i'm thinking about writing something for park the shark x resident!reader
i've been thinking more about him and came to the decision that he most definitely is a Loverboy with an obsessive streak while at the same time being totally emotionally incapable, at first at least
park being completely smitten with reader, head over heels, trying not to smile whenever he comes down for a consult and their paths cross even for just a second
they've barely ever exchanged words outside of a trauma, just a 'hi, how are you?' thrown here and there, you being the one to say it most of the time if not always
he'd usually respond with a nod or a single word, on the outside he might've looked the way he usually did - professional, maybe a bit cold and distant
but the moment one of you walked away he wouldn't stop thinking about you, couldn't really - he's tried before
you were always nice too him, never once throwing him a glare even when he knew he was being harsh during a consult
the worst it ever got would be you just keeping a neutral face when interacting with him
he's seen you talk to other people too, sometimes walking towards the elevators slower than usual, when he spots you laughing about something with Dana or whoever else, you just seemed so sweet and easy to talk to
still, he couldn't force himself to start a conversation that could potentially last longer than 30 seconds, he felt too anxious around you, didn't want to freak you out or anything, he was 18 years older than you and couldn't stop thinking about how creepy he would come across if he accidentally said something that could sound inappropriate
it's not that he wanted to sleep with you… well, he didn't want just that, whenever he let himself think about you a little bit more, the first thing that came to him was the deep need to learn more about you - what do you like to do in your free time? are you a homebody or do you like going out with friends whenever you have the time? do you like doing crosswords? maybe sudoku?
he was so curious about you, it almost hurt
so after months of this, he couldn't handle it anymore, he wasn't going to do anything rash, no, that wasn't how he worked, he needed to figure out his options
he thought about doing some research, looking it up online, but googling "how do i talk to someone i've liked for months without coming across creepy because we barely interact and also i'm almost twice their age" seemed a little bit pathetic even for his standards
not to mention he didn't really think he'd find actually useful advice of any kind
so he decides, that as much as it might get him laughed at, he was going to ask Garcia for help
cue garcia giving him some vague advice that he interprets a little bit differently than how she meant it and goes slightly overboard
i have a good idea of what i want to do with this so this is as much as i'm willing to say but i wanted to post this to gauge if there'd be any interest
don't get me wrong, i'm going to write this whether anyone is interested or not (this is my 'productive procrastination' from writing my thesis) just curious if anyone has any thoughts
Thinking about Jack kissing you goodbye before leaving for work. You're in the kitchen, making dinner, and you can't help yourself but smack his ass as he walks away. He can't scold you, having done the same thing many, many times. Even if you're just leaving the room, he can't keep his hands to himself.
Unfortunately for him, he's wearing his dark scrubs, and you had flour all over you. When he gets to the hospital, everyone can see your full handprint on him, and no one has the heart to say anything.
Until Robby notices.
"Uh, brother, you've got something, uh, there," he nods.
"What?" Jack looks down, but sees nothing.
"Didja get a good kiss goodbye?" he raises his eyebrows, hoping Jack will take the hint.
He does. And he blanches immediately, excusing himself to go to the bathroom.
Are you out of your mind? He texts you later.
Yes. Absolutely. What are we talking about.
I'm walking around the emergency department with a handprint on my ass.
Not my fault. It's the perfect shape. You want me to start keeping my hands to myself?
When Jack gets home in the morning, he makes sure to return the favor. You're bent over his knee, ass painfully red, as Jack tells you how perfectly shaped you are.
trinity, crashing out over victoria: 6 years doesn’t seem like a huge age gap but when you think about it, she barely started highschool when covid hit, you know ? when she talks to me about her tiktok trends and i understand absolutely nothing, i realise how young she actually is and i feel like a pervert !
robby, shirtless in her kitchen after spending the night with dennis: oh my god you’re a monster santos how dare you take advantage of that girl
dennis never really bottomed before jack and michael.
sure he had thought about it but mostly he was a top.
so after months of only being fucked by his older boyfriends. he gets almost pent up and jack walks in to him fucking one of the mens pillows. stopping when he feels a sudden flood of light on him.
"shit- jack i didn't know you were home. im sorry" dennis rambles off some apologies.
"its okay my boy dont be sorry. if you wanted to do something so bad you could have asked" he says as he walks closer.
"actually..."
minutes later dennis has jack shoved against the bed as he fucks into him. and shit jack is impressed the boy is good and he's enjoying it.
when michael gets home and finds jack completely ruined.
"now what happened here" michael asked.
"michael our boy is damn good in bed. you should give him a ride"
I could see him getting this when he just started in the military. Young, stupid, and way too drunk to make a smart decision of getting a tattoo that obscene.
You finally see it one night after too many drinks at the bar—you both getting close and touchy—finally realizing that the both of you have had the hots for each other for a long time. HR be damned.
You don’t even make it to the bedroom. Hair tossed, clothes strained from its previous position, and lips red and kiss bitten. You’re on your knees going for his belt buckle.
His cheeks flush a deeper red than they were before from the tequila you got him to buy at the bar. His hands are in his face as he lets out an embarrassed huff of a laugh at your wide curious eyes and growing smile.
“It was a long time ago,” he tells you in his gravelly voice.
You shrug your shoulders, “I like it.” pulling the waistband of his underwear to watch his cock spring free. It’s achingly hard, the tip flushed a dark peak with the tip leaking. Your mouth waters as your tongue eagerly licks the salty residue.
Jack’s head falls against the head of the couch as groan comes out of his mouth, deep and heavy as you finally enclose your lips on him. His hands go to you hair, he lifts his head up and watches you take him.
Sammy who's got a pretty little wife at home doting on his every need. Can’t believe he got so lucky with you, grueling days on the force coming home to kisses pressed all over his face, hands soothing the ache in his taut muscles the moment he comes through the front door. A sigh of relief leaves his lips every time he opens the door, immediately hearing the soft patter of your feet echoing down the hall, a bright smile spread across your face as you come around the corner to greet him with a giddy ‘hi baby’. One of his t shirt’s always dangling off your frame, dragging up the soft curve of your ass when you lift your arms to wrap around his shoulders, his thick fingers gripping your waist as he kicks the door shut, walking you backwards as you spout off about your day, murmuring soft, “Yeah? Then what happened, baby?” as you play with his collar. His touch wandering down to knead the fat of your thighs and soft plush of your hips, “Look at you, hm? Body’s so perfect, so fuckin’ perfect,” while his hand comes down to smack your ass, fingers dimpling the skin as you yelp, shrill giggles leaving your lips as he topples you over onto the couch, hiking your leg over his hip, “Thinkin’ about you all day, you know. Such a sweet girl at home, should be a miracle I go to work at all with all this waiting for me.”
Thoughts about brendon park and just a soft socially anxious girl who has a thing for him and is trying so hard when its just normal conversation and he then realises shes tryna hit
I feel like this can damn we’ll be how him and domestic discipline reader got together lol but if that’s not your thing this can be read separately
Someone he met through friends at a house party, who was cute, sure, adorable in an innocent way that was pretty sexy, but he thought she was just being friendly. Thought you just liked his company or something.
You’d ended up sitting next to eachother at a dinner party. Not like anyone made you, but he got there late as usual and that was the only seat open.
And you looked at him, blushed, smiled, and waved. “Hi”
“Hello.”
And then you didn’t say anything for a minute. Which was a bit odd.
“I’m Brendon” he attempted.
“Y/N. Sorry. Didn’t wanna like. Bother one of Joes friends.”
Ah, he realized. You were probably one of Marcy, his friends girlfriends, friends.
“No bother at all, sorry to steal this seat.”
“It was open, you didn’t steal it.” You promised.
After a little more probing from him becuase, sure, he always wanted what he couldn’t have, you finally got chatty.
And you seemed pretty attached to him. Pretty glued to his side and laughing at all his jokes.
Which is a feat. He’s not very funny. He’s kinda a dick, kinda dry. And yet…
You’re a little awkward, a little shy. Silenced seem to stretch on a little long. But you seemed eager. Sweet.
He thinks, this girl is just too nice.
You just don’t know how this could look. You’ve got no clue. You’re just being nice. You’ve just got one of those personalities.
As if he hadn’t seen just how quiet you weee before.
And then you puts your hand on his arm. And for some reason that’s when it hits him. It’s all been intentional. You’ve been trying hard. The laughter. The giggles. The big shy wide eyed looks up at him. The compliments.
This girls trying to hit.
And then your little nails graze his bicep.
And maybe he flexes a little under your touch.
“Oh wow!”
You ghasped like it’s a surprise.
Oh. You’re trying so hard.
Your “trying” is so funny to him. No innuendos. No propositions. Took till 9 o’clock to put a single gentle hand on him.
You were so shy and cute.
He wants to devour you. Ruin you and destroy you. Take you apart piece by piece. Fuck you wild.
But now he know’s he can really, really go for it with you. Flirt back, hard.
And so another 30 minutes go by and he can’t take it.
“You wanna come home with me, pretty girl?”
You nod happily and he chuckles, looping a finger under your chin.
“Nuh uh sweet girl. Gotta use your big girl words”
Summary: You start to think that maybe being sensitive is a bad thing. Brendon doesn't agree.
Tags/warnings: park x sunshine!f!reader, she/her Reader pronouns, can a character be ooc if they have 30 seconds of screen time?, Reader is called a crybaby off-screen, that kind of thing, anything else - let me know!
wc: 1.2k | brendon park m.list | on ao3
𖦹ׂ ₊˚⊹⋆ don’t forget — a reblog is a writer’s best friend!
"—you take stuff too personally sometimes, you know? Like sometimes you just need to let it go."
It hasn't left you all day. A stupid comment made during lunch by one of your friends, tossed your way without a second thought, hardly pausing before they asked you to pass the napkins to them.
The knotted and messy feeling stays low in your stomach, even once the conversation shifted to something less directed towards you.
It normally doesn't bother you.
You know that you can be a cry baby. You've always felt deeply about things. But you've also accepted that being sensitive is just who you are.
It's not wrong. It's not right. It just... is.
You're the friend that gets called when sympathy is needed. The person who always sniffles through movies. The first person to plan everyone's birthday.
Taking things personally became your superpower, in a way. You stopped thinking about it negatively.
And now—
You're lingering in the space between the living room and the kitchen. The Netflix logo is paused on the television screen—a documentary that you had waited specifically to have Brendon watch with you.
Brendon, laid back against the couch with one arm slung across the back. His opposite hand is scrolling the iPad, reading an article off of the gargantuan screen as he waits for you to return.
He asked you about lunch earlier, and if you had a good time catching up with your friend. And you did enjoy your time with your friend—but you hadn't told Brendon about how their comment made you feel.
You finally walk back to the couch, hands holding a large bowl of freshly-popped popcorn in front of you. You hesitate to the side, not sitting down. "Brendon?"
Brendon. Not Bren, or any other form of a name that you've given him during the length of your relationship.
He looks up from where he's reading, clearly interested in the change of your tone. "Yes?"
It's stupid, you think, what you're about to ask him. But you've always known him to be honest, even to a fault. When he first asked you out on a date, there was no confusing how he felt about you. When he asks you to let him handle things, he makes it known that it's because he cares about you.
Your fingers fidget against the bowl, thinking about how you're really about to ask for validation from him, before you make yourself stop. Just rip the bandaid off. "Do you think I'm sensitive?"
His brows furrow. He looks like he doesn't understand your question. "What?"
"You know. Do you think I take things too personally?"
Brendon squints, like you're a puzzle he's trying to figure out. "Yes?"
Even though it's a question, not a statement, you still feel your heart drop a bit. Of course he would think you're too sensitive, especially compared to him.
"Oh." You look down at the popcorn bowl. The buttery kernels stare back.
"Hey." Brendon places his iPad on the side table, straightening his posture. "What's wrong?"
If you were deflated and bothered before asking your question, it was doubled now. "Nothing. It's just, Mo mentioned it during lunch—that I need to let things go, and I'm too sensitive, and—"
"—ask me if it bothers me."
Now it was your turn to hesitate, to look at Brendon and decide if he was setting up a joke.
This isn't the way Brendon jokes, you know. Never at your expense.
"Does it?" You ask. "Bother you?"
"No." His mouth twitches, a barely-there hint of a smile. He pats the space on his lap, now that it's free from the iPad, and extends a palm towards you. "Come here."
There's something, always, to be said about the simpleness in Brendon's commands; never quite harsh, never demanding, but enough to make you listen. To know that, yes, here is where I should go, because I trust him. Here is where I should be, because I want to be.
You step forward, pausing next to his knee. Brendon looks up at you, waiting for you to move. You wish you could take a snapshot of all the rare moments when you stand over him, where his blue eyes stayed steady on you as if he were stuck in your orbit.
You relent. Leaving the popcorn bucket on the coffee table, you lift a knee so that it braces against the couch. Then the other, until your palms are against his shoulders and you let your weight sink until you're straddling his lap. Brendon's hands settle against your hips, firmly holding to help you keep your balance.
He takes his time before he speaks again. You don't ask him to rush. His thumbs draw soft circles against the skin that peeks out from your shirt, and you let him.
"I spent three hours today placing pins in the femur of a fourteen year old patient," he says. "And their pre-op, the parents kept telling me about how their kid is a great gymnast. That all they wanna do is compete again and go to the Olympics one day."
Oh.
It feels silly then, your problem.
"Will she?" You ask, brows furrowing as you imagine the scene in the hospital room. Even without the specifics, you could imagine a young girl, and her parents, and how the atmosphere must've felt.
"It was a good surgery," Brendon answers. The smile on his face is different from when he first called you over—no longer amused, just hanging on. "But I don't know. With rehab, maybe."
Letting out a small breath, you feel your heart squeeze at the thought of a teenager needing rehab to dream about having a dream again.
Brendon reaches up, brushing his fingers against your brow. His touch lingers for a beat, then his hands are against your hips again. "Then a trauma came in. An MVC. And I spent the rest of my shift consulting on surgeries that wouldn't even be needed if everyone could just wear their seatbelt."
After a moment, Brendon gives your hips a small squeeze. Your hands move from his shoulder, down to his forearms. You hold the muscle, and he looks at you like he's been transported back to his living room from the OR.
"My point is, I look forward to coming home and being nice to my girlfriend," he says. "And I like that she takes things personally, and looks like she cares about my patients that she doesn't even know, and—what else did Mo say?"
You try to hide your face beneath your hands. Brendon catches your wrists, muttering a uh-uh.
“She said I'm too sensitive.”
"And that she's too sensitive," Brendon repeats. He lowers your hands until they're between you. "Because after doing all of that all day, why on Earth would I want you to be harder?"
Your eyes feel watery. Your face, warm. "But—"
"No."
Embarrassed, you laugh. Brendon thumbs underneath your eye, brushing away the gathered moisture.
Your shoulders loosen, and Brendon doesn't stop you this time when you tuck your face against the side of his neck.
The knot in your stomach finally feels like it's untying.
"Thank you," you tell him, words muffling against his skin.
"Mm." It's a small, practical response—just enough to let you know that he's heard you.
When you pull away, it's not rushed. Brendon tilts his head to see you in the proximity, unflinching.
"There she is," he murmurs. "My girl with her soft heart."
but curious on your thoughts of the Shawn characters (or any characters from The Pitt or Animal Kingdom) reacting to the tik tok trend of calling them "a friend" like hey what's up I'm at a friends house and they are like? tf?! we are married?!
or
calling them by their government name casually like nothing is wrong like you always do it *(which for Pope makes sense but I also see his name being nick named to Andy (or may Drew, he looks like a Drew in my eyes and heart 😍))
lastly!!!!
your thoughts on them reacting to you not saying I love you back (as a prank) like them being like love you! and you're like okay bye babe have a good day.
OKAY i'm done thanks for reading this far!
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🥰🥰🥰🥰
yes I see the vision ;) this has me blushing a little because.. this is so cute!! Hope you enjoy!
Andrew Cody: You’ve been posting to your TikTok for a little while and slowly gained a following of just a little less than a thousand followers, Andrew thought it was cute when you told him you had a TikTok account, and was very supportive of it, even if he didn’t understand the whole thing.
You’ve been sitting at home for a few hours when Andrew comes home, and tells you to get ready for the two of you to go for a family dinner night at Smurf’s and you just say “okay, I’m gonna shoot my video for today while I get ready.” Giving him a heads up that you’d be filming, but not giving him information as to what scheme you were conjuring up.
You set your phone up on your vanity and start an introduction as you set out some makeup, Andrew moving around in the back as he tries to pick out an outfit.
“hello lovelies, today we’re getting ready for dinner, and if you see or hear anything in the background don’t mind it, it’s just my friend Andrew.”
and not even a second later he appears in the frame lurking behind you with a slight head tilt and you have to fight back a smile as you turn to him. “yeah?” He’s slowly inching closer “what’s ya say?” And you’re just all “it was a joke! Andrew! It’s a trend! Andrew!” But your pleas don’t work, he’s inching over and turning your phone off as he pulls you up and throws you onto the bed “your friend?” Safe to say you ran a little late to dinner, and your video never got finished.
Jack Abbot: knows there’s a whole wave of TikToker’s and it doesn’t surprise him when he finds out you have an account. What does surprise him is that you post regularly and have a decent following. He really wasn’t expecting that, and the only way he found out was because you made him make an account and follow you. He’s the first one to like your videos and comment on them ‘that’s my girl’ or talking about whatever topic your video is on.
He’s come home after a shift and see’s that you’re making a video about whatever treat you’re currently baking in the over and hears you say “so you leave that in the oven on 350 for about ten minutes, then-” you’re cutting off when you see Jack come into the kitchen setting down his bag in an empty chair and watch you “-you’ll pop it out and let it cool off for a few minutes.”
Jack’s walking over and smiling softly as he goes to give you a hug “hey baby… mm missed ya.” Placing his lips on yours and then pulling back just barely “I love you, so much.”
You give him a nod and say “thank you.” Before turning to leave his arms and check on what’s in the oven and he barley lets you take a step before he’d pulling you’re chest against his looking at you, voice more firm
“I love you.” He’s giving you a look that says ‘choose your next words carefully’
You nod yet again “that’s nice Jack, I have to check on the oven.”
You’re pulling away again and but his grip on you is too tight. “I said I love you. Don’t make me beg you to say it back.”
You break immediately and melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and kissing his cheek a few times before you pull back to speak “awh, I love you, Jackie… it was just a silly trend.”
he just nods “that’s nice.” You roll your eyes as the both of you share a laugh and then he pulls you in tighter if that’s possible.
Titus Danforth: doesn’t allow you to have social media on your phone. You can only text and call and even then he goes through it almost daily.
Sammy Bryant: really reasonable and supportive of your TikTok account, believes it gives you something to do while he’s out at work all day. It’s a regular weekend and you’re sitting passenger seat and talking to the camera panning it over to him “and he’s my friend Sammy.” He’s looking over to you with wide puppy eyes as the truck comes to a stop before he can get out the driveway.
“Friend?” Then he’s reaching over to your hand and pulling your ring off
“so I guess I can have this back.”
You’re absurdly loud and tossing your phone to your lap and letting out a hardy laugh “no, no, no Sammy!! Baby, it’s just a joke! Sammyyy! No Sammy, give it back, pleaseee.”
He eventually gives it back on the condition you fix the video and give him a kiss.
derran and Craig furrow their brows at you. sitting on the loungers either side of you, debating getting high or going in the pool (only to end up doing both)
"what?" Craig asks, rolling his joint.
you tear your eyes away, try to look at the pool. but your eyes travel to the other side of the garden, to andrew 'pope' cody and his sledge hammer.
"you guys didnt tell me your brother was hot," you manage, staring at him as he smashed shit up in just a pair of jeans.
derran and craig look at each other. "seriously? pope?" derran asks and you nod. "the guy that just got out of prison?"
"yup." you sit back and put your sunglasses over your eyes, shamelessly watching the stoic cody brother. the hottest cody brother, for sure.
you could watch him all day, unaware that every time andrew turns around, he's watching you too.
the lights are all out, and you’re laying in bed with a sleepy brendon park. you haven’t been able to fall asleep yet, even though he’s tracing nonsense against your back. you ask him to talk, knowing that hearing his voice is the quickest way to settle your mind.
he huffs. because of course he will, whatever you want, but he doesn’t have anything about his day that he really wants to talk about. the OR was slow.
“okay. come here,” he says, adjusting you so that you fit better against his chest. his palm cradles the back of your head, and you feel his fingers against your skull.
“your occipital,” he says, carefully pressing against the bone. “sagittal suture here… somewhere.”
“very sexy.”
“hush.”
he maps out the parietal bone, your zygomatic process, the slope of your mandible, naming each bone as he goes.
you laugh, somewhere along the way, probably at the temporal process. “you can’t name all of my bones.”
his fingers still. “you asked me to talk,” he says. “i’m talking. and yes, i can.”
you roll your eyes, quieting so that he can continue what he started. his fingers poke at your cervical vertebrae (“atlas,” he tells you at C1). he brushes over your clavicle; it tickles.
“scapula,” he murmurs.
you glance up to see that his eyes are closed. he’s mapping you by touch alone, face relaxed. his hair is freshly washed, missing the gel that normally keeps it out of his face during the work day.
your mind says touch, but the weight of his hand gliding across your skin keeps you still.
“first rib.” a feather-light touch. “true ribs, one through seven.” he pauses against each one. “false ribs. right to twelve.” his voice rumbles through his chest, against your ear. “floating ribs.”
you’re not sure how far he gets in naming bones; you fall asleep somewhere between iliac crest and greater trochanter.
ditzy!reader getting in the smallest lil fender bender & hysterically crying while you call the cops (praying they don’t send sammy). coincidentally, they do. sammy's face drops when he sees you "baby? what happened mama, what's goin on?" as he opens your door, helping you fan your face. your makeup is smudged and you hold up your hand to sammy with a sad "look!" :(
now if most men saw that your nail was broken after losing a bumper on the car they bought you, they'd have a less than caring reaction. but not sammy, he's all pouts and kisses. bringing your hand up to his eyes and inspecting the rigid crack in the sunlight, "oh, sweetheart i'm sorry." it's genuine too, which is what makes ben & cooper howl with laughter behind him. sammy doesn't even notice, too caught up in cooing at you "did'ya hurt anything else? yeah, no, i know, nail's the biggest priority ,my poor baby."
you cling to his chest as you bawl, and sammy knows you need him just as much as he needs to do his job. "okay baby hang on, lemme get a look at the car," but you won't dare let go of his arm; too shaken up and overstimulated. "okay, okay, 's alright, gimme your hand and walk with me" while he walks around the car checking for any other issues. after assessing for any other issues, sammy sits you back in the drivers seat and checks your head and face for any injuries. sammy with his big, strong hand brushing against your forehead and resting his fingers against the sides of your neck to turn your head gently, "i know, i know, i'm sorry honey, just gotta look you over real quick"
after plenty of kisses and comfort, sammy stands and gestures to ben, "wouldya take my girl home, please?" and ben knows better than to question sammy when he sees this look across his face. after you get in the car, you watch as sammy approaches the man you got in the accident with. "You always drive like shit? Huh?" he looks so big, so handsome, so protective... so husband. <3
A/N: Brendon is a sad boy; I'm utterly obsessed with him and his five seconds of screen time; had to get something out there while writing the next part of the Gremlin series
Masterlist
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Brendon Park had a sometimes-abusive, always-an-asshole father. Nothing he did was ever good enough, and he was constantly told he would never measure up.
Brendon Park had a sweet, doting mother who drank to cope with her husband. He was twelve when she died.
Brendon Park was valedictorian of his high school and earned a full ride to college. His ruthless intelligence was the one thing his father couldn’t take from him, and he used it to get as far away from him as possible.
Brendon Park penny-pinched when he first became an attending and paid off his med school loans within a couple of years. He hates owing anyone anything.
Brendon Park has fought tooth and nail for everything in his life, clawing himself high enough that he’s untouchable. Then he meets you.
Brendon Park is terrified of you. He’s spent decades carving softness out of his life, because soft things always get taken away. He’s waiting for you to get taken away, too.
Brendon Park doesn’t know what to do with you. Yes, you’re soft. But you’re brilliant, witty, and utterly unafraid of him. You’re silk wrapped around steel. Maybe not all soft things are weak.
Brendon Park doesn’t do half-measures. Once he realizes you’re not going anywhere, that you want him as much as he wants you, he’s all in. You’re it for him.
Brendon Park thinks dating conventions are for idiots. He’s decided you’re his, and he’s been yours since the moment he saw you. Why would you not move in and get married immediately.
Brendon Park shows you he loves you by micromanaging everything and forcing you to eat protein with every meal. He hounds you incessantly about drinking enough water.
Brendon Park is touch-starved and will die before ever admitting it. But he likes keeping you near, likes keeping you tucked against his side. It’s to keep you safe, he tells himself.
Brendon Park thinks you’re the most perfect person to ever walk the earth. You are clearly superior to everyone else in every conceivable way. He also thinks you’re fucking annoying sometimes.
Brendon Park is so, so in love with you. You’re the one soft thing in his life that’s stayed, that loves him despite his sharp edges. Devotion has never know someone like Brendon Park.
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