"but you're a garden fairy!" "ironic isn't it?"

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On Reader, he likes her thighs; loves leaving dark hickeys on them for only him to see. He will leave hickeys on her neck too...especially when that new resident in the ED won't quit giving her mooneyes...gotta give a reminder that she's got a man at home. Likes her legs quite a bit; he can put them over his shoulders when he's getting a little more creative with positions. Also is quite partial to her boobs...he will insist he likes all of her; but she knows where his eyes tend to drift to when she wears that low cut green dress he loves on fancy date nights.

On him; Reader likes his hands. He likes to remind her that his hands are his greatest asset as a surgeon. They're big and she appreciates that his nails are always trimmed and neat...she's had a boyfriend or two who isn't the best about keeping trimmed and clean nails and she's not letting jagged nasty nails anywhere near her cooch. She likes how big his hands feel over hers. She likes his hands holding her wrists above her head when he's feeling a little more rough and wants to pin her down. She likes the way his hands fit over her breasts and squeezed against her backside...they do leave the loveliest handprints when he's feeling possessive enough to give her backside a firm smack.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Has been known to ask to cum on her tits if she's blowing him and he's feeling the need to be a little possessive. He gets off on making a mess out of her. His eyes will darken when she swipes a bit of cum off her breasts with her thumb and sucks it off while making direct eye contact with him.

Was super hesitant to finish inside her at first; just wasn't something he's really done with a partner before. He's not realizing that she'd be fine with it. She's on the pill and is clean and she's not seeing anyone else and he better not be seeing anyone else (he's not).

She finally mentions casually getting an IUD and his ears perk up even if she's just mentioning it as being beneficial to her. They have a lifespan on them and its less of a pain in the ass than having to take a pill. She's not sleeping with anyone but him so STDs aren't a concern. She's just ranting more than anything talking about her anxiety about it possibly being uncomfortable to have done.

Park finally does work up the nerve attempting to play it off as a joke. "So, no more condoms? Pretty sure the guy down at CVS is going to wonder what happened to me."

"If you want, I wouldn't be opposed to it." She offers shrugging her shoulders making it clear its up to him as it has been this entire time.

He's not opposed to it...so much so that he almost cums way too quick the first time they go without...it's more intense than he expected. He feels pathetic having to pull out and take a breather. She's thankfully reassuring and admits she finds it flattering that she feels that good. She's quick to stroke his ego by remarking that he feels pretty damn good too. Lot's of dirty talk about how warm he feels, how she can feel the vein on the underside of him, how messy he's getting. Oh, Dear, she's not helping him in the not cumming too soon department.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Most people would assume that Park is the dominant personality in their relationship...and that might be true in most aspects. He's definitely the one taking the reins in a lot of areas of their relationship.

He does kind of like the idea of Reader tying his wrists to his bedposts and treating him like he only exists to get her off. She deserves to feel good and the idea of her using him as a means that only exists to make her feel good does something for him. It's a shockingly submissive desire from him.

It makes sense though; he is always in control from the OR to consults to teaching residents; Park is the dominant personality. So, the idea of letting Reader take over and allowing him to let go of that control is relaxing to him.

He would have never entertained the idea with any other partner until Reader. He trusts her immensely to put him in a situation where control is taken away.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Park is in his early forties and has dated and has had his share of one night stands. He feels relatively confident in his ability to please a woman.

Of course as he's advanced in his career those one night stands have ceased to happen. When he was in college he managed to fall into the classic frat boy stereotype of taking a lot of girls to bed. He was kind of a walking contradiction. A meathead frat boy who was good with the ladies but also someone who was super studious and determined to get into med school. He partied and got around, but he never missed a class and always aced his exams.

He's had a few girlfriends over the years though he tends to attract women who are a little more interested in the surgeon's paycheck than him as a person. His most serious girlfriend who wasn't interested in his financial situation didn't enjoy how demanding his schedule was. They just wanted different things in life and that is fine; the breakup was mutual and last he heard she's married and had a few kids.

So, when it comes time to take Reader to bed, Park knows his way around and is putting his experience to good use.

Reader is not a blushing virgin. She's had a few boyfriends, but will be the first to admit she's found sex to be a bit of a disappointment. She has made the joke when a little tipsy to a few friends that she's never had a more reliable boyfriend than her vibrator.

Park is quick to point out to her that her problem was she was letting immature manchildren take her to bed who didn't understand that her pleasure was more important than their own.

Park makes it clear that he will outfuck any past partner she's ever had. He makes it a goal of his.

Once he takes her to bed no one else is going to have her. He's making sure she won't want anyone else but him.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Surprisingly has a soft spot for missionary. He likes the closeness. He's protective of Reader knowing what he knows about her childhood and wants to feel close to her in moments of intimacy. Park is a little bit of a softie when it comes to her. So, he likes when he's snuggled against her, her arms securely wrapped around him, her legs wrapped around his hips as he thrusts into her slowly and reverently.

Likes the butterfly position to mostly because he can place her legs over his shoulders as we've established the man likes her legs.

He will claim he loves any position he can get her in.

Reader tends to like the lotus position due to how intimate it feels. It means a lot to her; that intimacy considering how anxious she was at the beginning of their relationship. Being that close to him is a sign of her trust in him and he understands it. She likes that they can make direct eye contact in this position it feels vulnerable and Brendon Park is the only man Reader has ever allowed herself to feel vulnerable with.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Surprisingly pretty giggly during sex. Reader knows people would be shocked that Park the Shark is playful and smiley during sex. Of course, Park tends to save being smiley for Reader as their relationship develops.

Gone is the no nonsense straight to the point scary surgeon of ortho and there's Brendon her boyfriend who is rubbing his nose against hers and tickling her sides during intimate moments. Brendon Park is the first partner who she's had sex with where it feels loving and joyful.

Of course, when Park is feeling frustrated and pent up, he can get a little intense during sex. Usually its because someone at work has pissed him off and he's clear with her that he needs to fuck out his irritation. In those moments she knows he needs to lose himself in her and work out his tension. She somehow always manages though to work a smile out of him at some point even if he comes into the bedroom clearly in a mood.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He tries to keep things trimmed up at least. Though he's got a bit of hair on his chest and a clear happy trail. He takes care to keep things neat in consideration of Reader when she blows him...because she does like blowing him quite a bit.

Reader mentions the possibility of getting a full Brazilian at one point and Park tells her to only do it for herself if she really wants to. Overall, he's fine with her usual keeping things trimmed and neat.

He's mature enough to not see body hair as something to snub his nose at. He tells her he's happy that he's able to see her pussy, he's not going to turn it down no matter what it looks like.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Park the Shark is far sweeter than he will ever ever ever admit to being. At least when it comes to Reader he's soft.

He's nursed a crush on the pretty ED nurse for longer than he cares to own up to. So, he's treating her right once he has her.

He will pour on the romance with Reader. She's admitted to him that in the past people have not put effort into her. She was raised in the system most of her life and prior to that she was pretty much neglected and parentified by her mother...not to mention the fact she had to fend off inappropriate attention from her mother's boyfriends.

So, Park is taking the act of being caring towards Reader very seriously. His girlfriend is going to be cherished in the bedroom. That man does not cut corners at loving her. He makes it clear to her that she is worth being treated like a Queen. He is going above and beyond in spoiling her in every aspect of their relationship that extends to the bedroom.

Reader is shocked by the intimacy she feels towards Park. She's never felt this way with anyone before. There's something about Brendon Park that makes her want to cling to him and cherish him just as much as he seems to cherish her.

He may go out of his way to take care of her, but she's doing the same for him.

He deserves it. He spends his days in the OR piecing people back together. So, when they're in bed together she wants to show him appreciation and admiration.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Park is a controlled person in every aspect of his life. In between girlfriends if he felt the need he would take care of himself in the shower quickly and efficiently.

Park will never own up to it but after meeting Reader she became the central figure in him taking care of himself during those shower sessions. There was a lot of groans of her name followed by sense of shame as he watched his spend go down the drain.

After dating but before becoming intimate he's very much still fantasizing about Reader with a little less shame this time around.

After getting together, he's not seeing much of a need to take care of himself. Reader is usually open and willing if he feels needy.

He might occasionally take care of himself still if Reader is a little tipsy and is feeling needy and wanting him...he doesn't let it get that far. Park is not taking advantage of an impaired Reader. Usually he'll tuck her in and reassure her that if she still wants him sober then he'll be happy to take care of her.

Once she's out he will head to the bathroom and work out some frustration before going back to her and falling asleep.

Reader is not a stranger to self pleasure. She's got a vibrator and used it when she was single. She will pretend that the intimidating intense ortho surgeon who used to come down for consultations and make mooneyes at her was not an occasional thought during her own self discovery moments.

After getting together she still will put her toy to use if Park has a very very late night in the OR where she knows he's not coming home anytime soon nor is he going to be anything but exhausted when he does make it home.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

We've already gone over Park's desire to be tied up and used by Reader. He also likes the idea of public sex...like in a bathroom at the dumb bar the PTMC staff occasionally will frequent. He might occasionally talk Reader into at least having an intense makeout session with him in the alley behind the bar.

Realistically he's not going to risk going that far in public. It doesn't mean he doesn't like going back into the bar with Reader with her face clearly flushed and the occasional hint of lipstick against his neck. It's a possessive thing for him; he likes people seeing what he pulled.

He maybe also enjoys a bit of a size kink...he's a big guy compared to most people. He likes being able to manhandle Reader just the slightest and gets off on her whines over "how fucking big he feels" he likes towering over her and moving her how he wants in bed.

She maybe enjoys it too...she trusts him not to harm her and hates to admit she feels protected during those moments.

Reader has a tiny bit of a praise kink...she's been told a lot of really awful things in her life by people who should love her. So, she feels good being told by Park how perfect she is, how good she makes him feel, how wonderful she is.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Every available surface of his penthouse. There is not a single square inch of his place that they have not defiled.

He likes the idea of a public tryst, but as I said previously doesn't want to take the risk.

He might fantasize about taking her in a public restroom or in a supply closet at work. but he's not taking the risk.

He earned his spot as the head of the orthopedic surgical department...he's not risking that by getting in trouble for public indecency or getting his ass handed to him by HR at work.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The man has perpetual heart-eyes over Reader and let's be real that goes along with a perpetual hard on for Reader it seems. He's a man obsessed with her even before their first date.

He gets worked up over her easily. If he were not the responsible serious surgeon he is he would call out of work for a week straight for both Reader and he and spend the entire week in bed showiong Reader just how worked up she gets him.

Reader is in the same boat. Her boyfriend is a hot, strong, intense, intelligent surgeon. Excuse her for getting hot and bothered.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Would rather cut off his own hands than harm Reader, and that says a lot given what an asset his hands are for his career.

He worries about rough sex at first with Reader as he knows he's a pretty strong guy and is larger than her. He would die if he harmed her even if it was unintential.

Would not be okay with degrading her in anyway even if it was consensual. He knows what her childhood was like and he's not going to say a cruel word to her.

He's mean to everyone but her.

Reader is in the same boat as him; doesn't want to harm him. As intense and brooding as Park is she knows he has a soft heart that he doesn't like to show people.

She would never want to make him feel used, like sex for gifts. She knows he's had girlfriends who have treated him as a walking talking debit card with no limit.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Park is the only guy Reader has genuinely enjoyed giving oral to. Her past boyfriends treated it like an absolute expectation and it felt like an obligation, not something she was doing to show love.

Park seems to appreciate it and see it as her wanting to take care of him. He's very vocal about how much he appreciates it which makes her enjoy it.

Park returns the favor. He knows his way around pleasing a woman and he's pulling out all the tricks with Reader.

He has had Reader sit on his face and has shown the upmost enthusiasm for the act.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on the situation. Ideally Park wants to take his time with Reader. He wants to enjoy himself. It's not a race so there's zero need to rush.

When they first get together he's never rough with her. He's very sensual and slowpaced.

When she gives him the go ahead and encourages it he does get pretty rough to an extent with the understanding that she's setting the pace.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Absolutely a last resort for Park. He likes to take his time with Reader, but he knows they both have a busy schedule so sometimes sadly a quickie is all they have time for before they're both rushing out the door for a long work day.

Occasionally they are so exhausted after a shift that a quickie is once again the only option. They both want each other but they're about to drop. So a quick fuck and a deep sleep.

Not ideal but sometimes its the only choice they have.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Somewhat willing to take a risk. Park is taking measured risks. He tends to need to feel in control in most aspects of his life. So, he is a little wary of risks.

Will experiment with positions at least and will try things if Reader brings it up.

He has some hard nos in some areas. No to pain. No to cruel words. No to sharing her or himself. No to public sex even though he is very tempted to try it.

He will tease and tempt in on the car ride home and Reader has been known to place a hand over his crotch secretly under a table while out with friends.

So, a little risk with teasing behavior.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Park takes good care of himself. He's more than fit given his gym routine and he's healthy as hell despite the occasional glass of wine or scotch.

He's in good enough health to have a healthy stamina as far as going more than one round with a bit of a break between and he can make it last.

Reader has never had a morning after with her boyfriend where she was left feeling disappointed.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Park has walked in on Reader using her vibrator...he finished up a night in the OR and was so not planning on walking into his girlfriend fucking herself with a pink vibrator moaning his name.

Reader was mortified and tried to shut off the vibrator and hide under a pillow.

Park was super reassuring if not also annoyingly smug about it.

He maybe talked her into continuing and letting him see just how good she was feeling. It was a pretty sight, and he can't think of anything that will make him feel better after a long rough night than seeing his Kitten make herself feel good.

It maybe does become kind of a thing for them...Park wanting to watch Reader play...he maybe does buy a few new toys too something far pricer than she'd ever buy herself.

Park does not feel jealous over any piece of plastic. He is insistent to his girlfriend that she should feel good and use whatever makes her feel good.

She maybe has used that wand he bought her against the underside of his cock and he's maybe asked her to do it more than once.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Brendon Park might say he'd never be mean to Reader but she points out the way he teases her is so mean.

He has been known to place his hand a little too high on her thigh on the drive home and sneak his hand a little too far up a dress or skirt a little too close to the lace of her panties.

She's perfectly happy to return the favor. She's absolutely rubbed the tent forming in his jeans on what should be a low key night out with friends from work.

She knows she's going to get it when she gets home, but that is what she hopes for.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

As stoic and as serious as Park is at work, the man is vocal at home. Groans and lots of filthy dirty talk. He will tell her what feels good and how much he loves her.

Reader is surprised that she's vocal with him. Her past partners didn't give her much to be vocal about to be fair.

Park is supportive of hearing her moans and cries. He encourages her to tell him how good she feels. He wants to know about it.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Park has thought that one day he's going to buy a nice house for Reader and that nice house is going to have a nice pool with a nice big yard and nice high high privacy fences.

Maybe he's falling into the cliche of his nickname, but pool sex??? He's thought about it. Or maybe hot tub sex???

He's a shark...okay...water is a natural environment. For now he'll settle for shower sex.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Park is a big guy....have you taken a look at the man's hands??? You know what they say about big hands....

He is confident for a reason, okay.

It's a lot to manage their first time for Reader and Park proves to be sweeter than his reputation would suggest. He is making sure she's more than prepped for him.

Even then its a lot and Park is patiently talking her through it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

HIGH. He loves Reader okay. The man is a man obsessed with the woman who he somehow has convinced to give the mean surgeon who everyone avoids a shot.

Once he has her he's enjoying her.

Reader manages to find she has an equal sex drive. She thought her drive as nonexistent but it seems like Park may have had a point that her sex drive had more to do with previous partners than her actual desire.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

No matter how dead tired Park is he's taking care of Reader. He's a provider okay, he's not zoinking out until his girlfriend is comfortable and he's sure she's a-okay.

He sleeps pretty easily after knowing she's cared for. He has been known to drape himself over her and sleep like the dead.

She might have thought that falling asleep under Park would feel suffocating and too warm, but it feels like a sense of security.

He's warm and heavy and she feels safe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

WHAM!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I hate him.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink. “You two?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shoot him a confused look. “Hours?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He replies almost immediately.

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

You: I think I’m gonna block you 🤭

Jack: Have fun sweets!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Glass of wine?” He offers.

“Will that help my alleged concussion?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But do you want to?” You breathe.

He swallows. “You know I want to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The one that fucks me.”

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

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

“Want you, please.”

“Want me how?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brendon Park was notoriously an asshole. everyone who worked at the PTMC knew that first hand. he could make you cry with just a single, unimpressed stare. he knew he was one. It came with the job of being a surgeon.

Surgery required the upmost precision because the human body was a machine. It required perfection and nothing less.

With a high stress job that required him to be perfect in every single aspect that he did, he expected the same thing from his colleagues. Including naive, stupid medical students and residents. He had no patience for incompetence-excuses.

Perfection meant everything to Brendon. It meant that there was no room for mistakes. Mistakes were a luxury reserved for people who weren't good enough. Every single decision made in his OR had to be deliberate.

Every incision had to be exact. He expected-no, he demanded excellence because anything less than that had consequences.

Residents called him ruthless. Others called him an asshole. What they failed to realize was that he simply had standards. Standards that they failed to reach. If they wanted him to coddle them, they should've chosen a different field of medicine. If they wanted encouragement, they should've stayed downstairs and sought out Abbot or Robby.

Because to him, excellence was expected not rewarded.

He had no time for coddling. He had no time for making other's feel better about themselves for their lack of discipline. He wasn't interested in intentions, potential, or excuses. Results and accuracy were all that truly mattered to him. The operating room wasn't a classroom. It certainly wasn't a therapy session. It was a place where the excellent thrived. It was a place where if you hesitated, you were done. It wasn't a place for the ordinary.

Because patients did not care if a resident's feelings were hurt. They did not care if you thought, if you didn't know, if Brendan looked at you like you were nothing.

What they cared about is if they would be able to walk again. They cared about whether their arm would be back to normal. They cared about whether they could play football again—if their career could potentially be over.

If someone couldn't handle criticism (and disdain in Brendan's case), then they had no business being in his OR. The scalpel didn't care about feelings. Anatomy didn't care about feelings. The unconscious patient with an amputated arm certainly did not care about feelings either.

And most importantly, neither did Brendon.

Because if he smelled a single hint of hesitation, then he was out for blood. Hesitation meant uncertainty. It meant that there was gaps in your knowledge that needed to be filled before you even stepped into his OR.

It meant that you didn't study enough, weren't prepared enough, and hadn't practiced enough.

You were simply not enough.

And Brendon did not need someone in his OR, being uncertain. Uncertainty led to mistakes. Mistakes that could have been prevented if you didn't second-guess the knowledge that should have been drilled within you before you entered his OR.

And for that matter, he expected excellency.

Orthopedics was precision. Measurements mattered.

Alignments mattered. Angles mattered. If a screw is placed a few millimeters off, a reduced fraction would not heal properly. It would be permanent. It would mean patients would live with the consequences that was created in his OR after everyone else got to go home like nothing.

He had spent years of studying until the backs of his eyes burned and until his mind felt numb. Years of refining techniques, repetition after repetition, understanding the human physiology-until precision stopped becoming an effort. It became natural to him and expectation.

And everyday, he maintained that standard. He expected the same thing from his residents, his fellows.

In his field, there was no room for guesses or approximations. A crushed femur or patella wasn't fixed with intention. It was fixed with alignments, measurements, and perfect execution. Because millimeters, angles, alignments, and stability mattered the most. Every single screw that's required to stabilize a bone had its own purpose. Its own position. Every reduction of a fracture had to be exact.

Years ago, when he had made a mistake-small, practically insignificant, fixable, and forgettable in everyone's eyes.

But he remembered it clear as day.

He corrected it immediately. His old attending-now retired-had laughed and patted him in the back. It's okay, he had said. Years of teaching unprepared, unconfident residents had made him accustomed to seeing mistakes.

But it wasn't okay. Not to Brendon at least. It didn't make him breathe easier knowing that his old mentor wasn't upset. It ruined his day. And he punished himself internally for making a simple, insignificant mistake.

He never made another one after that.

So yes, while his standards and expectations may be exceedingly high and unattainable in many eyes-Brendon saw no reason to lower them. He believed patients deserved excellence and nothing less. No one should expect that from him either.

He was respected, feared, and avoided. His word was absolute-it was law. Residents learned quickly to steer clear of him, to speak when spoken to, and to keep conversations very brief. He didn't want to have small talk. He wasn't interested in knowing how your day was or how you were doing today.

He preferred to conversations that were purely medical, nothing personal. It had to be the point, precise, and clear. Because if something could be said in five words easily, then it was unjustified for you to speak ten more.

And according to the unlucky ones, asking him if he had any plans on Christmas was apparently enough to land you on his shit list.

His OR wasn't silent because he expected silence. It was only silent because he was silent. The only noise that was constant was the sound of him brutally hammering a screw into the bone and the sound of music playing.

Music that depended entirely on his mood.

On very rare occasions, he did allow you, the anesthesiologist, to choose. Those were rare occasions.

Those were not moments of generosity. They were controlled exceptions and were rare for a reason.

(The day this happened, it took an ounce of willpower for the surgical crew to not openly gape at Brendon. To them, this was an act of generosity. They understood this was Brendon playing nice. A form of an olive branch. He was being nice!)

It wasn't a courtesy, or a gesture of familiarity but because you had earned a level consistency he respected. Because you both had a mutual understanding of precision, perfection. Your decisions were consistent. They were precise. You did not hesitate when it mattered and you didn't speak when it didn't.

You understood what needed to be done and you never faltered in your decision-making.

Everything you did was concise. Your actions were deliberate. Controlled. It did not matter if it challenged the dynamics of his OR. If it was correct, than it stood.

You did not disrupt it without reason.

He recognized the type of person you were because he was exactly like you. While he had his expectations in his department, you had yours within yours. He's seen you with your own students. You weren't as harsh as Brendon but your words carried their own weight. You didn't just correct mistakes, you exposed them. They lingered. They hurt. And your residents remembered them long after the moment had passed.

You upheld your own expectations. You wanted just as much perfection as Brendon because patients deserved excellency. They did not deserve mediocrity. They did not need to hear excuses. Because they did not care what you felt or what you thought. They cared if they would survive a surgery, if the operation succeeded, if they would feel the pain that would come from a scalpel under anesthesia. Because they trusted you with their lives.

Therefore, they deserve nothing but the best. More than the best.

You're sitting in your chair by head of the operating table, next to your anesthesia machine and monitors. You have a cross word puzzle book in your lap, held steady your pink clipboard. Like every other anesthesiologist, you're calm. But not in the way you blend into the background.

It's more deliberate than that. Your presence is quiet, not absent.

You do not position yourself to be noticed unless the situation requires it. You do not fill the silence with unnecessary speech like other anesthesiologists. You stay within your means, crossing out words with your pink highlighter, anchored to head of the table.

He's in the middle of reducing a fracture fragment when Brendon inhales sharply through his nose at the sight of blood filling the surgical field.

Immediately the sound of beeping fills the room. The numbers of the monitor are dropping significantly. You lower your puzzle book down on your chair. Your eyes shift to numbers beside, focused and immediate. You stand up.

Everyone near Brendon stiffens. They recognize it instantly that something was going wrong. You gaze over the surgical curtain and look at Brendon.

"BP's dropping." You state calmly.

He doesn't look at you. His eyes never stray away from his hands and what he's mechanically doing with them.

Without breaking a sweat or focus. Brendon motions to his surgical tech.

"Gauze."

There's a brief hesitation before she places it in his hands. He looks at her briefly, scrutinizing her for daring to even hesitate.

She freezes and quickly mutters a quiet, "Sorry.." He ignores her apology and continues what he's doing.

Again, you're looking at the monitors before looking back him. "Saturation is at 92."

"Noted." He says. He continues what he's doing. He's done this multiple times. He knows what he's doing and he knows what the numbers on the monitors say.

He doesn't panic, he isn't worried. He could tell that the resident next to him is sucking in his breath, sweating profusely. If he wasn't so focused, he'd roll his eyes. Fear would only cripple you in these case. And that meant making mistakes because you can't think.

You're still standing, staring at him expectantly as he works diligently to fix the current issue.

"BP is still trending down. 88 systolic."

"Cause?" Again, his eyes still don't stray away to look at you.

“Likely retraction. Volume is unchanged." You respond.

"Ease retraction."

The resident holding the retractors hesitates for only a second before he complies, loosening his hold. This mere second was enough for him know that hesitation didn't go unnoticed. He knows-just as everyone in the room knows-that this will be corrected later. Outside this room, in a different context, there will be consequences.

The sound of rushed beeping slowly dissipates into a more rhythmic sound. You look at the monitor one last time. Satisfied, you give a small nod at Brendon before grabbing your pink clipboard, then sit back down in the chair.

For a fraction of a second, his gaze wanders and it lands on you. You’re sitting there, pink highlighter in your hand as you cross out another word. You’re composed and unaffected by the tension that follows him.

It's silent again in the room. The only constant is the music. Tension and perhaps anxiety lessens in small increments. Even the resident exhales a small, very quiet sigh of relief and his shoulders lower.

Outside of his service, the silence was never the same.

You weren't always the anesthesiologist that would be assigned to his cases. Sometimes you were pulled in at nights with Walsh. Other times, you would be with Shamsi. Normally it was for a day where you wouldn't be on his case. It was never more than a day.

It often varied. You didn't seem to mind. You liked the variety. Every surgeon was different and the music taste was sometimes interesting.

But people began to notice something. When you weren't assigned to his case, the difference in Brendon was immediate.

Resident's noticed first. They noticed how the atmosphere shifted, how it deteriorated quickly under him if your presence wasn't there to stabilize the rhythm of the room. Small mistakes seemed to be corrected loudly. His silence was heavier, borderline uncomfortable. It was demanded.

Unfortunately for them, you wouldn't be on his cases for a week or maybe longer. You'd been on call for the night shift. It was then that they truly noticed the change in his behavior.

He became worse.

Your absence became the bane of residents' existence.

His OR, despite already having its own expectations, became brutal. It was unforgiving in the way where the most experienced scrub nurse that had been working under Brendon for years began to hesitate. Residents quickly learned that during your absence, things like breathing too loudly or moving too slowly would be enough to be scrutinized.

Sometimes, it would be enough for them to get removed off the case.

Brendon knows something is wrong with him. He understands that his behavior has been borderline aggressive, even for his standards. He finds himself feeling irritated by little things. Residents have been dismissed for insignificant mistakes he normally would have corrected. His routine felt disrupted and he didn't know what it was that was causing it.

At first, he blamed the cases. Then the residents. Then it was the schedule.

Until he caught himself lifting his gaze lift from his surgical field to the head of the operating table. Again.

And again, every single surgery. Only to find a different anesthesiologist sitting there. Not you.

Every time he would enter his OR, his eyes would instinctively search for your pink clipboard that would be balanced on your lap. Instead he was greeted by a book of sudoku.

The irritation would unfold almost immediately.

Brendon Park does not do idle chit chat. That is well known amongst his peers and those that work under him. He does not care about what is polite and what isn't. He doesn't care about how you are doing. He does not care about what your plans for Fourth of July will be.

He cares about getting to the point without beating around the bush. He cares about clarity and things that could be said within five words or less. He wants to know the vitals of patients. Whether the amputation sight was clean. What bones required surgeries.

But he finds himself wanting to speak to you. To indulge in the simplicities of small talk. Of knowing how your day is going. If you had any plans for Fourth of July. His interactions with you outside of the OR become simple.

Questions that are direct, they're straightforward and they wouldn't beat around the bush.

Of where you were. Of who had stolen you from right under his nose for their own needs.

He finds you sitting in the nurses' station in his department on a chair with a tablet in your hands. Next to you is a cup of coffee, to which he identifies is from the break room. Your pink clipboard is also next to you.

"You weren't on my service last week."

You look up upon hearing his deep voice and small smile appears on your face once you realized it was him. It's subtle. Uncomplicated. He thinks that you look beautiful.

The realization is immediate and unwelcomed. It makes him clench his jaw.

You turn your body fully to him and lower your tablet down to give him your full attention. If you're surprised that he started a conversation with you, you don't show it.

Most people did.

You look tired. Not physically tired-though he's sure that you are-but weighed down in a way he doesn't know how to identify. The bags under your eyes are slightly darker than usual. Your shoulders seem to carry a tension that certainly wasn't there a week ago.

He noticed it immediately from just this interaction. It's just noticeable. It's a detail that he's sure other surgeons would be able to notice. Small details, minor deviations, out of the norm. Just a change that other's possibly overlooked.

He hadn't.

A part of him questioned why he paid so much attention to this. He didn't remember the last time he paid this much attention to anyone outside of his OR.

Because that's what made him a good surgeon, he reason. Able to notice minute details like this while other's couldn't. That's all it is. It's so obvious.

"No, I was on call for nights."

"Neurosurgery?" He asks.

You blink in surprise. You didn't think he noticed you.

Rather, you didn't think he even cared enough to notice.

You nod in response, unsure whether to answer him vocally. The rumors of Park The Shark and his issues with small talk didn't go unheard for you.

Brendon studies you for another moment. He wants to ask you things. Things that were uncharacteristic of him.

Subjects that he normally strayed away from because he didn't care to know. But he wants to know. He wants to know so terribly that it's leaving a disgusting taste in his mouth. That makes him want to smack himself in front of a mirror because he isn't like this.

Past romantic interactions like this never left him like this. He feels like his body is malfunctioning and that he needs to somehow perform a factory reset because - this isn't him.

Attraction was simple. It was predictable. It was easy to understand and compartmentalize.

"You look exhausted." There is no sympathy in his tone.

It was a statement of fact. It was an easy observation.

The same way he could easily identify a hairline fracture on an x-ray.

Yet, this doesn't feel like it's meaningless.

Your smile widens into something more. He doesn't know how to describe it. It's genuine, he supposed. It's terrifyingly beautiful. He feels hooked, lost in it.

"I'm exhausted, yes. The night shift does that to you, yknow? Especially having to listen to jazz on repeat for days."

A grin pulls at your lips.

"I think I still prefer your playlist a lot more than other surgeons so far. Dr. Park."

You tilt your head up and look at him. And you really do look at him, your eyes scan his stone-cold face and observe him. You take all of him in. You're not afraid of him. You don't look like you want to run away from this interaction. Your shoulders are relaxed and you lean into your chair more as you really look at him.

You're amused. "I actually feel alive in your OR, Dr. Park."

Brendon stares at you. For a moment, he forgets to answer. The sense, the feeling of malfunctioning is stronger now. It's almost like he is unable to respond.

Which is the most concerning because he always has a response.

Finally, he inhales through his nose.

"That's because my playlists are actually better."

These words left him before he could think. Before he could stop himself from speaking them. It was dry, so matter-of-fact. He realized too late that it was his lame attempt at a joke. At teasing. But the horror is instant.

A brief moment of silence.

Your eyes widen ever so slightly for only a fraction of a second. A laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.

Brendon doesn't react outwardly. But he registers the way your expression shifts from recognition to amusement.

He had made a joke. You laugh once more much more quietly until you settle down with a soft smile on your lips. You look like you've accepted something that he hasn't.

"Oh, yeah? I'll trust your medical opinion on that then." Brendon exhales through his nose but the corners of his lips twitch ever so slightly. A detail that didn't go unnoticed by you.

The interaction didn't take long for it to be shared amongst his department. It only took one nurse and a resident to notice. A shift in tone they weren't supposed to notice. A sound that didn't belong in the halls that Brendon Park walked in. Laughter was shared between nurses, techs, and residents. It was never shared with Dr. Park.

But curious minds that had nothing better to do stayed curious.

They spoke in hallways. In the break rooms. In shared on-call rooms.

"Did you hear that Dr. Park made a joke?"

"What- There's no way!"

"Well, she laughed."

"And he smiled!"

A pause. A beat of disbelief. To them, it was just a rumor A pause. A beat of disbelief. To them, it was just a rumor made by one bored nurse and resident. Because there was no way that the renowned, asshole of an orthopedic surgeon with a major stick up his ass was capable of cracking a joke. Let alone making someone else laugh.

Or even smile.

But the consensus amongst his residents was clear.

"Brendan Park-The Shark-practically smiled."

The news spread quickly like rumors often do in hospitals. He hears about it the same way he hears other rumors. Indirectly. It starts with an R4 hesitating to speak to him. A nurse nearly smiles at him before deciding not to.

Even Abbot and Robby pause when they see him in the corridor of the ED. A joke was forming between them-Brendon can clearly see the way they glance at each other with knowing smirks.

But it never comes out. They focus on the incoming trauma that they called him to look over. He registers the way Ahemed tries to shift his position in front of the betting board. The way Perlah, Santos, and Princess stare at him and whisper to each other in Tagalog. The word "anesthesiologist" doesn't go unnoticed by him either.

He continues moving through the department as he always does-precise and unaffected in appearance. This was out of his control. Things were unraveling and he already disliked it.

He's sure you're aware of it as well.

If the way you looked at him sometimes-amused, calm, and equally unaffected by whatever everyone around you was overanalyzing —is any indication. You meet his gaze too easily in passing corridors. Long enough to mean something between the two of you. But not long enough for others to deem is provocative.

Because you both move on as if it meant nothing. As if it was just two colleagues greeting each other politely.

This, specifically more than anything, was what made people notice.

You smile when he nods at you in greeting. It's brief, practically unnoticeable because of the way your expression smooths over as if your smile was never there to begin with. It was deliberate. It was for him to notice.

But your residents noticed. They quickly pick up on it first. A glance of one of your R2s in his direction then one towards you when you pass by. Some will look at both you for a brief second before looking back down to their charts with a knowing smile.

As of now, you look better than the last interactions you've had. Your shoulders no longer seem to bear that tension you had before. He pauses in his stride as you both come across each other in an empty corridor.

"Dr. Park," you greet him. Your expression is composed-professional-but the small smile that seemed to be reserved only for him flickers in and out before you suppress it.

He nods at you. "Tomorrow. You're on my service."

You let out a soft exhale that resembled a quiet laugh, your smile widens briefly.

"You're getting very predictable, Brendon."

You said his name. It's simple. Casual but lands with more weight than it should. Brendon stops and for a moment, what he feels is akin to a robot malfunctioning—he really looks at you. His head is turned slightly to stare at you. He doesn't speak. He simply takes all of you in.

It's affecting him in a way he doesn't have a logical explanation to. He is well aware that these new found sensations in his body are becoming exceedingly difficult to compartmentalize, which is the problem. Because Brendon Park does not operate without it.

For the first time again, he isn't sure how to respond None of the options in his head feel correct. He could ignore it. He could pretend that he didn't hear the way his name rolls off the top of your tongue perfectly.

You hold his gaze, knowingly.

"Don't use my name like that." He isn't reprimanding you. He isn't upset by the use of his name. It's a more of a constraint for him. A warning of what would happen if you continue doing it.

You tilt your head slightly. You're clearly amused by him again. You don't step back or get intimidated by his response. You should. Everyone else would. You're studying him and it feels like you're stripping him down to his core. Like you know what he truly meant.

Somehow, he feels that's worse.

Brendon sharply inhales through his nose, his eyes still haven't left yours. A beat passes by.

"...Not here."

He doesn't elaborate any further. He doesn't explain what these last two words truly mean. He continues walking to the opposite direction of you. Leaving you left to your own thoughts, amusement rather.

His next surgery is with you. It's on Wednesday.

He knows this because he looked at the OR schedule ahead of time. Once. Then once more. Then again. Until he was positive that no one had changed your name overnight. He knows his behavior is ridiculous. It's unbecoming of a surgeon of his caliber.

Brendon Park does not need to double check a surgery schedule. He looks at them once and memorizes them and moves on. There was no need for him to triple check if your name was there.

You are assigned to his case and that should be the end of it.

But it isn't. Because he finds himself looking forward to seeing you in your chair and your pink clipboard. Seeing you cross out words you found in your crossword with the bright neon pink highlighter you always bring. To see the way you would smile at him-subtle and only meant for him. You are aware of the effect you have on him.

But seeing your name on his cases isn't important as the real reason he's been checking your schedule. For the past few weeks, everyday. And everyday for these past few weeks, you both had different days off. Nothing was aligned and lately, his residents have noticed the mood he's been in because of that.

But today he checked the schedule. Every Sunday, the schedules get updated. And immediately he goes to find your name-hoping to find aligned days off.

You're both walking out of his OR simultaneously down the corridor that led you to the elevator. You're both silent but maintaining the aura of professionalism you both normally keep. He waits to say something until you're both in the elevator.

"You have tomorrow off." He states. "And the day after."

Matter-of-fact as always. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It was accurate. It was direct. He knew your schedule because he memorized it.

You blink at him and you nod, slowly and for the first time-you are confused. This dance between the two of you has been predictable, in a way. You have learned the language that comes with understanding Brendon Park.

The nuances and the significance of his words, his attention.

You're not understanding him. His jaw clenches and he exhales slowly.

"You've been working a lot of hours." Brendon says. "Too many, actually."

And immediately, the fact was wrapped with concern.

No, it was care. His wording was precise. It was deliberate like it always was with Brendon. You finally understand and you look at him with more than amusement, you smile. This time it's wide and it wasn't subtle. It was loud.

You're beautiful, he thinks.

"You know, normal people would just ask me to get dinner, Brendon."

Brendon pauses and he stares at you. His gaze is heavy and his fingers twitch. He's sure of himself this time. For the first time, he knows exactly what he wants to say.

There is no hesitation. No uncertainty that would cloud his judgement and years of knowing. For the first time in a long time of knowing you, the answer comes easily.

"Would you say yes?"

You grin widens instantaneously. Finally, no more subtle glances in the OR. No more interpreting intent and words like they contained double meanings. No more pretending that what this is was purely professional.

Especially when the lines of professionalism have slowly blurred for the both of you.

You bring your palm forward and you squeeze his bicep.

You're bold but it doesn't matter anymore. Not when he already has the words he wants to say. The feelings he wants to express.

"What do you think?" You ask teasingly.

"You've been checking my schedule for weeks, haven't you?"

Brendon closes his eyes and exhales loudly. Then for the first time since you've known him, he looks at you with almost fondness mixed with exasperation.

"My schedule hasn't lined up with yours."

You stare at him with awe. Then you burst into loud laughter because he didn't even deny the fact. His response was an admission. That he was obsessively checking when your days off would align. To prepare for this.

"That's really your defense?"

"It's a factual statement." He responds.

"Yes-" You pause. "but you've been checking."

He holds your gaze and he clenches his jaw, inhales sharply at your statement.

"Yes."

His admission landed harder than anything you've heard.

It was real and it was profoundly like Brendon to not beat around the bush. To cut to the chase. To not make excuses. He was precise with his words.

The grin on your face couldn't get any bigger. This was the real you. The side that not many got to see. Just as this side of him was the side that no one but you got to see. It was reserved for you, jusy like the side you only showed him was reserved for him.

"Dinner." Brendon says.

You raise a brow at him. "Dinner?"

"And coffee." Brendon nods. "Tomorrow."

“Oh, and coffee? You really want to see me twice in a day, huh?” You grin. "So you're finally asking me out?"

Immediately, Brendon sighs and brings his hand to his face. "Apparently, yes."

You beam at him and you give his bicep one more squeeze as the elevator doors open to your floor. You wave at him as you exit the elevator.

"It's a date then!"

Warmth settles in the pit of his stomach as he stares at your face before the doors close. He presses his back against the wall and he looks down at the floor. It's quiet and it is just him. Slowly, a smile makes its way to his face and lets out breath that resembles a soft laugh.

Park rolled his eyes, “You’re dewy-eyed every time he comes around,” he started. “I’ve seen you in action, you’re tough, you know your stuff, you command the room, you’re willing to get down and dirty, but when you’re with him, or if you think he’s around?” Park made a disgusted face and scoffed. 

“You’re clueless, as if being in a trauma bay is a field trip for you, and you’ve never encountered an actual medical case.” 

Balking at this criticism at your person, you were quiet, mulling over what he said. You tried to remember all your encounters with Park when Robby was around. Grimacing, you could see where he was coming from. 

Were you really like that? When you were with Robby? If someone like Park - who doesn’t come down that often sees it, who else does? Were you the fucking laughing stock of the ED?

Fury and embarrassment ran through you and you steeled yourself, “What’s it to you?” 

“I want you to be the best,” he answered, ordering another whisky. Park turned to you and under the light you saw the intensity in his eyes, the blatant expression almost too much for you. “I know that you can be the best.”

You were stunned at his words. 

“You can’t be the best when you’re too busy making sure that Robinavitch is noticing you, or whether he’s fucking one of the nurses again,” Park said truthfully. 

You want to say that Brendon Park is a liar. That he uses people to gain advantage. But he doesn’t. He’s mean, crass, blunt, impatient but not a liar.  

“I’m not trying to be mean,” Park glanced at you, watching as you fiddled with your drink. 

You scoffed, “Could have fooled me.” 

“I don’t want you to waste your potential. I’ve seen too many people in this field make themselves smaller so they can have the hot shot attending,” Park explained. 

“Speaking from experience?” You quipped and you mumbled an apology when he threw you a glare. 

“You have promise, you could make a good Chief one day, can’t do that when you’re too busy crying in an on-call room when you found out Robinavitch was fucking Hastings,” at the mention of the two people that have been the cause of your tears for the last few weeks, Park saw you tense, and then you relaxed. 

“That was one time!” You cried out. 

“You’re too attractive for him anyway,” he threw out, gulping down his shot, while looking at you through his peripheral. 

“Is this your way of getting into my pants?” You snipped. 

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he smirked. “But no, if I wanted to fuck you I don’t need to use pretty words.” 

“Oh really?” You sneered, and deep down inside you hated yourself because you knew he was right. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Why because you’re such an Ortho God that me having sex with you would give me some of your godly medicinal powers?” You hissed, narrowing your eyes, trying to figure out his plan. 

You followed the path of his mouth turning to a smirk, “No, I just know that you find me attractive as much as I find you attractive.”

You feigned a disgusted noise, snorting into your drink, “I never said I found you attractive.” 

“Oh, so do your eyes just follow everything attending that walk through the ED?” He remarked. “And do you accidentally like years old posts on their private Instagram as well?”

“That wasn’t me,” you mumbled, downing your drink, embarrassment alive and well, digging itself into every crevice of your body. 

Park laughed loudly, “Sure, baby,” the drinks making his lips a little looser. “Pretty sure I have a screenshot somewhere.” 

At the nickname, you squirmed in your seat. You weren’t uncomfortable per se, just confused that Park was talking to you like this. You squinted your eyes and poked him, trying to make sure that it was him in front of you. 

“What are you doing?” He leaned back, trying to figure out what you were doing. 

“Why are you talking to me now?” 

He took a moment to say anything to you, a silence that you filled by looking at him. 

“You did well today,” he begrudgingly said. Thinking back to your day, you remembered exactly what he was talking about. Park was called down for a consult, you were the resident in charge of the case. 

You caught something that the others didn’t see, that Robby didn’t see. They brushed you off at first, and you were frustrated at the lack of trust in your judgement. It wasn’t until Park came into the room and backed you up that people believed your claim. 

“A compliment? From Park the Shark?” You heard him huff and you could practically hear him roll his eyes. 

You didn’t know if it was the flowing of alcohol through your veins, or the fact that Park was actually talking to you, or the fact that conversing was easier than you anticipated. More comfortable and fun that you could ever imagine that you wanted to continue to talk to him. 

“So, back to that screenshot,” you smiled sweetly. “You were lying about that, right?” 

Park laughed and you watched, mesmerised at the rare sight. “Not a chance, sweetheart,” turning to you, a gleam in his eyes, “But if you don’t believe me, I can always show you back at my place.” 

“Smooth,” you rolled your eyes but downed the rest of your drink. 

You both stared at each other, knowing what each of you wanted. As if you were telepathically connected, Park paid for both of your drinks and looked expectantly at you. 

“I’ll call an Uber,” Park pulled out his phone, looking at you when you let out a breath through your nose. 

“You’re presumptuous,” you said but hopped off your chair, grabbing your things. 

“He’s on his way, let’s go,” putting his phone back, he waited for you to go past him, his hand landing on the small of your back. 

-

You were tense next to him, Park could feel it. Taking initiative, he placed his hand on your thigh squeezing once. You looked up to him, tracing his jawline with your eyes. 

“If you don’t want to do this, say so,” Park said, being uncharacteristically gentle. “I can book an Uber for you when we get to my place and we don’t have to speak about this ever again.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Now I really know you want to get in my pants.” 

Narrowing his eyes, he pinched your thigh, causing you to yelp and the Uber driver to look at you. Nodding at him reassuringly, he looked back to the road.

“Are you always this mouthy?” 

Shrugging you turned to him, “Guess you just have to find a way to make me shut up.” 

Park grinned and the sight of his canines made you swallow. There was something so animalistic about him when he smiled at you like that. Feeling your heart begin to race, you felt yourself lean up. 

A clearing of a throat broke the two of you apart, you mumbled an apology, but didn’t move away from the warmth of Park. 

-

“I hate you,” you glared at the man between your legs. 

Park threw his keys by the side table and smirked at you, “I can live with that,” placing his hands on the back of your thighs, he squeezed once. “Up,” he commanded and you obeyed. “Good girl,” seeing your reaction at those words, Park filed the response away in his brain, fully intending to use it within the next thirty minutes. 

Lifting you up, you felt your back hit the door, and before you could complain, Park placed his mouth over yours. It was soft, softer than you thought his lips would be (not that you ever thought about his lips before this). Moaning quietly, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. 

Deepening the kiss, you could feel his tongue slowly trace your bottom lip. Parting your lips, Park slowly slid his tongue, lazily allowing it to map out your mouth, your own tongue docile waiting for his command. 

“So needy,” Park smirked against your mouth, his tongue collecting both of your saliva from your chin and licking it back to your mouth. Feeling emboldened you stroked the underside of his tongue with yours, earning a groan from the man. Grasping the hair at the bottom of his neck, you pulled, eliciting another groan. 

Park pushed you closer to the door, his cock beginning to grind into your stomach, “Feel that, princess? Hope you can take it.” He swallowed your moan, this time completely taking over control, moving one hand to the back of your neck, he wrapped his hand around your hair and this time, it was him that pulled. 

Licking up your exposed neck, he could hear your panting from above, wanting more of your noise, Brendon sank his teeth in gently to the meat of your shoulder. 

“Brendon,” you gasped, his teeth leaving an imprint on your soft skin. You rutted against his bulge, earning a hitch of breath from the man in front of you.  

“I’m not going to fuck against my door,” he said against your lips. “Come on.” 

You briefly looked around his room. It was nice. Clean and precise, just how you thought Park’s room would be (again, not that you ever thought about that, definitely not), a few personal touches here and there. 

Feeling laughter bubble out of you, “Is that a picture of yourself on your table?” 

“I look good,” you looked back to the picture and he had you there. He did in fact look good, very good. 

“You’re narcissistic,” you replied. 

“I have good reasons to be,” he pulled his shirt off, tossing it somewhere in the room. You took a moment to look at him. The plains of his chest, the sprinkling of his chest hair, how broad his shoulders are. Just how fucking big he is. Wetting your lips, your eyes dragged down his happy trail, eyes landing on his bulge. 

He closed the distance between the two of you, clashing your mouths together again. Park grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, hands straight going to your ribs. You let your hands wander around his chest, eventually landing on his belt buckle. 

Biting his bottom lip, you moved your mouth down his neck, mouthing open kisses down his stomach. You heard him curse above you, spurring you on, you kissed the tent of his pants, your hands working on unbuckling his belt. 

Tugging his pants down, you noted the wet spot on his underwear, kissing the outline of his cock, you felt Brendon place his hands on your head. Pulling down his briefs, you watched his length appear. Practically salivating, you couldn’t help but lick the precum on the tip of his head. You rolled the liquid in your mouth, allowing it to coat every crevice. He tasted salty, masculine, and you wanted more. 

“Fucking hell,” Brendon gritted out, as his fingers gripped your hair. 

Sitting back on your heels, you took a moment to look at him. He was huge, to say the least. Big and thick in all the right places, a thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You took a moment to just admire his length, fingertip trailing against a particularly prominent vein. 

Licking your lips, you opened your mouth, ready to taste him properly. Before you could, you felt a tug on your upper arm. Brendon looked down at you, “Not tonight. Been thinking too long about this to not be in your pussy right now.” 

“You’ve thought about this?” You cocked your head to the side, and Brendon looked down at you and a little light flared up in his chest. 

Before you could think about what he meant, Park yanked you, grabbing your face and messily kissed you. Grinding his leaking cock into your stomach, you moved your hand downwards until you were able to grasp it. 

He hissed as he felt your hand on him, slowly twisting your hand up and down, spreading his precum around the head of his cock. Briefly pulling away from him, you brought up your hand and locked eyes with him. Sensually licking his cum off, you watched as his nostrils flared, his breath getting heavier, looking down you could see his cock twitching. 

With what could only be described as an actual growl, Park wrapped his hand around the nape of your neck, and roughly yanked you back to his mouth. 

“Get your fucking pants off,” he commanded against your lips.  

Kicking the rest of his pants off, you did the same, almost falling when it got caught on your ankle. “Careful,” he mumbled gently, as he caught you. 

Removing your pants for you, he laid you down on the edge of his bed. “Cute,” Park smirked as he stared at your underwear with cherries on there. His eyes focusing on the large wet spot. 

“Shut up, I didn’t know I was going to have sex with you,” you whined, closing your legs slightly. 

“So you would have worn something different if you did know?” He said arrogantly, and it took everything in you to not kick him in the head. Hot as he might be, he was still the arrogant Park you knew. 

Sensing your annoyance and that you were going to say something, he leaned forward and licked you through your underwear. A moan escaped your mouth as you felt him suckle your clit through the fabric. 

Tasting you, Park grunted and he felt himself subconsciously move closer to you, arms coming beneath your thighs and yanking them to his body. Kissing across the span of your pelvic area, you yelped when you felt him nip your inner thigh. 

Rutting into his bed, Park would have been ashamed of his actions, acting like a teenage boy tasting his first pussy, but you were here. You were under him and he really didn’t fucking care if he came right now just from tasting you. 

Having enough of the fabric in his way, he ripped the cotton, apologising by placing a soft kiss on your mound, eventually sliding down to your clit. 

“Prettiest fucking pussy,” as he spread your lips, your hole clenching at his actions. “Taste so fucking good,” he said against your hole. Lapping at your slick, your hands hovering near his head before you threaded your fingers through his hair. 

“Brendon, fuck,” you cried out, head falling back as you thrusted up to his face. Cupping your ass, he pulled you impossibly closer, allowing you to practically ride his tongue. 

You could hear the lewd slurp of his mouth, feel his drool combining with your slick. Brendon thrust his tongue into your hole, trying to get as much essence as he could, swallowing it down like it was his life elixir. 

Placing his thumb on your clit, Brendon growled as he felt you tighten even more against his tongue, moving away with an audible pop, he dragged his fingers down until he was at your entrance. 

Flicking his eyes back up to you, he watched as you arched your back as he entered your hole with two fingers. He closed his eyes at your warmth, the tightness and smoothness of your channel. He pressed deeper into your heat, eventually landing on your sweet spot. 

“Bren,” you sighed out as he began curling his fingers. You clenched your jaw, breath taken away from the sheer size of his fingers. 

Needing his tongue on you again, he pulled out his fingers, dipping them into his mouth and moaning at your taste. 

“You have the sweetest fucking pussy, baby,” he mumbled against your clit, sucking it into his mouth, Brendon almost rolled his eyes to the back of his head at the noises you were making. “Can’t believe you kept her from me.” 

You usually would have hated men referring to your pussy like that but fuck if didn’t turn you even more. Running one hand through his hair, your other hand gripped onto his forearm. Brendon shifted his hand to hold yours, interlocking fingers as he pushed his face closer to your heat. 

Feeling your release coming embarrassingly close, you tightened your grip on his hair and hand, your core tightening, you cried out, a long elongated noise as you felt your orgasm wash over you. You rutted your pussy against his face, prolonging the pleasure that you were receiving. 

Panting and trying to regain some sort of clarity, you slowly released the grip you had on his hair. The gel completely gone, you almost felt bad at how messy he looked, but all it did was turn you on. 

Sitting back up, you saw your release glisten against his face, you reached for him, needing to taste him. Crashing your mouths together, you cupped his cheeks, feeling his stubble against your palms. Dragging him down to you, you unashamedly licked around his mouth, collecting your juices and melted your mouths together again. 

Practically on top of you, you felt his shaft weep against your stomach, feeling drops of his precum dropping. Sliding yourself up, you wrapped your legs around him, letting his cock slide between your folds. Grunting into your mouth, Brendon followed your movements, his cock itching to be in you. 

Dragging you up his bed, Brendon reached for one of his side tables, opening up, blindly feeling around for something, all the while keeping his lips on yours. Bringing out what he needed, he slammed the drawer shut, and regretfully pulled away from you. 

Moving to open the foil packet, you grabbed his hand and looked at him, and against your all medical instincts, you shook your head, “Want to feel you.” 

Brendon breathed through his nose and for a second you thought you made a mistake. The next moment you saw, was him throwing the condom across his room, arms caging around your head, his weight slowly being placed on top of you. 

Gripping the base of his cock, he tapped the head a couple of times, your hips jolting trying to chase the feeling. He slid against your pussy again, his pre completely dripping down to your hole. Brendon groaned as he squeezed the base of cock and moved his hand up, forcing more of his precum to land on your clit. 

Spreading the liquid using the tip, you threw your head back, relishing in the feeling, as the man above you gritted his teeth.  

“Brendon, please,” you begged, eyes starting to tear up. You could feel yourself clench against nothing and it was aggravating to know he wasn’t in you yet.  “Please, I need you.” 

He stared at you, and for a moment you felt like you were prey finally being found by the big bad predator. Park kept eye contact with you as he slowly encompassed everything that you could see, everything that you could feel. 

Sliding into you slowly, Park watched as you closed your eyes at his size and the stretch. A blissful sigh leaving your lips as you felt him hit home, eyes closing at the fit. When he was flushed against your hips, he let out a strangled groan of your name. 

“I’m good,” you breathed out, nodding your head. 

“How do you want it?” 

You fluttered your eyes open and looked at the man above you, his gaze intent, “What?” You stuttered. 

“How do you want me to fuck you?” He elaborated -- the way he would explain simple medical terms to the medical students, but his tone was different. It was soft. 

“Slow, rough,” you gulped, a small sliver of embarrassment making a home in your chest, and you broke eye contact with him. “Hard,” you mumbled. 

Squishing your cheeks together with one hand, he turned your head to lock eyes with him. “Don’t,” he breathed as he began to pull out slowly, keeping his eyes on you, watching your reaction as he plunged harder into your pussy. Hands grasping his bedsheets, you arched your back, a loud moan of his name leaving your mouth.  

“That’s fucking right,” he purred against your neck, hands going to the back of your thighs, throwing them over his shoulder. Folding your legs, Brendon leaned on his forearms, as he held the rough pace. “Good fucking girl, taking my cock so well.” 

He was rewarded with you clenching your pussy tighter and a strangled noise coming from your mouth. 

“Feel so good,” you babbled, turning your face to kiss him. 

He grinned down at you, “Yeah, is that right, baby?” He pulled out to just his tip and you whined at the loss, “Who’s making you feel this way?” 

“You, just you,” you cried out, your hands reaching for the back of his body. Hanging on to him, “Brendon,” you moaned, eyes clenching tight. 

Roughly sinking back into your cunt, you let out a scream as you dragged your nails down his back. He kept at that rhythm, leaning on one forearm, other hand reaching towards to engulf the right side of your cheek. 

Caressing it softly, he looked down at you; sweat lining your forehead, your lips parted, cupid's bow just waiting to be kissed and Brendon didn’t want to ever forget this. Teeth latching on your jaw, not biting, just holding you there, one of your hands drifted to the hair on the base of his neck. 

“Where?” He mumbled against your jaw, lips moving to your lips.  

“Inside,” you panted, clenching your pussy. “Birth control.” 

You heard him briefly curse under his breath, his lips mouthing against your neck. “You just let anyone cum inside of you?” 

“No, just you,” you whined, your nails digging into his shoulder. “Just want your cum.” 

At that, Park’s eyes lit up, his face twisting into an animalistic look, brutally thrusting deeper into you, “That’s fucking right,” he growled against your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect, you know that?”  

Dragging his lips down from your mouth, he licked your neck, all the way down to your shoulder. “Tell me,” he mumbled and you grew confused until you felt his teeth sink into you. 

Clenching around him, you felt another rush of heat through you. “Brendon,” you gasped, breath hitching, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Fuck.” 

Softening his bite, he licked the mark, thumb moving down to circle your clit. “You want me to fill you up, huh?” Brendon taunted, as his lips found yours again. “Want me to breed your little pussy?” 

You nodded, tears running down your face, “Please, Brendon,” you cried out. 

Dragging his cock slowly, he pushed in and gave a little grind of his hips. Crying at the sensation of the tip of his cock grinding into your g-spot, and his hair catching on your little nub, you were in a euphoric state of mind. 

Breath hitching, you could feel your pussy pulse around his cock, your stomach tensing. You could feel your orgasm approaching. 

“Cum around me baby,” he said against your ear, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Wanna feel you.” 

Shutting your eyes, you jerked your hips upwards, “Fuck!” It was all too much, his words, his touch, his cock, everything. With one last grind against your sweet spot, you let out another scream of his name as you felt your release go through you. You squeezed his shoulders, nails breaking into the skin. Panting his name, all you could do was hold onto him, as you felt your cum coat his cock. 

Pulling him to you, Brendon dropped his head to your neck, licking the sweat accumulated there. Feeling the spasms of your pussy, Brendon stuttered in his thrusts. 

“Best fucking pussy,” he groaned out, hand on your neck and face nuzzled into the crook of it. “Feel like you’re made for me.” 

You nodded at whatever he said, head too fuzzy to register anything with the exception that his hips were snapping faster now, trying to chase his own release. “Fucking best girl, yeah? Gonna fill you up.” 

With a final growl of your name, you felt him spill inside of you. Your hips jerking as you felt him continuously fill you up. “That’s my girl,” he panted against your ear, licking the apparent tears coming from your eyes, as he felt his cock twitch a couple more times. 

Placing kisses from your ear to your cheek, he travelled until he met your mouth. Grasping your face softly with his hands, he looked down at you, blue eyes blown with lust but the most gentle you’ve ever seen. 

“Holy shit,” you panted, blinking rapidly trying to make sure you were still alive. “Fuck, Park.” 

At your reaction, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Good to know it was good for you as well, sweetheart.” 

“Good?” You asked in astonishment. “Jesus, Park. That was mind blowing.” 

Grinning, he shifted his forearms, he looked down and the sight made him pause. Your slick was all over him, a white ring at the base of his cock, your wetness all over his pubic hair. Mesmerised at the sight, he leaned further back, spreading your folds, he shallowly thrust into you. Whining at the overstimulation, you grabbed his bedsheets, heart starting to race again. 

“Look at you,” he said in a soft awe. He paused for a moment, to just memorise you on his bed; dishevelled, tears running down your face, his marks along your body. Fucking beautiful. 

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the same time. Slowly lowering your legs, you felt him massage your sore hips as you hissed as they hit the bed. 

One hand slowly coming to caress your cheek again, Brendon couldn’t help but lean down again to kiss you. Unlike the previous times your mouths met, this time he met your lips softly. He slowly deepened the kiss, his lips working in a way that you didn’t expect from him. You felt him take his time to guide his tongue into your mouth, massaging your tongue with his. 

Reluctantly parting from you, he stared at you, blue eyes locking with yours. Brushing away the strands sticking to your face, you felt your heart jump at how he was looking at you. Gulping, you reached up and traced his cheekbone, admiring how pliant he was at this moment. 

“Stay,” he said softly, his tone completely different to a couple of minutes ago. Getting up he went to another room, which you presumed was the bathroom. You really tried not to admire his backside but Park truly was a god in terms of his physique alone. Watching as he walked back, you saw that even when he was soft, it was still a sight. 

“Spread your legs, baby,” he asked softly, and you did so, wincing as you opened your legs for him. 

You took a good look at him, as best as you could in your post sex haze. Admiring his thick thighs, you wondered what it felt like under your hands; to touch, to squeeze. Coming closer to you, you pondered on how his body would feel to just touch innocently, to have him wrapped around you. 

“Thanks,” you said in appreciation, staring at the way he was so gentle around you. 

Cleaning himself up, you watched as he threw the towel into his hamper. He stood by his dresser, leaning against it as he just looked at you. Running his eyes through your state. 

“What?” You chuckled, and a sense of insecurity ran through you. This was after sex. After the adrenaline and horniness of it all. Wanting to wrap his bedsheets around your body, you forced yourself to just stay. 

“You’re pretty,” was all he said and you were taken aback from the sincerity in his voice. Softening at his words, it was your turn to stare at him again. He stood in a way that radiated confidence, something that could never be shaken. 

“Go pee,” taking you out of your thoughts, you stared at him. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I have a spare glass on the counter. Are you happy with tap water?” 

“What?” 

He rolled his eyes and crossed the room to get to you. Gently picking you up by your pits, he sat you up. “You need to pee. You should know that, being a doctor and all,” and there he was. The annoying man you’ve become accustomed to. 

“I know that,” you snapped, slapping his hand away. 

Ignoring the wobbliness of your legs, you stood up, and you instantly regretted it as you almost fell face first on his floor. 

“Park,” you whined as you felt his hands supporting your body, you tried to wiggle out of his grip, but he wouldn’t give. 

“Are you always this annoying?” You moved to slap his thigh. “Jesus, if you’re still this annoying I need to fuck you harder.” 

“I’m going to pee now,” and with that you closed his bathroom door on him. 

You left his bathroom, and scanned the room, trying to see if you could see your clothes. You knew what came next, and you wanted to limit the amount of awkwardness that you’d inevitably feel. Padding over to where you vaguely saw Brendon throw your shirt, you frowned as you saw nothing. 

“What are you doing?” Park watched you with an impatient stare, noticing that he had put on some sweats and a shirt, you took a moment to drag your eyes down his figure. 

“Uh, going home?” You scrunched your face, and began trying to find your clothes. “Where are my clothes?” 

“I put them in my hamper, I’ll wash them tomorrow for you,” he jerked his head to the basket in the corner of the room. 

“Why?” You asked, confused. Isn’t this the part where he kicks you out? Tell you ‘thanks but don’t ever bring this up’. “Don’t you want me to leave?” 

“Did I say I want you to leave?” He got you there. But still this was the normal procedure. Rolling his eyes, he walked over to you, and dressed the extra shirt in his hand on your body. 

Leading you back to his bed, he laid you down and crawled over your body, “I’m not done with you.” 

-

Waking up, you turned over, hands reaching out for a warm body and opening your eyes when you didn’t find him. 

You slowly walked down, clad only his shirt, you observed for a minute, just seeing Park in his natural habitat. You saw him being at ease in his kitchen, if someone told you that you would be watching Park the Shark making breakfast with only his sweats on, you would have told them that they were crazy. 

Running your eyes down his back, you saw the marks that you left and pride (and a bit of embarrassment) filled you. 

“Morning,” you greeted, walking right beside him. 

Park ran his eyes up and down your body, “Morning. You look good.” 

“Sure, Park,” you knew you looked like a mess. Hair not even brushed, his shirt on you askew, and toothpaste residue you accidentally left on said shirt. 

You looked around at what he had, and you thought of what you could help with. 

“Just sit,” he jerked his head to his table, as if reading your thoughts. “I’ve got it covered.” 

Sitting down, you watched as Park continued to cook, you sat there in silence as you admired him. You wondered if he was like this every morning, or after every hook-up he had. Shaking your thoughts, you didn’t need to know about that. 

“I don’t know what you wanted,” Park spoke as he flipped the final pancake. “I don’t do this so I just made what I would usually have,” turning the stove off, he picked up the plates. 

“What? You don’t treat all your hook-ups like this?” You teased, heart lurching a bit, but you managed to ignore it. 

“No,” he answered bluntly. 

“Oh?” You asked, your mouth working faster than your brain. 

He looked down at you. “No. If I did sleep with someone, I wouldn't take them here and I certainly wouldn't make them breakfast.” 

“So what, am I special?” You teased, your heart lurching in a different way. 

Brendon didn’t say anything in response, just looked at you, and an unfamiliar (but welcoming) warmth made its home in your veins. 

Placing the food down, your eyes bulged and your mouth started to drool. “And I wasn’t lying,” Park said as he put your plate in front of you. 

“Huh?” 

“You look good.” 

Silence stretched until he sat down, Park really had no reason to lie to you. He already had you last night, several times in fact, and then this morning too before both of you truly woke up. 

The compliment sat on your chest and you didn’t know what to do with it. The warmth from before really hammering its presence. 

“Coffee?” You asked, not seeing anything on your side. 

“What do you usually have?” 

“Matcha,” and at that you heard him snort, making you throw a piece of fruit at him. 

“Of course, you do, princess,” Brendon rolled his eyes good naturedly. “I don’t have that,” as he made a mental note to place it on his list. 

Telling him your alternative preference, he got up and walked to his machine. “I can make it,” you started, getting up from your seat. 

“I got it, just eat,” and with that he turned his back to you. 

Taking a couple of pancakes and a few extra bits and pieces, you began to dig in. 

“Who knew that Park the Shark could cook,” you teased as you placed the pancake in your mouth. Moaning loudly, you looked to the food and to him, “Holy fucking shit, you made this?” 

“My mum made sure that I could cook,” he said as he placed down your coffee. “Said that I’m not a man if I don’t know how to cook for my woman.” 

Swallowing your food, you hummed, “Let me know her name and I’ll personally thank her.” 

“Are you working today?” Was all he said, despite the fond smile on his face. 

“No, I’m off for five starting today,” you replied, shoving another piece into your mouth. 

“Good,” he looked over his coffee, eyes trained on your face. “Eat up because I’m going to fuck you all day today.” 

-> i used to think i was sensible (next part, but can be read as a standalone!)

-> dont go wasting your emotions masterlist

park taglist

@realwhoreforfictionalmen | @noisynightmarepoetry

don't go wasting your emotions taglist

~

the doors of the batcave slide open with a hiss, alerting the others of jason's arrival. the team is scattered in different stages of getting ready for patrol, though none of them are fully suited up just yet.

"what's that you got there?" duke thomas asks, his eyes immediately drawn to the bag. he's half-dressed in his black and yellow signal attire.

"rock candy?" dick grayson suggests, carelessly lounging in a chair with his feet propped up on the table.

jason rolls his eyes.

"yeah, i brought one big chunk of strawberry rock candy to snack on before patrol."

dick hums thoughtfully.

"could be raspberry."

"you should consume it and find out," damian wayne scoffs, not caring to look up at jason and what he's brought in. "best case scenario, you choke on it."

jason flips him off. he approaches the batcomputer and pulls out the scanner tray. he pries the bag open, flips it over, and the rock tumbles onto the metallic surface with a clink. the sound echoes through the cavernous space.

"pink kryptonite?" dick offers, sauntering closer to peer over jason's shoulder.

duke's head snaps up.

"there's a pink variant?"

"several," dick shrugs, like he's talking about ice cream and not the substance capable of bringing superman to his knees.

the signal abandons gearing up for now and crosses over to dick and jason at the computer, his interest piqued.

it doesn't take long before damian joins them. not because he's curious—he's not—but because he simply wishes to assess the situation firsthand. the moment he catches a glimpse of it, however, his expression hardens and his arms fold across his chest.

"this is nothing more than a mineral," the youngest vigilante snaps.

the batcomputer whirs to life, its blue glow washing over their faces. jason navigates to the identification program and selects item scan. the tray slides smoothly into the containment chamber and the machine accepts it with a sharp beep. a glass panel lowers into place, locking the stone inside. loading icons flash across the screen before giving way to an empty progress bar.

all four pairs of eyes are glued to the bar filling at an agonizingly slow pace. dick subconsciously taps his foot as they wait which usually drives jason up a wall, but he's too razor-focused on the numbers creeping closer and closer to 100. the collective anticipation exponentially builds the higher the numbers go.

at 57%, "imagine it is kryptonite," duke mutters.

at 69%, "then bruce will lock it away for 'contingency reasons,'" jason retorts.

at 71%, "it is not kryptonite." damian's had enough.

at 84%, dick is practically vibrating.

at 93%, "hey, what's all the fuss about?"

tim drake glances between the loading bar, the cluster of vigilantes gathered around it, and the object of interest on the tray. his head tilts slightly.

"...why are you crowding around a rock?"

"these fools believe this mineral could be pink kryptonite," damian bristles. "ridiculous."

tim makes his way through, shoving dick aside and elbowing jason in the process. he squints at it through the glass and consequently turns to them with a look of quiet judgement.

"guys, you're overcomplicating this. pretty sure that's rose quartz."

the batcomputer chimes and they snap their heads towards it to see...

identification complete: rose quartz.

tim snickers. jason blinks. duke whistles. dick's jaw is on the floor. damian throws his arms up in exasperation.

disappointed is an understatement. they feel personally wronged and overwhelmingly defeated. they all stare at the screen as if it's mocking them.

"how the hell did this get in my car?"

jason plucks the pink rock—err, crystal—from the containment chamber, his fingers brushing along the grooves. he's unable to fully comprehend that the weird pink rock proved to be nothing more than a harmless crystal.

tim plops down in front of the computer, opening an internet browser to search for a generic infographic. when he finds a concise chart with the relevant facts, he displays it in full screen.

"'used to attract love,'" duke reads aloud slowly, raising a brow. "what's that supposed to mean?"

tim pushes his chair away to face jason.

"were you driving with someone earlier?"

"yeah?"

"well they must really like you."

"what makes you say that?"

"they put rose quartz in your car, jason," tim deadpans. "that means they're trying to attract your love into their life."

the concepts click into place in jason's brain, and his face burns a shade of pink darker than the crystal in his palm. he's already wrapped around your finger—has been for a while now, if he's being honest. you don't need some rock to get him to love you.

damian rolls his eyes. "pathetic."

dick grins. "endearing."

duke sighs. "perplexing."

~

from a platform overlooking his cave, bruce wayne's gaze sweeps across the room. cowls and armor pieces are littered all over the floor, seemingly forgotten by the five young vigilantes currently engaged in a passionate discussion. there are several tabs open on the batcomputer ranging from reputable geology websites to metaphysical blog posts to reddit threads debating the energetic effect of crystals.

"what on earth are you doing?"

nobody is in uniform. nobody is preparing for patrol. nobody appears to be doing anything remotely productive.

"researching," dick answers easily. "go long, B."

without missing a step, bruce catches the object in midair. he turns it over in his hand and holds it up to the fluorescent lights to inspect it.

rough surface. irregular shape. pale pink coloration with vitreous luster. conchoidal fracture. trigonal structure. approximately a seven on the mohs scale. estimated diameter between 1.5 to 2 inches. estimated weight between 150 to 250 grams.

common. inexpensive. entirely unremarkable.

their attention has been completely monopolized by this?

"bruce," tim says, exhausted, "it's a rock."

"a love rock," duke adds, very much amused.

bruce looks up.

"no, this is raw rose quartz."

the world's greatest detectives stare at him, absolutely stunned.

"how did you—?"

jason's question trails off as bruce pinches the bridge of his nose.

"patrol. ten minutes."

a/n: i'm in love with the idea of jason x spiritual/witchy reader, probably will do more with that concept!!

The pothole right outside Jack’s driveway (that he was seriously considering fixing himself) had now become a small pond. It had rained for three days straight now. The water racing itself to reach the flower boxes by the windows. Your flower boxes. His eyes kept moving from the dark clouds outside to the watch on his wrist. It was surprisingly his day off. Or perhaps it wasn’t that surprising anymore, since he had taken more time off work ever since he started dating you. Which leads to now. You were supposed to have gotten home at least two hours ago.

Jack had to pull a double shift yesterday so he hadn’t been able to go with you to celebrate your brother's birthday. Which he wasn’t all too happy about if he remembered all your gossip from your family. Your brother was… well he wasn’t outright mean but he could slip in comments that shouldn’t be said that went right past your parents head growing up.

The tv was playing on the show you’d wanted him to catch up on so you could watch the latest season together. You’d planned to start it today since he only had two episodes left until he was on the same season as you. But that seemed to not be an option today. It was almost midnight after all.

The food was left in the oven to try and keep its heat. He much preferred it if you ate real food over fast food. Besides, he was a good chef, he prided himself in being able to make the one food you didn’t like enjoyable.

He was just about to call you when he heard the car roll up in the driveway. The gravel making that familiar sound under the car's weight.

His brows creased as he couldn’t hear the car door slam shut. Nor the big dark brown front door opening. Or your feet against the doormat trying to get rid of the dirt that stuck to them from the rain. He swore you always complained about stones getting stuck in the grooves of your shoes.

Walking with his crutches to the front door his hands curled against the door handle at the same time you pushed it down.

“Hey swee-“ what he was faced with was not what he expected. “sweetheart what’s wrong” it could have very well been rain that made your cheeks wet but he knew better than that.

Putting all his weight against the doorframe his hands let the crutches fall against the wall with a soft thud. Hands caressing your cheeks instead. Wiping away the tears. His thumb gently moved over your lip after you licked it clean of the salty water.

“I’m fine” your sniffles said otherwise.

“Sweetheart?” blue locked onto his favorite color that was your eyes. Lips moving down at the heartbreak clearly visible.

“Mm fine Jackie” the nickname set a wrong taste on your tongue. It wasn’t usually tinged with sadness and heartbreak. But with a glint in your eye and a full smile as you’d tease him about something. The nickname didn’t sit right in Jack's ears either. Not now when tears ran down your cheeks and your eyelashes stuck together in black globs.

“You’re not fine love” his hand went to cup the back of your head as he brought you forward into him. Pressing your face into his shoulder while your hands grabbed a fist full of his shirt.

Eyes closing you let yourself be held by Jack. Hands tightening on his shirt as if it’d bring you physically closer to him.

“Did something happen? Was it your family? Your brother?” when a sob left you at the last word he shifted gently to have a better hold of you without having back pains in the morning by leaning against the doorframe. Though he’d gladly be in pain tomorrow if it meant you’d be okay today.

His head leaned against yours. Arms tightened around you in a soft squeeze as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Do you wanna talk about it?” The murmur left him whilst his lips still hovered by your hairline.

“Not really… but I think I have to” you sniffle. His arms tighten around you once more at the sound. Burying your nose into his neck he buries his face in your hair. The slow steady miniature rocking from side to side did a lot to soothe your worries, but never fully.

Taking in his smell that always somehow calmed you down, you push away slightly. You should have told him a while ago that you were on the asexual spectrum. Actually when you started dating. But he’d never questioned or pushed you on having sex. So it never came up. And you didn’t want to destroy what you had. Your partners before had left when they found out. Or they’d try to “fix” you or guilt trip you into having sex. And when you still said no they’d leave, most of the time they’d break up over text or ghost you completely after the first date if you even got that far.

You should have known Jack wasn’t like that. But at the start of the relationship, even now, the fear still lingered. So you never told him that part of you.

The way your fingers picked at your nails didn’t escape Jack’s notice. As you both went into the kitchen. Leaning against the counter he assessed you worriedly. Taking in the way you bit the inside of your lip. The way your eyes refused to look at him. The distance you made sure to keep. A distance in space that was never there between the two of you. Not even when you fought over petty things you could never remember in the end.

Swallowing thickly your fingers finds the dish towel. Thumb gently moving over the J.A. You had custom made on all of his dish towels. Folding the fabric back and forth to calm yourself a soft huff escaped you as you thought back on the situation. In all honesty your brother had left you sad and feeling completely invalidated.

“I-“ a shuddering breath left you “I told my brother something and he didn’t react well”

“Yeah?” He tries to catch your eyes. “Mind telling me what you said?”

Lip trembling even when you caught it between your teeth the words left you in a quiet mumble. “That I’m ace”

His eyes squinted for a second. Crow’s feet more prominent as he tried to decipher what you’d mumbled so nervously under your breath. “What?” He didn’t mean to be mean about it, he just hadn’t heard you.

A deep breath left you before you looked straight at him. Taking courage from the deepest part of your heart. “I’m asexual… or well somewhere on the ace spectrum” and there it was the nervousness that settled deep in your bones. Draining the calcium from your bones, leaving you weakened and easy to break. Or at least that’s what it felt like waiting for his reaction.

“Okay” Jack’s words were slow, dragged out. His body inching towards you, whilst he still kept himself pressed against the counter to not fall over by the lack of two feets. Wanting to close the space and hold you once more, his hand already reached impatiently for contact. Clearly seeing the worry etched in your clenched jaw, and slight crease in your brows. “What did your brother say?”

Jack's words, spoken so carefully, caught you off guard for a second. He hadn’t made a big deal out of it. Had just accepted it and moved on to what had caused you to cry. No anger splayed on his face because of the secret you’d kept for the entirety of your relationship. No “I can fix you” or “have you tried it though”. The usual words of “oh so you’re just celibate” or “you’ve just had bad partners, it’ll be different with me” weren’t voiced. Just “Okay”. Which in all honesty made your heart ache in a good way. Jack accepted things so easily, took things in a stride and adapted. Maybe that’s why he was such a good doctor. Perhaps it was one of the things that drew you to him during long shifts and nights filled with coffee runs.

“Y-you don’t mind?” Hope set alight in that deep dark part of you that thought you’d never be enough for anyone. That simply holding hands and cuddles weren’t enough. The small kisses you’d stop before they went too far always left a guilty taste on your lips. Like you were withholding parts of Jack’s happiness with lock and key. You should have known Jack was different. He had never been like your exes.

It should have been enough for your past partners. If they’d truly loved you they’d be able to compromise and find a way around your sexuality. Whatever the solution may have been. Instead they just up and left without even trying. Even if most of them probably wouldn’t have worked out, trying was better than being completely invalidated and belittled for something they couldn’t force you into liking.

It should have been enough to be able to hold each other without expectations of more. Innocent love without the clouded judgement lust sometimes brings should have been enough. So why was it never enough?

Unlucky was what you always found yourself to be.

And yet… and yet here Jack was. Eyes watching you with a kindness he only reserved for you. Love tinting the corners of his lips in a soft reassuring smile. “Why would I mind”

Luck had no part of it. It was just the universe finally granting you the support and care you deserved.

“Because I’ve kept it from you, b-because you’ve probably been waiting for the time I’m ready and I may never be because it’s not really something I want and-”

“Sweetheart” he moved your head to face him with two fingers, stopping you from rambling. “I love you, and you telling me this, now, doesn’t change that, it’s just getting to know you better” He smirked slightly at the way your expression softened. He still had it in him, it seemed. To disarm you so effortlessly, by simply saying “ I love you”.

The soft thuds from the rain hitting the windows filled the room.

“Are you sure you know what I mean? what I’m talking about?"

“Y/n” his hands went back to your cheeks. He almost wanted to shake you for doubting him. “I know what asexual means, I know what you’re talking about” he couldn’t stop the charmingly flirty smile from appearing. The same smile he’d give you numerous times while he teased you at the hospital to see if he could make you blush. “I promise you, when I say it doesn’t change how I see you, I mean it”

“You don’t think I need to be fixed?”

“Never” his arms encircled your waist. Pushing you forward into him. Your face against his chest like many early mornings after a shift when you couldn’t sleep. Jack's head falling into place on your head. Fitting together like the blue nitrile gloves you used during your hectic shifts.

“My brother said I’m just pretending, that everyone wants sex, I didn’t mean to come out to him” something you now regretted blurting out. “don’t even remember how the topic came up”

You felt his hum vibrate in his chest. “Anything else he said?” He truly never had liked your brother whenever he had met him. This just solidified his opinion on him.

“That asexuals aren’t real, that I’m single-handedly ruining every relationship I’ll ever have by making my partners sacrifice the one thing that makes it a romantic relationship and not a platonic one, cause apparently you can’t love someone romantically if you don’t want to have sex with them” a teary fake laugh escaped you. That reasoning felt absurd. How cold romantic love must be if the only difference is having sex or not.

“You know that’s not true right? There’s more to it than being physically intimate”

“I know” you lifted your head slightly from his chest. It was easy to see that your friend's words and your brother’s words were wrong in the presence of Jack. He loved you without the expectations of more. He accepted you as you were and was willing to talk and compromise if need be and not just give up or force what he wanted onto you.

“You sure what we have right now is enough?”