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).
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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.
in the words of Shawn Hatosy, "I'm happy to be part of your disorder."
Masterlist (*18+)
A/N: In general, it’s safe to assume that all fics for a specific character take place in the same universe.
The PITT
Brendon Park
Closet Gremlin
You’re in the last year of your PhD program at Carnegie Mellon, conducting research at PTMC. You don’t have time to be distracted, certainly not by a handsome orthopedic surgeon with an attitude problem.
Office Gremlin
“You try to remind yourself that you’re too practical to moon over someone you’ve known for exactly three days, especially when he calls you gremlin on a regular basis, but you fail spectacularly. Apparently your type is intellectual assholes.”
Get In Gremlin
Your car is in the shop. Brendon forces upon offers you a ride home.
Swimming With Sharks
You end up in the ED with a teensy, tiny head wound. Brendon makes it everyone’s problem.
The Shark's Lair
You have a concussion. Brendon has control issues. Somehow, this results in you sleeping over at his apartment and wearing his shirt.
Shark Bait*
PTMC’s new head of vascular surgery takes a liking to you. Brendon is pissed the fuck off unamused with this development.
Calmer Seas
A Saturday evening with the Shark.
Hurricane Season
You attend the CMU/PTMC research gala without Brendon. You have a terrible time. Brendon predictably takes issue with this.
Safe Harbor
The aftermath of the research gala hits you hard. Insert Brendon Emotionally Constipated Park and his attempts to comfort you. (ft. Jack Daddy Abbot)
Shark Day*
You take Brendon to the aquarium for his birthday. Brendon tells you it’s a stupid idea. Brendon spends two hours staring at fish.
Hypothetically (smau)
wOUld yOU lovE me iF i WaS a WOrM
With Teeth*
Brendon loses a patient. You give him back control in the only way you know how.
Warning: No medical knowledge from the writer. Wildly inaccurate medical depictions, probably. Mentions of medical things and injuries. Intense behaviors from a Scorpio man in love.
Summary: Brendon Park feels like he’s being haunted by a pretty girl in scrubs who seems to always show up when he needs her.
Chapter Summary: stuck in the emergency department, you meet the most intense version of Dr. Park.
Part 21 | Masterlist
———————————-—
“Look who it is!” Dana exclaimed with open arms.
You side-eyed her with crossed arms.
“Sunny, if you really wanted to come back to work, you could’ve just told me,” she snickered.
You threw your head back in annoyance. The nurse behind you laughed softly as he pushed you in the wheelchair.
“We could’ve worked a double together, kid,” she stayed smiling at you.
“I didn’t mean to. I asked them to take me somewhere else.”
“What happened here?” She followed closely as they wheeled you into the hallway. Leaning in closer, examining your leg.
Your very bloody leg that had been sliced by a glass shard.
“A fight broke out in the bar and I was in the way when they started throwing things. Can’t remember much after that, too many things happened at once.”
“Did you hit your head?” She frowned in concern.
“I’m fine, just the -“
“Yes! She did!” Your friend yelled, coming in behind you with the rest of the group. “She smacked her head on a bar counter.”
“Got ratted out, kid,” Dana shrugged.
“Snitch,” you muttered.
“We’ll take care of ya.” Then turned to your friend group. “You can wait in the waiting room.”
“I’m fine,” you ignored the sting on your leg. “There was another girl there that really fucked up her leg. You guys really need to check on her.” You tried to turn to find her.
“Ok, ok,” Dana patted your shoulder soothingly.
“She was in a white sparkly dress and a “bride” sash,” you gestured across your chest.
Dana nodded and quickly turned around at the commotion behind you. Loud, squeaky footsteps came from the entrance. It was the police officers that broke up the fight in the bar. One of them zeroed in on you and made his way towards you.
Fantastic. You tried to hide your eyeroll.
It was the blond policeman who tried to interrogate you as soon as you were pulled up off the floor, not even giving you time to catch your breath. Even though you didn’t drink, he doubted your sobriety. All thanks to the asshole who doused you in beer.
“I still got questions for you,” he approached you, thumbs tucked over his belt.
“She sliced her leg open,” Dana stepped in and shooed him away, probably sensing your tense state. “She needs her head checked too.”
The cop grunted and walked away. Dana tuned to you with a smirk.
“Police got involved? Bachelorette party gone wild.” She joked.
And wild it was.
It all started because of that guy. The dude in a polo shirt who wouldn’t leave your group alone. He kept pushing and invading people’s spaces. Then he pissed off the group next to you and yelling ensued. Next thing you knew, glass shattered against the table and sliced through your leg. The shock made you slip and hit your head on the bar’s counter. You just remembered a lot of yelling and loudness around you after that. It was hard to tell from your spot on the floor.
You heard that a bride, who seemed to be also celebrating her bachelorette party, was dancing on the bar counter. Happily swaying until she was somehow shoved off and landed horribly on the floor, with her bone sticking out of her skin. You felt so bad for her.
“We have to call Ortho for the bride with the tibial fracture,” Shen said sheepishly as he approached Dana at the desk.
Dana snickered, “we can try.”
You sighed in relief, as you were wheeled to the hospital bed.
That’s exactly what you were hoping for. For the safety and concern of that poor girl, nothing to do with the ortho department mention.
Besides, Park wasn’t on call today.
Which was great considering your current state. Your hair was sticky with beer, blood splattered on your leg and your eye makeup had smeared down your cheeks.
You’d hate for him to see you like this. The night didn’t need to get any worse than it was.
You just had a feeling deep down about tonight. You usually trusted your gut, you hated that you ignored it this time. You assumed your indecisiveness was because of the surgeon on your mind.
As you were swaying and pretending to be into the environment, your mind was elsewhere. In a car, in a parking lot, tracing the hand of a man who refused to leave your gaze.
You thought it was a silly work crush, but you found yourself replaying that moment in your head.
When you called him the other night, you weren’t sure why either. Roger had just left you stranded in an area you didn’t know and Park had been on your mind anyways.
You had a very delusional feeling he would answer your phone call. But somehow your delusions were right. He did answer and he sounded concerned about you. You almost accepted his offer for a ride home too. Maybe he still felt slightly responsible for you as his staff. Ex-staff.
You snuck out of the loud bar before midnight and pulled out your phone. With your finger hovering over Park’s phone number, tempted to dial it. But you couldn’t find a logical reason to do so. What would you even tell him if you called him?
“Hey, Park. I’m at a bar and I kinda wish I wasn’t here. I wish I was back in your car instead, because for a moment there I swore you were gonna kiss me. And I wish you would sweep me into those big arms of yours and take me away from here.”
That would scare him away.
Instead, you chose to stay quiet this time and not bug him. Then forced yourself back into that bar. You regretted it as soon as you felt the sting on your leg.
One of the student doctors walked in with a nurse through the door, interrupting your silent moment of regret, and slowly went to work. Checking for small pieces of debris. Asking you the standard questions for concussions. You knew how these thing usually worked. You’d be stuck here for a few hours.
You really regretted it now.
———
Dr. Park left the OR annoyed with his coworkers. False alarm. They were able to contact the surgeon that was actually on-call to work on the man who suffered from a distal radius fracture due to a bar fight.
Then Park was stopped just as he was trying to exit. Much to his dismay, he got roped into ED consultations. He could almost see the look you would give him if he refused it.
The distraction wasn’t working like it was supposed to. He still hadn’t figured out what to do.
Park wasn’t one to talk about his feelings. No matter how many deep talks his mother tried to have with him since he was young. He was one to skip around them or use as few words as possible to get his point across.
Instead, he always dove into what he knew how to do best.
Work.
That’s why he went to the ED. Taking his sweet time going down the stairs and making sure to put on his best annoyed look. It was matching his current emotion, anyway.
Park could sense the chaos that had just swept through the emergency department. Cops were at the entrance on alert, there was a lingering smell of alcohol, a janitor passed by with a bucket full of murky water, and most of the rooms seemed taken from where he could see.
What a mess.
This is what he meant when he was trying to deter you from working here, but you didn’t get it. You didn’t understand his perspective. Not like he explained it well, anyways. How could he explain his extreme concern for someone who wasn’t even his?
Still, he couldn’t believe this was the place you wanted to work in.
Shen caught his eye and pointed out the room to him.
After examining everything, Park held his phone up to his ear and listed off all the details to the scheduler. A female with an open tibial fracture, another victim of the supposed bar fight that happened earlier. OR was being prepped. They would take care of it upstairs.
Shen nodded at him as he turned around to walk away.
There.
He did the fucking consult. Just like you would’ve wanted him to, after you would’ve insisted.
Fuck. He really did miss you and missed hearing your voice.
He passed by the desk and the busy nurses, making his way to the exit. Not before bumping into a police officer, exiting one of the rooms.
The police officer stared him down, trying to intimidate him to move. Park lifted his chin in defiance. Two could play at this game. Park wasn’t one to be trifled with right now.
The cop slowly stepped to the side and turned away.
Idiot.
Park watched the cop walk away with confidence, as if he owned the building. Not even him at -
“Can I at least get something to drink?” He heard you say.
No.
His mind was playing tricks on him again. You couldn’t be here right now.
Reality forced him to shake his head and take a few steps forward before he heard it again.
“I’m just asking for a coffee!”
Your voice. Unmistakably you.
Quickly, he traced his steps back to the room the police officer just stepped out of, the door had been left slightly ajar. Without giving it a second thought, he swung the door fully open.
Your head lifted and your eyes widened.
“Park!” You exclaimed. “I thought you weren’t on-call today.”
You were really here. Right here, right now.
He couldn’t explain the relief that coursed through his body from seeing you again, especially after the miserable week he had. It was impossible to contain the twitch at the side of his mouth.
Until, he glanced down at your leg extended in front of you. Covered in dried blood and half-way done stitches.
You were here as a patient, he swallowed harshly at the realization. The feeling of his insides twisting returned, increasing with every step he took towards you.
“They called ortho for the other room. You should go check that out.“
“What happened to you?” His eyes darted all over your body.
“They called for a girl, she has an open tibial-
“But what happened to you?”
“Go to her first. I’m - “
“I checked on her already and she’s booked. What happened to you?” He asked in a cross voice.
“Oh, I’m fine,” you waved him off. “I just need stitches.”
Park looked down at your leg and put his hands on his hips. Exhaled loudly in disbelief.
“What moron left you like this?” He blurted out.
While muttering curses under his breath, he walked to the hand sanitizer, pumped it a few times and rubbed it on his hands thoroughly. Then grabbed a pair of gloves and pulled the stool closer with his foot.
“What are you doing?” You watched as he put on the gloves.
“Finishing your stitches,” he said matter-of-factly.
“I’d rather you don’t.”
“Why?” He frowned.
“Someone else was taking care of it already.”
It was a poor student doctor, who was fairly new. He started shaking the moment the cop entered the room and almost fainted as the cop kicked him out to question you.
“And you were left with an open wound,” he shook his head and grabbed the needle driver on the tray next to him.
“Ok, the policeman finally -“ the student doctor from earlier stopped at the doorframe. “Um..” he looked nervously at Dr. Park.
“I got it,” Park barely spared him a glance over his shoulder. “Since you couldn’t be bothered to do it,” he snapped at him.
“But I -“
“Out,” Park said tersely, throwing him one of his angry looks that left no room for discussion.
The student doctor turned beet red and walked out the door.
“Was that really necessary?” You asked, scoldingly.
He didn’t answer, just stared straight ahead at the wound in front of him. Like he was in the middle of surgery in his OR. Working quietly for a minute before you heard footsteps at the door again.
“Dr. Park. Nice of you to join us.” Dana said in jest as she walked through the door. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I got it,” he kept his eyes on your leg.
“Put that down. You don’t work here.”
“I’m almost done.”
Dana turned to you with raised eyebrows, you shrugged at her. You didn’t know what was going on either.
She crossed her arms and stared at him incredulously.
“Park, I will have you escorted out by security if you do not step away from her leg.” Her voice had lost the teasing edge, sounding much more threatening now.
He stopped his movements, hovering over your leg. Looking like he was considering the consequences. Then, reluctantly, placed the tool down on the tray and got up.
“You scared off that kid so bad he doesn’t want to come back in here,” she added with an eye roll. “So, now I gotta do it.”
She pulled the stool closer, grabbed the needle driver, and got to work.
Park leaned in close, to the point he was invading her space. Observing her movements like he was supervising one of his own residents.
Dana turned her head, pursed her lips and waved him off by flicking her hand twice. Back off.
He sighed and took two steps back, crossing his arms. Looked down at your leg, laser-focused on Dana’s work. The serious doctor stance.
“So,” Dana broke the silence. “How long have you two been dating?”
“We’re not -“ you both spoke at the same time, locked eyes and then looked away from each other.
Dana lifted her head and looked between you two.
“That’s adorable,” She pouted. “Not dating then?”
“Nope,” you shook your head and looked up again at Park who was already looking at you. A slight furrow in his brows, scanned your face then flitted his eyes back to your leg.
“Not yet, anyways,” Dana muttered under her breath. She cut the thread and sighed. “All done, kid. We’re waiting on your test results and you’ll be home in no time.”
She stood up and looked between the two of you again.
“You staying in here, Park?”
“Yes.” He didn’t hesitate.
She turned to you, a silent question on her face. Checking if you agreed with him staying.
You smiled at her and nodded. You missed his company anyway. Now that you were sewn back together, he’d get out of his automatic work mode.
She pursed her lips and turned back to Park.
“Stay away from the staff and the tools. You’re just her visitor right now.” She pointed a finger at him. “You’re lucky I’m not in the mood to report your ass to HR,” she shook her head as she closed the door behind her.
He swiftly approached you and sat down on the stool to examine your leg. Nodded once, satisfied with the result. Leaned forward on his elbows, closer to you.
“How’d this happen?” He met your gaze.
“Bar fight,” you shrugged. “You should see the other guy.” You tried to joke.
He narrowed his eyes at you, flattening his lips. Ok. Not in a joking mood yet.
“It was this guy who was harassing my group and wouldn’t leave us alone. Then he got into a fight with some people next to us and it turned into a whole thing. I wasn’t joking about the bar fight.”
“Is that why there’s cops out there?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “I had to tell them the whole thing.”
He nodded thoughtfully and gestured with his chin at your leg.
“How’d you get hurt?”
“The guy tried to throw them a drink and I happened to be in the way. The glass sliced me. Then punches started getting thrown and I can’t remember much after I fell and hit my head -“
“Your head?” He stood up and stepped closer. Carefully grabbing at both sides of your head with his palms. “Got a headache? Dizziness?”
You would’ve actually felt dizzy at his closeness if you didn’t find his actions so funny. Huffing softly, you pushed both of his hands off of your head.
“You’re an ortho surgeon, remember?”
“Who examined you? Was it the scared one from earlier?” He put his hands on his hips almost angrily.
“It was a nurse practitioner who checked on me. I’m fine.”
Park sighed loudly and shook his head in disapproval.
What had gotten into him?
“You should press charges against that guy,” he lifted his head towards you.
“Park,” you tried to soften your voice.
“Did you get an x-ray?”
“For this?” you gestured at your leg, confused.
“There’s bruising.”
“Oh my God…” you threw your head back. “Clock out, Park. I didn’t break anything,” you said in annoyance. He had to be joking.
“Cover all your bases.”
“I’m fine. It was just -“
“You are not fine,” he looked at you with that intense gaze of his. “You are in the emergency room because you were injured and I -“ he cut himself off, rubbing the side of his face. His voice sounded exactly like that time in the break room. Full of intensity, anger, and…worry.
He took a seat on the stool again and stared at your leg. As if there was something else he could find wrong with it. You waved a hand in front of his view of your leg, he looked up at you with crazed eyes.
“I’m all stitched up already.” You tilted your head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You’re being too intense right now.”
“I’m not,” he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not being intense.”
“You are. A little too much for stitches. You’re acting all…” you stopped yourself.
“All what?”
“Worried.”
“I am worried.”
“Why would you be worried about me?” You jerked your head back. “I’m not scrubbing in with you tomorrow or anything.”
“I don’t worry about you as my coworker.”
“Fine ex-coworker,” you rolled your eyes. “Stop worrying.”
“Goddamnit!” He said your name exasperated. “I care about you!”
He sighed deeply and looked down. Placing a clenched fist onto the bed, right next to your leg.
“I worry because, ” he raised his head and met your gaze. “I care about you.”
His eyes searched yours, flitting back and forth.
Oh.
Your eyebrows raised in surprise and you blinked a few times. Processing what he said. You had no words or witty quips. It didn’t feel right. Not this time.
You slowly inched towards his clenched hand on the bed and grabbed it. Carefully opening his clenched hand and placing your own fingers on his palm. He looked down at your hand then back up at you. His palm closed around your fingers, holding firmly onto your hand.
A smile slowly spread on your face.
“Ok, Ms. Sunny.” Dana barged in as the door swung open. She looked between your joint hands, her lip slowly curling. “Am I interrupting something?"
“No.” “Yes.” you both spoke at the same time. You let go of his hand and placed your hand back on your lap. Park tsked and kept his hand next to your thigh.
“Right. That wasn’t strange at all.” Dana’s eyes drifted to you. “You have the BAC of a saint, no alcohol in ya. You’re clear to go.”
“I could’ve told you that.” You shrugged and turned to Park. “The cop thought I was drunk and lying.”
“What?” The frown on Park’s face returned as he stood up. Oh no. Not again.
“Calm down, John Wick. You’ve scared enough people today.” You joked. “I just want to go home.”
Dana smirked at your interaction, even tilted her head in affection. “With that kind of leg, you shouldn’t ride the bus.”
“I’ll take her home,” Park spoke up, putting his hands on his hips.
Dana turned to him surprised, eyebrows lifted.
“Surgeon and Uber driver. Color me impressed.” Dana laughed. “Wait outside, Dr. Park. We’ll wheel her out.”
Park hesitated and you nodded at him.
“I’ll bring the car.” He walked out, scratching his ear.
Dana watched him as he walked away. She turned to you, whistling in disbelief. Lifted a pretend fishing pole and wheeled it in.
“Catch a shark did ya?”
You couldn’t stop the smile on your face and looked down. Then grabbed your phone to unlock it. You should let your friends know.
“You sure you want him to take you home?” Dana asked, voice laced with concern.
You nodded.
“Yeah, I do.”
——————————————————-
A/N: the billboard said the end is near😁ok now THIS is the longest chapter I’ve ever written.
the little difference between "daddy" and "dad" ???
people have definitely talked about this before but fuck. "daddy" is fun. it's teasing, it's safe. some people dislike it, and that's fine. it's not for them.
but "dad" ? an older man between my legs, playing with me, and i whine without thinking, "oh fuck dad, right there." he hesitates to a full stop, fingers fluttering against my cunt, and my face flushes red. i start stuttering out apologizes, saying it was a mistake, that the word caught in my throat, that i meant to say daddy.
and he shushes me all gently, continuing to rub at my clit, saying something about, "it's okay, baby. you want dad to make you feel good ?" and my legs are spread in front of him so he can watch my cunt clench at his words. and i'd whine and shake my head in denial, and he'd tsk and roll my clit between his fingers, watching my back arch and hips try to buck against his hand. "you shouldn't lie to your dad, baby. i'd hate to have to punish you."
and i'd cum far too quickly compared to normal, as if to solidify proof in what i liked. and he'd start making me call him "dad" all the time. he'd wait until i said it in front of people before shoving his tongue down my throat and reaching around to grip my ass in his hand.
Dad Robby that’s fucking pathetic for reader’s cunt. Like on the floor of her bedroom looking up at her with big wet brown eyes, begging. Please just open your legs for daddy. Please please let him make you feel good. You can have a raise in your allowance just please.
Uncle Fasha oh my fucking god. He’s so pathetic. So stupidly pathetic. Helping her sit up at the corner of her bed, instantly settling between her legs on the floor. Hands shaking as he rests them on soft bare thighs, breathing heavy while looking up at her from underneath his lashes.
Dragging his nose along her inner thigh, mouthing at her panty clothed cunt and he’s just drooling like a dog, pupils blown wide and grinding against the air because he wants her so bad. Robby has never wanted anybody or anything so badly in his life.
When she tries to close her legs he nearly chokes on a sob, muttering no and please over and over again while pressing needy little kisses to her knees. She’s never heard her father sound so pitiful before, so desperate.
Yet he doesn’t pull her legs apart, just cries into her lap while urging her to give him a taste, he promises it’ll be worth it. When has dad ever broken a promise?
Robby thanking her so earnestly when she finally spreads her legs for him, the bridge of his nose nudging against her clit and groaning low and long when he sticks his tongue out to taste her through the thin fabric. Pulling the panties down her legs while blabbering, “Thank you. Thank you so much, honey. M’so lucky to have such a sweet daughter, aren’t I?”
being at work while your personal life is falling apart has to be among the top 3 worst human experiences. You’re at your absolute lowest and someone wants to circle back on an email…… unreal
Summary: You find a stray kitten and your husband is not pleased. Maekar Targaryen x Wife!Reader (1.5k)
Warnings: None. Just some reluctant cat dad Maekar :)))
"Dont be angry." Are the first words Maekar hears when he enters the youngest childrens chambers. Hed read, re-read and replied to all the correspondence placed on his desk this morning and wished to spend the rest of the day with his family- more specifically you. After an annoyingly long search for you, one of your maidens informed him that you were with your two youngest in their shared room. Any relief he felt from seeing you vanished at your rushed words.
He pauses, sighing as he prepares to hear whatever youve been up to. "What?"
Your hands, which he assumed where clasped behind you, came round to your front cradling something he couldnt quite make out. It wasnt until he heard a tiny faint 'meow' that he understood.
"No."
"Husband-" You step forward so you can speak with a bit of privacy.
"Where did you find that thing?"
You scoff. "I know you are known to be grumpy my love but this is pushing it. Look at him." You hold up the admittedly scraggly looking kitten so he can get a proper look. "You cannot hate him. How could you be angry at him?" You emphasise.
"We are not having a cat." He grits through his teeth as he keeps his eyes on yours refusing to look at little kitten. "Let alone one covered in filth."
Your next words are laced with attitude. "Fine. Then you can be the one to tell Rhae that we have to abandon Puddles."
Yet another sigh leaves his lips and he pinches the bridge of his nose. "Puddles?"
"Mhm, we were taking a stroll through the gardens and Rhae found him in-"
"A puddle." He doesnt hide his irritation. He shifts on the spot looking over your shoulder at Rhae and Egg who work meticulously arranging blankets in a make shift bed and crafting toys for the cat. The silver haired girl turned to him with a gap toothed smiled that made his (what hed have you believe) cold heart warm quicker than anything else. He could never day no to her. You both knew it.
"Papa!" She toddles over, far too quick on her feet for someone who has only just learnt to walk. "Kitty." She points at the sleepy black and white cat still snuggled in your hands.
"Yes, your mother showed me."
"We keep him?" He was going to say yes anyways but the lethal puppy dog eyes his daughter gives him has him folding instantly.
"Yes." The word is a tired sigh but the girl squeals nonetheless and runs back to Egg who is also celebrating. The boy runs up to you and you pass him the cat ever so gently, reminding him again to be extra careful as he creeps back over to the pile of soft furs.
You grab one of Maekars ringed hands in your own and brush your nose against his. "Thank you." You whisper softly with a smirk that makes him roll his eyes.
"Hm."
"Stop that." You cup his bearded cheek, running your thumb over the soft white hairs. "Look at how happy they are. It will give them something to do rather than bothering us every moment." You press a tender kiss to his lips that he reciprocates, his eyes closing at the feeling of your lips against his once again.
"Fine. But I dont want anything to do with it." He mumbles against your lips.
"Mhm, im sure."
Maekar is woken by a weight on his chest. Not the familiar weight of your head. Or the weight on an impatient child trying to wake him up. No this was something else. Something new.
He cracks an eye open and is met with Puddles, now a few months old, perched on his chest and staring directly at him barely a few inches from his face. "What the fuck." He just continues to stare at the disgrunted man. "What are you doing?"
The cat just chirps slightly and stays put.
"He wants you to stroke him, he likes when you scratch just behind his ears." You mumble into your pillow having been roused from sleep by your husband.
"And why is that my problem?"
"Because hes a part of our family and he wants to get to know you. Youve spent however many moons avoiding the poor thing, he just wants to become familiar." You snuggle deeper into the covers and the sound of your soft snores let Maekar know youve fallen back asleep. He stares at the cat, matching the intensity of its gaze, hoping if he does it long enough the cat will get bored and find someone else to bother.
He doesnt.
Puddles jumps up silently onto Maekars desk scaring him, causing him to knock the ink pot over his work desk.
"For fucks-" He stands the pot back up and grabs a cloth to clean the growing mess. "You do nothing but cause me more problems. Fucking ratty thing."
A tiny gasp sounds from the door way. To his- and her -horror Rhae stands at the door looking at her father like hed cut up her favorite stuffed animal, mouth agape and tears brewing in her eyes.
"Ratty… fing?" Her words are full of sorrow as she looks at him. She runs over to grab her beloved puddles and back to the door before Maekar can even begin to adress her.
"Rhae-" The girl is gone. Disappearing around the door frame and leaving him alone in his solar with a desk covered in thick messy ink and a guilty pit in his stomach.
"Its okay my loves, we will get him down." You reassure the weeping children at your feet as you keep an eye on Puddles where he crouches on a branch high up in a tree and meows sadly.
"Hes stuck!" Rhae wails and clutches at your skirts.
"He will come down. He has to!" Egg says, slightly more optimistic than his younger sister but still scared by the whole situation. The children had asked to take Puddles outside since the sun was shining and you agreed, only if they would keep an eye on him at all times. It was silly really. No one gets distracted as much as young children. And in the split second he had no eyes on him Puddles decided it would be a smart idea to climb a tree.
Its the shrill cries from the garden that draw Maekars attention. He walks hurriedly out there where he finds you trying to urge the cat to come back down to you. "Whats happening?"
"Oh Husband, thank the gods." Your eyes are slightly red communicating your own feelings you're burying for the sake of your children. "Puddles. He stuck and we cant reach him."
He glances up at the black and white blob perched in the tree. He wasnt dangerously high but high enough that none of you could retrieve him and he was making it clear he had no plans of moving.
"Brilliant." He huffs.
You sniff, lower your voice and lean towards him slightly. "Perhaps their brave father could rescue their beloved cat and get out of Rhaes bad books."
"Her bad books," He scoffed. "Shes 2."
"And as someone with six children you should know that no one holds a grudge like a toddler." It was no secret that since they day in his solar Rhae had been angry at him. She wouldnt speak to him and when he tried shed furrow her brows and look away dramatically. Gods she was a mini version of him. She would no longer go and interrupt his work and beg him to play with her and Egg. And she would only sit with you at dinner. Maekar tried to act like it wasnt affecting him as much as it was. But to you atleast, he was not a good liar.
"Pass me that box." He grumbles gesturing to a wooden box left in the gardens by a gardener. Egg runs to get it and drags it over and Maekar places it at the base of the tree before standing on it to reach up and grab the cat.
Rhae cries out. "Be careful Papa!" Toddler anger forgotten and replaced with fear at what her little mind perceives as a dangerous stunt.
"Of course Rhae, dont worry." He can just about reach Puddles and scoops a hand under his belly before pulling him out of the foliage and back down to where he should be. The second he steps off the box the children run and hug his legs wiping their tears against the fabric. He passes Puddles to you so you can ensure he doesnt run off again and instead leans down to pick up Rhae.
"Thank you Papa." She says into his shoulder as she hugs him with all her might. Egg repeats the sentiment and hugs his side making your grump of a husband smile.
I love that thing when people get a little bit tongue-tied and garble what they’re trying to say so they make a little “blegh” 👅 noise and start over. verbal reset button. hitting the top of the tv to unscramble the signal
thinking about bunny!reader who is warming up to jackie and is riding him for the first time! however she is still a little nervy around him!!! but he feels so good😵💫 so ofc the only appropriate response is to piss herself while riding him!! all her big feelings spilling out <3
YES YES YES BRING ME THERE BRING ME THERE. oh my gosh bby ur brain is so yum. i hope u guys aren’t getting bored of piss tho bc all my requests have been piss based and i’ve been struggling to come up with ideas but yum!!!!!! and oh my goodness i was in the middle of another fic which is also piss but w robby yay! but this would come next chronically and it’s just too good to pass up!!!
poor little bunny sticks close to robby for the first week or so. it’s not her fault she imprinted on him! and he’s just so warm and big and she just loves to rut against his dick. and who is he to deny a pussy job, especially from a bunny who has the wettest cunt hes ever seen.
and yeah, he knows his dick is big. which is why he brings it up to jack that jack should be the first to fuck you.
“brother, what the fuck? are you telling me that my dick is small? because that’s not what you were saying before we got bunny.”
“jack, please. you know that it’d be better if you had bunny first. plus, maybe it could be a point of bonding for the two of you.”
“mike, you want our bonding to be me fucking her? jesus christ, brother. fine. what the fuck anyways”
so now jack has to figure out a way to get closer to you. this begins at bed time. in someways you’re like a cat. you can sleep whenever which works out in robby and jacks favor because they both like to spend time with you. the only thing you need is a nice little orgasm and you’re fast asleep!
jack usually doesn’t do much more than let you grind upon his leg. he worries for you after all! he doesn’t want to frighten you. but after some encouragement from robby, he’s decided to be more engaged.
after robby drops you off at the pitt and jack takes you home, he can tell how sleepy you are. ‘wanna nap now bunny huh? you’re just so sleepy baby, i know’ he sympathizes.
now while you might be a sleepy bunny, you’re not a dumb one. you know that when you’re with jack you’re usually rutting against his thigh and your little feet are thumping against the ground. so this time you prepare yourself to do just that. which is why you’re so suprised when he sits you around on his lap, his thighs hooked behind yours and spread you out.
‘something different and more fun this time, bunny girl’ and you just love fun things! so you nod eagerly along with him. he runs his fingers along your clit and watches as your little nose twitches. your little hands scratch at his forearms when he teases and he tuts and rubs quicker circles.
when you finally cum against his fingers your ears are twitching and your toes are thumping against the floor. you’ve curled into him in a way you’ve never done before and when you murmur ‘more more more please daddy’ he knows he’s got to fuck you.
but, you’re a considerate little bunny! and you know that your daddy was on his feet the whole day, so when he takes you into the bedroom and lays you down, you hop back up and push him down. ‘oh we’re a brave bunny now aren’t we?’ he teases. you don’t take it as such and nod enthusiastically. ‘alright then big girl, come hop on daddy’s cock’
you do just as your daddy says! and line up your wet cunt with his red cock. and usually you’re a little more talkative, but god his cock is so big and it stretches you out so nicely. so you just whimper and whine and thump your feet against the comforter.
and you’ve never felt like this before! never seen anything like your daddy’s head thrown back. never heard anything like the groans and moans that fall from his mouth when you settle fully down onto his cock and he is suffocated by your tight cunt. never felt anything like his rough hands bruising into your thighs!
and you don’t know what to do with this feeling! so when you whimper out a ‘daddy daddy please it’s not the same!’ you just don’t know what to do with yourself! and in your haze of pleasure, you cum more violently than he’s ever seen anyone. your head is thrown back and your eyes are rolling around in your poor little head. your thighs are quivering and your whole body wracks with sobs.
after your orgasm is finished, you think that you’re completely wrung dry. it’s not your fault that you piss all over your daddy’s belly and cock! you just have so many big feeling and you’re just a little baby bunny!
and it’s not his fault when he comes. the hot liquid just adds an level of pleasure and your ashamed little bunny face and twitching nose makes his orgasm imminent. you sit for a minute letting his cum fill you up and feeling his cock soften within your cunt.
the two of you lay there until he worries about eh possibility of you getting a uti in your little bunny pussy and he makes you shower. when you’re all clean and fast asleep, he texts robby at work.
brother, i think we’ve really bonded.
he also attached a picture of your abused cunt which is took after you passed out. robby steps into the bathroom to palm himself. only ten more hours then his shift is over
No thoughts just reader who's been convinced it's supposed to hurt the first time, right?
A fact that has been drilled into your head since you were young, that having sex for the first time will always be painful. You heard it from your teacher, from your mother and friends. A part of life, they told you.
But you're terrified of it. So you put it off, never go beyond kissing with boyfriends despite how upset they get. Remembering how gaz told you his first time was excruciating. How he bled and bled.
Then you meet ghost.
Ghost, big and strong and so damn attractive. For the first time in your life, the desire to know him outweighs your fear of the agony.
"Okay. Let's get it over with, si." You tell him one night, breath hot against his neck. If you can get through the first, then you can enjoy everytime after that with him. "Make it quick."
Ghost grunts, shoves you back until you're sat on his lap. He frowns deeply "the fock does tha' mean? Do you not want it?"
Oh. You forgot to tell him.
"It's my first time," you say. Though simons face shifts into shock, he still seems just as confused as before, so you add "i don't handle pain well. So...get it over with quickly. It's okay if its you."
"Who the hell do you take me for?" Ghost huffs, pulls you into one of those slow kisses that makes your brain melt. "I'm doing this properly."
It's been what feels like hours, and still ghost hasn't pushed anything inside. Too busy rubbing the calloused pads of his fingers in tight circles until you clench and fall apart, back to his chest.
He spends so long pleasuring you that you nearly forget to feel scared when he warns "okay, lovie, just stay relaxed. I'll stop if you need it."
Gentle, he pushes a finger in and– it stings. Just a bit. You take a few seconds to breath, and he doesn't force more in. There's no tearing or agony or crying. It's so different from everything everyone's told you that you nearly sob with relief.
You do end up sobbing, later, from pure ecstasy on ghosts fingers. He seems hellbent on proving it shouldn't hurt, and he's got all the time in the world to convince you.
[i woke up with this in my head so i just had to write it]
Ghost has one weakness. It is a big, round, perfect weakness, and it’s currently arched in the air directly in front of him.
You are on your hands and knees on the bed, face pressed deep into the pillows, your back curved in a gorgeous, deep arch that presents your ass to him like an offering. The soft glow from the bedside lamp catches the slick sheen of your skin. It is a view that short-circuits his brain every single time.
He stands behind you, one knee resting on the mattress, his other foot braced firmly on the floor for leverage. His black balaclava is pulled up just enough to expose his mouth and jaw, creating the perfect canvas for the guttural sounds he can no longer hold back. In his hand, his phone is held steady, the red recording light a tiny, glowing eye capturing every angle.
The camera is angled flawlessly, framing the obscene sight of his heavy, flushed cock sliding across the slick valley of your ass. He isn't even inside you yet; he is merely dragging the thick, weeping head up and down, coating himself in the combined mess of your arousal and his own precum. The sight of his dick nestled against your flesh makes his balls throb with a need so acute it borders on painful.
"Fuckin' hell," he rasps, his voice a low, staticky growl through the fabric of the mask. "Look at that. Perfect fuckin' view."
He shifts his hips, pressing his cock more firmly between your cheeks, the sudden pressure forcing a whimpering gasp into the pillow. He records it all, watching the way your flesh yields to his touch and the way your body trembles in desperate anticipation. This is for his personal collection, a private stash of sin reserved for the long, lonely nights spent in dusty deployment tents and freezing barracks. When he is overseas, surrounded by the grim, violent reality of his job, he will pull up these videos to remind himself exactly what he is fighting to come home to.
Finally, the teasing becomes too much to bear. Reaching down with his free hand, he grips the base of his shaft, lining the blunt head up with your dripping entrance. The camera zooms in slightly, capturing the exact moment he presses against your tight hole.
"Simon, please," you whine, pushing backward against him, desperate for the stretch.
He grants your wish, sinking into you in one long, powerful thrust. The groan that tears from his throat is animalistic. You are so fucking tight, so burning hot, gripping him like a vise. The camera shakes for a split second as he loses himself in the sheer sensation, before his training kicks in and he steadies his grip.
The view on the screen is purely pornographic. His thick length disappears into you inch by inch, your slick lips stretched wide around him. Directly above it is the masterpiece, which is his taut, heavily tattooed stomach. The dark ink seems to shift and twist with the roll of his muscles as he begins to move. The skeletal face and the roaring skull dance in the low light as his abs contract with each deep, punishing thrust.
He establishes a relentless rhythm, snapping his hips forward until the sound of skin slapping against skin echoes obscenely in the bedroom. Each thrust drives you forward, a choked moan forced from your lungs with every impact. He fucks you deep, deliberately bottoming out against the exact spot that makes stars explode behind your eyelids.
"Fuck, you feel so good," he pants, his eyes glued entirely to the screen of his phone, watching his own cock piston into you. He cannot get enough of the visual contrast between your soft, giving body pinned beneath his hard, demanding frame, and the way your ass ripples with every heavy slam of his hips. "Takin' my cock so well, sweetheart. Such a good girl."
Leaning forward to change the angle, the new position presses the hard ridge of his lower abs flush against the swell of your backside. The camera catches it perfectly, recording the friction of his skin against yours, the slide of his cock, and the way his muscles flex and shift beneath the ink. It is a work of art, and he is the twisted artist who gets to create it over and over again.
Looking at him out in the field, no one would ever guess it. He is the stoic, silent lieutenant with eyes like chips of ice and a presence cold enough to silence a room. Simon Riley is a man of few words, a fortress of absolute control and iron discipline. But in the dark, behind locked doors, that fortress crumbles entirely, and the man who emerges is a filthy, vocal, desperate animal.
The phone is eventually forgotten, discarded onto the mattress beside you, though the red light continues to blink, recording the raw audio of your shared undoing. Simon’s hand is no longer holding the device. Instead, it is wrapped securely around your throat, a firm, possessive weight that makes your head swim. His thumb presses gently under your jawline, keeping you exactly where he wants you.
"Fuck, yes," he groans, the deep, gravelly rumble vibrating through his chest and directly into your spine. He bends over you, his sweat-slicked chest pressing hard against your back, the fabric of his shirt bunched up under his arms to expose the full expanse of his inked torso. You feel every single word as a physical vibration. "Gonna fuckin' fill you up."
His hips remain a relentless piston, the steady slap of his skin against yours drowning out every other sound. He isn't quiet, not even close. Every breath is a ragged grunt, and every thrust is punctuated by a low, guttural moan that speaks of a pleasure so intense it borders on agony. It is the sexiest thing you have ever heard, especially that deep, dark voice, usually so fiercely controlled, now spilling a continuous stream of dirty praise and desperate demands.
"Want it all?" he pants, his grip on your neck tightening just a fraction. "Want my cum deep inside you, huh?"
"Yes! Fuck, Simon, yes… " you beg, your voice breaking into a wail. You are right on the edge, the pressure coiling so tightly in your gut that it threatens to snap. The feeling of his thick cock dragging against your inner walls, the possessive hold on your neck, and the raw, filthy words pouring from his mouth are entirely too much.
His rhythm suddenly falters, becoming erratic and frantic. He drives into you with short, sharp, bruising jabs, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. "Fuck, I'm close. Gonna cum. Gonna fuckin' breed this sweet little cunt."
The word, delivered so raw and primal, sends you hurtling over the precipice. Your vision whites out completely as your orgasm crashes through you, your walls clamping down on his length in a series of powerful, violent, rhythmic pulses. You scream his name, a raw, soundless cry as your body convulses underneath his weight.
With a roar, Simon buries himself inside you. You feel the hot flood of his release as he pumps his cum deep into your core, pulse after burning pulse. His entire frame shudders against you, his hand on your neck the only thing keeping you both grounded as he rides out the most intense climax of his life.
He stays buried deep, his cock still twitching inside you, as if completely reluctant to leave the warmth of your body. His hand finally releases your neck, moving to brace his weight on the mattress beside you, but he does not pull out.
You can feel his cum, a warm, heavy slickness, beginning to leak from your heat, trickling slowly down the inside of your thigh. The filthy sensation causes you to instinctively clench around him again.
Simon lets out a low, breathless chuckle, the sound dark and thoroughly satisfied. "My greedy little girl," he murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Made a fuckin' mess of you."
He finally shifts, slowly withdrawing his softening length. The sudden loss makes you whimper, but then he is using two fingers to push the thick, white fluid back inside you, his touch shockingly gentle compared to the rough driving from moments before.
"Don't waste it, baby" he commands softly, his tone brooking no argument. "I want you feeling me for days."
You can only moan in response, thoroughly claimed. You look back at him, at the man with the ice-cold eyes who has just given you the most earth-shattering, vocal, and dirty experience of your life. He reads the question in your gaze, the sheer disbelief and awe.
He simply smirks, the slow, wicked curve of his lips visible just beneath the edge of his mask.
"What?" he rasps, his voice still thick and heavy with sex. "You look at me like I'm some kind of fuckin' saint out there. This is what saints pray for."
And as he leans down to kiss you, slow and deep, you realize you are the luckiest sinner alive.
You didn't mean to bring it up. Hell, you didn't even mean to think about it. It was just that the air in the safe house was too thick, the silence between you and Simon was too heavy, and the bottle of whiskey you'd been nursing had made your tongue loose and your filter non-existent.
You were perched on the edge of the rickety bed while he leaned against the wall, cleaning his rifle with the methodical focus of a saint polishing a relic. The only light was a single naked bulb, casting a jaundiced glow and carving his face into a landscape of harsh shadows.
The conversation had been about nothing. Mission fatigue, the shitty food, the way the rain sounded like nails on the tin roof. Then, you'd made a joke. A stupid, clumsy joke about a fellow soldier who couldn't keep it in his pants.
"Man's a walking liability," you slurred, a little too loudly. "Thinks with his dick, gets himself into all kinds of trouble."
Simon just grunted, his eyes never leaving the barrel of his gun. But you, feeling the warm, reckless burn of the whiskey, pushed on.
"At least he's getting some, I guess. Not like some of us are dying over here."
That got his attention. His head lifted, his dark eyes pinning you in place. "That what's on your mind, Sergeant? Dying for a shag?"
The way he said it, so casual, so dismissive, should have made you shut your mouth. Instead, it acted like gasoline on a fire. "Maybe," you retorted, trying for bravado and landing somewhere in the vicinity of pathetic. "What's it to you, anyway?"
He set the rifle down with deliberate slowness, the clatter of metal on wood sounding like a gunshot in the small room. He pushed off the wall and crossed the space in two long strides. He was a tower of muscle and barely contained violence, and you were suddenly aware of how small the bed was and how close he was.
"You sound like a bloody teenager," he rumbled, his voice low and dark. "It's just a fuck. It's not a holy grail."
And that's when it happened. The words tumbled out, a drunken, shameful confession that you couldn't claw back even if you tried. "Well, maybe I wouldn't know, would I?"
The air in the room changed, going from thick with tension to frozen solid. Simon stared at you, his expression unreadable, but you saw the flicker of surprise, the slow-dawning realization, and the subtle shift in his posture.
"Say that again," he commanded, his voice quiet, cutting through the whiskey haze.
You shook your head, a wave of intense heat rushing to your face, your stomach twisting with a mortification so acute you thought you might be sick. "Forget it," you mumbled, trying to look anywhere but at him.
He crouched down in front of you, bringing his face level with yours. His gloved hand reached out, tipping your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. Those eyes were searching, dissecting you.
"You're a virgin." It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact, delivered with a kind of breathless awe that was somehow worse than mockery.
"Shut up," you hissed, trying to jerk your head away, but his grip was firm. The shame was a living thing inside you, clawing at your throat. You felt exposed and raw, like he'd peeled back your skin and found something soft underneath.
He let go of your chin, but he didn't move away. He just stared, his mind clearly working behind those dark eyes. You expected him to laugh, to call you a kid, or to tell you to get the fuck over it. Instead, he said something that shattered you completely.
"You want me to fuck you."
It wasn't a question either. It was the most terrifying, exhilarating statement you'd ever heard. Your denial was automatic, a knee-jerk reaction to the unbearable vulnerability. "No! I didn't say that. I just..." You trailed off, because what could you say? You did. You wanted it so badly it hurt. You wanted him. The terrifying, scarred, lethal man who now knew your most private secret.
His lips quirked into a ghost of a smile. It wasn't mocking; it was hungry. "You're a shit liar," he murmured. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that made your skin pebble. "Is that why you've been lookin' at me like a lost puppy? Hoping I'd bend you over and show you the ropes?"
The crude, direct language sent a jolt straight to your core. You squeezed your thighs together, a pathetic attempt to relieve the sudden, throbbing ache. "Fuck you, Simon," you whispered, but it sounded weak and breathless.
"That's the idea, sweetheart."
So it had started as a joke, a stupid, whiskey-fueled slip-up that you'd both tried to bury under layers of snark and forced professionalism. For a few days, it was like a bizarre, unspoken truce. He didn't mention it, and you tried to pretend you hadn't basically offered up your virginity on a silver platter. You trained harder, kept your head down, and avoided his eyes like they were the abyss.
But the world had shifted on its axis, and you couldn't unsee it.
You started noticing things. The way his t-shirt stretched across his chest when he reached for a high shelf, the fabric straining over the solid muscle of his shoulders. The way his tactical gloves creaked when he balled his fists. The scent of him that seemed to linger in the air long after he'd left a room.
His eyes were the worst. Before, his stares had been assessing and analytical. Now, they were heavy, weighted with a new kind of intent. You'd feel them on you during a briefing, a heated, lingering sweep from your boots to your face that made your breath catch and your cunt throb. He was looking at you like he was picturing you naked, and the constant, low-level humiliation of your secret acted as a toxic aphrodisiac.
He was harder on you, too. His critiques in the field were more cutting, his expectations higher. He'd push you during PT until your lungs burned and your muscles screamed, his voice a low, relentless bark in your ear. "Again, Sergeant. Is that all you've got?" It felt like a punishment, or maybe a test, and every time you pushed through it, you felt a flicker of pride, followed by the hot rush of imagining what he'd do to you if you really impressed him.
The tension coiled tighter and tighter, a wire vibrating at a frequency only you and he could feel. It was only a matter of time before it snapped.
It was a normal enough afternoon. The whole team was sprawled in the common room, the low hum of the TV and Price's cigar smoke filling the space. Johnny was recounting some wild story about a bar fight in Prague, his voice boisterous and animated. You were trying to laugh, trying to be normal, but all you could feel was Simon's presence on the other side of the room. He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a beer bottle in his hand. He wasn't looking at you, he was looking at Johnny, but you could feel his attention like a physical touch.
Then Johnny, the glorious, oblivious bastard, said something that twisted the knife.
"Aye, but you know what it's like, Si," he said, grinning. "Sometimes you just gotta get in there, get the job done, no matter how tight the fit is. Am I right?"
A beat of silence. Your heart stopped. Simon's eyes, slow and deliberate, slid from Johnny to you. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Yeah, Johnny," he said, his voice a low, gravelly drawl that seemed to be directed only at you. "Sometimes you just have to be patient. Make sure they're ready before you... make your move."
Johnny laughed, clapping Gaz on the back. "See? The man's a poet."
But you weren't hearing it. Your blood was roaring in your ears. He was going to tell them. The paranoia, the toxic cocktail of shame and fear, exploded in your chest. He was going to expose you, right here, in front of everyone. He'd tell them you were some pathetic virgin who'd begged for it, and they'd all laugh, and you'd have to leave the task force.
Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood up, your movements sharp and jerky. "I need some air," you mumbled, not meeting anyone's eyes.
You didn't make it two steps before Simon's voice stopped you. "Sergeant. A word."
Your stomach dropped. You turned to see him pushing off the wall, his expression unreadable. He mystic jerked his head towards the hallway. "Now."
The others were already back to their conversation, but you felt their curious glances as you followed him out of the room and down the hall, your boots feeling heavier with every step. He pushed open the door to his quarters and you followed him inside, the door clicking shut behind you with a terrifying finality.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you hissed, the words tearing out of you the second the door was closed. "Are you going to tell them? Just get it over with and humiliate me, you bastard!"
He turned to face you, his eyebrows raised in genuine surprise. "Tell them? What the hell are you on about?"
"Don't play dumb!" you shot back, your voice cracking. "You're going to tell them I'm a... that I'm... that I don't know what the fuck I'm doing!"
His face softened just a fraction. The anger bled out of him, replaced by something that looked uncomfortably like pity. "Jesus," he muttered, running a hand over his masked face. "I'm not going to tell them anything. That's your business, not mine."
"Then why are you looking at me like that?" you demanded, your breath catching in your throat. "Why are you always fucking looking at me?"
"Because you're driving me fucking insane," he ground out, taking a step towards you. "I'm trying to give you space, trying to be a fuckin' gentleman, and you're over here thinking I'm about to announce your sexual history to the whole squad?"
The sheer absurdity of it, the relief mixed with the lingering fear, was too much. The words you'd been holding back for weeks finally burst free. "Just fuck me and get it over with!" you blurted out, the words sounding pathetic even to your own ears. "Just do it so I can stop thinking about it!"
He stared at you, his chest rising and falling with a deep, controlled breath. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. Then he spoke, his voice quiet, cold, and utterly commanding.
"No."
Your heart plummeted. "What?"
"I said no." He took another step closer, crowding you, his presence overwhelming.
You stammered, your brain short-circuiting. "I-I don't understand. You... you want to, don't you?"
His eyes flashed, a dark fire igniting in their depths. "Wanting to and fucking you are two different things, Sergeant. I'm not going to take your virginity because you're having a fuckin' panic attack. You'll wait."
"Wait?"
"You'll wait until you're sure. Until you can ask me properly." His gaze dropped to your mouth, then back up, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "And you'll ask me in my bed, after everyone's asleep. Then, and only then, I'll consider it."
The shift in power was dizzying. He wasn't rejecting you; he was setting the terms. And God help you, you wanted to agree to every single one.
"Okay," you whispered, your voice trembling.
He tilted his head, a gesture of both command and curiosity. "Okay, what?" His gaze was piercing, demanding.
You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The old shame was there, but it was being drowned out by a new, more powerful feeling: a desperate, clawing need to please him. You sank to your knees on the cold, hard floor of his room, the movement feeling both shameful and right. You looked up at him, your heart pounding against your ribs.
"Please, Simon," you whispered, the words barely audible. "Please... fuck me."
A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, visible even around the mask. He reached out and cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a surprising tenderness.
"Good girl," he murmured. "Now get up and go back to the others. Act normal. I'll see you later."
You didn't remember much of the rest of the evening. You sat through the briefing, you ate dinner, you even managed a few stilted laughs at Johnny's jokes. But all of it was a blur, the background noise to the roaring in your head. You were going to Simon's room tonight. The thought was a live wire in your stomach, sparking terror and anticipation in equal measure.
Hours later, the base was quiet. The hallway was deserted, the only light coming from the red glow of the emergency exit signs. You moved like a ghost, your bare feet silent on the linoleum as you made your way to his door. You didn't knock. You just turned the handle and slipped inside.
He was waiting for you. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his mask illuminated by the single lamp on his bedside table. He'd taken off his tac vest, leaving him in just a tight-fitting black t-shirt and his cargo pants. He looked human, and terrifyingly sexy.
"Lock the door," he said, his voice soft but firm.
You did, the click of the lock sounding like a gunshot. You turned back to him, your body thrumming with nervous energy. And then you noticed the room. It was different. The usually stark, military-neat space was softened. The bed had clean, crisp sheets on it. And there were candles, a few simple tea lights flickering on the windowsill and the dresser, casting a warm, gentle glow over the room.
"You... lit candles," you said, your voice small.
"I wanted you to be comfortable," he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He patted the space on the bed next to him. "Come here."
You went, your legs feeling unsteady. You sat down, a careful distance between you, your hands twisting in your lap. He didn't rush you. He just watched you, his dark eyes patient.
"You don't have to do this," he said quietly. "If you've changed your mind"
"I haven't," you said, a little too quickly. "I want this. I want... you."
He nodded slowly. "Good." He reached out and took one of your restless hands, his grip warm and steady. "We'll go slow. We'll go as slow as you need. And you tell me to stop if you want to stop. Understand?"
You nodded, your throat tight. "I understand."
He leaned in, and for the first time, you thought he was going to kiss you. But he just pressed his forehead against yours, a gesture so unexpectedly tender it made your eyes sting. His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin.
"Relax," he murmured. "Let me take care of you."
Then he did kiss you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It was slow, soft, exploring. His lips were warm and firm against yours, and the fact that you could feel them, that the mask didn't cover them, made it incredibly intimate. You gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sweeping out to taste you. He tasted like mint and the faint, bitter hint of coffee, and it was the most intoxicating thing you'd ever experienced.
You kissed him back with a clumsy, desperate enthusiasm, your hands coming up to clutch at his t-shirt. He let you, his own hands moving to your waist, guiding you. He pulled you closer, until you were half in his lap, and you could feel the solid, hard plane of his chest against yours.
"Simon," you breathed against his lips, his name a prayer on your tongue.
"Shhh," he soothed, his hands sliding under your shirt. His fingers were calloused, rough against the soft skin of your back, and you shivered at the sensation. "Just feel."
He kissed his way down your jaw, to your neck, his lips and tongue tracing a path that made you arch into him. He pulled your shirt over your head, his eyes drinking in the sight of you in your simple cotton bra. He reached around and unhooked it with practiced ease, letting it fall away.
"Fuck, you're beautiful," he groaned, his hands coming up to cover your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. The praise, so sincere, so raw, sent a bolt of heat straight to you. You'd been so focused on your own inexperience, you hadn't considered that he might actually want this, want you, with the same desperate hunger.
He laid you back on the bed, his body hovering over yours, and continued his exploration. He kissed every inch of your exposed skin, his touch reverent. He was taking his time, so much time, working you up with a maddening slowness that had you writhing beneath him.
He started kissing your tits, his mouth hot and wet as he closed his lips around one nipple, flicking it with his tongue. The sensation was electric. And in your head, the old, ugly thought surfaced: He's done this a hundred times. He knows exactly what he's doing, and you're just another body in his bed. The thought made you squirm, a mix of jealousy and insecurity twisting your gut.
He must have felt the change in you, because he pulled back, his eyes searching your face. "What is it?" he asked. "Talk to me."
"I just..." you couldn't say it. It was too embarrassing. But he just waited, his gaze patient and unwavering. "I just... I know you've done this before. With people who know what they're doing."
A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face. "Yeah, I have," he said, his voice a low, dark rumble. "And do you know what I've learned?" He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "I've learned that nothing is hotter than watching someone fall apart for the first time. I've learned that I fucking love being the one to make it happen."
He moved down your body, his hands hooking into the waistband of your pants. "I'm going to eat your pussy now," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "And you're going to let me hear every single sound you make. No holding back. Understand?"
You nodded, your breath coming in short, shallow pants. He pulled your pants and underwear down in one go, leaving you completely bare to him. He settled between your thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them apart. He looked up at you, his eyes locked on yours as he slowly lowered his head.
The first touch of his tongue on your cunt was like a lightning strike. You cried out, your hands flying to his hair, your back arching off the bed. He groaned against you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your body.
"Fuck, you're wet," he rasped, his tongue lapping at you with long, slow strokes. "So fuckin' wet for me."
He ate you out with a devastating skill, his tongue finding your clit with unerring accuracy, circling and sucking until you were a whimpering, moaning mess. You could feel his spit mixing with your own slickness, the obscene, wet sounds filling the room.
While he worked, his hands found yours, his fingers lacing through yours, pinning them to the mattress on either side of your hips. It was an anchor, a connection in the midst of the overwhelming pleasure. He held your gaze, letting you watch him, his eyes dark with lust as he showed you exactly what his tongue was doing to your swollen, aching clit.
"Tell me how it feels," he commanded, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Talk to me."
"It feels... so good," you gasped, your nails digging into the backs of his hands. "Your tongue... fuck, Simon, don't stop."
His grip on your hands tightened, a silent acknowledgment of your plea. Your pussy was burning, a deep, throbbing ache that demanded more. You felt a fullness in your belly, a tightening coil of pleasure that was wound so tight it was almost painful.
He slid a finger inside you, then another, curling them just right. The stretch was intense, a dull burn that quickly melted into pleasure. He was watching your face, reading your every reaction, ensuring you were with him every step of the way.
"You're taking my fingers so well," he praised, his voice thick with arousal. "Look at that. So fuckin' tight." He pumped his fingers in and out of his mouth, his tongue still working your clit.
The dirty talk, the sight of him between your legs, the feel of his fingers and tongue, it was too much. The coil in your belly snapped, and your orgasm crashed over you in a blinding wave. You came with a loud, broken moan, your thighs clamping around his head as he worked you through it, drawing out every last shatter of pleasure.
He finally released you, crawling back up your body and kissing you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his lips. You could feel his erection, a hard thick line pressing against your thigh, and you were suddenly desperate to feel it, to feel Ghost.
You reached down, your hand palming his cock through his pants. He hissed, his hips jerking involuntarily. You wanted to make him feel as good as he'd made you feel. You wanted to show him how desperate you really were.
You pushed at his shoulders, surprising him. He let you roll him over, until you were straddling his thighs. You quickly undid his belt and fly, freeing his cock. It was even more intimidating up close, long, thick, and flushed dark red at the tip. A bead of pre glistened there, and you leaned down, licking it off on a whim.
"Fuck," he groaned, his head falling back against the pillow.
You looked up at him, your eyes wide. "Show me," you whispered. "Show me how you like it."
His eyes snapped open, dark with lust. He wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it slowly from base to tip. "Like this," he said, his voice strained. "Spit on it."
You did, your saliva glistening on the head. He used it as lube, his fist moving in a smooth, steady rhythm. You watched, utterly mesmerized, as he pleasured himself.
"Your turn," he grunted.
You replaced his hand with yours, your grip tentative at first. You mimicked his movements, and he let out a low, encouraging sound. "Yeah, just like that, love. Tighter. Squeeze the head when you get to the top."
You followed his instructions, your confidence growing with every groan you elicited from him. He was leaking steadily now, his pre-cum making your hand slick.
You leaned down and flicked your tongue over the head again, tasting the bitter saltiness of him. He twitched in your hand, a guttural sound escaping his lips. Emboldened, you took him into your mouth, just the tip at first, swirling your tongue around him. The taste, the feel of him on your tongue, the power of having this strong, dangerous man at your mercy, it was intoxicating.
"Jesus, fuck," he gasped, his hand flying to your hair, not to guide you, but just to hold on. "You're gonna make me come, you little minx."
You smiled around his cock, a surge of feminine pride washing over you. You cupped his balls, rolling them gently in your hand, marveling at the weight of them. You even ran your fingers through the coarse, dark hair at the base of his cock, finding the fact that he was unshaven, so naturally and undeniably male, incredibly hot.
"Christ, stop looking at me like that," he groaned. "You're gonna make me blow my load before I even get inside you."
You pulled off him with a wet pop, grinning. "Sorry."
"You're not," he said, sitting up and kissing you hard. He flipped you over again, pinning you beneath him.
He reached over to the bedside table, grabbing a condom and ripping it open. He rolled it on with practiced efficiency, his eyes never leaving yours. He positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging against you.
"Last chance," he said, his voice serious. "Tell me to stop."
"Don't you dare," you breathed, your legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him closer.
He pushed forward, slowly, so slowly, the stretch immense. You gasped, your hands clutching at his shoulders. It burned, but it was a good burn, a sign of the connection you were making. He paused, letting you adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.
"You're doin' so good," he murmured, his voice strained. "So fuckin' good. Just breathe."
You did, and as you did, he slid in deeper, inch by incredible inch, until he was seated fully inside you. The feeling of fullness was absolute, overwhelming. He was so deep, so much a part of you, it brought tears to your eyes.
He kissed them away, his lips gentle. "You okay?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion.
You nodded, unable to speak. He started to move, his thrusts shallow and slow. He held your hand, his fingers interlaced with yours, anchoring you as he began to fuck you. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It wasn't frantic or rough. It was deep, intimate, and devastatingly slow. He kissed your neck, your collarbone, your breasts, his lips worshipping your body as his cock worshipped your cunt.
You could tell he was holding back, his body trembling with the effort of not pounding into you. His thrusts were angled perfectly, stimulating a spot inside you that you didn't even know existed. The pressure built again, a slow, rising tide of pleasure that was even more intense than the first.
"That's it," he panted in your ear. "I can feel you gettin' tighter. Are you gonna come on my cock, sweetheart? Gonna come all over me?"
His words, combined with the relentless, perfect pressure, sent you over the edge again. You came with a silent cry, your inner walls clenching around him, your body shaking with the force of it.
"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his rhythm finally faltering. "I can feel you comin'. So fuckin' hot. So goddamn perfect." He slammed into you once, twice, three more times, and then he was coming with a hoarse shout, his cock pulsing inside you as he filled the condom.
He collapsed on top of you, his weight a welcome, heavy blanket. You lay there, tangled together, your breathing slowly syncing up as you came down from the high. After a long moment, he rolled off you, disposing of the condom before pulling you back into his chest.
You were silent, your mind reeling. You felt different. Changed. The shame, the insecurity, it was all gone, replaced by a deep, bone-deep satisfaction.
Simon pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Stay," he murmured, his voice already heavy with sleep.
You didn't need to be asked twice. You cuddled closer, your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. In the morning, things would be different. But for tonight, in the warm, candlelit glow of his room, you were exactly where you were supposed to be.
The only thing more shocking than the fact that you'd just lost your virginity to Simon 'Ghost' Riley was the realization that you wanted to do it again. And again.
The first few days after were a weird, hazy blur. You moved through your training exercises on autopilot, your body aching in places you didn't know could ache. A deep, pleasant soreness that was a constant, throbbing reminder of the way he'd felt inside you, the way he'd held you, the sounds he'd made. Every time you caught sight of him across the compound, a dark, imposing figure against the grey concrete, a jolt of heat would shoot straight to your core.
You expected things to be awkward. You'd braced yourself for smirks from Johnny or a pointed, knowing look from Gaz. But there was nothing. Simon was the consummate professional on the field, his commands sharp, his demeanor as unreadable as ever. If anything, he was a little more distant, a little more controlled, as if he was holding himself back with a supreme effort. And Johnny just thought you were hungover.
That first night back in the safety of your own room, you'd slid your hand into your panties and touched yourself, trying to replicate the devastating pleasure he'd given you. It was useless. Your own fingers were a poor substitute for the thick, insistent stretch of his cock, the expert roll of his hips. You came, but it was a hollow, fleeting thing, and it only made you miss him more.
It took three days of this simmering tension before you snapped. You were in the gym, pounding away your frustration on the treadmill, when he walked in. He was wearing a tight-fitting black tank top and sweatpants, his hair damp from a shower. He didn't look at you, just gave a curt nod and headed for the weights. But you saw the way his jaw ticked, the way his hands flexed at his sides.
You hit the stop button on the treadmill, the machine's whine cutting through the quiet hum of the room. "My room," you said, your voice sounding more confident than you felt. "Ten minutes."
He didn't even turn around. "I have a briefing."
"You'll be quick," you retorted, a sharp heat rising in your chest. You saw his shoulders shake with a silent, dark laugh before he gave you a single, sharp nod.
You were waiting for him, your heart pounding when your door creaked open. He slipped inside, closing and locking it behind him with the same quiet efficiency he did everything. He didn't say a word. He just crossed the room, cupped your face in his hands, and kissed you.
It wasn't sweet or slow this time. It was a kiss born of days of frustrated denial. His tongue was in your mouth immediately, claiming, possessing, and you met him with equal desperation. You clawed at his tank top, pulling it over his head, and he did the same to yours, his hands rough and impatient on your skin.
"Couldn't stop thinking about you," he growled against your lips, backing you towards the bed. "About this tight little body. About how you felt squeezing my cock."
His filthy words sent a rush of wetness between your thighs. You whimpered, your hands scrambling for the button of his pants. He shoved his trousers down, kicking them away, and then he was on you again, his naked, scarred chest pressing you into the mattress. He was already hard, his cock heavy against your stomach.
Si was tearing at your pants, and you lifted your hips to help him, kicking them away along with your panties. He was between your thighs in a second, his cock nudging at your entrance. You felt the tear of a condom packet and you grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
"Don't," you said, your voice breathless.
He stilled, his eyes searching yours. "You sure?"
"I'm on the pill," you rushed out. "And I trust you. I just... I need to feel all of you. Please, Simon."
He stared at you for a long, tense moment, something raw and vulnerable flashing in his eyes. Then he crushed his mouth to yours, the condom forgotten. He pushed into you in one long, smooth stroke, and the sensation was overwhelming. No thin barrier, just the hot, silky feel of him, every vein, every ridge. He was so deep, so impossibly deep, you could feel him everywhere.
"Fuck," you gasped, your head falling back. "You feel so good."
He set a brutal pace, his hips snapping against yours, the bed creaking in protest. "You feel like fuckin' heaven," he gritted out, his face buried in your neck. "So wet, so bloody tight for me."
You wanted more. You needed to be in control, to set the pace, to take what you needed. You pushed against his chest, and he let you roll him over with surprising ease. You straddled his hips, his cock still buried deep inside you, and braced your hands on his chest.
The sight of him below you was breathtaking. His chest was heaving, his muscles tensed, his eyes fixed on you with a burning intensity. And his mask, it had shifted slightly during the tussle, riding low on his nose, revealing more of his face than you'd ever seen. The sharp cut of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the scar there. He looked wild, untamed.
You started to move, rising and falling on his cock, setting a rhythm that had you both moaning. His hands found your hips, then slid down to grip your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh as he guided you, helping you take him deeper.
"Simon," you panted, your head lolling back. "I can't... I can't stop thinking about you. You've done this to me. I'm obsessed."
His grip on your ass tightened, his eyes blazing. "Yeah?" he rasped, his voice strained. "Tell me what you're thinking about, sweetheart."
"Thinking about how full you make me," you whimpered, feeling another orgasm coil low in your belly. "How you stretch me so good. Si, please... please don't stop filling me up."
That was what broke him. With a groan, he sat up, wrapping his arms around you and crushing you to his chest. His mouth was on your neck, sucking and biting as he drove up into you, meeting your downward thrusts with powerful, desperate strokes of his own.
His mask was pushed down further, and you turned your head, your lips finding the corner of his mouth, kissing the scarred skin there. "You feel so good, LT," you whispered in his ear. "So fuckin' good inside me."
He came with a roar, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself inside you, the hot, thick flood of his cum triggering your own release. You came with a silent scream, your whole body clenching around him, milking him for every last drop. You collapsed against his chest, both of you slick with sweat, trembling with the aftershocks.
For a long time, neither of you spoke. You just held each other, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He was still inside you, softening but not gone, a warm, comforting presence. He reached up and gently adjusted his mask, pulling it back into place. The intimacy of the gesture, the quiet trust it implied, made your heart ache.
"Now you stay the night," you murmured into his neck, not a question, but a statement.
He didn't answer. He just held you tighter, and that was answer enough. You knew, with a certainty that this was no longer just about getting rid of your virginity. This was something else entirely.
And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you realized you were in way deeper than you'd ever planned to be.
Thinking about Robby's canonically bad back and how he complains about it, knowing damn well he's only making it worse with you around
CW: this man's bad back is all on him, gn!reader, mentions of somnophilia, mentions of shower sex, mentions of couch sex, Robby's referred to as Michael once, this IS /reader
Between the hectic nature of a shift, it's not uncommon for staff and patients alike to see Robby stretching or twisting in some way to try and take some amount of strain off of his back. I mean, the man’s up there in age, the constant motion and bending and crouching and general stretch a day in the ED brings getting to him at some point. He'll moan and bitch about it under his breath, which, while understanding, can get a bit annoying when you're seven hours into a shift and have two traumas rolling it at once.
He hears the same consistent reminders from Abbot, Dana, and just about anyone who is oh so lucky enough to hear him bitching. They constantly tell him that he needs to be stretching outside of work, that he should put some type of pressure, that he needs to sit down whenever he can instead of pacing just to be in motion— it all goes on deaf ears at this point in his career. To his credit, he is telling them that he's "working on it" when he gets home after shift.
But he isn't. Why would he? After a long, sometimes overtime, shifts, the last thing he wants to do is do pilates bullshit when he could reheat yesterdays leftovers and fall asleep. Or, of course, stay up a bit to see you.
You being the one he comes home to most certainly doesn't help. The worst part is that it (most of the time) isn't even you trying to temp or coarse him into bed. It's solely a him problem. He KNOWS it's a him problem. And yet he continues to leave his shoes and work bag by the door, not bother getting anything to eat, and wait for you. Sometimes it's waking you up from a late day nap already inside you. mumbling small apologizes for waking you up, having "needed you" too much to wait. Sometimes it's meeting you in the shower, already bending you a bit even though you were startled by him, telling you to "spread f'me a little more— there ya go". Sometimes it's finding you on the couch, turning your innocent and welcoming kisses into wandering hands and you whining that the couch, ironically, will make your back hurt.
By the time morning comes, when you're waking in an admittedly fuzzy state due to the bed shifting, you hear his voice mixing with the gentle hum of the fan and the generic dialogue of whatever he'd left on the TV.
"Fuck, my back…"
Even in your haze, you can't help but laugh at the complaint.
"You do it to yourself, Michael."
"Shut it."
By the time the morning "rush" begins at the ED, with residents coaching med students through the multiple elderly patients being brought in, Robby's already leaning against the central station. He leans against it enough to put some type of pressure on his lower back, twisting this way and that way to try and bring some type of relief. He listens as Dana speaks without even looking away from the spreadsheet plastered across the overhead screens.
"You never do anything I tell you to."
He shakes his head, already defensive.
"I do. I do those stretches every night— they don't do anything."
Dana let's out a laugh, passing him a chart as she walks back into the station.
"Take your bad back to Room 2. Got a patient with his own bad back waitin' for ya."
He really does do to himself.
It's not like he'll stop. Not with you around, at least.
Bond Type: I decided to do a little mixture of a one sided bond and dream bond (this will make more sense as we progress)
Pairing: Senior Resident Brendon Park x Public Relations Rep female Reader
Warnings: little bit of age gap with 30 year old Brendon and 23 year old reader, swearing (I’ll add more as we progress).
Author’s Note: Buckle up because this is going to be an emotional ride. This is probably going to be a little ooc Brendon from the two minutes we saw of him but still what we like of the intense man. Also, the dream recollection isn’t meant to be romantic when he’s younger (I don’t think that vibe comes off but I want that clear) you start having dreams early to learn about your soulmate before you ever truly meet them. I hope you enjoy this little adventure that keeps nagging at my brain.
Everyone’s dreams began at a different point in their lives. His parents were both twelve, his sister was twenty one and Brendon, he had been fifteen.
He still remembers his first one clear as day. He’d been on a swing in the park barely moving back and forth when you’d appeared in front of him with a gap toothed smile, big bright eyes and your hair in pigtails.
“Hi” His head tilted as he tried to estimate how much younger than him you were.
“Hi”
“Will you push me?” You’d asked shyly, your tennis shoe anxiously scratching a line into the wood chips underneath it.
“Of course” You’d hopped onto the swig next to him immediately.
He sighed softly to himself as your head fell back to watch as he stood up. Brendon’s growth spurt had started early that summer and had yet to stop. He’d already been skinny but now he was skinny and gangly and the boys down the street made fun of him constantly. His dad’s only comment was “do something about it then son” which really wasn’t helpful.
“I wanna go really high!”
“Hold on tight” Your squeal of excitement had him smiling in what felt like the first time in weeks.
He pushed you until his arms hurt and the sun was starting to set. Your soft laughs as you went higher egging him on as he watched your legs pumping to keeping going.
When you’d finally had your fill you jumped off the swing at its highest point, barely making it to the grass at the edge of the wood chips.
“You okay?” He made his way over to you leaning down to check.
“Did you see how high I got!” He helped you to your feet as you brushed grass off your knees.
“You were practically flying.” You looked around then.
“I should head home.” He nodded reluctantly.
“It’s getting late.” You were off with a soft wave as he sat back down on the swing he’d been on before.
When Brendon woke up the next morning he nearly fell out of bed as he remembered the dream. He’d never really thought about what it would be like to see his soulmate before, just knew it was something that would eventually happen but now he’d seen you and it finally felt real.
He ran down the stairs in the early morning light from his excitement.
“Brendon! Slow down” He headed towards the sound of his Mom’s voice coming from the kitchen.
“Mom!” She was looking at him over her coffee cup with a hip against the island countertop as he barreled into the kitchen.
“Shh Brendon, your sister is still sleeping” He rolled his eyes, Nat would sleep until noon if she was allowed to.
“Mom!”
“Yeah baby?”
“I had a dream!” That caused her to freeze for a moment and then set her coffee cup down while turning to give him her full attention.
“Oh Brendon! How was it? What are they like?” He paused for a moment as he thought.
“I pushed her on a swing….she’s young Mom, like younger than Nat.” His sister was would be turning thirteen in a few weeks.
“Was she kind?”
“She was, I dunno…..sweet?” He thought back on your laugh and smile as you went higher with each push.
“And you were?”
“Nice”
“Better have been” Her arm reached out and pulled him into a hug as she spoke, which was harder for her now that he was taller than her.
“Will I see her again tonight?”
“Mmhm” Her reply had something loosening in his chest. He’d never given it thought if you dreamed of your soulmate every night once your dreams finally began.
That was coming up on fifteen years ago and Brendon had yet to find you in the real world, it almost felt like he never would but you were still in his dreams every night so he knew you’d show up eventually.
“Sweet seats huh Bren?” His eye twitched beneath his sunglasses as he turned his head to look at Theo. He’d compare his sister’s fiancé to one of her Kindergarteners but that would be inconsiderate to the children.
“Mmhm” His Dad’s arm landed across his shoulders as he leaned in.
“Be nice….Bren” He could hear the amusement in his Dad’s voice. There were exactly two people he tolerated calling him Bren, his little sister and you in his dreams.
“I am”
Theo had suggested an outing for the three of them for a Pirates game a few weeks ago, man bonding Brendon was pretty sure was the term he used. His Dad had agreed for both of them before he had a chance to figure out a reason to be unavailable.
So here he was, front row behind the Pirates dugout, warm beer in his hand and Theo blabbing about Crypto something or other while he watched warmups.
“You really should look into investing Bren.” A sip of warm beer seemed like a better choice than responding when something caught his attention out the corner of his eye.
“Holy shit” He’d stood before his brain had even caught up because there you were on the field handing something to a coach.
“Brendon?” He could hear the questioning tone from his Dad but the only thing that mattered was you were finally in front of him in person.
He watched as you headed back to the dugout and held his breath as you looked up to where he was standing. This was it! You looked directly at him for a brief moment and he was pretty sure he’d never had a smile this big on his face before.
And then you descended the stairs and were gone. There hadn’t even been a flicker of recognition on your face.
“Brendon?” His dad was standing next to him now looking at him the way he looked at patients to keep them calm as they discussed the next step in their treatment.
