faves: Top Gun, Criminal Minds, Marvel, Formula One, Harry Potter/Marauders
<3 Jon Bernthal, Ben Barnes, Max Verstappen
20s she/her idek what I'm doing
✎⠀⠀pairing ⦂ fire lord! zuko x wife!reader | soft angst with a pure fluff ending.
࿐ synopsis ⦂ you could wear the crown and speak the right words and smile at all the right moments; and still find yourself alone in a garden, wondering if loving the fire lord was ever supposed to feel this much like disappearing.
they dressed you in red and gold the way they'd dress a weapon before it's presented, with a manner that had nothing to do with what you want.
you stood very still while the handmaidens work. the robes were heavy, though the pins for your hair were even heavier. a headpiece was placed at your crown, while you admired the making of you becoming someone you didn't quite recognize, in the bronze mirror.
...fire lady... the title rested in your chest, bright enough with status, but never truly feeling like it belonged to you.
ZUKO appeared in the threshold behind your reflection. he was already dressed for this kind of life... the attire of statecraft suited him differently than it once did. you can see it in the way he carried the weight of the crown with admirably acceptable that this was where he was meant to be.
his eye found yours in the mirror. "are you done here?"
for a second, you thought of honesty... of the hundred courtiers waiting beyond the doors... the ministers with their assessments in their eyes... the way every room in this palace seemed to judge you. but amongst all that worry, you still thought about how much you love him, and how that love taught you to give in to the life that was offered with him...
"yes!"
the banquet was a perfection of performance.
you smiled when you were meant to. zuko sat to your left and managed the table of highborns like he had made peace with being looked at. you watched him from the corner of your eye... he was so good at this. how was he so good at this.
you weren't any good at it...
that you knew, the moment LADY SHAN, wife to one of zuko's senior generals, asked you what you make of the proposed trade with the earth kingdom... an easy question to anybody. you opened your mouth, and the only honest answer in your tired mind, was... I haven't been spoken to, on it properly and I'm afraid of saying the wrong thing... but, you decided to let it go with carefully dragged out words that probably meant nothing to her. you held your breath as she gave a polite smile and kept on.
when the final course arrived, you were so far behind your own eyes that the candlelights were speaking to you. you smiled for the last time, waiting for it to be over.
you were trying to even out your breathing when you heard his footsteps. zuko found you perched on the garden's bench, overgrown compared to the formal ones near the audience chambers... no one has been here in years.
"you left..." he brought up, attention shared between your abandoned headpiece beside you, your unheld up hair... and finally, the way you were sitting, shoulders down, face tilted up to the midnight sky.
"I needed air."
"I know." he came to sit by your side, close in silent comfort. "I saw your face during the shan conversation."
your eyes flutter shut for a second too long. "was it obvious?"
"to me." he spoke in hushed tones. "not to her."
you glanced down at the folded hands in your lap, still wrapped in red silk. "I don't know what I'm doing in there, zuko. I know how to be... I know who I am. I know that. but I don't know how to be that in there, in that room, with all of them watching me decide what words to say before I say them." you exhaled. "I don't know how to be your fire lady in a room that already has an opinion about what your fire lady should look like."
zuko stayed quiet for long enough, that you just had to face him. his profile, in the dim light, was serious for you mattered to him and he, now had to work out what to say without destroying your bond.
"...when I became fire lord," he began, "I sat in that throne room for an entire day of petitions and I understood maybe a third of what was being asked of me. and I had trained for it. I was certain everyone in the room knew how out of place I looked."
"that's different. you're... "
"I'm what?"
... you sighed, swallowing it back... you're zuko.
"I didn't marry you because you were born for this," he said. "no one is born for this. I barely survived learning it, and I had years of it before my exile as preparation." he twisted to look you in the eyes, now. "I married you because you are... you're honest in a way that people in that room have forgotten how to be. you're kind without overthinking it. you see things." he paused. "those aren't weaknesses in a fire lady. those are exactly what the fire nation has been missing."
"I couldn't answer a question about trade policy," you deflected.
"I'll have someone fill you in on that. properly, this time .. I should have done that already. that's on me." his jaw tightened slightly at his mistake of being so caught up on having you a wife and your time, that he forgot, the both of you weren't the only two to exist in his world of duties. "I keep forgetting that I can't just throw you in and expect you to swim because I know you can. that's not how this works. you needed scaffolding and I didn't build you any and I'm sorry."
"I'm not fragile," you started. "I'm not asking you to protect me from it."
"I know you're not." zuko picked up the headpiece from beside you, tumbled it over in his hands, studying detail. "I'm asking myself to be better at the parts of this that are mine to carry. preparing you. telling you when something's going to be hard instead of assuming you'll figure it out." he set it down, gently. "we're a team in this. that means the failures are mine too."
he stared you down, waiting on you... though you weren't sure what he was waiting for... permission, correction, or simply for you to say something true .. the truth is what you chose.
"I was scared tonight," you confessed. "not all the time. there were moments I was fine. but the scared parts were very scared."
"that's allowed." his eyes, in this light, were very gold. "I was scared tonight too, for the record."
a half laugh left you. "you looked so calm."
"I've had more practice looking calm than being calm." the corner of his mouth lifted heavenward. "It's a different skill."
you spilled laughter again, properly this time, and something in your chest set free the tension that had been building since the handmaidens first pinned your hair.
zuko reached over, in search of your hand. his fingers were always fired up. "...next time," he said, "come find me before you disappear into the garden. we can leave together for a few minutes. I need the air too."
"people will notice."
"let them." his thumb swiped your knuckles, once. "I am the fire lord. If I decide my wife and I need five minutes of quiet, I think I can make that decision."
it was quietly radical in his words of my wife... you were never something as little as a title, or a trophy draped in gold to be presented to crowded rooms.
you flipped your hand over and held his the right way. "alright" you agreed. "next time."
he nodded, but neither of you moved for a while. the lantern light from the main hall was lost to the moonlight. you can hear the faint drift of a late musician still playing in the palace... you sat in the garden until the song ended. soon, Zuko fetched your headpiece, standing, and offered you his hand... it was time to return... together.
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Loving Zuko Is Not easy Zuko x reader aangst, comfort
synopsis: loving Zuko is not easy. not because of his temper, his mood, his throne. no. that would have been easy.
word counts: 1902 words
warning: angst with comfort.
zuko x reader
Loving Zuko is not easy, not because he’s temperamental, moody, and someone who is under pressure.
No.
It was never that.
That part is easy. It’s simple.
And most days you wish it was just that.
Because you can learn the rhythm of his anger, the silence that follows, and the way it curls in on itself like smoke after fire.
That is easy.
But no, loving Zuko is hard because you start noticing what he never says out loud.
The first thing you learned was Zuko loved being praised, but not the empty kind where he is worshipped. He loved it when his hard work is noticed, when his reforms are upheld, when Iroh praise his fire-bending and his maturing calmness.
But there were days where he would pull out a hidden copy of his family portrait. One where he was younger, not knowing anything better. Sometimes wondering about the what could’ve been if the fire nation weren’t greedy or if his father chooses affection over power.
Would his father praise him for being one of the integral part in uniting the nations again or would he call him foolish?
Would his mother embrace him and tell him how proud she is of him?
Would Azula look at him smugly?
During those days, he would crawl on your bed, stay the night, kiss you all over. Promising you a life, a family. The kind that he was not fortunate enough to have.
The second thing you learned was that Zuko doesn’t know how to rest without guilt.
It doesn’t matter how peaceful the days have been, how steady the palace halls feel when war is no longer pressing against the walls like a living thing. It doesn’t matter if there is no crisis, no council meeting bleeding into midnight, no urgent messenger breaking the quiet with bad news.
If there is stillness, Zuko doesn’t know what to do with it. He becomes restless in it.
At first, you thought it was boredom. Or maybe a habit—the body remembering war even after the war is done… But it is not that simple.
It never was.
Because when he rests, he looks like someone waiting to be punished.
He sits down, exhales, and within minutes his mind begins to wander somewhere you cannot follow. His eyes grew distant in a way that is not peaceful, but searching.
As if silence itself is a doorway and he is afraid of what might come through if he stays too long.
Sometimes you find him standing near the balcony long after sunset, not looking at anything in particular. Just existing in a space where he doesn’t have to be anything yet cannot escape being himself.
And when you ask him to come back to bed, he does.
Slowly.
Like even rest has to be earned through resistance and order.
There are nights where he lie down beside you, finally feeling light and free and peaceful, only to wake up minutes or hours later with a sharp inhale—like something in him forgot it was safe to sleep.
He doesn’t wake up screaming or thrashing and that’s the third thing you learn. What followed is the worse.
Screaming would be something. A noise. A signal. A crack in the armor where you could slip through and engulf him in a hug and whisper “I’m here.”
But Zuko wakes up in silence.
His eyes open. His body stills. His breathing leveled. And for a long moment… he just lies there. Staring at the ceiling. Or the wall. Or the space where the moonlight doesn’t reach.
You learned to wake up when he does.
Not because he makes a sound.
Because the air around him changes.
Silence gets heavier.
And air is tighter.
Like the room is holding its breath.
You don’t touch him right away. That’s the fourth lesson you learned. Because when he’s like this, touch feels like an accusation.
Instead, you wait.
You lie beside him, still as he is, and you wait for him to remember where he is, who he’s with, and what year it is.
Sometimes it takes seconds.
Sometimes it takes minutes.
Sometimes it takes hours.
You counted. You have too.
You watched the ceiling with him,
The two of you suspended in something that wasn’t quite darkness and wasn’t quite dawn either.
He doesn’t apologize for that one. He never apologizes.
And that’s the fifth thing you learn.
He never say sorry for the nights he can’t sleep. Never say sorry for the way he flinches when you touch his scar. Never says sorry for the question he ask himself—you know he does—the one that goes “Do I deserve this?”
He doesn’t apologize because he doesn’t know how to say: “I’m sorry you have to carry this with me”
So, you say it for him.
Not out loud. That would embarrass him.
You say it in the way you stay. In the way you don’t flinch back when he flinches first. In the way you learn the shape of his silences the same way people learn the shape of a loved one’s hands. Because that’s the sixth thing you learned.
Zuko is not empty in those silence. He is crowded.
With voices,
With memories.
With the weight of every version of himself he has ever been told to abandon or become or erase.
And some days, it felt like he is still arguing with them all at once.
And you found traces of them in the smallest things.
The way he hesitate before making decisions, as if expecting someone to correct him mid-thought.
The way he overcompensates when he believes he made a mistake, like every error must be corrected immediately or it will grow teeth.
The way he sometimes flinches at respect, as if it is a trick to lull him in complacency that leads to mockery.
He never says these things out loud… because Zuko doesn’t ask for comfort the way other people do.
He doesn’t know how—no—he doesn’t allow himself to show weakness.
He doesn’t say stay.
He doesn’t say I’m afraid.
He doesn’t say I need you.
Instead, he appears.
He would show up at your doorway at night without explanation. Standing there like he is unsure if he is allowed to enter. He sits on the bed without speaking. His presence heavy with everything he refuses—don’t know how to put into words.
And when you finally reach for him, he does not pull away.
But he also doesn’t fully relax.
Its as if affection is something he has to negotiate with himself before accepting.
There are moments when he will lean into you touch so quietly that it almost feels like and accident. As if his body forgets, briefly, that it is supposed to remain guarded.
And then he remembers… and pulls himself back together again.
The seventh thing you learned was the hardest to understand, because it does not look like pain at first.
It looks like duty.
Zuko is a good ruler. The best Fire Lord the Fire Nation have had in a century. He’s better with his duties than he is with responsibility. There is a difference, and he knows it intimately. He carries responsibility like it is something sacred and fragile, something that will shatter if he loosens his grip even for a second.
But underneath it, is fear
A fear that if he stops moving, even briefly, everything he has done to become better will collapse backward into what he used to be.
So, he keeps going.
Even when he is exhausted. Even when his body aches with the kind of fatigue that sleep can not fix. Even his eyes lose their sharpness and become something older, something heavier.
Because stillness feels like failure.
And you realize that loving Zuko means learning how to exist beside someone who believes that are always one mistake away from becoming unworthy again.
The eighth thing you learned was that Zuko loves like he is trying to rewrite history with his own hands.
Carefully.
Desperately.
As if gentleness can undo what fire once destroyed.
He does not love lightly.
He loves like it is a vow he is afraid to break.
So, when he touches you, he is deliberate. When he speaks softly, it is intentional. When he stays, its not casual. He chooses to be there with you, over and over again. Like he is constantly aware that that space beside you will no longer be his if he’s not careful enough.
He lost his chair, his place, his throne once, he’s certain that he will again if he doesn’t show you that he’s worthy enough to be graced by your presence.
The ninth thing you learned about Zuko is that his past doesn’t stay in the past.
It follows him.
Not as a story.
But as ghosts of his reflexes.
There are days when his jaw tightens for reason you can not see. Days where his hands curl slight on air before he realizes he is no longer holding sword. Days where his eyes harden at nothing at all, reacting to enemies that doesn’t exist in front of him.
And you understood then that healing is not the absence of ghosts.
It learning how to live without letter them speak for you.
And Zuko is still learning how to keep hem quiet.
The tenth thing she learned was that loving Zuko is not about saving him.
It’s about witnessing him.
It is about sitting beside someone who is constantly trying to outrun the version of himself that hurts others, and refusing to look away when the running gets painful.
Its about staying when he can not believe staying is possible.
It is about knowing that some nights, he will crawl into your bed like he was searching for proof that he is allowed to exist without punishment.
And you will give it to him, not because it erases anything, but because it tells him that erasure is not the only alternative.
And yet… despite everything—loving Zuko remains to not be easy.
Not because he is too much. He never even is!
But because he has spent so long believing he is only ever too much, or never enough, that teaching him otherwise feels like trying to change the shape of the fire without extinguishing it.
You wonder, sometimes, if the shame will ever leave him.
You wonder if he’ll ever look in the mirror and see what you see: not the scar, not the new Fire Lord, not the banished prince, not the boy who made the wrong choices until he started making the right ones, not the boy mistreated and left behind by the ones who should’ve loved him.
Just… him. Zuko. A man worth staying and loving.
And sometimes, you wonder, whether love is enough to rewrite what shame has already written into him.
But then he comes to you again.
Not to be fixed.
Just asking to be near something that does not disappear when he looks directly at it.
And you stay.
Because some forms of love are not gentle in the beginning.
Some of them are simply the act of refusing to let someone be along in the long, slow process of becoming someone they can finally stand to look at in the mirror.
a/n: sometimes i wonder if im hyporcite for writing things i knew i couldnt do or decided to put a plug on it.
anywayssss I hope you had a great experience reading it! Like, comment, and reblog is highly appreciated!
Synopsis: Dealing with a crisis and helping his friends Zuko accidentally forgets his anniversary with his lady. You give him chance after chance to remember but he fails resulting in you putting him on silent treatment which drives him up a wall.
Warning: Zuko pining, reader is bad at communication (3.5k wc)
After attending a meeting with Zuko and the council, you finally reached your marital chambers. Normally you do not sit in on meetings, but lately Zuko asks you to attend. Although not all members agree on your presence, saying it’s not a place for a woman Zuko has quickly shut that down.
After helping you settle in for the night you dismiss your two ladies in waiting wanting a little alone time before Zuko returned. You were quite upset with him, it was your anniversary today and you haven’t heard a word from about it from him.
You woke up to an empty bed, ate breakfast alone and even took your daily walk alone. That’s not normal. You understand he’s a busy man but he’s never missed your afternoon walks. You sighed removing your night robe and draped it over your vanity chair and climbed into bed and waited.
As time passed your eyes grew heavy. The halls were silent and the moon hung high in the sky leaving an iridescent glow over the court yard. You knew it was well past your bed time the candles on your dresser had burned low, wax pooling at their base and your incense burned out a long time ago.
Hurt tighten in your chest and dread pooled at the pit of your stomach.
You sighed flipping the cover off swinging your feet over the bed, your feet hit the cold marble floor sending a slight chill up your spine. You walked over to the windows sliding them closed with a lock and untied the heavy silk drapes also sliding them closed. Something told you he wasn’t returning tonight.
You returned to your bed riddled with sadness. He’s never missed such an important date before. Your mind spiraled as you drifted to sleep but it was not a peaceful one.
•••
You were awaken with a kiss on your temple and a warm hand, gliding up and down your back.
“Good morning my sweet ember.” your heart softened at the nickname he gave you as kids, but your mood quickly shifted as you remembered his actions yesterday.
“Morning.” You sat up with a slight headache from staying up late. The curtains were already drawn back and the windows opened letting the morning breeze in.
Zuko was already ready for the day. What a surprise…
“Breakfast is ready, I’ll see you down there.”
You got ready on your own declining help from your ladies, not having enough energy to be around anyone this early. You slipped into a soft, muted red robe that wrapped neatly around your frame, the silk cool against your skin. Fine gold threading traced the edges of the collar and sleeves. It was subtle, you wanted to be unnoticed today.
Once you made it to breakfast you ate in silence, picking over your food. It was your favorite breakfast but you just couldn’t make yourself eat. You caught all the glances Zuko threw your way and noticed how he shifted in his seat uncomfortably under your cold stares.
“You look tired, did you not rest well?” Last night replayed in your head as you stabbed your breakfast with your utensils.
“No Zuko, I actually did not sleep well.” You uttered through gritted teeth, “I was waiting for my beloved husband to join me but you were no where to be found.” you admitted with slight sarcasm.
Zuko’s face contorted in confusion, “you know I had another meeting to attend, with the rebuilding of Republic city, sending people to help displaced citizens and reopening trading routes my schedule has been full,”
“Hn.”
It was your time for your afternoon walk. You shed some of your outer layers, the warmth of the sun settling against your skin as the lighter fabric clung softly to you. The palace gardens were alive with color, but you barely noticed.
Zuko followed, a step behind at first as you walked faster. Not enough to make a scene but enough.
Gravel crunched beneath your shoes as you moved along the path, hands loosely clasped in front of you. You didn’t look back, didn’t slow, even when you heard his steps quicken to match yours.
“You’re upset with me.” It wasn’t a question, still you said nothing. A breeze passed through, stirring the sheer fabric at your sleeves, brushing it against your arms. You focused on that instead, the way it felt, the way it moved. Anything but him.
•••
It’s been three days since you uttered a word to Zuko, and it was driving him mad. You moved from your shared chambers back into your own, unable to stomach the thought of sleeping beside him.
You knew very well it was immature. Its not like you to stoop so low but you were hurt and when your feelings tangled too tightly you had a habit of shutting down, of retreating into yourself like a child who didn’t know how to be anything else.
The sad looks? You turned away from them. His hand reaching for yours? You pulled back before he could touch you. His attempts at kissing you good morning or night? Met with a door closed firmly in his face.
Zuko was spiraling. Running out of ways to understand you, he stooped low sending your ladies to spy, to ask questions they’d never dared to before. That upset you even further, you caught on quickly to his antics.
Your chest tightened, heat rising sharp and sudden. You dismissed them all before the hour was up, your tone clipped enough to send them scattering. Guilt rose in you almost immediately but you pushed it aside. You’d apologize later.
That evening, you didn’t bother to go to dinner. You knew he would notice immediately. You knew he would come to you but you chose not to care.
The doors to your chambers slid open harder than usual. You didn’t bother to look up, no one would dare enter your chambers that bold beside your air headed husband.
“Are you going to keep doing this?” Zuko’s voice cut through the room, tight, frayed at the edges. “Ignoring me? Avoiding me like I’ve done something unforgivable?”
Silence. You sat where you were, fingers stilling over the fabric in your lap.
“I’ve given you space,” he continued, stepping further inside. “Three days. Whatever this is I think I’ve been patient enough.”
Still, you said nothing.
That was what finally snapped something in him.
“What did I do?!” he demanded, sharper now. “Tell me! Because I can’t fix something if you won’t even speak to me—” You stood abruptly the movement startled even you.
“You want to know what you did?” you said, your voice quieter than his but it shook carrying a deep sense of sadness.
Zuko stilled, you turned to face him fully now, and for the first time in days, he could see it the strain, the exhaustion… the hurt you’d been holding in.
“…you forgot.”
He frowned not being able to decipher your words. “Forgot what?”
That did it. Something in your heart broke clean in two and it ached beyond repair.. A hollow laugh left you, sharp and disbelieving, your eyes stinging before you could stop it.
“Of course you don’t remember,” you whispered. Zuko’s expression shifted, confusion giving way to something more uncertain, more wary.
“Yesterday—” your voice faltered, and you swallowed hard, forcing it steady failing to keep your tears back “No. Not even yesterday. Three days ago.”
You shook your head, tears finally slipping free despite your efforts to hold them back.
“Our anniversary, Zuko.” Your words landed heavy. Zuko’s face fell in realization.
You let out a shaky breath, wiping at your face in frustration. “I waited for you,” you continued, quieter now, but it hurt more somehow. “I stayed up like an idiot thinking you’d come back, that you’d remember just— just for a moment but you never did.”
Zuko didn’t dare move. Cowardly he didn’t dare look you in the eye, knowing it would only make him feel worse. But he felt as if he deserved to feel this way.
“You didn’t even notice the next morning,” you added, your voice cracking now despite yourself. “You kissed me like it was any other day.”
Your words continue to make his chest ache.
You could see it clear as day. His face fell, the realization hitting all at once, guilt crashing over him so hard it left him speechless.
He finally met your tear stained eyes, and something in his chest twisted painfully.
“I know better than anyone how busy you are… I didn’t think I was asking for much,” you said softly. “Just one day.”
A heavy suffocating silence filled the space between you. Zuko took a step back stumbling on his own two feet. He lowered in eyes in shame and guilt, he couldn’t even look at you.
Every moment you two ever had played over and over in his mind. You comforting him from his dad, him sneaking you out to see the lantern festival, your first kiss, his vows…the words he spoke the promises he made to never be the one to bring you such pain, now look what he’s done.
“I…” he started, but the words died in his throat. There was nothing he could say, not to fix this anyways. So instead he turned, and left. The doors shut behind him with a quiet finality. And for the first time in three days the silence felt worse.
You climbed in your bed and sobbed.
The doors had barely shut behind him before the weight of it all came crashing down.
Zuko didn’t make it far. The corridor stretched endlessly before him, lanterns flickering softly along the walls, but he couldn’t focus on any of it. His steps slowed… then stopped entirely.
“Our anniversary, Zuko.”
The words echoed, over and over, sharper each time. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling shakily, but it did nothing— nothing to quiet the pounding in his chest or the tightness clawing its way up his throat. How could he have forgotten?
Not a meeting. Not a report. Not some meaningless court obligation.
You.
He squeezed his eyes shut, jaw tightening as the memory replayed, your voice, trembling despite how hard you tried to steady it… the way your eyes filled, the way you looked at him like he had truly failed you.
“I didn’t think I was asking for much… just one day.”
Zuko let out a broken breath, his hand curling into the fabric over his chest as if he could physically pull the guilt out of himself. He had seen you cry before but not like that, not because of him.
A quiet, humorless laugh escaped him, thick with disbelief and self-loathing.
You had waited for him. Stayed up alone believing he would come back, that he would remember something that should have been carved into him deeper than anything else and he hadn’t. He had kissed you the next morning like it was nothing. Like you weren’t hurting right in front of him.
Zuko’s shoulders dropped, the realization settling heavier with every passing second, until it felt suffocating. What kind of husband did that make him? He promised he’d protect you and be the rock you could lean on when things got difficult, but that rock had seem to move and let you fall…His throat tightened painfully, his vision blurring before he could stop it. He turned away from the open corridor, bracing a hand against the wall as he bowed his head, breath uneven.
Nothing he had ever faced made him feel this small… this ashamed.
“Its all my fault…” he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible, like saying them too loudly would make it worse.
But it was already as bad as it could be you had looked at him like you didn’t recognize him. Like he had become someone who could forget you. That was what broke him.
Zuko straightened slowly, swallowing hard, forcing himself to breathe through the tightness in his chest.
No.
He wasn’t going to let this sit. He wasn’t going to hide behind silence or let you believe even for a second that you didn’t matter— like your marriage didn’t matter to him.
Even if you refused to see him, even if you slammed every door in his face, he would stand there and take it.
He would fix this. He had to.
•••
Zuko didn’t come back the next night or the one after that. Not because he didn’t want to but because every time he stood outside your door, hand hovering just inches from the wood, he heard your voice again.
“You weren’t there.” And he couldn’t bring himself to knock.
The palace noticed, of course they did. The once sickeningly loving couple who couldn’t be apart for too long now were seen nowhere together, not even in the same chambers. The Fire Lord, once sharp and composed, now distracted his responses delayed, his temper quieter but more volatile, like something was simmering just beneath the surface.
He stayed longer in council meetings, not because he needed to, but because returning to his chambers meant facing the empty space where you should have been. Your side of the bed cold and untouched.
He stopped sleeping properly and when he did, it wasn’t for long.
Every time he closed his eyes, it was the same. That saddened look upon your face with a mix of hurt and disgust.
He tried to ease his presence back in small ways at first. A tray of your favorite tea left outside your door, only to come back untouched. A folded robe he knew you liked, sent through your ladies also returned without a word. By the fourth day, he stopped pretending this was something he could fix quietly. Because nothing about you had softened. If anything you had grown eerily calmer in your distance and that terrified him more than your anger ever could.
It was late when he finally came to you later than he ever should have. The palace had long since gone quiet, the halls dim with only a few lanterns flickering low. He didn’t hesitate this time. He knocked once…twice… and when there was no answer he slid the door open anyway.
You were inside. Standing near the window, the moonlight spilling across your figure, painting you in pale silver and shadow. You didn’t turn but you knew it was him.
“…You shouldn’t be here this late,” you said quietly. Not cold, not even angry just distant.
Zuko stepped inside slowly, closing the door behind him with a softer touch than usual, like even sound might push you further away.
“I know,” he said, voice low. “But I can’t stay away anymore.”
You didn’t respond.
He swallowed hard, taking a step closer, then another, until he was standing just behind you, close enough to reach you but he didn’t not yet.
“I’ve been trying to give you space,” he continued, his voice rougher now, strained with everything he’d been holding in. “I thought maybe… if I waited, you’d come back to me on your own.”
He paused “That was a mistake.” Your fingers tightened slightly around the loose fabric hanging from your sleeves.
Zuko let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want space,” he admitted, quieter now. “I don’t want distance. I don’t want—” his voice broke slightly, and he forced himself to steady it, “—whatever this is between us.”
That almost got you, just almost. Your shoulders shifted, the smallest crack in your defensive armor and he saw it.
“I miss you,” he said, and this time there was no hiding it no control, no Fire Lord composure. Just Zuko. “I miss talking to you. I miss you looking at me like… like I didn’t just ruin everything but instead looking at me like the boy who lit up seventeen lanterns to release on your birthday.” Your chest tightened painfully remembering the night Zuko snuck you out on your birthday just to celebrate, you both shared your first kiss that night.
Just then all restraint Zuko’s held snapped.
“Please,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping, desperation creeping in now. “Look at me.”
You hesitated then, slowly you turned to him. His long raven hair cascaded down his back disheveled looking as if he’d been pulling at it all day. The sight of you broke him because even now, even after days of distance your eyes were still glassy, heart still aching all because of him.
Zuko’s breath caught, his composure shattering completely.
“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, the words rushing out like they’d been waiting too long. “I’m so sorry I— I don’t have anything else to say, I don’t have an excuse, I don’t—” he stopped, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair, visibly unraveling, “—I forgot the one thing that mattered most to you…no to us and I hate myself for it.”
Your expression wavered ever so slightly, but it was enough to give him hope to keep going.
“I keep thinking about that night,” he continued, voice quieter now, but heavier. “You waiting for me. Thinking I’d come back.” His throat tightened. “And I didn’t.”
His eyes dropped briefly, then lifted again wet now, unguarded.
“I’ve faced a lot of things in my life,” he said, almost to himself. “But I’ve never felt worse than I did walking out of this room that night.”
He stepped closer this time, he didn’t stop himself. His hand reached for yours and when you didn’t pull away he held on tight scared you’d pull away for good.
“I don’t want to lose you over this,” he said, his voice lowering, breaking in a way that made your chest ache. “I won’t. I can’t.” His thumb brushed against your hand, unsteady.
“If you need time, I’ll give it to you. If you’re angry, I’ll take it but don’t shut me out like I don’t matter to you anymore.”
Your breath hitched.
Zuko stepped closer too close now, the space between you disappearing entirely, his forehead nearly brushing yours.
“I love you,” he whispered, like it was something fragile. “And I was stupid enough to forget something that proves it. I won’t make that mistake again. Not ever.”
His voice softened, but it carried weight.
“Just… don’t leave me like this.”
Your hands lifted slowly resting against his chest not pushing him away this time.
That was all the answer he needed.
Zuko let out a breath that sounded like it had been trapped in him for days, his arms pulling you into him not forceful, but desperate, grounding, like he needed to feel you there to believe this was real. You didn’t resist but didn’t immediately melt either.
His face dipped into the side of your neck, breath uneven, his grip tightening just slightly as if afraid you’d slip away again.
“I miss you,” he murmured again, softer now, against your skin. Your fingers curled into his robes. When he pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough his gaze dropped briefly, hesitantly to your lips. Then back to your eyes checking…asking for permission.
And this time when he leaned in he didn’t hesitate not like before, but still careful enough just incase if you wanted to pull away.
You didn’t.
The kiss wasn’t soft. It carried everything, the days of distance, frustration, guilt, longing spilling out all at once, his hand rising to your jaw, holding you there like he needed to make sure you wouldn’t disappear again. And when you finally responded even just slightly. He exhaled against you, the tension in him breaking, his grip tightening as he pulled you closer, closer, like he couldn’t get enough, like he was making up for every moment he’d missed and this time he didn’t let go.
You pulled away, eyes fluttering up to his. You could tell he was being honest but that didn’t make the hurt go away.
“Just because I kissed you doesn’t mean I fully forgive you, you hurt me, you hurt us.” His eyes lowered in shame.
“We can work through this and I will be returning to our shared chambers. But next time let’s remember what we promised each other I will not forgive you as easy.” Zuko nodded quickly, almost too quickly, like he was afraid the moment might slip away if he didn’t hold onto it.
“I won’t forget again,” he said softly, his voice still rough, still careful.
You studied him for a second longer really studied him before letting out a small breath, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly.
“…Good,” you murmured.
A quiet pause settled between you, no longer suffocating just…delicate.
Your hand brushed against his, something came over you and you gently pulled him into a hug. Not to tight, but firm enough where you comfortably laid your head on his chest feeling that familiar warmth radiating off of him.
That broken dreadful feeling that has been chaining you down has finally lifted, you felt like you could breathe again being in his arms.
You felt Zuko leave a tiny kiss on your head, whispering the words “I love you my sweet ember.”
mr big scary let me ask my wife firelord who always has to run things by you not because you’re controlling or demanding but because he wants you to know what he’s doing, wants you to be included and wants you to approve of his decisions because when you’re happy, he’s happy.
“ fire lord zuko, the earth emissary would like to have a dinner. when is suitable for you?”
“let me ask my wife and i’ll get back to you.”
“lord zuko, the festival of fire is coming up, will you be in attendance?”
“not sure. let me ask my wife.”
“sir. the avatar has requested your help. will you be going to lend aid?”
“if my wife grants me permission, yes.”
“my wife said we need more opportunities for women in government. lets look into that.”
“i cannot attend that meeting. i have lunch plans with my wife.”
even when doing the most mundane and tedious things like new gowns or new stationery for royal decrees, you’re there to give your opinion.
“does my wife like it?”
“what does the firelady think?”
“ask my wife, she has the final say. whatever she wants, goes.”
big scary i worship the ground my wife walks on fire lord
Park "The Shark" x Marine Biologist!Reader pt.5, pt.6 here.
warnings: Shark being a weirdo as per. Smut. MDNI. Oral (f recieving), PinV. Biting!!! Tiniest bit of blood eva. Possible medical malpractice?
Series Masterlist. Main Masterlist.
divider credit @dividers-are-us
A/N: Thanks for all the patience! first time writing smut so bear with me.
“Sweetheart. Let me take you to bed.”
You had sworn you wouldn’t sleep with him. Not on the first real date. But here you were on his lap, the evidence of his arousal obvious beneath you.
Here you were inches away from his mouth, breathless just from kissing his gorgeous face.
Here you were definitely about to sleep with him.
You nod slowly. Intentionally.
“Uh-uh let me hear you say it baby.”
“Brendon” you whine embarrassingly desperate already “take me to bed. Please.”
“So polite.” He leans back in to kiss you with renewed hunger, standing up on the couch, carrying you in his arms with no struggle.
The thick arms you had been fixated on from the moment he entered your view were wrapped around you as he brought you upstairs, never once unlatching from your own hungry mouth, keeping an unhurried stride.
Your arms find themselves wrapped around him, fingers at the nape of his neck as he walks towards the bed, resuming your position straddling his tree trunk thighs as he sits on the mattress's edge.
Your hands move to his face, fingers grasping his strong jaw and tracing the sharp angles of his cheek bones.
His hands stay set on your hips, rocking you into the rigid length pressing into the seam of his pants. You grind down with more pressure and the groan that escaped from his mouth sent a burst of excitement through your body.
You continue the slow, sensual rhythm of your hips, and you knew you would do whatever it took for him to make that sound again.
He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth, biting and releasing it with a pull, mouthing along your jaw and neck, pressing wet kisses at your collar bone, sucking marks into your skin.
You could feel the sharp pain of his canines on your pulse as he bit down on the sensitive spot on your neck, soothing it with his tongue.
You move your hands slowly from his neck, down his chest. Fingers toying with the hem of his now untucked dress shirt.
“You want it off sweetheart?”
“Mmhm” you keen, reaching for the buttons.
He stops your hand. “Ask me.”
You could have guessed he would be as demanding in the bedroom as he was in the other aspects of his life.
You had half a mind to push him to the bed and make him beg for you.
You knew you could, this beast of a man was just as wrapped around your finger as you were his- and you knew how to handle beasts after all, maybe a firm hand is just what he needed.
But another night.
Right now you were thrumming with need, practically vibrating with desire. If giving in meant getting what you want faster, well that was just fine by you.
“Please Bren, wanna see you”
He smirked and released your hand.
With every button you undid more of his sculpted body was revealed. Goddamn you were practically salivating.
“Your turn baby. Gonna let me see you?” your dress was pulled over your head before he could finish his sentence- he chuckled at your eagerness. Before taking in the sight of you now in just the set you had worn for him.
His eyes lock to your chest, the lacy bra you had worn for him framing your tits perfectly.
His hands skim up your waist to palm your breasts “So fucking pretty.” Your nipples pebble in the cold of his room, which he noticed immediately, lowering his head to take one into his mouth through the fabric.
You let out a pathetically needy moan at the contact.
“It feels good doesn’t it?” It’s not really a question but you answer anyway.
“Yeah Bren dont stop.”
“Fit so perfectly in my hands baby. Like you were made for me.”
The winding of your hips quickens in pace and pressure as you grind down on to his length.
“Want you so bad Br-“ he flips you on to your back in an instant, holding his body above your own and looking down at you with manic, lust black eyes.
“Gonna make my pretty girl feel good” he kisses his way down your torso, leaving little bites as he reaches lower, lower, lower.
He arrives at your clothed core, his warm breath fanning over you. “Can I take these off?”
“If you don’t start touching me right now I might die.”
His eyebrows raise just barely “yes ma’am.”
He takes the flimsy fabric between his fingertips ripping them apart
“Brendon! Those were nice- OW!”
He cuts you off with a chomp to your inner thigh. Sucking a bruise close to your wetness that would surely last a week. “Desperate measures baby. Couldn’t let my favourite patient die on my watch.”
“You’re buying me new ones”
“I’ll buy you as many as you want”
He dives into you with his tongue licking a broad stripe across your weeping pussy that has you crying out in ecstasy.
He holds your hips close against his face and the view of your legs spread wide apart to accommodate for the breadth of his shoulders makes you squirm.
While he circles your clit you realise the silence. Silence that was so expected with Brendon. But now…was noticeable.
Was sex really what got the man to talk?
Your thoughts are quieted as he lightly scrapes his teeth against your bundle of nerves causing you to jolt up.
“Oh my god Brendon. don’t s-stop. Don’t you dare stop”
He doesn’t respond, maintaining his technique perfectly drawing you closer and closer to the edge.
He licks into you, not pulling away. It's as if he doesn't need to breathe. You draw your hand to the side of his neck where in your hazy, hallucinogenic pleasure you expect to find gills.
You don't find them, but the next press of his nose against you has you drawing bright red scratches in their place.
He is unrelenting in his mission to tip you over, bringing a hand from your thigh to rest on your lower stomach, stopping your squirming and adding a delicious pressure.
Then bringing his free hand to draw a finger into your heat. The thickness of one of his digits breaches your weeping slit in a ‘come hither’ motion, making you cry out and grab his gelled hair.
He adds a second, and then a third as your moans crescendo, scissoring his fingers- stretching you out. All the while maintaining his tongue’s ministrations on your clit.
You cum with a gasping squeal, taking the hand splayed across your stomach and gripping it in your own.
He doesn't relent, rolling his tongue across your over sensitive bud until you’re pushing his head away from your core.
The sight that greets you is downright sinful.
His face is flush and glistens with your slick. “Taste so good sweetheart.”
He continues to suck his marks into the meat of your thighs.
“Please Bren. Need you.”
He crawls up the bed caging your body between it and his own, stopping with his thigh between your splayed legs pressing against your sopping cunt.
He leans down to kiss you, and you taste yourself on his tongue.
You take his lower lip into his mouth, mimicking his earlier nips to yours, but as you go to playfully nibble at him his fingers find your pebbled nipple- pinching in a way that causes you to bite down with more force than you had meant.
He pulls away but not before the identifiable metallic taste of blood floods your mouth.
His nostrils are flaring as he brushes his bleeding lip with the back of his hand to watch it drip.
He smiles revealing stained red against brilliant white. “When’d you get so filthy baby?”
His expression is so feral you can barely recognise him as human before he's diving back down to your mouth, claiming it with his blood soaked tongue. He takes your hands between his giant one, pinning them above your head as he litters your skin with blood smeared welts.
His free hand moves to his belt, finally stripping completely and freeing his thick angry cock.
It’s beautiful.
It's huge.
Thick, long, leaking from its turgid red tip.
“Brendon, I don't know if that's going to fit.”
He pauses his bruising kisses, grip on your wrists softening. “I worked you open pretty good, but nothing you don’t want sweetheart. We can stop here and go finish that bottle.” His words are sweet and for a second the animal disappears from his face and he's the most human you've ever seen him look.
“No. Want you just- slow. Okay?” though you doubt how long you’ll stick to that.
He nods “you say the word and we stop.” and then he's kissing you again, slowly but the hunger remains.
Inching forward he begins to rub his length along your slit, the tip catching on your clit making you moan into his mouth.
When he breaches your entrance, the stretch of his girth makes your breath stutter. He’s so big. You feel as though you’re being ripped apart by pleasure, a mouth watering white hot pain tinges the edges of the ecstasy the feel of his cock dragging along your walls brings.
And the noises he lets out above you only add to your arousal.
When he’s fully sheathed inside you, the sharp bones of his hips meeting your softness, he doesn’t pull back.
He stays, trying to push impossibly deeper, grinding into you causing the coarse patch of trimmed hair at his base to rub against your clit, sparking electricity through your nerves.
“Fuck” he breathes out, breath ragged “you feel so fucking perfect.” It's a beautiful thing to see his composed veneer slip like this.
“So deep. Please move.”
With your permission he begins a slow, firm rhythm of thrusts, the head of his cock pressing against that spongy spot inside making you gasp.
He sees this, doesn't have to ask: There? That feel good? Just starts fucking into you harder, hitting that same spot at the same pace but with a brutal force that has you seeing stars.
“F-f-aster Bren. Please” you mewl, already abandoning the idea that you could ever just have this man slowly. There were clearly no small doses with him.
“Yeah I know you want fucking more. Knew you’d take me so well baby, look so pretty with my cock in you.”
His words excite and surprise you, a far cry from the silent man you know.
You rock your hips to meet his frantically increasing pace “Yeah thats right take what im giving you.”
He grabs your legs, placing them on his shoulders, changing the angle of his movements, somehow reaching even deeper inside you. You let out matching cries of pleasure at this, his even louder when you involuntarily clench around him. You see a determination flood his dark eyes, he’s going to make you do that again.
He takes hold of your leg again, pressing a kiss, and of course a small bite to the skin of your ankle- set on covering your entire body with memories of his presence- before pressing them back, basically folding you in half and pressing his face into the crook of your neck.
It's all consuming. The powerful momentum of his cock inside you, the way his body surrounds you, his warm breath on your skin. Almost too intense.
You feel like you're treading water, gasping for breath in a sea of him.
And then he lifts his head, locking you back in his sights. Zeroing in on you with his familiar cold stare. Something different behind it now.
The image of him above you, combined with the overstimulating intensity of his movements is too much. He swipes his thumb across his still bleeding lip, wiping it off.
He presses his thumb against your lips.
You suck it into your mouth, savouring the mixed taste of his sweat and blood, swirling it across your tongue.
With all it takes is one more deep thrust and you’re drowning.
His pace doesn't falter when you clench around him, he keeps his thumb in your mouth, not letting your head move, keeping your eyes on him.
You can tell he’s not far behind, the veins of his neck bulging, his heaving pants.
“Inside. On the pill.”
“I know.” He grunts between gritted teeth.
The aftershocks of your orgasm continue to make you tighten around him, milking his cock until he spills deep inside of you.
He doesn’t fall on you entirely, just lets himself rest lower, still holding himself up on his forearms. You wish he’d smother you under his weight.
He’s back at your neck, pressing soft kisses to the deep purple marks he’d left there.
You take a moment to catch your breath on the rumpled sheets of Brendon Parks' formerly immaculately made bed before breaking the silence “You’re so much more talkative during sex.”
He doesn’t respond but you can feel the smile.
“Seriously, am I going to have to blow you to find out your favourite colour?” you feel him twitch inside you at that.
“Don’t say that I have to go to work tomorrow”.
Of course. Back to his non-stop schedule. The bubble of post-sex happiness is already beginning to fade. All you want to do is stay exactly where you are, and you have no idea when you’ll see him next. That is if he even does want to see you again.
You’re sure he’s as into you as you are him. But he’s so hard to read.
And he did invite you to his home on the first date and you practically threw yourself at him. What man would say no to that.
And then he's pulling out of you. Leaving you tragically empty. Slinking down the bed. Watching his pearly cum leak out of your poor, abused hole.
Admiring his handiwork.
He swipes a finger through his spend, making you wince. Oversensitive.
“I’m sorry baby lemme clean you up.” He brings the finger to your mouth. Again. You were learning so much about him.
You lick his finger clean before he presses a firm kiss to your lips.
“C’mon” He wraps his arms underneath you, lifting you off the bed as you squeak “Lets actually get you cleaned up”.
He brings you to his en suite bathroom, the giant shower calling your name.
He waits for the water to heat up before sitting you under its stream on the inbuilt bench. With him standing above you, you’re eye level with his flaccid dick.
It’s gorgeous even while soft.
He lathers you in soap, paying special attention to your breasts, eyes intent on watching the suds slide off them in his hands.
He brings a washcloth to your pussy, cleaning himself off of you with a small flash of disappointment in his eyes. You suddenly remember the words you couldn’t process in the heat of the moment.
He said he knew you were on the pill. That made sense, you supposed. He had access to your medical records after all. But had he happened upon that information or gone looking for it?
Was that creepy? Or the hottest thing you had ever imagined? You feel yourself heat up at the thought of him making sure he could cum inside you, thinking about you in that way.
Under the soft bathroom light- so different to the clinical light of a hospital, closer to the murky aquarium tank- you see just how many lovebites litter your body.
“I’m going to have to start calling you shark like everyone else”.
He snorts, “You can call me whatever you like." before reaching for his expensive looking shampoo, rubbing the liquid in his palms before bringing them to his head.
“Wait. Sit here, let me.” You nod to the space next to you.
He hesitates for a second, the water washing away most of the shampoo before he obliges, sitting beside you and passing the bottle.
You squirt some on to your palms, massaging his scalp, cleansing his brown hair of the gel.
He leans into your touch. Eyes closed for a second, but as soon as the danger of getting shampoo in his eyes is gone, they're back on you.
You repeat the intimate gesture with conditioner, revelling in the chance to rake your fingers through his tresses.
He removes your hand from his hair, kissing your wrist. “Thank you sweetheart. You stay here for a bit- Toothbrush and moisturisers all in the cabinet. Gonna change the sheets.”
You’re sad to watch him go but relish watching him wrap a towel around himself, water dripping off his toned body. Taking pride in the many marks you’ve left him with.
He pops his toothbrush in his mouth, beginning to brush as he exits the room.
Does this mean he wants you to spend the night? You know he has to work early, and you do as well. You’ll have to go home at some point to make sure to conceal the hickeys.
You step out of the shower, taking advantage of his fluffy towels, the fresh toothbrush and his fancy moisturiser. You smell like his body wash now.
You step out to a beautiful image.
Freshly made bed. Him in grey sweatpants drying off his hair.
He nods towards a soft, worn shirt. “This should be fine for tonight. I’ll drive you home early.”
That answers your question. All your insecurities dissipate in that instant.
Much to your chagrin you have to temporarily tear your eyes from him to pull the shirt over yourself, wrapping yourself up in its comforting masculine scent.
When you look up though.
“Your hair?!” You exclaim, almost horrified staring at the nearly dry locks.
He doesn't flinch. “What about it?”
“You have curls?!”
“I’m not blind.”
Gone is the sleek, gelled helmet of hair you’ve seen him in previously. Replaced by a dark head of soft looking curls. All you can do is stare in silence, mouth agape.
“What, you don’t like them?” He doesn’t say it with any insecurity.
“No, they’re just... different. to your usual style. I like them a lot actually.” It’s true. They soften all his features, and while you are obviously attracted to the sharp angles and corded muscles of the man you met, this is nice. “Both are nice.”
“I actually hate the gel, it's a bitch to wash out. I only wear it back at work. It makes me feel cleaner.”
“You wore gel at the aquarium, and earlier tonight.”
“Cause I was going to work to catch up on paperwork right after and I came straight from work tonight. What am I supposed to do? Gel it in the bathroom and wash it out before I leave? No one there has ever seen me without it and that’s not about to start now. As far as they’re concerned it just grows that way.” He speaks while crossing the room to where you stand, gripping your waist in a way that emphasises his arm muscles- it seems like everything does that- reminding you that his corners and edges are still there under the curls.
“Do you not have any work friends?” You reach a hand up to run your hands through the slightly damp curly mop.
He moves you into the bed, pulling back the covers “No.”
He turns off the lights before joining you in bed, his warm body finding yours in seconds, enclosing you in his embrace
“Shen? He seems nice”
“Shen gave you the wrong pain medication” his deadpan has a tiredness behind it, you get the sense that he usually keeps a more regimented sleep schedule than tonight.
“He was probably wing-manning you. He gave you an excuse to see me again.”
“I would’ve done that no matter what. He deserves no credit.”
An easy hush covers you both. You feel so peaceful in his protective hold, sleep will come quickly.
“Purple by the way.”
“Hmm?”
“My favourite colour is purple.”
A/N: AHHHH they finally did it. I love them baddddd. anyway yeah this took foreva cause i was in assignment hell but am mostly out of it now. REQUESTS OPEN dont be shy.
Taglist: (comment if you want to be removed/added)
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Warnings: Brendon Park bulking!!!! Smutty. I love him.
Masterlist
God you love him like this.
He’s always been big but now he’s capital H Huge.
He’s been bulking for the last two months, developing not only giant muscles but a soft layer of fat above them. You could burrow into his pecs and live there for the rest of your life. His clothes fit him so tightly since he refuses to get new ones. His shirts constantly call to you to rip them off.
He’s always ravenous, eating seconds and thirds of your cooking making you swell with pride at how he moans at the taste, always overly complimentary about how good of a chef you are. His heart is definitely attached to his stomach, and the act of service makes him fall for you all over again every night. You can’t deny you’ve loved feeding him, pushing bigger portions on his plate to see him grow and handing him a protein shake in the morning. It’s nice to see him so… soft. It's domestic. He feels lived in.
You thank god he chose the winter months to do this because the extra meat on his bones has made him your personal radiator. The smattering of hair that had always covered his stomach and chest has grown thicker and darker too. You joke that he’s turning into a bear more everyday, something he tolerates rather than appreciates- except for the days when you pack him those healthy gym bro lunches of salmon and berries complete with a densely caloric baked good of some kind. He’s so warm now. You cling to him at night like a hot water bottle, he has no objection holding you close against his soft chest.
Everything about him was a little softer now. When you had met him he was all hard lines and sharp angles. Now he has rounded and filled out a little more and it drives you wild. He’s still an intimidating figure, maybe more so since his increased size makes him loom over most people, but he looks a little bit more like the sweet caring man that only you used to see.
And god he’s so fucking strong. Can lift you like it's nothing. He’ll casually ask you to sit on his back while he does pushups, or jokingly use you instead of weights for his reps.
And the sex…
He definitely puts that extra strength to use, he can have you anywhere now cause he can just lift you up. But when you are in the bedroom he throws you on the mattress, manhandles you like crazy. He completely covers you, and the weight of his body around your own just intensifies every sensation.
And the extra hair means a more pronounced happy trail. Which means more friction. And you are desperate to suck his dick way more often when you see it peeking out from between his shirt and pants.
He likes to have you on top and basically move you up and down his cock- you hardly have to do any work he’s just trying to get an arm session in.
You’re dreading his upcoming cut in a few months. You also know you’ll love that raw muscular look on him too.
For now though you’ll just keep helping him put on mass you think to yourself as you slide a tray of raspberry brownies into the oven.
A/N: guys i love him bad what am i going to do. Also if you’ve never put raspberries in your brownies get on that what are you doing.
Warnings: Period sex, oral (F recieving), lo-jo accurate period pain, insecurity, vague doctor patient roleplay, blood.
Masterlist
You’re curled into a ball in the middle of your bed, trapped uncomfortably in the only position that relieves your cramps with one thing on your mind. Brendon.
All you want is to feel the warm, protective weight of your boyfriend's arms around you. Maybe his large hands could relieve some of your back pain, or massage your tender breasts. He could wrap you up in your heated blanket, bringing you hot chocolate and watching T.V. shows he swears he hates but is secretly addicted to.
He could do all this if he wasn’t an on-call surgeon with no time for his suffering girlfriend. While you were off of work he was jumping from case to case, unable to care for you.
When you finally manage to catch him on his break, his voice is rushed on the other end of the call.
“There’s no way I can get off work early baby, I’ve got back to back surgeries. Probably go overtime.” you feel hormonal tears rush to your eyes before you blink them away.
“I know B, I just miss you” you whine into the phone. “I don't really want you here anyway I'm all gross. Just go to your place when you get off, I'll see you tomorrow.”
“You’re not gross, you’re normal. I’m coming straight to you as soon as I-” You hear voices on his side “Shit- I’m sorry I’ve gotta do a stupid consult downstairs. Feel better baby.” And then he’s gone, leaving you alone in your misery.
Where you stayed for the next few hours.
Doomscrolling.
Doomspiralling.
Your uncomfortable position doesn't soothe your cramps for long, the pain medication wears off too but you’re simply in too much pain to get more. Your throat is dry from dehydration and your eyes are damp from a proposal video that just reminds you how much you need him.
You understand how important his work is. You understand how important he is. How many people rely on him. How much of the day he spends on his feet running to take care of people. Your strong, capable surgeon.
You know all this. But you can't help but begrudge it all at this moment, just wanting him to say fuck it to his job, to his patients, to anything that isn’t you.
You also know that you don’t want him to see you like this, all cowered and bloated and pathetic. You who were usually so strong and competent, everything he loved, mirroring his own tendencies to care for everyone else- reduced to a whimpering puddle of cramps and blood.
It’s still early in the relationship. He knows your period hits you hard but he hasn't actually seen you like this yet, your usually clean apartment askew- something you know he won’t like. It’s driven other men away before. You want to put it off as long as you can.
The sound of your front door unlocking stirs you from your bed rotting, heavy footsteps making you lift your head from the pillow with a grumble.
His broad frame fills your doorway, typically cold eyes turned sympathetic when landing on your shrunken self.
“I’m so sorry I couldn't be here, baby. I’m here now.” Your eyes fall to the bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand, which he quickly deposits on your set of drawers before stalking towards your side of the bed. He kneels down to your eye-level, cocking his head so that his perspective matches your own. “Not feeling good?” he questions, which you meet with a small shake of your head “missed you” your small voice eeks out.
His hand brushes across your cheekbone, brushing any stray hairs away from your bare face before he leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your forehead, then the tip of your nose. “I missed you too. What can I do for you sweet thing? How can I make my poor baby feel better?”
“Just hold me. Please.”
That's all he needs. Quickly he strips off his scrubs, and settles in close to you in just his boxer briefs. His arms drape across you and you savour in their heaviness and heat, both providing a temporary salve to the debilitating pains that continue to wrack your body.
You allow yourself to melt into his touch, until he begins to move his hands across your stomach- a familiar movement, usually a precursor to much dirtier activities and while you can’t deny the thought is appealing, you know he won’t like what he finds if he continues down this road. “No. B. I haven’t shaved and I’m all bloated and bloody an-.”
“Shhhh shhh shh.” he hushes you with a hand covering your mouth “I literally had my hand in a man’s chest cavity today. A little blood’s nothing to me.” A rare cheeky smile crosses his face “So are you going to let Dr. Park make it all better?”
His hand continues down your torso, reaching your seriously unsexy period underwear, fingers passing by the elastic to tease at your aching core, making your thighs tense. “Sensitive?” you nod against his palm.
He continues his ministrations on your slit while kissing from the side of your jaw, down your neck all the way to where you need him most. He hooks his fingers into the waistband “Gonna let me take care of you?”
You hesitate for a moment. “I don't know honey…Shouldn’t we put a towel down or something?” you and he both know that you’re stalling. Did you really want to let him see you like this? To let him make a mess of you on the sheets? To let him know you so intimately?
“Don’t worry about that. Do you want me to make you feel better? Want your doctor to kiss it better?” he says nipping at the inside of your thigh, holding scintillating eye contact with you all the while.
You pause for a moment… before nodding. “Please Bren.”
Your underwear's off before you even finish your sentence. His tongue fucking into your throbbing, oversensitive hole while his arms hold you spread open for him, not allowing you to hide from his eager lips and tongue.
His efforts make you scream and buck your hips into his hungry mouth as his tongue continues to fuck into you. He groans into your bloody pussy, the vibrations rippling through you causing your legs to flail, lifting up to rest on his massive shoulders.
He doesn't let up, doubling the speed and pressure of his movements, replacing his tongue with two fingers and refocusing on rolling your clit between his suctioning lips.
In your sensitive state it doesn’t take you long before you're on the edge. Gripping at his gelled hair, making him as dishevelled as you feel. And then his eyes lock on to yours- and that's all it takes to get you seeing stars.
Your orgasm racks through you with such intensity you're not sure if it takes hours, years, seconds or minutes for your soul to return to your body.
But when you finally crash back to earth, and see his blood smeared face plastered with a smile, the shame in you dissipates. Why would you ever have deprived yourself of this? The ache between your legs has already quieted, replaced by a familiar hunger at his sanguine teeth. You reach for him, hands grabbing at his scrub top “Need you B, please.”
His nostrils flaring and eyes completely black like a predator in a feeding frenzy. He doesn't hesitate before pouncing on you, sliding into your warmth with the added lubrication of your blood. The look that comes over his face is nothing you’ve ever seen before. Your usually composed surgeon is wild, overtaken by some animalistic instinct from the back of his brain as pounds into you. “Gonna fuck the pain right of you baby” he groans into your ear, staining the side of your face with the wet blood he hadn’t wiped off his face, kissing and nipping at your cheek and jaw regardless.
You lie boneless beneath him, overwhelmed by the increased sensation as pleasure wracks your body. He palms at your sore breasts, taking a nipple into his mouth and soothing it with his tongue.
“Can’t think?” he pants cockily. You think you nod. Maybe your head is just jostling from his thrusts. “Good. Don’t think about anything but how good your doctor makes you feel.”
Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t. He’s all consuming. You feel as if he's swallowed you whole. In one bite he's sentenced you to live a life in his chest.
He reaches between your bodies to strum at your clit, making your legs flail in shock. The bliss builds and builds, his unrelenting pace throwing you off the edge in seconds. He follows close behind, chomping into the curve of your neck to muffle his groans as he fills you with his cum.
You lie there like that for a minute with him. Breaths slowing and syncing. He pulls out of you with a wet squelch that you were too tired to be embarrassed about. You can’t bring your ragged voice to protest as he leaves the room, letting sleep take you.
You awake to his strong arms around you, dropping you slowly into a warm bath. “There she is.” his face is clean now, much to your disappointment- the red suits him so well. He holds out your water bottle “Here drink.” you obey.
A strong metallic taste floods your tastebuds causing you to sputter around the spout. “What is that?!”
“Iron supplements” he says like its nothing
“You’re drugging me now?” you say in playful disbelief.
“I’m enforcing your care.” he brings the bottle to your lips again, you drink much better prepared for the rust like taste.
“Thank you B, you didn’t have to do all this.”
“I know. I want to. Can’t have my girl hurting.” His matter of fact tone makes you smile. You love his certainty.
After making sure you take two pain killers, he leaves you to enjoy your bath, contently melting in the hot water, enjoying the smell of your favourite scented candles he lit around the edge of the tub and the soft music he left playing. When you finally do emerge, wrapped comfortably in the pajamas he left for you, its to a freshly made bed. He sits atop the comforter with your laptop.
“Wanna watch love island?”
A/N: i dont even like love island. I'm just a woman of the people fr.
Park "The Shark" x Marine Biologist!Reader pt.4, pt. 5 here
warning: Shark being a weirdo as per. suggestive, basically smut. MDNI
Series Masterlist. Main Masterlist.
divider credit @dividers-are-us
A/N: Thanks for all the love guys. Part 4's finally here- thanks for the patience. All feedback appreciated!
You braced yourself outside his door. Steadying your nerves and excitement before raising a fist to knock. The frame of the brownstone-style brick townhouse reminds you of its owner, tall and broad and sturdy.
It had been two weeks since you had last seen him, your shoulder mostly healed and out of its sling. His work schedule hadn’t allowed for anything sooner.
A deep breath.
You knock.
You can hear his heavy footfalls from behind the door, closer, closer, closer.
When he opens the door you find yourself nearer to his eye level than ever before, the heels you had decided on giving you added inches and accentuating your legs in a way he had already noticed.
At this height, when you can properly see those gorgeous grey eyes, it isn’t lost on you the way they rake over your body. He told you to dress nice and you knew better than to argue. Clearly he approves of the dark purple colour you’d chosen.
You return the favour. He's dressed up nicer than you’d ever seen him, dress shirt and pants not negated by the casualness of the leather jacket he had worn at the aquarium - the only other time you had seen him out of scrubs. His rolled up sleeves hug his biceps in a way that makes you jealous and expose an amount of forearm that should be illegal.
Silently, he steps back making space for you to push past into his home. Not far back enough that your shoulder wont brush his chest... You wait a beat before breaching the entryway, with one last look over your shoulder, one last goodbye to the outside world before you enter the tank.
The click of the door behind you is forceful and final.
If you thought his office was american psycho-esque… the house was almost bare.
Just like his office it was clean. You’re willing to bet just being here would kill the remaining 0.01% of germs that detergents can’t.
Sleek and modern. Leather and marble furnishing. Hardwood. No family photo’s graced the walls of the entry way but as you moved through the halls flashes of burgundy and navy prints and artwork came into view.
It made sense you supposed. The lack of things. Your surprised hes even a homeowner despite his generous salary.
He strikes you as something inherently migratory- you’ve seen it in the way his eyes never stop moving, nomadic. But then again you’re sure you can’t make it as far as he has in his career moving from place to place. So here he rests.
He guides you through his home, walking behind you and ushering you with the breadth of his body looming behind you.
You know one of you will talk sooner or later. You’re comfortable to sit in silence but you had wondered your whole journey here whether he might be any more conversational than the past three interactions.
You arrive in the kitchen where he pulls out a bar stool, gesturing his head for you to sit. You oblige.
No mess covers the benches but the evidence of cooking lingers in the fragrant air.
It’s nice to watch him like this, you’ve seen him in his element both at his work and yours. But here in his house he seems more relaxed, the harshness that was ever present in the hospital lingered on his face but was almost entirely gone, and he seemed less aquatic than he had been under the light of the shark tank.
But still selachian. Make no mistake.
“You look nice.” He says, uncorking a bottle of crisp white wine.
It almost stuns you. You had been preparing to break the silence as usual. He always initiated contact but never conversation. You did not expect him to be the first to blink.
“Thank you. You told me to.”
“You gonna to do everything I tell you?” His voice is very nearly joking.
“I think we both know who’s in charge here Dr. Park”.
“What did I say about calling me that?”
“There's no one around to get suspicious that i may not deserve my discount don’t worry”.
He smiles. Actually smiles.
The comfortable quiet resettles. He hands you your glass of wine and proceeds to stride through his kitchen. Double checking the two-person table setting on the bar side of the island.
“Do you like cooking?” You say, noticing the beautiful pots and pans in his drawers as he opens and closes them.
“I invited you over to cook for you.” he deadpans “I would’ve taken you out if I didn’t like it.”
“You just look like the kind of guy who only eats chicken and broccoli”
“Chicken and broccoli’s good. Protein and fiber.”
“Is that what we’re having tonight?”
“No.”
“Is it a surprise”
“No.”
You’re used to his conversation killing responses by now. You watch him chop vegetables with a large sharp knife, you wouldn't expect his thick fingers to be able to manipulate the blade in his hands so deftly. But of course. Surgeon's hands. You can just imagine how he could handle a scalpel.
And then so suddenly it's as if by magic, a plate of beautifully prepared sushi appears in front of you.
“...You’re so on the nose. Raw fish?!”
“Well I still don’t believe you have more than one personality trait. I’m catering to my audience.” You’ve never really seen him playful. Cocky and self-assured? Yes. Teasing? Yes.
And now a combination of the two that makes your heart beat too fast- you can imagine yourself in his kitchen every night for the rest of your life. Cooking together, figuring out how to bring out that playful side, what makes him tick.
That was too fast. It’s your first date. But you can’t help it; everything about this man made you desperate to know more. To become so much a part of his life you enmesh with the little furniture in his house.
“Don’t leave me hanging sweetheart, tell me how it is.”
You don’t know whats more delicious, the sushi or the pet name.
You don't even have to say anything for his confident smirk to spread across his face, he can tell.
He sits opposite you and you eat.
It isn't awkward despite how long its been without meaningful conversation between you, but the confusion from your last meeting returns. Why does he keep seeking you out? What compels you to keep crawling back to him? Does he just enjoy your company? Simply likes 'seeing you' as he said?
"So you like sushi?"
"I made you sushi." he repeats the same deadpan tone as earlier.
"C'mon give me something. I can't just talk at you all dinner.".
"I like it when you talk at me."
You smile in response, but don't reply. You can feel your face heat while you wait for him to answer your original question.
He sighs "I love sushi. I don't eat out a lot but when I do its seafood. It never makes me feel like shit. It tastes good. Its good for you. What else could you want".
“So you’re a handsome surgeon who can cook?.”
“Well you could probably tell me something cool about these fish so… similar.”
You feel heat creeping up your neck. The deadly combination of watching him so competently prepare your food, the wine and his compliments was getting to you. You look away to hide your flushing cheeks.
Your eyes land on something. Something very interesting.
“Is that a house plant?” you’re almost incredulous
“Yeah.”
“You do not seem like a house plant man.”
“I like taking care of them. I have to get pretty tough ones cause im at work so much but...They keep me company.”
“You’re kind of a softie arent you? Stuffed sharks, house plants. Whats next a kitten?” you tease
“Watch it. Or this softie’ll show you how mean I can be sweetheart.”
Flush again. “Both are nice.”
You told yourself on your way over here that you were absolutely not going to sleep with him. That was too fast. It was the first date. You hardly knew him.
And yet.
You had never been quite so close to him before, not for this long. Here sitting across from him you could fully appreciate the scent that rolled off of him in waves. A spicy, salty, masculine aroma that you wanted to bury your face into the source of.
He must be wearing cologne, you would have noticed this before.
It wafts through the air mixing and mingling with your own perfume creating a heady essence you would preserve and bottle if you could.
Your food was long eaten and the two of you were well through the bottle of wine. Migrating to the couch- that looks and feels like it cost more than your car.
He continues his talkative streak, nothing wild, nothing a normal person would truly consider talkative. But he asks questions. Probes. Demanding answers - as though your desperate desire to know him is mirrored by his for you.
Your shoes had slipped off your feet and you grounded yourself on the cool hardwood floor beneath your toes.
He watches you talk and laugh with an arm slung across the back of your seat Reminding you that his hardness, his corners and edges are still there under the newly discovered softness. His bestial, sqauloid manner lurks behind the mask of a perfect human specimen.
He’s closer now. You didn’t see him move.
You can feel his body throwing heat. Surprisingly you expected him to be cold blooded.
It’s been silent since you stopped laughing. You allow your eyes to fall to his lips. And you don’t look away.
A strong hand reaches out to your neck. Not squeezing. Not applying any pressure.
Just there. Gentle. Firm.
And then your lips meet.
Its a crash of teeth and tongues in your urgency to get as close as you possibly can.
That hand on your neck encourages you to slow, to savour the taste and feel of him.
You move to straddle his lap. You have to spread your legs wide to accommodate for his thick thighs, when you sit back you feel his growing hardness beneath you.
He snarls into your mouth, the passionate clash returning for a second before he pulls away.
Pupils blown so black you can’t see the storm clouds
“Sweetheart. Let me take you to bed.”
Taglist: (comment if you want to be removed/added)
Dr Brendon Park x Attending!Wife!Reader, The Pitt x Reader
Find My Pitt Masterlist here
Everyone swore that you and PTMC's Shark were sworn enemies. As you shoot him biting quips and retorts each time your paths crossed. You were one of the most kindhearted and considerate attending they worked alongside...so what was it about Park that elicited such feisty remarks?
It might have something to do with the ring that's tucked beneath your scrubs around a chain upon your neck.
Turns out Park isn't quite the lone Shark everyone assumed him to be.
Notes: some strong language, misconceptions, tooth rotting fluff and softness, some pregnancy mentions, Shark being so down bad for you even as you insult him in the middle of a trauma consult 💗
Word Count: ~2.4k
It was a known fact in the Pitt that the infamous Dr Brendon Park.
Was notorious for being intimidating.
Piercing eyes, a sharpness to his movements, biting words.
Blunt and lacking any softness.
Teeth bared.
Living up to his namesake.
The Shark of PTMC.
If ever there was a time he was called down.
Med students and interns alike would scatter. Escaping the wrath of his path if it were possible.
Only for some poor student to be on the receiving end of the Shark’s pointed look. As he asked with a harshness that honestly should be reviewed by HR…
But he was the best of the best.
No one could deny that.
Even if his social skills could use a little softening.
Not that anyone would tell that to his face. In fear he would simply bite back, “Do you want me to save lives or do you want me to make tea and bake a cake for you? Cause I don’t have time for both”
The only other person to ever be on par with him.
Was you.
The attending that was kind to everyone who worked with you.
You, who was fair tempered. Humorous and light hearted. Direct when necessary.
You were an aspiration to all the med students and interns that passed through the Pitt.
You had a tenderness to your approach.
One they assumed had been garnered from your years being a mother to three.
A fact that you loved to talk about when time allowed. Speaking sweetly about your three little sweethearts.
There were your two girls, Frankie and Finn. Your two fraternal twin girls who were polar opposites to each other. Acting like day and night.
Where one was sunshine incarnate, as the other was pensive as the glistening moonlight.
But they tried their best to mimic one another despite not being identical.
They were witty and intensely curious in their own way. Bright eyed and in your opinion behaved a lot like their father, opinionated and forthright.
You also had your eldest son, Lenny.
Considerate and kindhearted, who was often compared to your own self. He loved watching out for his younger sisters, helping guide them.
Such as the best way to get out of trouble...
They were the apples of your eye.
And filled your heart with immense joy. It was clear you were overwhelmed by a happy home life. With a supportive husband by your side.
One that, come to think of it, you’d never mentioned him by name?
Too busy rambling on about what your kids had gotten up to. Asking Cassie for advice every now and again, considering her son Harrison was a few years older.
Hearing about your home life was always a little bit of a bright spot. And humorous as you retold stories of what they had gotten up to.
Even if it was a little chaotic. You wouldn’t change them.
You were thoughtful with everyone in the ER. Paying attention to their questions and concerns.
Remembering little details. Asking about how they were. An open hand for if times became difficult or they simply needed an open ear.
Lightening the mood when things became heavy. Or simply being by their side, quiet and reassuring.
Though as it appeared to everyone else.
The only person who didn’t afford your kindness.
Was Park the Shark.
For one reason or another it appeared as though you and Park were sworn enemies. Always locked in a battle of wits every time you crossed paths.
As you retorted dryly.
Face plastered with a smugness that only seemed to appear as Park entered the ER.
It was rare and only on occasion. Whenever he came down. Stern as he crossed the threshold into the trauma bays. Eyes analytical and observant. Straight to the point. You often gravitated towards him whenever he appeared.
It was always a spectacle.
If not at least a little satisfying to watch you go toe-to-toe with PTMC’s Shark.
There was a feistiness that his presence seemed to elicit from you.
As you muttered with folded arms, shaking your head as he’d respond with the bluntness of a rusted saw.
“Oh, fuck off,” you’d huff.
Clicking your tongue if he ever insulted a med student while in your presence, “Don’t be such a prick”
Shaking your head with a sarcastic quip, “Could you be any more tactless”
Passing phrases that you simply slipped into the conversation whenever the opportunity presented itself.
Insults and retorts that made everyone hold their breaths.
Lying in wait for Shark to retaliate. To shoot you a stone cold glare. Before ripping you a new one.
But the retaliation never comes.
No matter how harsh your retorts are. Or how many times you tell him to piss off.
He only rolls his eyes. Simply biting his tongue in exasperation. Never once snapping at you.
This isn’t to say you’re always abrasive towards him. Just most times. Enough times for everyone in the ER to believe you hated the man.
And no one would blame you if you did. It just felt as though you didn’t really have a reason to.
Park was never outright rude to you. Never dismissive towards you. If anything he seemed. Nice?
It was puzzling for many.
Most swept the interactions under the rug.
Simply passing it off as Shark knowing when he was beat. When it was best to let things slide. Knowing better than to attack you with his brusque nature.
Never realising how your words lacked bite as you directed them to him.
Only ever focusing on the content. And never the delivery. Or the glint in your eyes when you crossed paths.
Until one day.
Joy, the new med student, simply asks outright. Abrupt as Park finishes a consult, after you had once again thrown a quippy remark his way.
“Aren’t you going to retaliate? Dr L/N literally just called you an asshole,” the question fell out of her. “You’ve yelled at me for less. Surely this goes against all of HR’s policies”
She had said the very words that were on everyone’s mind.
The very question no one had ever dared broach before.
Park simply raises a brow. Lips pulled taut, at her question. Letting out a huff. His eyes darted to meet yours.
A deadpanned expression crossing his features.
Is she serious?
While you bite your lip, holding back the laugh threatens to bubble out. Until it eventually succeeds, the laughter echoing brightly and freely around the room.
Thankfully the patient before you was sedated. Otherwise who knows how unprofessional this would come across to them.
The sound of laughter bubbling out of you, catches everyone in the room off guard. Freezing them in place.
While Park only sighs, shaking his head as a small chuckle escapes him.
Only furthering their confusion.
They felt like they were having a stroke.
Had the world turned on its head? What the fuck was happening right now?
The Park the Shark.
Infamous for his steely, cold demeanor.
Was laughing?
What had the world come to.
Perhaps it was the apocalypse, the end of the world, aliens had finally decided to invade Earth…
All of which seemed far more likely than witnessing Shark laugh.
Eventually you catch your breath, wheezing slightly as you muster out, “He has no right in telling me off, not when I birthed his three kids”
“You’re the one that wanted a big family,” He remarked.
Your lip quirks into a knowing smirk, teasing and light hearted as you retorted, “I distinctly remember that being you who said that”
All of the words that come from the two of you only leave the people in the room further left in a pitt of confusion.
“What the fuck?” Santos had muttered beneath her breath.
“He’s my husband”
“She’s my wife”
You had stated at the same time. As you add, brows furrowing in thought, “I’m sure I’ve mentioned him before?”
“No you have not! We were not picturing Shark when you said your husband was considerate and kind?”
You shrug, stifling your laugh. “He is considerate and kind when he wants to be”
Blinking in realisation, turning to Park, “Also, did you remember to pick up Finn’s soccer cleats?”
He nods, “Of course I did, they’re in the car for her”
“Good,” You nod with a bright smile, “Thank you”
“You know I’d do anything for you,” he murmurs, as you slide into the space beside him. Pressing a chaste kiss to the side of your head.
You pat his back, catching his lips with yours as you lean up. Before clapping your hands, “Ok. Let’s not hold you up any further, I’ll see you later, handsome,” You winked.
A quirk of his lips, as they curve into a smile. Fond. Appreciative.
“Love you”
As the others around you murmur.
“I think I preferred when they hated each other,” Santos commented.
While Whitaker responded, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, “I feel like my head is about to combust”
Moving back through the ER, as the trauma room is cleared. You are trailed behind by a flock of med students and nurses, all wanting to know how it was possible that you.
You, who was always so considerate and kind hearted.
Was married to Park the Shark?
It made no sense to them.
“How long have you been married?” Mohan asked.
While Princess added, “Forget that, how long have you been together?”
You replied as you moved to complete some charting, “Married for 9 years, almost 10 next month” pulling out the chain that always hung around your neck, tucked beneath your scrubs. As a pair of rings dip low pulling the chain down, one of which had a beautiful light blue diamond sparkling brightly. “We’ve known each other for well over 15 years, met through some mutual friends from med school”
“Has he always been like this?-” Javadi begins, failing to reach an apt description for Park.
“Like?” you raised a brow.
“So Shark like?” Jesse interjected, as Javadi snapped her fingers in agreement with the description.
“I mean kind of. But only as menacing as a whale shark to me,” you grin.
He had been brash when you first met. But the sharpness of his attitude had eroded and softened over time. You wouldn’t be with him otherwise.
And he knew that if he didn’t change.
You might’ve slipped from his grasp.
“So you have three kids together?” Langdon questions. Also intrigued by the news of your relationship.
Nodding with prideful glee, “Lenny, Frankie and Finn”
“Finn?” Cassie grinned, “That doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Park’s nicknamed Shark does it?”
“Well. Maybe” You replied.
“....All three might be influenced by that fact actually”
“No”
“How did you manage that?”
“How did you get him to agree!?”
“I feel like everything I’ve ever known about you is a lie…in the best way possible”
A flood of questions only managed to bog you down further.
“Does anyone here know the movie Shark Tale?” you always chuckled to yourself each time you were reminded as to what led you to your children’s names.
The group around you murmured with faint acknowledgement of the movie, “Lenny and Frankie are sharks in the movie, so it felt fitting, and well, Finn is pretty self explanatory”
It had started as a little inside joke. Just for yourself.
Not even Brendon had caught on to the theme.
Simply excited and so in love with you.
Lenny.
You had softly spoken the name, whispered to the tiny little baby boy in your arms. Testing how it felt to slip from your tongue.
In your eyes it was the perfect name for your first child. You had hooked Brendon into picking the name by explaining how it meant to be brave as a lion.
So Brendon couldn’t resist.
Not when you whispered that name with such reverence.
And then in the lead up to your due date, throughout your secondary pregnancy. As he stayed by your side closely. Attentive and dutiful towards you.
Taking care of everything. Evenings after he’d put Lenny to sleep, he’d sit on the couch gently rubbing your feet.
You would talk aloud about the names you liked for your twin girls.
Frankie
That was one that had caught his attention.
You did always love the song Can’t Take My Eyes Off You by Frankie Valli. So he simply assumed that was where the name came from.
It simply helped that it was derived from the name Francesca, meaning to be free. Independent. And if that wasn’t something he wished for his baby girl. He didn’t know what else there was to hope for.
And he was none the wiser.
To the fact that those names had been derived from a film. One that was unhinged and hilarious.
One that had sharks called Lenny and Frankie.
He had no idea his children were going to be named after sharks….
Well.
Not until you insisted on the name Finn.
That was the very name when you knew the jig would be up.
The moment you would finally have to reveal. Brendon Park’s kids’ names were all Shark themed…
But in that moment where you suggested the name.
And he had no right to go against you.
Not when you had just gone through 10 hours of labour to birth the twins….
Not that he even considered arguing with you over it. Finding the inside joke equally amusing.
He simply sighed with a small smile, kissing your head sweetly, in your arms the little bundle of endless possibility and within his own arms wrapped neatly was Frankie.
Murmuring softly, “Whatever you wish, love”
He might be brash and blunt with everyone else.
But for you.
And your three little kids.
He was as soft and pliable as playdough.
Even as you teased him relentlessly at work. Putting him in his place, just as you had done all those years ago. When you had first met.
Unafraid and bold.
It was what had made him fall in love with you after all.
He was so fucking grateful for you.
And if it meant naming your kids Shark themed names.
Then he would do whatever it took to keep that bright smile upon your face.
To be able to love and to hold you tightly.
As you kissed him softly.
Loving him tenderly.
You were his home.
Reeling him back to you.
You had him, hook, line and sinker.
And that was perfectly fine by him.
Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Once again I indulge myself. Soft Park the Shark for his lover. Also who doesn't love a little secret relationship trope?? And I literally couldn't help myself with the kids names, I thought it was funny and sweet. (Shark Tale in my opinion is a hilarious film, nostalgia filled opinion) Let me know what you think! ✨
Comments, Reblogs and Likes are welcomed and appreciated 💕
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Brendon Park would never admit how happy it makes him that his dog loves you…. Masterlist
His precious Cane Corso named Lily weighs a whopping 85lbs. She is the best trained dog you have ever met in your life, courtesy of Brendon himself.
She sits, retrieves, lays, and gives paw all on command. Not to mention she has never needed a leash, ever.
When he adopted Lily, he had just made attending. He loved her more than he would ever admit. She was completely loyal to him and only him, until you came along.
She had always liked you, but the second you moved in it was like she was yours. Brendon rolls his eyes at the whole ordeal.
He would get home and you would both be under a blanket on the couch sound asleep. What you referred to as: Lily and Mama’s afternoon nap. When he dared get closer, Lily would nearly growl at him, threatening to interrupt your moment.
“My baby princess Lily” you cooed down at her.
“She’s not a baby.” He would say firmly.
You would scoff, “just ignore him baby girl you’re the most perfect baby.”
He would feign annoyance, but you don’t miss the way his lips twitch at the corner.
He would walk into the kitchen to her taste testing homemade treats from recipes you would find online. She sat patiently next to you as you peeled one off the tray.
“This one has fish oil in it to help with your dry skin and joints Lily girl,” you would explain to her in an extra soft voice like she understood you.
The little wag of her butt as you spoke made Brendon smile. It also made his heart skip a beat that you cared so much about her. He hadn’t even noticed the dry skin until you pointed it out.
Suddenly, she’s in pink collars, sweaters, bows, eating homemade treats, and laying next to you by the pool while you tan.
You even bought her a cooling mat and a small umbrella so she could lounge next to you comfortably in the sun.
“Babe. She’s a dog. She doesn’t need a wardrobe.” He would say as he watched you pick out her sweater before your guests arrive.
“Bren. She’s a pretty princess. She absolutely needs a wardrobe, and she’s absolutely wearing the matching Louis Vuitton sweaters that I bought for us.” You said seriously.
“Wait wait wait. Let me get this straight. You bought mother daughter sweaters for you and the dog? From Louis Vuitton?” He said shocked.
You nodded, not phased by his tone, “it’s not rocket science babe, and technically you bought them.”
You threw a wink his way that knocked the wind out of him. And he couldn’t deny how cute you both looked in your sweaters.
Even though he huffed as you made him take pictures of you and Lily together posing.
Although he rolled his eyes at you and teased, you knew deep down he loved it, because Brendon Park didn’t endure anything he didn’t like.
What you didn’t know and he hasn’t told you yet was how excited it made him to see you as a mother to his actual babies one day.
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*Brendon Park hated jury duty he fucking hated it with a passion.
His wife is the assistant to the district attorney but it was still pretty rare that he saw her when he got called for jury duty which seemed to be 3 times a year that he'd have it.
They were picking jury members he stated the facts that were written on a whiteboard in the front of the small room. He looked at the lawyers involved and by damn it his wife's boss was there he'd never gotten jury duty when it was with the district attorney. The defense asked.*
"Dr. Park do you know anyone involved in this trial?" The DA who knew Brendon and his humor very very well sighed under his breath. And as if the universe decided today was the day to make his wife the most uncomfortable she walked in to hand her boss something when he opened his mouth.
"I sleep with the district attorneys assistant." He said dryly. She paused mid step her face flaming red as her boss and the defense attorney turned and looked at her. Her boss was trying not to laugh as Park had a shit eating grin on his face. The court reporter had to hide her face she was laughing so hard and she saw the judges lips twitch.
"I'm sorry your honor he is my husband and has a weird sense of humor." She said quickly handing her boss the papers he needed as she gave her husband a look Brendon just wiggled his eyebrows at her.
It was a simple enough ask. But one that made Ryland pause and sigh.
"Yeah-" He said solemnly. "I have a mate but we don't- we don't say mate."
"What Grace say, question?" Rocky asked in return.
"Different things for different stages. Girlfriend, fiancé- wife." Ryland looked down, memories flooding his mind.
"Wife is mate, question?" Rocky persisted. Ryland simply nodded a soft mhmm. "Why not say mate, question?"
"Because-" Ryland sighed and leaned back, staring at the hull of the ship, his eyes drifting to blurriness. "Humans don't work like that." He said softly. "Mate would mean something- uh- predestined. Humans like to choose."
"Grace choose?" Rocky asked, leaning towards the glass wall.
"Yeah. Yes. I chose." He smiled a little, thinking back on you.
Your smile, your laugh, the way your face softened when you slept, the way your brows would crease when you concentrated, the way you'd roll your eyes at his dumb jokes. All of it.
But then his ugly mind twisted the happy into the horrid. The sickness, the hospital stays, the funeral and most of all- The empty house.
"Where Grace mate?" Rocky's voice softened.
"She- Uh-" Ryland cleared his throat. "She's back on Earth." He decided to say instead of explaining too much.
Ryland laughed a little. The absurdity of it all. He shook his head. "No- No she didn't stop choosing. She - Uh- She didn't have a choice."
"No understand." Rocky huffed a little.
"She got sick. She died." He said it quickly. Not wanting to linger on the thought of it all again. "She didn't choose to leave. She didn't have a choice."
Silence wrapped around them both as Rocky clicked his tips, trying to figure out what to say next.
"Mate bone broken by not choice?" Rocky asked with slight confusion.
"Yeah- Yeah, pal. Something like that." Ryland closed his eyes, trying to compose himself.
"Grace still choose, question?" Rocky's voice gentled.
"Yeah." Ryland smiled a little, "Always. I'd always choose her."
"Then bond not broken." Rocky said firmly, making Ryland roll his eyes and smile.
"That's not how it works, buddy." He said softly. "When people die- You're supposed to move on."
"Replace mate, question?" Rocky sounded almost appalled by the notion.
Ryland chuckled and shook his head. He took a deep breath. "Not replace. Find ... new. Try to keep living."
"No understand." Rocky's voice dimmed a little.
"She would've liked you." Ryland said with a smile, instead of explaining or even trying to explain.
"Grace mate like Rocky?" The voice was almost chipper. Excited at the thought.
"Yeah buddy." Ryland hummed. "Grace mate like Rocky."
.
.
.
i don't even know man- i haven't seen the movie yet but i keep seeing clips and reels and i couldn't help but write this. enjoyyyy <333
*If there was a time she wished her husband Brendon Park aka Park the Shark had a surgery it was this weekend but alas the universe hated her. The second their oldest daughter turned four Brendon was putting her in wrestling and SHE FUCKING LOVES IT. She already knew this was gonna be chaos from the drive over and they had Sloane's hype Playlist on which consisted of Doja cat and phonk songs Sloane was 8. Harper had been awake the whole time which meant she'd sleep durning the matches hopefully since it was the two year olds nap time. And Rory the middle child who was three almost four and was ready to be just like her big sister. She sighed as Brendon parked grumbling about how idiots drove she just hoped Rory didn't kick any little boys in the balls this time....*
It was Sloane's turn at the mat and Brendon was front row Harper on his hip sucking on her pacifier, he was sat as forward as he could get holding the two year old. Rory was off playing with the other kids her age she kept an eye on Rory knowing damn well that kid was a menace to society. Sloane walked onto the mat all confident she was just praying Brendon didn't stand up and yell. Sloane was going up against a boy in her weight and age range they both got in their little fighting stances as the ref which was 2 teenage boys said ready wrestle.
Sloane was trying to pin the boy but she was having a hard time she watched as Brendon stood up she groaned here we fucking go.
"Go for his knees Sloane!" Brendon yelled Harper still on his hip clapping now.
"Oh my god Brendon Michael Park sit your ass down or I swear I will leave your ass here." She said through gritted teeth as she sunk into her chair. Brendon scoffed.
"Thata girl go for his knees Sloane!" Brendon yelled as Sloane went for the little boys knees. She covered her face sinking more down into her chair they were gonna get kicked out....again.
One of the refs made a comment and Brendon got pissed then all she heard was Rory fuck....
"That's my big sister asshole!" Cute little Rory said flipping the ref off as Brendon started to make his way over.
"The fuck did you just say about my daughter?!" Brendon seethed out as he towered over the teenage boy.
"N-nothing sir." The boy said cowering. She sighed getting up and throwing Rory over her shoulder as she grabbed Brendon by the ear and dragging him away as Sloane followed behind happy she had won her match. Brendon knew better than to argue with her epically with the grip she had.
a/n: anyone order...uh...more tension? wanted to write more of a soft dom vibe for Brendon. got a feeling that he is so that type. listening to this while writing.
Things keep going wrong today. Like little by little someone somewhere is wishing on your downfall. First you lost your claw clip and had to figure out how to style your hair without it. Then your sole of your sneaker popped open randomly.
Now, you've got the remnants of canned spaghetti and meatballs all over your scrubs.
That's what you get for taking a break. One tiny little break.
You had been in the OR with Dr. Park for two hours. In borrowed shoes that were not your size. Too small. It felt like your toes were going to fall off. You had to get out of the OR before you made a silly mistake. Dr. Park barely allowed it but he nodded toward the door.
Its not like you were bailing in the middle of surgery. He was almost done by the time you left.
Things have been going fine with you two. Fine being the word you're using because you won't flag down HR with it.
Truth is, you're going out of your mind a bit. You thought that the looks you had for him were just the end of it. Turns out it's much more than that. You didn't realize how nice it felt to be complimented by that man.
Shit. He did it again during surgery. Called you Pinkie. You never thought that nickname would sound good coming from someone. Until it fell right off his lips.
So you came out into the loading dock to get a grip. What you ended up getting was vomit all over you, borrowed shoes included.
With a sulk you trudge back upstairs. Langdon and Whitaker laugh at your face and the orange crust on your scrubs. Princess told you that someone put in a fresh load and handed your size to you.
You get back upstairs to the on-call room. Quickly you toe off the shoes. Then shimmy out of the dirty pants. And then you roll the top off as neatly as you can without getting the vomit on you or getting a good whiff of it.
The door opens and you pay no mind to it. You start dressing again. Bottom first because you don't need anyone talking about your panties with little pink bows on it. And then the top because the matching bra is kind of hot and the reason you brought the set in the first place.
The door closes again.
You slip the stupid sneakers back on. Then you open the door. As you turn you see him. Standing their glued to the wall like he belongs there. He doesn't. He's a damn surgeon for Christ sake he has his own office.
He must've finished early. His cap is off and he looks tired. He's supposed to be going home soon. He's coming off a double.
Why was he waiting out here for? Surely he could decompress in his own office. You would stand to bet that he had a pull out bed or cot in there. Silk sheets included.
"Your shoes." he barks.
You rear your head back, "What?"
"Your shoes are dirty. No one is going to let you into an OR with them." he says.
You look back down at the pair of sneakers. Yeah, the chunks might have made a permanent home in the cervices. And the white fabric is dyed orange.
"But I don't have a spare." you answer.
"I didn't ask that."
"But how am I supposed to work if I can't change shoes?"
"You're not. You have to go home."
You scoff, "I can't go home my shift isn't over yet."
"Well I'm telling you to go home."
"But-"
"If anyone else has a problem with that, they can take it up with me."
"And if I have a problem with that?" you ask.
He shakes his head, "You're stubborn."
"Dr. Park I can finish my shift up if-"
"Go home, Pinkie."
And he doesn't leave room for much else. Not with the wait he peels himself off the wall. He starts walking away from you, giving you his back and declaring the conversation over. You sigh.
In your mind, you're already thinking about crashing on your couch. A quick shower and maybe heating up those leftovers from the beginning of the week. Pasta and chicken.
Then you think to yourself about how you found him. Glued to the wall like a school boy. You don't think you've ever seen him lean against a surface. Ever.
What was he doing there? He wasn't there when you came in.
The door opened and closed.
Dr. Park came into the on call room. Him and his freak sense for knowing where you are at all times. He walked in on you changing and left the room. But still waited on the other side of the door to talk to you.
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Following up my sunshine reader x grumpy Brendon post, one day you decided to drop off some goods for the hospital. After all you know they all work hard and deserve a little treat and you had some extra time on your hands while you waited for him to get off work.
Dropping off some coffee and pastries to the front desk as not a lot of people knew about your relationship. Not that you were embarrassed by it but more of people didn't need to know. Sending Brendon a small text to let him know about the goods you delivered so that way you knew he at least ate something before going on your marry way.
Something small that meant more to him then you realized. After all every action of love doesn't need to be big or loud, the little moments sometimes speak louder then anything, like making sure him and the staff got a something nice to eat.
shit im dyinnnnng for part 2 oof shark's wife er visit!!! he was SO GOOOD, he left his shift without a word cause his wife is hurt? the MAN you are brendon
I'd been thinking of a followup!!! this gave me a reason to post it!!! <3333
follow up for this <33
"You're fussing." You sighed again, leaning back into the pillows.
"Am not-" Brendon said grumpily, trying to keep himself busy and moving.
"Yes, you are-" You laughed then groaned in pain softly.
That made him flinch and he slowly sat next to you on the bed. "How am I supposed to go back to work when you're still in pain?" His voice was softer, smaller than usual.
You held his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
"I'll call every hour and-" He started and you shook your head. "Okay- Yeah- I can't promise that, can I?"
"I'll be okay." You assured him again.
"I know. I know you will but I still feel shitty for leaving you like this to look after other people." He groaned softly and moved to sit next to you in the bed.
"I won't be alone, Brendon." You reminded him and he nodded. You were right. He'd hired a nurse for the entire time he wouldn't be home.
"Still.." He moped a little and it made you giggle, then immediately wince in pain.
"Stop making me laugh-" You elbowed him gently, earning a soft smile from him.
"I can't help it if I'm sooooo smooth, honey." He drawled sweetly, making you roll your eyes. He gave a light chuckle and leaned to kiss your cheek, you moved your face a little and gave him a little peck to his lips.
He sighed softly and leaned back in to take a few more little gentle kisses.
"For every hour I'm gonna be away." He mumbled between the kisses. "And some for the road-" He added in a soft whisper.
When he pulled away, your chapstick was glistening on his lips that you carefully wiped clean.
"Can't have your stern reputation taking a hit." You teased him.
"Of course. Priorities and all." He joked back.
Brendon took a deep breathy groan and stood up. "I hate this- I'll miss you." He started to put on his watch and shove his phone into his pocket.
"I know- I'll be right here when you come back." You hummed and he leaned over for another kiss.
"I promise to not overstay a single second after my shift." He swore and you knew he meant it.
