you rushing to Brendon, and he drops everything the moment he hears your voice.

A/N: Requests are welcome! This work is entirely mine and has been proofread with Grammarly.

Masterlist

No one could really blame you for panicking; it was your first time pregnant, after all.

The shift had been normal up until that point, busy, but manageable. The ED was buzzing around in its usual controlled chaos. Monitors chimed, nurses exchanged quick updates at the desk, and the faint antiseptic smell clung to everything.

It grounded you.

It was familiar.

Until it wasn’t.

It was a sudden, sharp movement that made you stop mid-step.

The strange, unfamiliar sensation had your hands flying to your stomach, fingers pressing instinctively like you could hold whatever it was in place.

Then it happened again, and stronger this time. For a moment, it felt like you forgot how to breathe.

Something was wrong.

Seriously wrong.

Your mind races through all of the worst possibilities faster than you could stop it.

You needed him.

You needed to get Brendon.

He was here- you’d seen him earlier, stepping out of the elevator, giving you that easy wink like everything was fine. It was fine.

You needed him now.

This thought alone sent you rushing down the hall, your pace uneven, one arm wrapped protectively around your stomach as you checked trauma room after trauma room. But you couldn’t seem to find him, and your panic was getting worse.

It wasn't until you reached Room One that you finally saw him, blue scrubs through the glass.

Brendon.

Dr. Park.

The doors slid open, and you hovered at the entranceway, suddenly unsure how to interrupt. 

Inside was chaos.

A full trauma team moved around the bed with urgency, blood-stained gauze piling up, voices overlapping as they worked. It was intense, but it was routine for a trauma case.

Normally, you’d step in without hesitation.

Right now, you couldn’t move. You were here for one person, and it wasn’t the patient.

He didn’t see you yet, clearly too busy examining the leg resting on a bed of ice.

Robby did. 

“We got it handled in here,” he started automatically, but the words died the second he really looked at you.

Your posture was rigid, arms wrapped tightly around yourself, like you were trying to hold everything together, tears sitting at your waterline, pain written all over your face.

A resident followed Robby’s gaze and stepped toward you. “Hey, are you okay—”

The movement only made you shrink back further.

Your eyes never left Brendon.

“I need Dr. Park,” you whispered.

The resident frowned, confused, turning slightly. “Dr. Park?”

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Brendon snapped, not even looking up as he worked.

“Brendon…”

It was soft. Barely there.

But it cut through everything for him.

His hands stilled instantly, still holding the detached leg mid-exam, his grip steady out of pure habit, but everything else about him froze.

Then his head snapped up.

Fast.

His eyes locked onto you through the chaos, and just like that, something small shifted in his expression. The clinical focus, the distance he kept during cases, vanished, replaced by concern and fear.

“Page Garcia,” he said sharply, already moving, carefully setting the leg back down onto the ice without a second glance. “Prep for surgery, she can handle this.”

The room barely had time to react.

He was already stepping away, tearing his gloves off with a quick, practiced motion, his gaze never leaving you, as if he was making sure you were still there.

A resident blinked, completely thrown. “Wait, what the hell—?”

“Robby’s got it,” Brendon cut in, not even turning back.

It wasn’t up for discussion.

Robby jumped right in, because the look on Park the Shark's face said more than enough; only one thing ever outranked a patient on the table.

And for him, it was standing in the doorway.

His grip on your hand was firm, steady, as he pulled you down the hall, one hand braced at your back, making you stayed with him.

“Brendon-” your voice broke, panic still spilling over, your steps uneven as you tried to keep up.

“I got you, sweetheart,” 

He brings you into the nearest empty room, guiding you inside before the door swings shut behind you, cutting off the chaos of the ED in one swift motion.

The quiet hit instantly. 

It was too quiet with your racing thoughts.

Your breathing, that seemed to settle when you first saw him, picked up again, your grip tightening on his scrubs as the panic rushed back in.

“Hey-hey,” Brendon said, cupping your face gently. “Look at me.”

You shook your head, overwhelmed. “Something’s wrong. I felt something, Brendon, I swear, it didn't feel right-”

“Hey.” His voice dropped, stricter now. “Eyes on me.”

It took you a moment before you fully looked at him, your breathing now starting to slow down. The tension in your chest was starting to ease. 

“Tell me,” he said gently. “What happened?”

You swallowed hard. “I was just walking to a patient, and I felt this sharp movement, and then it happened again, and I just–” your voice wavered, “-panicked. I thought that something might be wrong with the baby.”

The stone-cold Shark assessed you like prey: reading, calculating, missing nothing.

And then something in him gave.

A small, almost fond smile tugged at his lip.

“Sweetheart…” he said quietly, one hand sliding down to rest over yours where it was still pressed to your stomach. He stilled for a second, feeling it. “That’s the baby.”

You blinked, still catching your breath. “What?”

“That’s the baby kicking,” he said gently, warmth settling into his voice. “First time, it can feel a little intense.”

You stared at him, trying to process the information when it happened again.

Your body tensed, breath skipping, but Brendon just let out a laugh, his hand pressing more securely over yours.

“Yeah,” he murmured, eyes flicking down briefly before meeting yours again. “That.”

“That’s… the baby?” you asked softly.

“Yeah,” he nodded, voice warm and steady. “That’s our baby.”

The words settled differently this time.

Our baby.

Your grip on him changed, not desperate, just holding on.

A shaky laugh slipped out of you. And you leaned forward, your forehead resting against his chest as refleaf flooded you.

“I just thought... something was really wrong,” you admitted quietly.

“I know,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around you without hesitation, pulling you close. “You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”

His hand moved gently over your stomach again, slower now, like he was feeling it with you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered after a second, your fingers curling slightly into his shirt. “I pulled you out of a trauma-”

“Hey,” he cut in softly, pulling back just enough to look at you, his hand coming up to tilt your chin toward him. “Don’t.”

Your eyes met his.

“I’d rather you come get me a hundred times over nothing,” he said quietly, thumb brushing lightly against your cheek, “than stay out there when something might be wrong.”

His expression softened even more.

“I need to know you’re okay,” he added, gentler now. “Both of you.”

Your breath caught slightly at that.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment.

“Always come get me,” he murmured.

For a second, you just stayed there, tucked into him, arms loosely around his waist, letting yourself settle, letting the last of the panic melt away in his warmth.

Then, quieter now, almost thoughtful, you said, “You know… You still have time to make it up to surgery.”

He pulled back slightly, brows lifting just a bit. “You sure?”

You nodded, a small smile finally forming. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

Another small movement hit, and this time you didn’t flinch, just glanced down briefly before looking back up at him.

“Go,” you added, softer but teasing now. “Go save a leg.”

That earned a quiet huff of a laugh from him.

“Yeah?” he said, studying you for one more second, like he was making absolutely sure.

“Yeah,” you reassured, nudging him lightly. “Go kick some ass, Dr. Park.”

He smirked at that, something warm and proud in it.

“Well,” he said, leaning in to press one more quick kiss to your forehead, “at least we know where the baby gets it from.”

You let out a soft laugh as he stepped back, already shifting back into surgeon mode.

And as he reached the door, he glanced back at you once more.

Just to be sure.

You smiled at him, resting your hand over your stomach, feeling the soft movement again, but this time with nothing but quiet awe.

And just like that, you knew Baby Shark was okay.

[thelightofday]

THE LAST FUCKING 3 MINUTES OF THE QUINN AUDIOOOOO AAAAAAAAAAAA im gonna be sick

[agnireed]

Shawn hatosy doing a porn audio book… yeah why not ruin my life a little bit

[thelightofday]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬 — b. park ᥫ᭡

summary: an accident with a familiar, brooding ortho surgeon has you exploring an unlikely connection.

contents: 18+ minors DNI fm reader, no use of y/n, power imbalance (nurse reader/attending ortho surgeon), unspecified age gap, mentions of head trauma/concussions/medical procedures, jack abbot using pet names, swearing, drinking, oral (f/m receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, dirty talk, reader has a praise kink, use of the pet name ‘bunny’, slight choking, reader is fairly nondescript besides mentions of having long-ish hair. nasty and self indulgent bc i need that big mean man!!

wc: 7.6k

dividers by @saradika-graphics 🫶🏼

a/n— this is not yet proofread, please excuse any typos pls!

You were almost certain this wasn’t the right hallway.

Realization crept in somewhere between the identical looking beige walls and the third “Authorized Personnel Only” sign you’d passed in the last two minutes. Everything looked the same. Same floors, same lights. Directional signs all ran together, and suddenly your head was spinning.

You’d been working at PTMC for right at a year, but venturing out of the ED was rare. Each time you had to do it ended up the same— an extra ten minutes added onto whatever trip you were taking because you got lost. You were far more familiar with small, rural hospitals.

Your ID badge bounced lightly against your chest with every hurried step, teeth gnawing at the inside of your cheek. A familiar nervous habit. It didn’t help that it was nearing four in the morning and the familar buzz of caffeine in your system from the energy drink you’d chugged thirty minutes prior had you moving a little faster than normal. You were jittery and starting to panic a little and oh! Familar double doors came into view and you immediately thanked your lucky stars you hadn’t had to ask anyone for help to get back to the ED, shoulders dropping as you visibly relaxed.

Picking up your pace, you nervously tugged at your badge reel. Surely Abbot was about to send out a search party for you if you didn’t return in the next five minutes.

Hurrying through the wooden double doors, you turned down yet another corridor, finally familiar with where you were. Your eyes fell to your feet for just a moment. Only one more door until—

WHAM!

You’d been walking too fast to hear the click of the handle, or register the large stairwell door swinging open.

You only feel the sudden, stinging impact of metal meeting your head, followed by a delightfully ungraceful stumble backward that somehow manages to be both dramatic and deeply humiliating. You’re on your ass in less than a second, your right hand flying to your face as a string of profanities spew from your chapped lips.

“Jesus Christ.” A familar voice mumbles, and then he’s on his knees next to you, tugging to pull your hand away from your face to check for bleeding. “You alright?” He asks, voice tense. Park.

Certainly there were other people you’d have rather hit you with a large metal door than him. But it wasn’t everyday that something brought the six-foot-something ortho surgeon to his knees.

You blink hard, trying to orient yourself through the pain, your ears suddenly ringing. “Do I look alright?” You hiss, snatching your wrist from him, hot tears suddenly threatening to fall. You manage to meet his eyes, his expression emotionless as usual. Lacking any visible concern or regret.

“You look like you’re about to pass out, actually.” He replies sarcastically, gripping a shoulder to steady you as you sway a little. And admittedly, you are a little more dizzy than you’d like to be because this could definitely be a concussion or intracranial hemorrhage or—

“Hey.” Park’s voice cuts through your racing internal monologue and fuck you’re annoyed. He’s painfully aware of the panic in your squinted eyes and the way you’re growing paler, cheeks burning red from embarrassment. “Can you stand up? You need to get checked out.”

“Yes, I can stand up.” The words come out harsher than you mean them to, and as big and bad as you sound, your actions unfortunately don’t hold their end of the bargain. You’re slow to fully stand, clumsily swaying as you smack a hand against the wall for leverage. And there’s the nausea.

“Alright, up you go.” Park huffs, sweeping you into his arms in a quick motion, surprisingly not earning any protest from you— only a pained sound. “Don’t even think about vomiting on me.” He says quickly, carrying you with ease through the short corridor until a door opens and you’re met with the familiar sounds of the ED.

You slump against his broad chest, the beaming fluorescent lights only making you feel sicker. That and the strong smell of antiseptic.

Park is desensitized to the looks of fear he usually gets when he marches into the ED for a consult. But these— the ones he receives when he enters with a nurse in his arms.. were very different.

“What the fuck?” Abbot calls, slinging his stethoscope around his neck as he rushes over to Park. “What happened?”

“She walked into the door I was opening— smacked her head pretty hard.” Park grumbles, clearly unamused. He’s still cradling you, his expression almost cracking when you sniffle, clearly in a lot of pain.

“What the hell, hun?” Abbot taps your leg but you avoid his eyes, stuck somewhere between pure embarrassment and searing pain. “Let’s get her to a room.”

So, Park follows, avoiding the many eyes on him as he carries you with ease through the bustling ED.

As soon as you’re sat on the stretcher, you whine. “I feel sick.”

“Okay, okay.” Jack’s voice is soothing as he reaches for a emesis bag, handing it to you quickly before he snaps a pair of gloves on. Your heavy eyes meet his own as he leans over you, fingers prodding at the growing bump on your forehead. “She lose consciousness?” He asks Park who’s leaned against a nearby wall looking annoyingly nonchalant as he mumbles a quick ‘nope’.

Jack reaches for his penlight, retrieving it from his shirt pocket in a quick motion. “Let’s see those eyes, sweets.” The nickname settles deep in your stomach, nearly making you smile a little. You wince at the bright light, following his instruction as he raises a finger and urges you to follow it with your eyes. He shakes his head after, dropping the light back into his pocket as he looks at you. “Pupils are a little sluggish. I don’t like that.” He clicks his tongue. “Let’s get you a head CT, yeah? Make sure nothing is happening that we can’t see.”

You groan, letting your head fall back onto the stretcher, and regretting it immediately when pain shoots through your skull.

“I’m gonna handle this consult real quick.” Park speaks up, starting for the door. “Let me know how she does.”

Jack nods, sitting on the edge of the stretcher as the monotone surgeon exits the room. He glances over his shoulder to make sure Park is gone, then back at you with a goofy look on his face.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see him walk into my ED with one of my nurses in his arms.” Jack chuckles, and you muster a weak laugh that turns into more of a whimper.

“I hate him.”

Jack smiles. “He means well. And I don’t think you hate him.. You don’t look at him like you hate him...”

“Jack, don’t.” You huff. “He seemed more inconvenienced than worried.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just Park.” Jack pats your shoulder, sympathetic.

The next few hours blur together. Between the steady pounding in your head and the way you keep replaying the painfully embarrassing accident in your head, it’s hard to focus on anything. It’s nearing shift change when your head CT results finally return, and thankfully Abbot says you’re all clear. No fractures, no bleeding, no swelling. Just a gnarly bruise forming on the right side of your forehead— and on your ego too, probably.

All is well for a while. You’re accepting the day off tomorrow that Jack mentions you’ll have out of precaution. The embarrassment eventually starts to ease, along with the pain. You’re waiting to be discharged, curled up on the stretcher when you hear footsteps. Heavy footsteps. You almost flinch because you know it’s Park. It’s almost as if he sensed your moment of peace and had set out determined to ruin it.

You meet his eyes, and when he doesn’t talk you give him a look that says ‘I’m waiting’..

He steps closer, letting the door close. “CT clear?”

“Yeah.” You mutter, turning towards him a little. “Thankfully you didn’t give me a brain bleed.”

You notice the way his jaw clenches. “I could’ve left you on the floor you know. Walked away.” He seethes. “I’m not responsible for you not watching where you’re going.”

Rolling your eyes, you fake a smile. “Thank you for saving me in my time of need Dr. Park.”

“Everytime I’ve seen you down here you’ve always been so cheerful. Interesting to see your true colors now.” He nods, returning the sarcastic smile. And you think it’s the first time you’ve seen any sort of expression besides a blank stare from him.

You let out a frustrated sigh. “I’m just having a bad night.”

“And you’re taking it out on me?” He asks, leaning up against the wall.

“Coming from the person who is constantly a dick during consults.” You retort.

Thankfully, Abbot entering the room ends your playful pissing match. He’s holding a few papers, and raises a brow at the sight of the two of you clearly having some sort of moment. “Right— you ready to go?”

You start to slowly sit up. “Dying to.”

“Well, you two be safe and I’ll be texting you to check in.” Jack says, pointing a finger at you.

You blink. “You two?”

“Park is taking you home right? He offered.” Jack smiles a little. “Surely you didn’t think I’d let you drive with a possible concussion, sweets.”

Something bubbles up in your chest. It’s not anger, but rather something you can’t exactly put your finger on. You close your eyes for a second, looking up at Park next with furrowed brows. He shrugs. “You were too busy fussing at me— I didn’t get the chance to mention it.”

“I can take an uber.” You protest, shaking your head.

“Let me take you home.” He sounds annoyed, but then again— that seems to be his normal. “It’s the least I can do since apparently I intentionally hit you with the door, right?”

And you unfortunately laugh a little at that. The sound eats Park alive, and he’s suddenly mentally cursing himself at the feeling. He’d always seen you. Noticed you more than the other nurses or residents. Not only were you clearly quite a bit younger than him, but you were bubbly— a stark contrast to himself. You seemed fearless, and maybe that alone intrigued him a little. Though, having only spoken to you a handful of times, he didn’t truly know you. And he didn’t expect that to change.

So, at the sight of you climbing into his SUV, he’s interested. Observant. You take in your surroundings, straight faced as your eyes rake over the spotless interior of his Porsche Cayenne. He hands you his phone without a word, clearly wanting you to put in your address.

You glance at him after, smiling a little when you hand it back to him. “This is somehow exactly what I pictured you driving.”

“Yeah?” He looks both ways as he turns a corner in the parking garage.

“Mhm.” You hum, eyeing his side profile before you turn your gaze forward.

“How are you feeling now?” He eyes you for a second next, and you’re genuinely surprised the typically cold surgeon is making small talk. You’d pictured a silent drive, uncomfortable even. But then again, he was probably just asking questions out of pity.

“Better.” You confirm, voice soft. “Head still hurts a little but that’s to be expected I guess.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry you weren’t paying attention and I opened the door fast.” Park says, and is he smirking a little?

You chuckle, shaking your head. “You’re such an ass.”

“So they say.” He half-smiles, long fingers moving to flip the turn signal. Your eyes shamelessly rake along his hands. His livelihood. Large and thick. Prominent veins on top. You blink, averting your eyes back to the road yet again and leaning your head on the headrest.

“Thank you for driving me.” You speak up, following a few moments of silence, your apartment building coming into view.

“Where should I park?” He asks, slowing the car. Your hands are busy gathering your belongings, and you don’t even look his way when you mutter “You can just stop at the front, I’ll get out there.”

“Where should I park for a few hours, genius.” He corrects, meeting your eyes.

You shoot him a confused look. “Hours?”

“I’m not leaving you alone with a concussion.”

“Possible concussion.” You correct, just wanting to be in your bed already. “I probably don’t even have one and I’m fine. You don’t have to stay. Plus I have very nosey roommates.”

“Abbot told me not to leave you alone.” Park stares at you blankly, convinced he’s going to win this. He’s pulled the car to the curb now, one hand still on the steering wheel.

Fucking Jack Abbot— he absolutely did this shit on purpose.

You sigh, exasperated. “I’ll be fine.”

“Either you let me stay, or you go pack a bag and you come stay with me.” He commands, and you’re about to bust a fucking blood vessel.

“Okay, okay.” You huff. “You can’t stay here. We don’t have an extra bed and someone’s crashing on our couch for the weekend.”

“So go pack a bag.” He says simply, shooing you. “Do I need to walk you up?”

“I’ve got it.” You grumble, carefully climbing out of the car and hoisting your bag over your shoulder, trying not to slam the door even though you’d love to right now.

It isn’t until you’re in the elevator that you fish your phone from your pocket, cursing into the empty space as you type a message to none other than Abbot.

You: Why did you tell this man not to let me stay alone!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I HATE YOUUUU

He replies almost immediately.

Jack: Well that’s easy. Because you don’t need to stay alone 🙂

You: I think I’m gonna block you 🤭

Jack: Have fun sweets!

It was well past seven in the morning now, and closing in on seventeen hours that you’d been awake. Not to mention the head trauma. You had minimal energy left and you weren’t gonna spend it arguing with Park. You’d get a few hours of sleep and then he’d take you to pick up your car. It seemed manageable.

And so, you watched with sleepy eyes a half hour later as his black SUV pulled into the driveway of a large brick house, nestled in a quaint neighborhood outside of the city. You could tell he was just as tired, both of you silent as he parked in the garage.

You followed him in without a word, watching him toss his keys in a nearby basket. His home was modern, but cozy. Exquisitely neat. Nothing looked out of place. It even smelled clean. You glanced around, impressed.

“I’ll show you the guest bedroom.” Park said lowly, words laced with exhaustion.

You nodded simply, following him up a flight of stairs.

“Bathroom is here.” He pointed, still walking. “There’s clean towels on the rack and some of my sister’s products in the cabinet you can use if you want or need to. Spare toothbrush in the drawer— Oh, and Tylenol too. If you need anything else just let me know. And if you don’t feel good, call me.” As he finishes, he swings open the door to a large spare room.

“Thank you.” You smile politely, offering him a small nod.

He acknowledges you with a hum, heading down the hallway, itching to get out of his scrubs.

You decide on a quick shower, hoping the steaming water will relax your aching muscles. And then, you’re crawling into cool linen sheets, sighing at the feeling of the soft mattress. It’s not your bed, but boy is it doing the job. Such a good job in fact, that you don’t even recall drifting off.

When you come to hours later, the sound of distant thunder greets you, gloomy skies allowing a slight darkness to fall over the room, rain tapping softly against a nearby window. Then, you smell coffee. You stretch a little, wincing when your forehead brushes against the pillow, a reminder of what you’re sure has turned into a nasty bruise. Your bare feet meet the cool hardwood as you stand up, tugging on some leggings before heading to the bathroom.

Crossing the hallway, you immediately head for a mirror, and audibly groan when you flick the light on and catch a glimpse of your head. Bruised indeed. A nasty purple and yellow bruise at that, one that thankfully wasn’t too large but was absolutely noticeable. You run a hand through your hair, sighing as you begin to pad down the stairs. And there was Park, looking much more presentable than yourself, on the couch with some sort of medical journal because ofcourse he reads those. A pair of dark glasses perched on his perfect nose. He looked edible. So painfully domestic.

You can’t help the nervousness that blooms in you when he looks up, eyes following you as you walk towards the opposite end of the sectional he’s seated on.

“Sleep good?” He asks, eyes locking onto your bruise.

“Feel like I just woke up from a coma.” You chuckle. “So yeah.”

“Any dizziness? Nausea? Blurred vision?” He inquires next, sitting his book down.

“No, Dr. Park.” You hum, tone dripping with sarcasm. “I feel fine. Just sore.”

“Fair enough.” He nods, moving to stand up from the couch. “I’m gonna cook dinner. You okay with pasta?”

You just look at him for a moment. “And when are you going to take my back to my car?”

“It’s about to storm pretty heavy. Staying another hour or two won’t kill you, you know?” He looks back before he disappears into the kitchen. You huff, moving to follow him.

“I feel like I’m overstaying my welcome.” You say as you breach the doorway, voice wary. His kitchen is beautiful, one you could only dream of cooking in. Gorgeous marble countertops and dark cabinets. Sparkling appliances.

He plants his large hands on the kitchen counter, looking at you with that look he frequently sports at the hospital. One that typically strikes fear in people. “You are not overstaying your welcome, nor are you bothering me in any way. So can you let me be nice to you?”

You nearly physically recoil. “Not used to you being nice, but I guess I’ll take it.”

He nearly smiles a little at your reply, eyes softening. You can’t help the way your eyes float along his sharp features, then along the broad expanse of his clothed back when he turns toward the refrigerator.

“Glass of wine?” He offers.

“Will that help my alleged concussion?”

You hear him chuckle as he retrieves two crystal stemless wine glasses from a nearby cabinet. “You claim you don’t have one, so why do you ask?”

Darn him for being just as much of a smartass as you are and darn you for enjoying it.

You bite at your lip a little, fighting a smile as you watch him place a glass of red wine before you. Settling onto a barstool, you pull the glass closer, humming a quick ‘thank you’.

“You cook often?” And now you’re the one fueling the small talk.

“I try to.” He says, shuffling around to gather ingredients from the fridge, then a pan and some utensils. “It’s one of the few things that keep me sane.”

You laugh a little, taking a swig of the wine, playfully swirling the glass afterward. “And what are the others?”

“Mmm, the gym.” He starts. “Running. Reading. Hitting people with doors…”

And you’re giggling, the sound making something twist deep inside him. He switches on the stove, turning to lean on the counter and watch you afterward. He drinks you in. Your slightly messy hair that dances along your shoulders. Oversized teeshirt, clearly worn for sleep only. Gnarly bruise on your forehead that somehow you make look good. It’s different here. Out of scrubs. Out of a bustling hospital. He’s never gotten the chance to truly look at you, and he’s starting to hate the way you fit in so effortlessly in his kitchen. In his house.

“I like seeing you like this.” You admit sheepishly, a playful smile tugging at your lips. Almost as if you’d read his mind.

He blinks, crossing his arms. “Like what?”

“Not so mean.” You chuckle. “Relaxed. Making jokes. Trying not to smile even though you want to.”

“Maybe I like everyone thinking I’m mean.” He teases in return.

You lick your lips after taking another swig, and he can’t help but notice. “Seems like you’re just misunderstood.”

Park shrugs, smiling a little as he turns back to the stove, trying to silently convince himself that you aren’t having any effect on him. Because fuck, you’re cute. You’re clever and funny and so easy to talk to.

You keep talking, feeding your want to know more about the mysterious surgeon. And it doesn’t stop there. The conversation flows through dinner and beyond. When you’re watching him wash dishes (ones he wouldn’t let you help with because you’re a guest..) and when you take to the couch afterward. When he learns you’re afraid of storms because you jump at a crack of thunder, despite how loose you feel from the wine.

Before you know it, it’s totally dark outside and you’re still talking. The bottle of wine is long gone, and you’re purely giddy. It had been too long since you’d opened up to someone the way you did with him. Your roommates weren’t much for talking, usually retreating to their rooms as soon as they arrrived. To be fair, you’d met them in a ‘searching for Pittsburgh roommates’ group on Facebook and nobody bothered to really get to know each other. You’d spent so much time alone recently that you were shocked how euphoric it felt to simply hang out with someone. Park the Shark of all people, at that. The two of you were an unlikely combo, yet surprisingly had a lot in common.

Once you’d covered work, college, family, siblings, hobbies, etcetera— you retreat to the bathroom, slightly buzzed and accepting the fact that Park hadn’t mentioned anything else about taking you home. Likely due to the storm and he obviously wasn’t going to drink and drive now.

So, when you return to the living room to all the lights dimmed and the sounds of hockey flowing from the tv, you sit closer to him without a second thought. After all, your view was better there— or atleast you told yourself that. He doesn’t mention it, but he notices the way you’ve inched closer, sprawled out next to him now, reaching for a nearby throw blanket.

And for the first time in a while, he’s truly content.

Content enough to fall asleep apparently. The long hours of shift work that frequently rotate are a pain, and Park has mastered the art of falling asleep just about anywhere. But he can’t remember the last time he fell asleep infront of the tv. When he opens his eyes he starts to stretch, mind in a sleepy haze. The TV is still playing Pens highlights, even though the game is long over. Rain is still falling outside. And you— you’re curled up next to him, head resting on his leg. Chest rising and falling every few seconds, mouth partially open. He blinks, just watching you for a moment, reaching a hand out without thinking to push some hair from your face. That alone makes you stir. You’ve always been a light sleeper.

You twitch, breathing in as your eyes blink open. It registers quickly, the way your head is resting on the soft material of his sweatpants. Sucking in a breath, you move to start sitting up, hand flying to where your head is aching. Likely from where you’d been laying on your bruise.

“You okay?” Park asks, sitting up and adjusting his shirt.

“Yeah.” You breathe. “Sorry, I don’t remember falling asleep.”

“Stop apologizing.” He chastises. “I don’t either.”

Tapping at his phone, his eyes are met with the time. 1:47.

“Want to get in bed?” He doesn’t mean the way it sounds like an invitation.

You rub your legs together, still cozy beneath the blanket. “I’m comfy.” You groan. It’s a weak protest, but not a lie. You can’t help the way you shamelessly itch to lean back into him, and for once you don’t fight yourself. Without a word he lifts his arm, accepting your presence as you curl into his side. He kicks his feet up and leans his head back, something happening in his chest at the feel of you pressed against him. Fuck.

Letting out a long relaxed breath, you look up at him, eyes meeting his jawline and neck, then locking with his own when he moves to look down at you. Your stomach flips, heat ripping through you at the proximity of his face to yours. Then his eyes flicker down to your lips, and that’s when you know. You know he wants to kiss you. Everything feels heavier, especially the way his hand rests on your back, fingers starting to trace over the soft fabric of your teeshirt.

Neither of you dare speak a word, eyes saying everything that needs to be said. Park watches your tongue peek out to wet your lips, and he immediately starts to move in, giving you ample time to pull away even though he’s sure you won’t. And when you grab at his shirt, moving in a little yourself, he seals the deal.

Your lips meet, pressing firmly together, neither of you in any rush. Just taking in the feeling. Inching closer, you don’t dare pull away. His hand moves to slide against your jaw, holding firm as your lips leisurely move with his. When his tongue slides against yours you can’t help the way your thighs press together. You let out a small whine into his mouth, one that does not go unnoticed. Infact, the oh so pretty sound starts playing on a loop in Park’s head and he’s a goner.

He hadn’t dreamt of stopping until you moved to climb into his lap. Raising a hand, he pulls back to look at you.

“We shouldn’t.” He says softly, his rational side taking over.

But then, you’re pressing a kiss to his jaw. Then another. One leg sliding along his lap as you climb onto him.

“But do you want to?” You breathe.

He swallows. “You know I want to.”

“So yeah, we probably shouldn’t— but what if we want to?” You say softly, pressing yet another feather soft kiss to the spot right blow his ear. He groans a little, moving a hand to gently grab at the back of your neck and pull your lips back to his.

The way you move together is effortless, but growing increasingly messy. Teeth starting to clash. Tongues fighting. And when you roll your hips against his, the noise he lets out against your lips is sinful. Breaking apart, he runs his hands through the hair on the side of your head.

“You’re trouble.” His voice is deep, taunting. “Grinding against me all needy, huh?” Lips dancing along your ear as he speaks. Chills roll over you, heart fluttering. You move your hips against his lap again, relishing in the way his hands fly to your sides, your lips meeting yet again. The feeling of him hard beneath you only spurs you on, whimpering into his mouth when your clothed core slides directly over the length of him through his sweats.

“Shit.” He spits, deep voice floating around you. “You’re determined, huh?”

“Maybe I wanna torture you a little.” You purr, forehead pressing to his, careful to avoid your bruise. “As payback.”

“This isn’t the same kind of pain, baby.” He chuckles. “You should be focused on your head injury, not me.”

“Can you stop being responsible Park for twenty minutes?” You look at him, that sweet little smile doing a number on him.

“Which Park do you want right now then?” He teases, shifting beneath you, painfully hard.

“The one that fucks me.”

He’s nearly choking at your words, tangling his hand in your hair and yanking your head back in response. “Used to getting what you want, aren’t you? Stubborn little fucking brat.”

You mewl at his harsh words, eyes fluttering when he drags his teeth along your throat, hot lips leaving wet kisses along the sensitive skin. He’s so much stronger and bigger, hands ghosting wherever they touch, keeping you right where he wants you. Watching you as you helplessly grind over him again. He grips your hair tighter. “Use your words or we’re done here.”

“Want you, please.”

“Want me how?”

You sigh at the feeling of his lips on your pulse point. “Want you to touch me.”

“M’ already touching you, baby.” He reminds you, so fucking annoying.

You grunt, frustrated, and he releases his tight grip on your hair. Returning to his waiting gaze, your eyes are soft, lips plush and swollen from his kiss. “Want you to make me cum.” You say next, voice timid. “Please.”

He pushes some hair behind your ear. “Yeah?” His tone is laced with faux pity, almost mocking. Hips steady as you continue to rock against him, your breaths unsteady.

“I think you can cum like this.” He counters, grip tight on your waist. Neither of you had yet to shed any clothing, and you didn’t mind. He was right, the friction was delicious. “Think you can, baby? Think you can cum from rubbing that pussy against me?”

You clench around nothing, heat bubbling in your chest as you whine. “Just want you.” And you’re begging so pretty, calm little voice filling his ears, thick with want. Before you can form a coherent thought, you’re being lifted. Park’s hands cradle the underside of your thighs, letting you wrap your legs around him as he starts to venture toward the stairs. Your arms snake around his neck, giggling a little as he stumbles around a table.

Moments later when you’re being gently sat on the edge of his bed, you can’t help but glance around at his room. Neat and spacious. Black out curtains. Dark comforter beneath you. It’s so him. His familiar scent dances around you, your eyes floating up to watch him yank at his shirt.

“Lay back.” He instructs with ease, so used to being in charge. Spitting commands and watching everyone obey. You want to playfully object just to see where it gets you, but you listen instead, and his long fingers are gripping at the waistband of your leggings. He makes quick work of dragging them off, sighing in defeat at the sight of your simple grey panties, the obvious dark patch of wetness on the crotch mocking him.

“You wet from just a little teasing, bunny?” Between the tone of his voice and the pet name that came out of nowhere, you think you might actually pass out. He taps at your knee, urging you to spread your legs. Warm hands slide along your thighs and you watch him settle onto his knees on the floor, yanking you with ease until your ass is right at the edge of his bed. The look in his eyes is sharp enough to kill, eyes cloudy with pure lust. Jaw tight in concentration as he runs a finger along the damp crotch of your panties. You hiss and whine at the contact, hips raising to chase his touch.

“Please.” You whimper, begging. “Want your mouth.”

“There she is.” He praises, satisfied with your communication. It takes no further persuasion, and he’s working to drag your panties down your legs, revealing you to him fully.

“Fucking perfect pussy.” He growls, pressing a kiss to your pubic bone. “Pretty little thing. You’re so pretty.”

“Park.” You plea, barely able to stay up on your elbows to watch his motions. Body weak with need.

“Brendon.” He corrects immediately, hot tongue flattening to lick a thick stripe up your pussy, and your head falls back. The sound that leaves you goes straight to his cock. So do the ones after it. He’s skilled in more ways than one, clearly. Experienced. You’re blissed out from his mouth alone, fingers gripping at the comforter beneath you. He watches your every movement, working with delicate precision, and it’s been so long that you’re embarrassingly close already. He can sense it by your breathing and movements, deciding to push his middle finger into you with ease. One finger shortly turns into two and your mouth is hanging open, eyes closed. When you start to squirm, he holds you down by your waist, mouth still working and two fingers plunging deep, curling up to hit the spot that nearly has you in tears.

“Ohmygodddd.” You mewl, reaching to claw at his forearm that’s pinning your hips to the bed, but he moves it to intertwine your fingers. It’s thoughtful, the way he tends to you. “S’ so good Bren.” The words leave you in a choked sob and his response is a long, deep hum against your pussy— and you’re done. Breath hitching, you wiggle a little, legs starting to shake as you helplessly dangle over the edge and he knows. Somehow he can read you. Sense exactly what you need. His fingers curl once more, oh so deep, and you’re crashing beneath him, a high pitched squeal leaving you and he’s totally entranced. Working like a starved man and not daring to stop as he drinks in the way you look when you fall apart. All by his doing. He swears it’s the hottest thing he’s ever witnessed, actually.

And when you’re trying to push him away because it’s all too much, he presses a sweet kiss to the inside of your thigh before he moves to stand up. You watch him in awe, and if you weren’t completely at his mercy before you definitely are now.

He laughs at little at your blissed out face as you eye him. “What?” He asks.

“I hate you.” You murmur. And it’s a lie, you both know it. A playful lie you’re just throwing around because how fucking dare he be so good at everything. Good looking and polite and considerate and talented. It’s not fair. Nothing about it is fair.

“You don’t hate me.” He smiles— a true smile as he starts to work at his sweatpants. You don’t try to tease any further, and he watches as you move to kneel infront of him, your hands moving to stop his. Then you continue his work, yanking at the stretchy material and leaving him in his dark briefs. You nearly salivate at the outline of his hard length through the material. That’s gonna hurt. The thought is there and gone, because you’re tugging them down next, eyes meeting his thick cock. He watches intently, teeth gnawing at the inside of his bottom lip as your much smaller hand wraps around the base of him. You press a kiss to the underside of the tip, eyes locked on his as you lick a stripe up the side teasingly.

He shakes his head a little because you’ve got him right where you want him and he knows it. When you take him into your mouth he groans, the sound rumbling from his chest and only spurring you on. You wanted to make him do it over and over again. A large hand brushes over the side of your face as you take him to your limit, starting to gag against him. “You’re so fucking good.” He breathes, moving to tangle his fingers into your hair again. Holding your hair up, he lets you work at your own pace, one that has him weak in the knees and muttering curses.

You’re relentless, taking him slow and deep until tears are brimming in your eyes and spit is starting to trickle down your chin. It’s a fucking sight. And he’s committed it to his memory forever, though a mental picture would never do the real thing justice. He pulls you off, admiring the string of spit that draws from your mouth that still connects you to his cock.

Up until now, you’d been pleasantly surprised at how soft he was being. The Park you’d shamelessly thought about more than a few times was far from a gentle lover. Though, your thoughts are interrupted by a rough manhandle that nearly has you squealing. He tosses you back onto the center of his bed, watching you bounce a little— and when he crawls over you next, he’s making quick work of your teeshirt that he wasn’t exactly sure why he hadn’t taken off of you yet.

The sight of your tits has his head spinning. Every part of you he’s gotten to see is perfect to him. He works his palm against one before pinching at the pebbled nipple. You writhe beneath him, so whiny. “Want you to fuck me, Bren.”

“You’re fucking bad.” He moves to growl in your ear, kissing at the lobe. “Dirty little fucking mouth on you. Took my cock so well, didn’t you?”

You nod a little, suddenly bashful at his praise. Pulling his face to yours, you kiss him. It’s rushed and messy, but you don’t mind a bit. Your manicured nails move to claw at Park’s biceps, and he hums against your mouth at the contact. When he pulls away, he just looks at you for a second, totally bare beneath him. Before you realize, he’s leaning down to your forehead to press a soft kiss to the dark purple bruise there.

Then, he’s adjusting himself between your legs, smacking the length of himself teasingly against your wetness. You just watch, gnawing at your lip when he lines up at your entrance. “Please be gentle.” You mumble out quickly, already wincing in preparation. His brain short circuits for half a second, and he silently curses himself for being too drunk on you to reach for a condom, but he trusts you and god— he wants to feel it all without any barrier.

“M’ not gonna hurt you, baby.” He promises. “You can take it.”

He starts to push in, aided by how soaked you were for him. You’re gripping at his arms, tense and eyes clamped shut at the stretch. He lowers himself, pressing his lips to your cheek. “That’s it, let me in.” You pulse around him at his words, leaning into his touch. He peppers your cheek and jaw with kisses as he continues to push in, slowly coming to a stop when he’s fully inside. It’s so fucking much you think you might just fall apart right then and there. Deep. Full.

“Mmm— there we go.” He coos, moving up again to admire the way you wrap around him when he slowly pulls out almost fully and then sheathes himself back inside.

You squirm, moans and whimpers flowing freely. “Fuckfuckfuck, s’ so big.”

“Yeah?” He presses his palms to the backside of your thighs, urging them higher until your knees are nearly up against your chest. “Taking it so well. I knew you would.” When he starts truly fucking into you, you’re a whining mess, fingers tangling into his comforter for leverage. He watches your hair scatter around you, painting the prettiest picture of you beneath him.

“Talk to me, baby.” He mumbles, urging you yet again to use your words but you’re so fucked out already you can hardly think.

“Feels so fucking good.” You cry, voice sounding pathetic.

“Yeah it does, bunny. You feel so good. Such a good fucking girl for me. Taking me like this.”

You never want him to stop talking. He speaks so eloquently. Fucking filthy and you’re obsessed.

His hips rock into yours at a devastating pace, a large hand reaching up to hold your throat. He presses gently, experimental almost, not enough to fully constrict your airway. Your eyes are lidded, blinking slow and he notices the tears in your eyes. He moves his hand to soothe against your cheek, worried for only a second until you offer him a weak smile to ease the concern on his face. And something about you feeling so good that you’re about to cry nearly makes him explode.

He lets go of your legs, feeling the warmth of your skin when you wrap them around his waist. Moving to kiss you, his hips continue to smack against you, the sounds of your wetness putting on a show. Your nails dig pretty little crescent moons into his large biceps, and you clench around him as you start to shatter. “Gonna cum on my cock, sweet baby? Huh?”

Your eyes nearly roll back in your head, his pace quickening when you nod, clinging to him. “Bren—”

“I know, bunny. I know.” He coos, smoothing your hair back. “Cum for me. Cum on my cock.”

You arch against him, body feeling like it’s suddenly shattered into a million tiny pieces. Hot tears rolling down the side of your face as you let out a long, broken whine. Vision blurring and hands clawing.

“There it is.” He drawls his words out, tone full of praise and admiration as he continues to slam into you, chasing his own high that’s burning through the pit of his stomach. “Yeah, Good fucking girl.”

You’re wrecked, absolutely spent as you cling to him, pulling him in for a long kiss, tongues thrashing.

“Where—” He starts to mumble, the rhythm of his thrusts growing messy.

You cut him off immediately, whimpering against his lips. “Inside.” You breathe. “Inside please, I’m on the pill.”

He groans, letting you hold him as he offers one more particularly hard thrust before he stills, fully burying himself deep inside, the warmth of him filling you. The sound he makes is otherworldly, a broken sounding growl. “Fuck, baby.” He whispers, staying buried in you as you both fight for air.

He lays there for a moment, skin sticking to your own. Breathing ragged. Then he presses one more sweet kiss to your lips before he slowly removes himself, exhaustion filling him as he heads for the bathroom, returning a few moments later with a damp rag. And he cleans you softly, the sight of it tugging at your heart. It’s so simple but it means so much.

“Go pee.” He nudges you next, the command swimming around your head.

With weak knees, you ease up and follow him into the bathroom.

You freshen up alongside him, neither of you speaking but rather finding comfort in each others presence alone.

And when you’re wrapped up in him again moments later, legs brushing along his as you settle beneath the cool sheets, you’re smiling. Smiling up at him, as sweet as honey.

“You alright?” He checks, hoping your head wasn’t bothering you again.

“I’m fine.” You assure him. “In fact, I think you healed me.”

“Oh, whatever.” He chuckles, pulling you closer.

It’s four days later when you see Park again. This time though, he’s marching into the ED for a consult. You were standing at the nurses station, and manage to spare him a quick glance before he disappears into Trauma 2. You’d spoken everyday, mostly by text. He’d promised to cook you dinner tonight, as it was the last day of a 3 day stretch. A proper date, he called it. He’d brought up a fancy steakhouse downtown, but you’d much rather watch him cook and share a glass of wine in his kitchen. Just be alone with him. He gladly agreed, assuring you that the day would go by quickly. That however, had not been the case.

The ED had been slammed, and though that usually makes for a quick day, maybe the anticipation eating at you had turned it into the opposite.

You speak briefly to Dana about the patient in South 16 that you’d just finished up suturing, and when you turn to round the counter again to check on another patient, you’re face to face with Park.

He’s sporting his typical intimidating demeanor, but you see right through it. For the sake of the rumor mill you know the ED can be, you offer him only a quick casual smile. “How’s your head?” He asks, voice low. And ofcourse, his extended presence has already conjured a few questioning glances.

“It’s fine.” You squeak. “Bruise looks more nasty than ever, though.” His eyes meet the mark, and it’s definitely gnarly. Yellowing and splotchy. But that’s normal for healing.

“It’ll get better.” He hums, his lips threatening to turn up into a smile but he fights it. One hand reaches up to tug playfully at the end of your messy braid, and then he’s turning to head back toward the elevators, leaving you biting your lip— cheeks rosy.

You blink, snapping back to reality and noticing far too many eyes on you as you start to walk towards your next patient in Central 14. Heart pounding in your chest as you scurry out of sight.

Dana stands still, having seen the entire exchange, and she’s nearly shook to her core. Surely not… She hadn’t worked with you much, as you were usually on nights, but she would’ve heard about this right? The infamous, brooding Park— and a sweet little ED nurse?

Robby slaps a hand against her shoulder, making her jump a little.

“I might be mistaken.” He starts, eyeing Dana. “But I think someone tamed the Shark.”

[thelightofday]

happy 4/20 pookies!!

dropping a park smut momentarily bc im starving for him.

enjoy 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️

[gxtitobxby]

SOMEBODY SEDATE ME

[auggey-irl]

Giving randomly assigned college roommates

[thelightofday]

ᯓ 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 .ᐟ.ᐟ the date moodboard 🍸

𑣲masterlist

[thelightofday]

ᯓ 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 .ᐟ.ᐟ — part four

(dr. brendon park x younger fm! resident reader)

it’s a mystery to most— the way park “the shark” is only truly kind to one ED resident. the only one he brings coffee to. doesn’t glare at or mutter snide comments toward. the only one he tolerates. little miss sunshine, who unlike her colleagues, doesn’t shy away from the intimidating ortho surgeon. never hesitates to put him in his place, actually. and he’s… starting to like it?

contents: 18+ MINORS DNI swearing, slight age gap (unspecified), suggestive themes, illusions to smut, park (occasionally) being a big meanie, corny jokes.

𑣲 masterlist .ᐟ.ᐟ taglist interest? part four moodboard .ᐟ.ᐟ

ᥫ᭡.ִֶָ𓂃 tagging: @readingfavorites @meaganjm @mayemperess @kaylapfarr @rufles2 @jwinz @hopelesslyspookyspooked @the-sassy-one @barnes70stark @mad-die45 @angelsdemonsmonsters @pearlessance @fiercetigerpoison @abbot-fanatic @lockeswoodss @Realizemandi97 @xoxabs88xox @qtmoonies @mothericraveviolence57 @spaghettinelson @milestellerismybf @maliagurl @deantavias @taygrls @homeslices @cosmosnkaz @mxtokko @ghostgvrl @lilyyexe @margooo00 @noonenuts @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @that-one-fangirl69 @cluelesscloe @xoxoloverb @abbotsyogamat @snoopysberries @saibaxoxo @whatbecameofsubtlety @letstryagaintomorrow @voguesgold @indiemusicnenergydrinks @iloveofftotheraces @stuffingbuttsandshit @left-in-the-motel-bar @mythology-dragon @paulithis @friendly-neighborhood-boricua @spookyscaryfish @butdaddyilovehim1 @verliebtheitindich @januarystears @onanistism @lumestar @jaelaconsuela