This is a multi-fandom blog featuring my original fanfiction! I am very passionate about making fanfic for dead fandoms. I don't know why but nothing tickles my brain more than writing in-depth, gut wrenching fanfic for the two people left in a fandom, who might not even care for it.
I focus mainly on long-form fanfic with a small number of chapters but a higher word count. I will also post oneshots/headcannons in between major fics.
All of my fanfics feature an original female character, but I don't go into much depth with personal identifiers beyond that, how they fit into the story, and their background. It's not explicitly stated that they are female; I just always write with a female in mind. That way, it's still pretty x-reader/reader-insert friendly (I also can't write "she had x color hair and x color eyes" without cringing :p).
I have an Ao3 account of the same name and will post the same fanfics there and here. I plan to go into some sensitive topics with some of my fanfic, and I know guidelines are different on Tumblr and Ao3, so it'll be noted when a fic is only posted on Ao3. All my shorter works will be posted here only. All my long-form fics will be posted to Ao3 & Tumblr.
I don't write specific trigger warnings on any of my fics unless it's very strong, which is very rare, if not nonexistent. Still, I do lean into darker, moodier, more melancholic themes throughout my fanfics. Some examples: crime, death, toxic relationships, violence, substance abuse, psychological distress, etc.
I am open to requests, though it's not my main focus. I love to hear feedback, general comments, or anything that comes to mind while on my blog or reading my work.
Current fics will be listed below!
Current Fic: Shark Week Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x ORChargeNurse!Reader (The Pitt)
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The pub floor creaked with every step she took. Her heavy footsteps led her to the barstool by the corner. The cold pint met her hand just as she sat down. Lighting a menthol and nodding a thank you to the bartender, she let out the deepest breath she had exhaled in the past hour since she landed.
The mission went off the rails. She didn’t believe she was really still alive, in one piece, at her local pub like nothing had happened. It was just another night full of rowdy soldiers trying to drown out the horrors they commit day in and day out.
She didn’t feel like pretending tonight. The smoke she blew up into the air seemed the cast a haze over the whole night. Her drinks and smokes seemed bottomless but she still felt the same guilt. The noise of the pub was muffled in her ear competing with the sound of gunfire. Her stare was distant as she tried to figure out how she made it all the way here.
The next thing she knew there was a shadow next to her. She looked over and saw a skull mask staring back at her. Pale blonde eyelashes peaking out of the eyeholes; her favorite feature that once belonged to her favorite man.
“Ghost,” he muttered, voice like tires breaking on a gravel road. He extended his hand out toward her. She shook it, nodded back, and gave him her name.
She turned back to order him a drink.
“Another one for me, and whatever he’s having,” she said to the bartender, her words muffled from the cigarette that refused to leave her lips tonight.
“Cheers,” he said.
“Don’t sweat it,” she muttered back.
“American, huh? Far from home,” he said.
“Yeah,” she chuckled, little humor behind it. The realization of just how far from home she was almost made her want to cry. His accent reminded her of his. She didn’t have time for that, not tonight.
“From Manchester?” Maybe she did have time. She looks over at him through the mirror on the bar back.
“Yeah,” he looks back at her.
The bartender placed Ghost’s drink down in-front of him and the two of them just sat in silence for what seemed like an hour. She doesn’t remember who spoke first after that but neither of them shut up for the rest of the night.
“I remember not knowing what the fuck he was going on about,” she laughs almost crying from how funny the memory was of working with her Scottish Sargent for the first time. He couldn’t help but laugh just as hard with her.
“You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here,” the bartender interrupted, calling to their attention that the bar was now closed. She looks around suddenly to see the pub empty except for the two of them. Most of the stools were up on the tables too. They hadn’t taken the hint.
Outside, she saw how much he towered over her. She couldn’t help but look him up and down. She liked what she saw.
“You heading home?” He asked.
“Yeah,” she hesitated, “do you wanna come?”
The coldness of the wall sent chills down her spine as her back was pressed flat against it. She felt his rough hands roam her body but his lips were covered by the mask leaving her whining for the feel of them against her.
“Take this off, I want to feel your lips,” she huffed, starting to take off his jacket. She felt his muscles stretching out the fabric of his shirt and he moved his arms out of the jacket sleeves.
“No, it stays on,” he says firmly, moving to undo her pants. His fingers made quick work of her button and zipper, pulling her pants down in one shot. His hands ran up her thighs and rested at her hips as he stabilized her to step out of them.
“Fine,” she says mildly annoyed but not enough to stop. She grabbed hold of his shoulder and pulled herself up to straddle him. His hands came down to grip her ass naturally. She tries to resume some form of making out but gets desperate to feel his lips and ends up licking his mask instead. It makes her feel so depraved.
They move to her bed and she can’t control the pleasure that radiates from her body while she’s riding him. Her moans are drawn out and needy, matching with the rhythm of her hips snapping against his. He’s grabbing onto her hips as if his hands weren’t big enough to hold all of her.
“God you feel good,” he moans tipping his head back.
She pulls his head forward and presses her forehead against his, looking into his eyes, and grabs the back of his mask. The urge to tug it off gnawing at her again.
“Don’t,” he says.
She moves her hand down towards his neck. Reaching her fingers underneath the bottom of the mask, once again stopping to look at him before continuing.
His eyes plead with her not to continue but she can’t shake this feeling.
She pulls her face away from his and takes his mask along with it as she tugs it back. She reveals his fluff of short blonde hair, the smudge of black eye paint, blonde eyelashes and eyebrows still bright amongst it, and lastly looks down to his plum lips.
“Simon?” Her voice cracks. Their movements stop abruptly. He closes his eyes in pain at the sound of his name in her mouth again. He opens them to find his eyes blurry.
“Yeah,” he blinks away the tears and finally looks at her.
“But I thought” she starts, “you- I mean Romania,” she lets out an uncomfortable laugh. She shakes her head in disbelief.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” she states.
“I know,” he murmurs, head down.
“So why aren’t you dead? Who’s Ghost?” She looks down at the mask in her hand and drops it like it burned her. “Why didn’t you tell me about any of this?” She fires off her questions like a woman running out of time. None of this makes sense to her.
“You know why I couldn’t,” he says, firmness returning to his voice.
“No I don’t know why,” she looks at him incredulously. “I’m-I’m taking to a stranger about you all night and you what? You were just gonna let it happen?” She accuses.
“What was the harm in letting you move on?” He asks, softly.
“I didn’t move on, it was still you!” Her voice gives out at the end of her sentence. She realizes this whole fight is happening with him still inside her. She pushes off of him and he whines at the loss of contact.
“Simon what did you expect to come of this” she asks, rubbing her forehead.
“I got to see you one last time, make you think you’d move on, and I’d be on my way,” he confesses.
“Be on your way?” Her laugh was bitter. She felt like a fool. Looking over at him sat at the edge of her bed, hands in his lap, like a dog with its tail between its legs, she didn’t know who he was anymore. Simon had really died.
“You’d wanted to see if I had moved on at all,” she admits quietly, “Right? You knew if I hadn’t, sleeping with you would make it stay so that I wouldn’t.”
He can’t meet her gaze. His hands in his lap are suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he says, looking out the window.
“What do I do with that?” She challenges.
“Let me love you one more time,” his eyes pleading to her to accept.
“No, Simon,” she says quietly. “Getting over you twice is not something I think I can do.”
The silence in the room is enough to keep her distant.
“I think you should leave,” she says, finite, walking out of the room to get her clothes.
SHARK WEEK 4 | Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x ORChargeNurse!Reader
summary: lunch with Shark's parents, and they smell blood in the water.
cw: past trauma revealed under duress
wc: 2K
author's note: i'm doing something so crazy and publishing this the same day i wrote it without overthiinking it omgggg imscareeddddd AH!
taglist: @mad-die45 @fortjackson @wildflowerpetrichor @huntycola
@popecodysgirl @viviannagiorgini @heinmypocket
THURSDAY 12PM
Lunch with Shark's parents was...lunch with Shark's parents. You and Brendon both had the day off on Thursday, so he decided it would be the perfect time to spend the day at the club his parents were members of and meet.
You met there around 9am, and you and his mother caddied for Brendon and his father each, while he and his father teed off. It was a bit of an awkward start, but once on the topic of your job, the conversation became easier.
Brendon's dad was one of the most well-renowned surgeons in the Pittsburgh medical field and in Pennsylvania overall. Now retired, he spent most of his days giving lectures to med students across the country, hosting medical galas, and sponsoring scholarships. His mother, as a retired OBGYN, spent most of her days tending to her foundation, making sure all women in the Pittsburgh area had access to quality healthcare.
"Our Brendon is at the top of his field, is he not, Miss..." his father's words falter off as he tries to remember your name.
"Robinavitch," you remind him.
"Ah, yes, Robinavitch. Michael Robinavitch," he laughs, "I've had quite the run-ins with that man."
"I hope nothing but good times," you say, not reading his tone. Brendon gives you a sorry look.
"So, uh, Mrs. Park, how are things with the foundation?" You turn in your seat to look at Brendon's mother.
"Oh, things are just lovely!" she beams. "You know, the other day we were able to name a wing at the University of Pennsylvania."
You give her an eyebrow-raising look that you try to play off as a casual reaction to your boyfriend's parents having their own wing at an Ivy.
"And what is it that you do at the hospital again?" his mother asks, leaning in closer to you.
"I'm a charge nurse," you say proudly.
"Just a nurse, yes," she repeats after you. "You know those nurses are always sleeping with the doctors for a leg up," she scoffs.
"Mom!" Brendon scolds her.
"Brendon, relax, I was only kidding. She knows that," she says, taking a sip of her chardonnay, "You know that, right, dear?"
"Yes, of course," you respond, throat suddenly dry. You take a big swig of your martini and bite off an olive from the skewer.
"Someone's thirsty," his mom says. His father laughs, and Brendon looks over at them, annoyed.
"Yeah," you say sheepishly, "just dehydrated, I guess."
"And a martini will certainly help with that," his father says with a wink, as he raises his glass to you.
The waiter brings the food over, and you are never more grateful to have something to do with your hands. It was pretty silent overall while the meals were served. Brendon and his father talked about the latest medical journals released while his mom goaded over her "precious baby boy."
You did not come from an upper-class society by any means, but having earned some bank now at the hospital, you didn't think you'd still feel like such an outcast.
1:30PM
After the meal, Brendon and his father got up to go smoke a cigar and sip on some old fashions in the lounge, leaving you and his mother alone to pass the time until they got back.
"So Brendon tells me you're having children soon," his mother asks excitedly.
Your stomach drops. Not only had you and Brendon never spoken about having kids, but if you had, he would know you don't have a desire to, not by choice anyway.
"Um, yeah, you know it's definitely a conversation we need to have-" you start.
"Oh, you haven't spoken about it?" she inquires, more out of gossip than concern.
"Not directly, no," you say, hating that you have to admit that. This whole lunch was making you feel like a teenager rushing into an adult relationship. You were an adult, and so was he, so why are his parents so in your business about the way you two are operating? No pun intended.
"Well, children are something that Brendon wants one day. Are you ready to give him that?" his mother asks.
Your patience, like a true Robinavitch, is wearing very thin already.
"Mrs. Park, can I ask that we speak frankly here?" you demand.
She takes a deep breath, partly to admire your gumption to stand up to her and partly to compose herself.
"I want to make sure that my Brendon has the best chance at a lasting legacy, not only in the family but in the medical field as well. The Park's medical dynasty must endure," she says in a stickly sweet voice when her intentions are anything but, "and if children are not something that you can provide for my Brendon, well, I just don't think your relationship should continue."
You feel your throat get tight and your eyes start to sting, but damnit if you were going to let this woman push you out right now.
"Your Brendon," you spit venomously, "is a 40-year-old man who can decide for himself what kind of 'legacy' he wants. And if a future with no children and me is what he chooses, well, I just think you're going to have to deal with it."
You get up from your seat and exit the dining area, walking out right past Brendon and his father, who were walking back in. You don't stop to greet them or even acknowledge Brendon, as he has to yell out to you to stop.
"Hey, wait, what's going on?" he finally grabs hold of your arm a few feet from the entrance.
"Nothing," you say, breathless, "I just have to go."
"Look, I'm sorry, I know my parents can be tough, but they aren't out for blood, I promise. Also, I drove you here," he points out, much to your chagrin.
"You didn't hear what she said to me, Brendon," you mutter, looking him dead in the eye. He gives you a concerning look. He knew how his parents were, but he couldn't understand what his mother said to you that could be so bad.
"You're right, but just give it one more chance," he says, grabbing your hand, "At least come back in to say goodbye. Don't leave it on this note."
You sigh and squeeze his hand in agreement. "Fine, but I'm only doing this for you."
Brendon and you walk back into the club hand in hand and are greeted by his parents at the valet.
"Brendon, you're not having children?" his father exclaims as soon as the two of you are within earshot.
"What?" Brendon asks, confused. The pit in your stomach returns.
"Your mother said you don't want any children," he repeats.
"That's not- Mom, what are you talking about?" Brendon says, getting more confused by the minute. You feel like a child hiding behind her father's leg right now, too scared to speak up.
"Well, honey, that's what she told me. She said you hadn't spoken about having children because she didn't want any," his mother says, miscontruing your conversation from earlier.
"You don't want kids?" he says, slowly turning around to face you. His face is fallen, and there's a hurt in his eyes you've never seen before. You are now staring at three generations of Parks, and you are the one obstacle in the way of there being a fourth. Brendon had two other brothers, so it was lost on you why all the pressure was put on you and their precious Brendon to breed immediately.
"I-it's not so much that I don't want them, as it is that I can't have them," you respond, barely above a whisper, deciding that it's better to just rip the band-aid off now.
His parents stare at you in horror, as confirmation that they knew you were not the one for Brendon. The silence among the three of them is deafening to you as you look among them for any reaction. Just as you think of something to say, the valet guy walks out from behind you and hands Dr. Park his keys.
"Here you go, sir," the valet guy says, holding out his keys, "sir?"
"Oh, yes, son, thanks, " he says, taking the keys and rummagina round in his pocket to shove a hundred-dollar bill in the valet guy's hand.
"Valet ticket, sir," he says to Brendon, not reading the room at all. Brendon silently reaches into his wallet to pull out the ticket stub from earlier and hands it to the guy. He scurries off to get Brendon's car, leaving you, Brendon, and his parents in the awkward confrontation.
"Son," Dr. Park says, patting Brendon on the back, "this was a nice day," he says unconvincingly. Brendon says goodbye to both his parents, while they say an awkward goodbye to you. The two of you watch them drive off as the valet guy pulls in with Brendon's Porsche 911.
Brendon thanks the valet guy and gets in the car without tipping him, his mind still reeling from your revelation. You notice and give the guy all the cash you had on you, a fifty-dollar bill.
3:00PM
The car ride back to your place is silent. He looks over at you every now and again, but any attempt you make to break the silence gets shut down. Finally, after 30 grueling minutes, he speaks up.
"Why didn't you tell me?" his voice is hurt.
"I was scared you'd react like this," you say, low. "I know how demanding your family is, and I didn't want to ruin what we had.
"So, you thought you'd just wait until we were married to bring it up?" he says, accusatively.
"No," you say, feeling small again. You fidget with a loose piece of string on your dress, not knowing what to say and already feeling yourself shutting down.
"So what? Why didn't you tell me?" he says, his impatience increasing.
"I didn't want to upset you, and it's just, a lot for me to talk about," you huff.
"You'd talk about it if I were Jack," he bites. Your head snaps to look at him. He stares back at you, periodically shifting his gaze to look at the road.
"Don't go there, right now," you warn.
"Why not? It's the truth. You'd spill your guts to me if I were Jack Abbot. Probably a little more than your guts, too, with how slutty you are," he sneers.
"Brendon, stop it!" you demand. "What is this obsession with Jack Abbot!" you cry. "You want to know why I didn't tell you?"
"Please!" he begs, mockingly.
"After Abbot and I miscarried, and I was told it was because I couldn't bear children, I got with you to get over him." You emphasize. "I figured since you were forty and unmarried that you didn't give a shit to have children, but now I know it's because no one could stand you long enough to have them with you." You spit at him.
The tension in the car is at an all-time high. Brendon's knuckles are bone white as he clenches the steering wheel, demanding all his focus not to crash his car into a tree right now.
"I couldn't give him the one thing he most desperately wanted after losing his wife, so I wasn't going to stick around and ruin his life further," you confess, voice breaking towards the end of your sentence.
He said nothing to this. He just kept driving. You look over at him to try and find some reaction, but nothing. You laugh, but there's no humor behind it.
When you finally reach your house, Brendon puts the car in park and reaches over to grab your hand.
"I'm sorry that happened to you, but I deserve to be treated better than someone's second option. I'm not going to play second to Abbot," he scoffs.
"Brendon, you're not, that's over!" you insist.
"Yeah, but it will always lead back to him," he sighs. "I can't compete with the guy who was your first everything. I know you still love him."
"I have love for him, but that doesn't mean I'm in love with you." You freeze as the words slip out of your mouth. A total Freudian slip. You hesitate to correct yourself, so it's already too late in Brendon's mind.
"You just can't help yourself," he laughs bitterly. "Get out of my fucking car."
"Brendon, wait," you say, feeling the tears well in your eyes immediately.
"Get out!" he screams. It startles you as you fumble with the door handle to get out. You barely get your second leg out of the car before he's speeding down the road. The sight of him leaving is blurry.
Returning to Storm's End after you ran away from your lord husband, Ser Lyonel Baratheon
"Enjoy your tour of the realm, did you?" Lyonel asks as he pours himself a chalice of wine. He hadn't seen you in a matter of weeks now, and depending on his mood, it felt like years since he'd seen you.
You were sitting by the fireplace in your bedchamber, waiting for him to come back from Ashford Meadow. You were glad to have made it to Storm's End before him, but disappointed to see his battered state.
"What's happened to you?" you say, looking over in concern, mentally wincing with every step he takes closer to you.
"You're what's happened to me," he says with a grunt as he sits down on the opposite end of the couch.
"Lyonel," you start, rubbing your forehead with your hand, "please spare me the dramatics, and answer me."
"I was in a trial of seven," you roll your eyes at his answer, and you start to get up. He reaches over to you to pull you back down in your seat.
"It's not a jest, I'm telling the truth," he says, nodding. His eyes roam your body, taking in every part, wondering how many knights, sellswords, and lords are now privy to his wife's naked body.
"A trail of seven?" you say, confused, looking around, "but haven’t you told me there hasn't been one in over a hundred years?"
"Yes, but there was a man, Ser Duncan; it's a long story," he sighs, not wanting to get into it all after just concluding with it. "I invited him to join us here, but he left me. Just like you left me," he laughs into his chalice, taking a sip. You give him an annoyed look.
"I didn't leave you, I left..." Your words drift off as you think about what exactly it was that made you leave. Lyonel was a great husband, even better knight, but being his lady wife was not everything you had thought it would be.
Constant pressure to sire him an heir, never-ending tournaments, and not knowing which lowly knight would be the one to crack his head open in front of you one day. It was too much to bear, and you certainly were not going to bring this up to Lyonel as if he were not the one risking the most out of the two of you.
"You left me," he repeated, putting emphasis on each word. Almost mocking you, but really grasping at straws to find some solace in the fact that he must have done something so wrong in your marriage, you felt no choice but to flee.
"I left my duty as your wife," you say, embarrassed, "and for that I am sorry."
"Did you get to bed all your lovers or only some?" he dares you. His stare is mean, and the intense black bruising on his eye doesn't make his words feel any less harsh.
"That's not fair," you mutter, looking down, unable to meet his eyes.
"No?" Lyonel asks, leaning into your space to make you look at him. "Was it fair for me to hear that you had been seen in Lys playing dice and cards with sellswords? To hear about you bedding every knight willing to break his vows for you? To listen as the townpeople talk endlessly about what a loose woman Ser Lyonel Baratheon's wife had become? Is that fair?" his voice was rising with each question. His breathing was becoming more erratic.
"Answer me!" he yelled, grabbing your face to force you to look at him. You jumped at his sudden violence and felt very unsure of the man you saw before you. Your tears fell before you had a chance to stop them.
"No, it wasn't," you manage to say, barely above a whisper.
"Spare me your tears; they arouse no pity within me for you," he says, letting go of your face with a slight push back. He flexes his hand and shakes it out, as you notice he's had it bandaged up.
You wipe your face and fix your gaze towards the fire. Letting out a soft sigh, you say, "I never meant to hurt you, Lyonel. I love you, but I can not take the pressure every day to stand dotingly by your side while I worry about your health in these tournaments and wonder if my womb is pure enough to sire you an hire."
"Certainly isn't pure enough now after who knows how many have gotten a turn," he mutters bitterly into his cup, leaning it towards him to take another sip before realizing it's now empty.
"I did not bed those men!" you yell back at him.
"Then why did you run?!" he exclaims as he throws his cup across the room. You don't flinch, growing weary of his outburst now and of this conversation that is going nowhere.
You hear the footsteps of your ladies' maids rush up to your aid and the heavy footsteps of your men-at-arms just behind them.
"Everything all right, my lord?" the men-at-arms boom.
"Are you alright, my lady?" they ask, in unison with the knights.
You nod your head to them, and they look towards Lyonel, who's pacing the room in anger. You are still sitting on the couch with your feet resting under you now.
"We're alright, thank you," you wave them off, but they hesitate to leave you alone with him.
"Fuck off with you!" Lyonel shouts, and they all snap into motion with the knight's guard ushering the maids out.
You take a deep breath before continuing, "I left because I could not bear the thought of giving you heirs that might one day watch you be slain in combat and then turn to me as if I were the guilty one."
Your voice is meek, starting to get raspy, and you feel a knot in your throat. "I can not bear to see you die in front of me, Lyonel. I won't lose you that way."
"What other way is there to lose me?" he asks, desperate to understand your insane mind.
"By leaving you," you whisper. His face softens as he can see your pain now come full circle. He rushes over to your side and kneels in front of you, resting his head in your lap. You run your fingers through his curls that he's left brushed back today. You knew that meant he wasn't showmanning for anyone that day. It brings a small smile to your face.
"I won't lose you that way," he says, muffled in your dress. "I refuse it," he lifts his head to look at you, and holds you by your waist.
"Lyonel, that's ridiculous. You want heirs, you want victory in tournaments," you start.
"Yes, but it means nothing to me without you," he interrupts.
"One day that won't be enough for you," you say, giving him a warning glare.
"Then that's the day we have heirs, until then, we worry about ourselves and not what the townspoeple have to say." This causes you to laugh because only Lyonel would think such a careless attitude would solve the problem.
"We can't put it off forever," you say.
"Not forever, but for now," he says, kissing your womb. You run your fingers through his hair as you consider his proposition. It's the only way you see each of you getting what you want.
“Fine,” you say softly, lifting him up by his curls to look at you.
“Brilliant, my girl,” he says with a kiss to your hand. He gets up and walks over to the carafe of wine to pour himself another glass when he realizes his cup is on the far end of the floor.
You sigh looking at him before getting up and walking over to retrieve it for him. After you hand it to him, you lean your head on his shoulder to watch him pour.
“I’m glad I’m home,” you whisper with a kiss to his shoulder.
“Don’t think this arrangement absolves you of anything,” he mutters, “you still have some groveling to do,” he finishes over the rim of his chalice.
You look up at him, pouty, trailing kisses to his mouth. Pulling his face towards you with one hand and pressing into his cock with the other.
“You don’t need me here either do you?” Robby says incredulously.
“You’re never here! You are never here! What is there to need?!” You shout back at him. You got pulled out mid surgery to do an ED consult and got into such a heated exchange with Robby you needed to reassign your surgery.
Still in your gown and gloves, you were in a screaming match with him outside the ED bay entrance. As soon as you said that, you wanted to take it back. You didn’t want to be fighting with him right before his 3-month sabbatical, but the stubborn bastard left you no choice.
“I don’t know how you expect me to do this with you Robby when you’re only here half the time,” your voice lower now, hands resting on your hips, you looked up at him disappointed. Tired of his constant shifting moods and irritability.
“I’m here now,” he insists. Not understanding why you couldn’t see how much effort he put into keeping this relationship going.
“You’re not,” you say defeated.
“I am here, you just don’t want me here,” he says accusatorially. You can only laugh in response. Your efforts against his made up mind were futile.
“I don’t want to keep fighting with you the day you leave for this 3 month spirit journey that I have no choice but to let you go on,” you shrug.
“So you’re gonna guilt me into staying?” He scoffs.
“No, Robby, you’re going to guilt me into letting you go,” you look up at him with glassy eyes and it’s almost like he has a hard time believing you care about him this much.
“Go,” you gesture with your hand, “Run away from-,” your voice gives out, lips trembling, as you struggle to finish your sentence, fearing that in reality he might be running from you.
Tears streaming down your face, he stares at you, not knowing how he should comfort you. His silence is his answer. You sniff, wiping your tears and pulling yourself together.
“I didn’t know you felt this way,” he mutters.
“You didn’t know I loved you?” You laugh, humorless.
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SHARK WEEK 3 | Dr. Brendon "the Shark" Park x ORChargeNurse!ReaderSummary: special guests stop by, and the drama gets resolved, but at what costcw: medical inaccuracies, ANGSTwc: 3.2K
taglist: @mad-die45 @fortjackson @wildflowerpetrichor
WEDNESDAY 9:00AM
"Park, call me back when you get this," you sigh into your phone as you scratch your forehead with your thumb, a cigarette between your pointer and middle finger, "ok? I know you are seeing these come in."
The voicemail beeps, and your phone hangs up. You finish your cigarette, staring out into the parking lot, debating if you should call him again.
"This is getting ridiculous. This is like the thirtieth voicemail I've left you this morning. Just answer me, face it. I'm not gonna stop." You urge to his voicemail box. You light another cigarette.
"We have to talk about this. I mean, we can't just not talk about it. It's us, Shark. And I mean, you said it yourself, you love me." Another voicemail beep. You finish your cigarette.
"How long are you gonna ignore me? If anything, I should be ignoring you!" You say, muffled, as you light another cigarette.
You take a few drags, exhaling up to the sky before dialing his number again. You chose to dial manually rather than pressing his contact. You figured that would buy him time to call you back. It didn't.
"The person you are trying to reach has a voicemail box that is full. Goodbye." The phone hangs up. You filled up his voicemail all morning with desperate pleas to talk. You close your eyes, letting out a deep sigh. You crush the cigarette under your shoe with more force than necessary, trying to release some of the embarrassment you felt. It didn't work. Nothing was working.
He brushed past you like he didn't even know you this morning. It didn't help that both of you were stuck in the elevator with Jack at one point. Having Shark ice you out was torture.
You fucked up the only good guy worth risking your career for, for what? Your old ass mentor? He wasn't that old, and to be honest, he's still kinda fine, but he's not Shark. Your mental lashings over your mistake weren't helping.
The more time went on, and the more you got to know him, the more you realized Shark might be the one. He wasn't afraid to tell you how he felt or call you out on your bullshit, case in point last night. How could you not see he was in love with you?
9:30AM
"How could she not see I'm in love with her?" Park asked out loud to the resident assisting with his surgery this morning. He was stuck in a multi-ligament knee reconstruction all morning, so all he had was time to think about your argument.
"Ok, so I'm not doing that pussy-whipped buying her her favorite flowers shit, but I laugh at her jokes," he says, gesturing with the clamp. "I hold the door open for her like a gentelman and she thinks that means what? I want to sit around and braid each other's hair all day?" he scoffs.
The resident doesn't know who or what Shark is referring to. He's been monologuing for so long, he's too afraid to ask for clarification at this point.
"So she wants to get back with her old ass ex," he shrugs, "let her! Never mind that I thought she was going to be the girl I married," he says. The speakers in the OR are blasting Don Broco. The elements of the album all sound crystal clear through the surround sound.
He was booked in OR 3 throughout the whole week. He had checked his schedule and saw he was spread out across different ORs, but when he went to scrub in for this surgery, an ortho nurse came and told him about the room changes.
This sent him on a tangent, talking all about her. Between the music blaring, not knowing who Shark was talking about, and having to pay attention to the surgery, his resident had a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Only getting every few words and being distracted from his true purpose, learning major orthopedic surgery.
"Are you getting all this?" Park snapped at him.
12:00PM
You were called down to the ED to sign off on some patient transfer paperwork.
"How you doin', kid?" Nurse Dana asks as she hands you the clipboard with all the documents you need to sign.
"Eh, you know," you huff, and she just laughs, knowing exactly what you mean. You shared the same job, in essence, so Dana knew very well any work stress you had. You would bond over it sometimes when your smoke breaks would line up.
"What are you doing down here?" you hear your father's voice ask from behind you.
"Oh, you know, just living the dream," you say dryly.
"Whoa, someone's having a tough day," he laughs, before coming over to press a kiss to the top of your head. "You gonna tell me what's going on?"
"Robby, leave the girl alone, will ya? She's gotta fill out these papers for me," Dana nudges him.
"Not really," you mutter to him, mindlessly filling out the rest of the documents before giving them back to Dana. You turn to walk away, but he follows you, stopping to pump some hand sanitizer into his hands.
"Come on," he insists, rubbing the hand sanitizer into his hands.
You let out a sigh and scratch the back of your head, not really knowing where to start. How do you tell your dad you're in another workplace situationship after your last one nearly cost him his career, reputation, and best friend?
"Ah, I think I'm just burnt out," you lie, terribly. You nod to yourself to try to sell the lie more, but he can see right through your bullshit.
"Burnt out from work or burnt out from guessing Shark's mood every day?" he calls you out with an expectant glare. You roll your eyes as you let out a small groan.
"I do not guess his moods every day," you say, annoyed through gritted teeth. "He really is not that bad. I wish you'd give him a chance."
"Give him a chance after what he did at the seder during Passover? I don't think so," Robby scoffs. This was an argument the two of you had often when he wasn't finding some new excuse to bash on Shark.
"It was an honest mistake!" you insist, still defending him to this day.
"He showed up two hours late and didn't apologize!" Robby emphasized.
"He didn't want to be any more of a distraction than he already was!" you insist. "Whatever, we're not even talking anymore, so it doesn't matter." You huff, running your hands over your face, the state of the situation starting to overwhelm you all over again.
"What, he finally got tired of you?" he laughs.
"No!" you bite back, "We got into a fight over what happened with Jack." Your voice tapers off towards the end of the sentence as you mentally brace yourself for what bringing this situation up to your father really entails.
"How many times have I told you to stop talking about that situation?" he chastises you through gritted teeth while pulling you aside into a hallway.
"I wasn't talking about it, he asked!" You hissed, grabbing your arm back from him.
"You don't appreciate everything I put on the line for you to keep you here, do you?" he asks, perturbed. His main concern after the affair blew up was that he would be able to keep his reputation and that you would still have a job, in that order.
"Everything you put on the line?" you ask meekly. You were always a victim of your father's shifting moods. Never truly knowing what would set him off or make him happy. However, since it had been almost 3 years since this had happened, you didn't think he'd still feel so strongly about it.
"Yeah, my reputation, my integrity, my words hold weight in this hospital and especially in this ED. I can't have my daughter running around fucking my night shift attending while I'm telling the rest of my staff to do the complete opposite!" He was as mad about the situation now as he was the day it happened.
You feel yourself shrinking into yourself; In denial about being scolded like a child at work.
"It's not enough for you that it almost cost me a friendship, no, you have to keep going until you break through to the other side of the door and fall through the floor," he shakes his head disapprovingly, "You have to embarrass me every step of your career, don't you?" he scoffs.
You feel the stinging behind your eyes and the knot in your throat. You're scared to look up at your father and face the fact that the consequences of your actions have not only left a lasting effect on you but on him, too.
"No, sorry, I didn't mean to-" you start, but your voice gives out, a tear rolling down your cheek.
"Don't cry, kid. You keep making the same mistakes, hoping for a different outcome, and let me spare you the grief; nothing's going to change," he chides.
"No, I know, I'm sorry," you say, lip quivering, wiping the tears off your face. "I have to get back to work." You turn to head upstairs without another word.
The elevator ride up to the OR floor feels endless. You try to take the time alone in there to regulate yourself, and after some deep breathing, you still feel exactly the same. The elevator finally arrives on the OR floor, and the doors open to reveal Park standing there waiting to head down to ortho.
You rush to the doors of the elevator, sticking your arms out on the doorway to block it right as he takes a step forward into the elevator.
"Brendon, can we talk?" Your voice comes out weaker than you want it to. There's a starry quality to the look in your eyes, and he's having a hard time resisting you.
"I have nothing to say to you," he says, stoic. He can't believe how hard it is for him to be this close to you and resist every urge to grab you and forgive it all.
"Yes, you do," you say, firmly.
Your knees feel weak in this moment. If you could fall to them and beg him for his understanding and forgiveness, you'd do it. You'd apologize for ever letting it get this complicated and messed up over a ghost that shouldn't have the power over you that he does.
"Brendon, I know you do," you plead to him one last time.
He sighs, breaking your gaze for one second before motioning with his head to get back inside the elevator. You let out a sigh of relief at the chance he's given you to hash it out. Stepping backwards into the elevator, he follows in after you and presses the button to close the doors, then presses the emergency stop button.
"You have five minutes," he says, curt, little emotion behind his words. His eyes are where all his emotions lie.
"I should have never let Jack get between us. I should've given you all my attention from the start. There's nothing there to go back to, but there's everything in my future with you. I don't know why I had to make such a mess of us to see what you mean to me, but I promise you I'm done with him, and I'm all about you." You rush out in one long monologue, barely taking a breath between each sentence.
You look at him expectantly, searching for any answer in his eyes. The neutral stare he's giving you doesn't help you draw any conclusions, but you swear you see his eyes move down to your lips.
He closes the small gap between the two of you and engulfs you in his arms to give you the deepest, hardest kiss he's ever planted on your lips. Your body is stiff in his arms while you process what's happening. Your eyes are still open until he moves his hand under your shirt to grab your hip and pull you flush to him. You relax into his kiss and wrap your arms around him, and settle one hand at the base of his neck.
His kisses are getting rapid and sloppier. His hands roam your body as he tucks his free hand under the waistband of your pants and panties to squeeze your bare ass in his calloused hand. The scent of Old Spice Swagger and Creed Aventus engulf the space around you as you feel the tackiness of his hair gel in your hand. He has you completely in the palm of his hand.
He breaks the kiss with a rough breath and brings one of his hands to grab your face. His thumb presses into your cheek while his other fingers grip behind your ear. He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, breath ragged, and his chest heaving.
"I promise you I will never put you through even a third of what he put you through. Do you hear me?" he asks, breathlessly.
"Yes," you whimper. His grip on your ass raises to hold you in place by your hip.
"I was yours from the moment we met." His voice was laced with the most sincerity you've ever heard from him. There was not one ounce of sarcasm, fickleness, or presumption in it.
You bring your hands to cradle his face and look in his eyes deeply, and you can see his devotion looking back at you. It was the sweetest sight. You feel a smile reach your face, and then laughter escapes your mouth.
"What?" he asks, pulling back,
"We have an entire day left of work," you laugh, tilting your head back. He rolls his eyes and takes advantage of the exposure to your neck to leave a trail of kisses leading down to your collarbone.
He breaks away from you and moves back to press the emergency stop button to get the elevator moving again, already missing the contact.
You take the elevator ride down to ortho with him, leaning against the back wall, standing side by side, only your pinkies touching. His eyes haven't left you, and you can feel his warm gaze on the side of your face. He looks you up and down as if to take you all in and mark you as his.
The elevator dings, arriving at the ortho floor, and the doors open to reveal a few of Park’s residents waiting to get on. The two of you try your best to separate and act casual. The residents don’t really know where to look or what to say, sort of frozen in place.
“You gonna move out of the way so I can get out of the elevator?” Park barks at them. They frantically part, making space for him. They're murmuring amongst themselves as he walks out, and while you can’t make out what they're saying, you can feel their judgment and conspiracy.
5:00PM
“I hear my hat is officially out of the ring,” Jacks gravely voice comes from behind you. You turn to see his sad eyes and signature smirk.
“What are you talking about?” You give him a befuddled look.
“Your shark attack in the elevator,” he motioned with his head in the direction of the elevator. He is seemingly calm about the whole thing. Hands in his pockets, smirk on his face. He seems resigned to the fact that he'll never get you back. What you had was fleeting, not lasting.
“I really have to stop dating at work,” you say, annoyed at how fast the news traveled, though unsurprised.
“That's an understatement," he laughs, "but listen, we're good." He gives you an earnest look.
"I'm sorry, Jack," you say, reaching for his hand. He lets you hold it and looks down to admire your hands interlaced together for what will be the last time.
"Nah, don't worry about it. I'm a big boy." He says, voice cracking at the end. You give his hand a final squeeze before heading back to your work station to prepare everything for nightshift handoffs.
He watches you go. It's all he can do.
6:00PM
"You ready to get out of here?" Shark whispers in your ear. You bite your lip, loving the sensation of him hovering over you.
"Yes, please," you shiver from the warmth of his breath on your neck. You turn around to face him, and he motions for the two of you to start walking towards the exit.
"Good, I need a drink," He says, holding the door open for you.
Your local place was Marty's, a rustic bar that had the most perfect moody lighting to kick a few back after a long day. Shark usually got a Michelob Ultra, and you ended up with some sort of cocktail or wine. Tonight it was a dry vodka martini with a twist.
"My dad gave me an earful about you today," you say over the rim of your glass, taking a sip.
"Let me guess, he's still not over passover?" Shark asks, unimpressed.
"Nope," you say, emphasizing the "p." He shakes his head in disbelief.
"He's so stubborn," he says, licking the foam off his lips, "shame, too, he seemed so chill at one point."
"Yeah, well, countless failed relationships later, he has yet to see that," you mutter, messing with the garnish in your drink.
"You know I don't even know what broke him and my mom up," you say, your stare is far off, "he barely talks about her. If it weren't for that picture at home, I wouldn't even know she exists. I'd probably believe a stork actually delivered me to my father." You laugh into your glass as you take another sip, no humor behind it.
Shark reaches out to hold your hand, unsure of what to say or how to comfort you.
"And it's funny too because I didn't even know I had a mom until I was in the third grade," you lean back in your chair, gaze still distant. "Maybe he blames me that she's dead. She died giving birth to me, so it's not outside the realm of possibility."
"Your dad doesn't blame you," Shark interjects, trying to stop this already drunken monologue in its tracks. You notice the concern in his eyes and realize you'd better quit while you're ahead.
"Sorry, just...got a little sidetracked," you huff out a weak apology, not able to meet his eyes.
"It's alright. You know, I've been thinking about introducing you to my parents, actually." He tries to shift the conversation down a more neutral path.
"Wow, Mr. & Mrs. Park! I'd love to," you say, cleaning up your attitude, although this line of conversation made you more nervous than the previous.
"And I was thinking, depending on how that goes, we could talk about moving in together," he says, very matter-of-fact. He drops all of this information on you as if they are light decisions to make.
"Move in together?" you hiccup. Gosh, you are such a lightweight, you scold yourself.
"Yeah, why not?" he smiles. "You're already at my place most of the week anyway, at least this way we'd only have to take one car to work and not two." He winks at you. This made you blush. He had such a way of turning a conversation around after you had made a total disaster of it.
"Ok," you say sheepishly.
"Ok," he teases, leaning over to kiss your forehead.
Park the Shark Headcannons
cw: this is just the vibe I get from him, but it's also 100% canon
"Shark" nickname is an ego trip for him. Absolutely loves it but doesn't admit it to anyone. His office is decorated with all the shark-related things his coworkers give him.
Cologne FIEND, you smell him before you see him. I'm talking Creed, I'm talking... Creed, I'm talking, shit, probably more Creed, and Dior Sauvage.
Listens only to house/EDM/Hip-Hop music. I feel like he's also a big Action Bronson fan, idk.
Gets mistaken for being younger than he actually is. Every time he tells someone his age, it's like a total shock.
Slicks his hair down with anything he can get his hands on. He's not precious about it at all. It's the easiest way to get his hair out of his face for surgery.
He's only overly nice to the older nurses at work. Everyone else gets the same monotonous, curt, apathetic attitude.
Likes to cook and prefers to be the chef in the relationship. Not out of chivalry but control and ego.
Wouldn't want you to be a stay-at-home mom. I feel like he would enjoy the fuck out of DINK life, and then once the kids come around, he wouldn't mind if you were a stay-at-home mom, but he'd encourage you to keep your job.
He'd get turned on by being able to brag about you having a high-powered job, like a lawyer or something. Also, he comes from generations of doctors, so he grew up seeing the women in his life be financially independent.
He wants two kids max. I can't imagine him enjoying a herd of children.
He only wears three pieces of jewelry: gold cross on a chain round his neck, his wedding band, and the Rolex watch his dad got him as a grad gift. When he’s at work he switches it out for a Garmin. Not a runner because he knows how bad it is for your joints, but stays active otherwise.
He's the oldest of three boys. He is a third-generation surgeon. His father is a legend in the Pittsburgh medical field and wanted his sons to follow in his footsteps; However, they each chose a different specialty: neurosurgery, orthopedic surgery, and pediatric surgery.
Absolutely spoils his nieces and nephews, as he was the chronically single uncle for the longest time. Until he meets you and wastes no time catching up to his brothers. (For sure has two under two).
Starts zynning to try to quit smoking but just ends up getting addicted to them. You find empty cans all over the house, especially in his car.
He gets a new car every year. Always some type of luxury sports car hybrid. Annually, rents an actual sports car for his birthday. He usually likes to plan a trip away. Somewhere near the beach or a nice lake where he can golf and chill with his friends and his lady.
Dog person. Hates cats.
Loves beer. Always plans a brewery stop on any boys' trip. Goes through a phase where he tries making his own brew but gives up pretty easily.
Played football and baseball growing up. A career-ending injury led him to pursue a specialty in orthopedics.
Naturally protective of you, but is also very "atta girl", "good girl", "that's my girl" when you stand up for yourself.
He's very attentive to your needs and space, often giving you exactly what you need without you having to ask. Not in a mind-reading, patronizing, or worshipping way, he just knows what you need and want naturally. It gets kinda freaky sometimes.
He's an iced black coffee or cold brew guy. If you order a coffee, he thinks sounds interesting, he'll order the same, but mostly just sticks to black coffee.
The wedding was a huge event due to his parents inviting every single person they knew. It was a good time, but he would've preferred to elope and take a trip together, get to the babymaking immediately.
You dated for a few years before you got married, but he told you from the start he was going to marry you and father your children. It scared you at first, but ended up being the best decision ever.
Since he can't wear his ring during surgery, he wears those monstrosity black rubber bands on his ring finger. You hate seeing it, so he only wears it at work and leaves it in his locker or car.
Big sports fan, doesn't want his kids to play any sports past elementary school, though. He's too paranoid from the injuries and complications he's seen at work.
Loves to tinker around the house. He’s used to making a lot of the decisions at work so it carries over to his home life. However, you tell him to jump he’ll ask how high.
SHARK WEEK 2 | Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x ORChargeNurse!Reader
summary: we're getting into the jack of it all, jacking shark off, then getting yelled at
cw: medical inaccuracies, SMUT (lowkey I went too far), only proofread once
wc: 3.2K
MONDAY NIGHT 11:00PM
“Brendon, oh god, I’m gonna-unmf, I’m gonna cum,” you whine as the orthopedic surgeon brutally ruts into you.
“Yeah? You’re gonna cum all over my cock?” He teases. His smile is ten feet wide. The sheen of sweat on his forehead is accompanied by the sweat accumulating on his chest. All he had to do was wink at you like this, and you were done for.
“Yes,” you say breathless. The grip he has on your hips is addicting. His hands make your hips look tiny with how he completely engulfs them. He's grabbing onto the meat of them like he's picking apples off a tree.
“I don’t think so,” he pulls out of you in one swift motion, then gets down on his knees to pull you closer to the edge of the bed.
Laying flat on your back you feel a cool breeze mixing with the wet heat of your cunt. You whine as you buck up into nothing. Shark puts his hand on your lower abdomen to bring you down flush to the mattress before peppering kissing to your inner thighs.
“Ugh, Brendon, please,” you coax, rubbing your hand over his arm in hopes you’ll get some relief soon.
“Calm down,” he mumbles, near your lips.
“I can’t, I want you,” you moan.
“Bratty little rabbit,” he mutters again.
“I told you to stop calling me that,” you pinch his arm to no reaction from him. The last thing you need right now is to be thinking about Jack.
“Calling you what?” He asks before dipping his nose into the puddle between your legs.
You let a whimper at the soft contact and try to buck into him further. He backs away with a soft laugh, then takes his tongue and swipes it over the length of your pussy. A small arch forms in your back as you start to feel the knot tighten in your stomach. Your release not far away.
He continues this combination of blowing, dipping, and licking until you practically pulling out his hair trying to suffocate him between your legs.
“Brendon please!” You beg.
“Alright, Alright,” he says sternly. He takes both arms to cradle you under your hips, hands resting on your abdomen, and buries his face in your puffy cunt.
The combination of his tongue and nose swiping up and down with him occasionally stopping to suck at your clit has you seeing stars. Your legs tighten around his shoulders as your release is close.
You’re barely making any noise as you want to focus on your release and not tip him off again out of fear that he’ll stop. He notices and smacks your ass enough to get a moan out of you.
“I need to hear you or I stop,” he mumbles the threat.
“Dr. Park, fuck!” You moan. He laughs against you at the sudden formality. His blush from hearing you use his title is hidden from your view under your thighs. The vibration of his laugh is enough to make you cum.
“I’m coming,” you whine breathless. This climax is strong. It starts in shutters and ends in waves of rutting into his face, spreading the sheen of your juices all over his face.
“Oh fuck, that’s hot,” you moan, as you look down and watch his face get shinier.
With his eyes settled on yours, he comes to stand over you. His hand finds your clit and starts rubbing it back and forth. You suck in a sharp breath at the contact and instinctively close your legs. Brendon’s between them, preventing you from closing anything without his say-so.
“Brendon, fuck,” you look at the scene in front of you. Brendon glistening with your cum, rubbing your pussy beyond its limits.
You’re still riding out your climax at this point, at least you think you are, when you get the overwhelming urge to pee. Panicking as you’ve never felt this feeling before, you try to get Brendon off you before you piss on him.
“Don’t worry, it’s ok. I want you to let it go,” he coos, rubbing his free hand over your face. Moving the wet pieces of hair around your hairline that were starting to stick to your face.
“What?” You look at him confused.
“I want you to let it go,” he repeats, slower this time, emphasising each word. As he says this, he puts two fingers inside you and starts to curl them upwards towards him. It’s an ungodly feeling and it’s more bliss than you thought you body could ever produce let alone handle.
You do what the Shark says. With a few more curls and dirty talk in your ear, it’s like he opened a fountain between your legs. You feel the liquid practically shoot out of you while you squirt all over his hand. Your eye contact is intense as he caresses your face and talks you through your come down.
“Good girl, Rabbit,” he says, kissing your face. “Such a good girl for me,” he coos.
Your chest is heaving as you continue to stare at him in awe of what he brought out of you; he can hold you so gently and guide you through something completely unknown to you with such ease.
"It's ok, you did good," he says, smiling at you. His hand now comes to rest on your hip while he continues to caress your face with the other.
Your breathing gets more intense with every pat of his hand on your head. The next thing you know, you're crying. Sobbing actually. The tears are running down your face faster than you or he can wipe them away.
"Hey, hey, what's going on?" he says, moving to take you in his arms and lie down with you in his bed.
He holds you as your sobs become louder and more erratic. Rubbing your back, shushing you softly, planting kisses on your head in hopes that it will comfort you. He holds you in his big arms for 20 minutes until you finally wear yourself out.
"Here, c'mon, get up," he says softly, as he offers you one of his t-shirts. He wipes his face and hands off with a nearby towel as you silently get up, pull the shirt over your head, find your underwear, and put them back on.
He grabs your hand and leads you to his kitchen. He tells you to take a seat while he pours you a glass of water. Sitting on one of his barstools, you take a big gulp from the glass as he comes around to stand behind you and rub your back.
"What's going on?" He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "Was it something I said?"
"No, no," you whip around quickly to face him. He tucks a piece of hair behind your ear.
"I just-" you huff, "Earlier today I had a...moment with Jack, I-" you struggle to finish your sentence, feeling the knot in your throat.
"It's ok, come here," he pulls you into his chest, and pats your hair. "We don't have to talk about it."
"Thank you," you breathe out while a tear falls down your cheek.
TUESDAY
8:30AM
As if your morning wasn't already hectic enough, you rush down to the ED after getting a call on your pager that Jack was involved in a shootout. You're running through the ED, looking in every room and behind every curtain you can until you find him. This isn't standard procedure by any means, but you think the PMTC knows at this point that you and Jack are not standard.
"Jack!" You are breathless as you find him in a room all by himself. His SWAT uniform and belongings are scattered all over the floor, and he has a tray of basic first aid set up in front of the bed.
"Oh, sorry," he says, sheepishly turning around to cover himself. He had started to take off his shirt to attend to his wound on his upper left shoulder.
"No, don't-," you start, "my God, Jack, what happened?" you finish as you notice the large laceration on his back. You rush over to him and move his back to face you so you can get a better look at the wound.
"It's nothing, just a casualty of the job," he says, shrugging it off, moving your hand away gently, and getting onto the bed.
"It's not nothing," you say, concerned, "and since when did you join the SWAT team?" you ask, more confused than ever.
"My therapist said I needed a hobby," he mutters, a small smile on his face. He's applying an ointment to a large Q-Tip to try to reach the wound on his back.
"Oh, would you stop it? Here, I'll do it," you huff, moving to stand behind him to treat the wound yourself.
"No, I got it," he insists. His voice is the smooth, gravely tone that soundtracked med school for you. It was as if someone had just put on your favorite song. He knew how to make eyes at you when he wanted, and he wanted to today.
"Jack, please let me do this," you plead with him. He gives you the eyes, holding out the Q-Tip between you two, but closer to him, so you would have to move in towards him to grab it.
You couldn't afford to be here long; God only knows what's gone wrong already in the 5 minutes you've been here, but seeing Jack like this was bringing a lot of things up to the surface.
You stutter in your movements for a moment, forgetting how warm it felt in his gaze. You snap out of it and put on some gloves and start to reach for the antiseptic and gauze. This is a far more intimate moment than you had wanted for. I mean, for Pete's sake, I just slept with Shark last night, now I want my own sloppy seconds? You chastise yourself.
He has always made it difficult to completely walk away from him. Every time you think you're clean, you find another spot that says Jack was here. You'd been through so much together, and yet faced completely different fallouts from your...affair? situationship? relationship? No, it's definitely not that last one.
While you patch him up, you start to count the freckles on his shoulder. You swear there's plenty more since the last time you saw them. It was your favorite thing to mindlessly trace patterns on his back. Connect the dots was his least favorite tease of yours, but he would give anything right now to play it one more time.
You look at the curls sticking up from the nape of his neck and fight the urge to grab them. Run your fingers through them. There was something so protective about being behind him that gave you a safety you've never felt before or since.
Whenever he would wake up from a nightmare, or had a night where he couldn't sleep, your favorite thing to do was sit behind him on the edge of the bed, wrap your arms around him, rest your head on his shoulder, and give him little intermittent kisses all over his back until he felt tired enough to fall asleep. It's strange to think one rumor ruined all of that for the two of you.
"How's running OR going?" he tries to break the tension.
"Good," you say, focusing on his back.
"You like it?" he asks, hoping the answer is no.
"Yeah, it's good for me," you state, knowing where this is going.
"Better than working with me?" he laughs, but there's sadness behind it.
You let out a sigh, not knowing what is worse, lying or telling the truth. "It's...different," you settle for.
"Different," he repeats, like he's trying to decide if he likes how it feels.
You finish up by taping some gauze pads to his shoulder and discarding all the materials on the tray. As you walk towards the trash can, he grabs you by the wrist.
"Why did you leave me?" he asks, earnestly. Looking into your eyes for the real answer.
You give him a painful stare. Your heart sinks down to the bottom of your shoes. The look in his eyes is almost childlike, as if someone had just taken away his comfort blanket.
"I mean, I know the whole...rabbit thing," he sighs, "but why did you leave me?"
"Jack, I-" and right as you start to stutter out any excuse to avoid the question, your pager starts ringing.
"Answer me," he pleads, gruff, low. "Don't put this off any longer."
"Jack, I can't." You pull away from his grip and walk out of the room. You can barely hear what you are being told over the phone. Ask me a loaded question in the middle of the day, you huff, thanks, Jack. You barely step foot in the elevator, and you're already cleaning up the mess made upstairs in your short absence.
9:00AM
You keep thinking about his question, why did you leave me? You scoff, thinking about how you should have never had anything beyond a professional relationship with him to begin with. Why did I leave you? You mock. Maybe the constant night terrors. The constant paranoia about my whereabouts. The extensive background checks on any other students in my cohort I tried to get close with. Jack had a way of letting his overprotectiveness take over his thinking completely. It was suffocating.
[Flashback]
The ED had been nonstop with extensive back-to-back traumas. You were running on fumes; you and Jack had been having a new argument with each patient they brought in. The tension had never been this bad between the two of you, and you were inches away from saying things you could not take back.
"You can not confirm that without a CT, Dr. Abbot!" you say sternly over the patient's body.
"Yes, I can," he says, directing the nurses to help him flip the body horizontally so he can get a central line in through the patient's back.
"He doesn't have a collapsed lung. The most you're gonna do is kill him with this banana pants approach," you argue, starting to see cracks in the way your mentor thinks.
"Well we don't have time to wait for your fancy pants machine," he reorts. His stare is unlike any he has given you. You've never known him to even be this combative until right now.
"Fuck you, Jack," you say before you have the chance to stop it. The trauma room freezes. The beeps on the machines around you are only getting louder, and the stakes for the patient have never been higher.
"You can leave. You're done for the day," he says, finite. He takes over the room once again, and you watch the procedure go on around you as you slowly push out of the way by the other nurses attending the patient.
"Now!" Jack shouts at you again. It startles you into motion, and you rip all your PPE off and walk out the door.
2:00PM
Shark: How are you feeling after last night?
You: Good. Why?
Shark: Just checking in.
Brendon sat there staring at the curt text exchange between the two of you and wondered what it would take to crack you open. Emotionally, this time. He had tried every angle possible, late-night convos that veer into more personal topics, jokes that turn into emotional moments of appreciation, even fucking, and still nothing.
When you broke down and cried in his arms last night, he thought you might finally open up about what's been going on between you and Jack, but no. He was fed up and starting to feel like maybe he wasn't enough for you.
Shark avoided you all day. Any pages for ORs were called in by his residents assisting with the surgeries or the orthopedic nurses. You checked your cell phone on and off anxiously all day, hoping he would text or call. You saw his surgery schedule, and he wasn't any busier than on a normal day. Every time you would pass by his office, he wasn't there. When you went out to smoke, you wouldn't brush past him, jogging back from his car after forgetting his AirPods yet again.
You: Are you avoiding me?
You see the bubble pop up, then disappear. Whatever, I have bigger problems than Park the fucking shark, you try to tell yourself.
6:00PM
When your shift ends, you stand in front of the trunk of his car waiting for him to come out. He lets out a sigh when he sees you standing there staring him down. He almost wants to walk back inside because how long could you really wait for him out there?
"What the fuck, Park?" you say, hitting his chest with your hand.
"What the fuck to you more like it!" he bites back. "You cried in my arms last night, and now it's dry texts all day?"
"I was fine," you insist.
"Fine," he airquotes, "is not sobbing uncontrollably for 20 minutes."
"What do you care?" you roll your eyes, "Big Park the Shark's gonna come save me from my despair?" you goad.
"He would if you let him try!" he shouts.
This takes you aback. Not because he raised his voice, no, that you were used to from hearing him scold his residents, but because you didn't know he cared this much.
"Let him try what?" you dare, "You still call me that degrading nickname they gave me in med school."
"Maybe because I don't really understand how you got it!" he yells, "It's just a dumb rumor, unless you want to enlighten me about something."
You feel the knot in your throat start to form.
"There's nothing to enlighten," you say low, staring into his eyes, daring him to push you further.
"Alright, fine," he concedes, brushing past you to get into his car. "I suggest moving out of the way," he motions to the rear of the car where you are standing.
"Park," you call out to him. "Wait." He stands at the driver's side between the door and the car, looking at you expectantly.
"It's not a dumb rumor," you push out. "It- What Jack and I had was real, but it was unstable," your voice cracks.
"So what, do you want to get back with your mentor?" he chides.
"No," you say immediately. You sniff, not knowing if you can get another word out without breaking down again.
"You know, this is bullshit," he scoffs, "I love you, and I thought at least you cared about me, but I see now I'm just your rebound."
"Love me?" you ask, confused, "What on earth made you think I knew you loved me?"
"I don't see anyone else here checking up on you after your secret affair got blown up!" he shouts, "Not your friends, not your coworkers, and certainly not Jack fucking Abbot."
"You know what, forget it, Park," you say, motioning a weak surrender with your hands before walking back to turn away from him.
"Yeah, just forget it!" he shouts, "Fuck you!" he calls after you, watching you walk away.
You get into your car and slam the door while vigorously wiping the tears from your eyes, but they're falling too fast for it to make a difference.
Dean is jealous of you and Sam
cw: 2000's dating mentality, porn addiction mentality, voyeurism
You and Sam had been sitting in the back of the Impala making out for over 30 minutes now. Dean knew because, as much as he tried to distract himself, he counted the minutes of how long this face-sucking fest would go on. 30 minutes. It went on for 30 minutes until he got tired of staring at you from across the street like a creep and went over to the car to break it up.
He knocked on the window, scaring you and startling Sam.
"What!" Sam called out.
"If you two are done eating each other's faces off, let's go find this son of a bitch," Dean barked.
You laughed and hid your face as Sam slapped your ass and motioned for the two of you to get out. You were somewhere in Kansas or Michigan or something. You stopped paying attention a few motels back, to be fair. The boys were hunting something called a wendigo. You weren't really into the whole supernatural hunting thing, but when Sam opened up to you about his past, you'd be a fool not to help him in any way you could.
As you stepped out of the Impala with a sheepish look on your face, you apologized to Dean, then kissed him on the cheek. Don't get it twisted, you were head over heels for Sam, but after learning about Dean's crush on you, you couldn't resist teasing him from time to time.
Dean didn't understand the obsession he had with you, and he couldn't stand that you were with Sam and not with him. Knowing you were completely off limits to him was the worst part. What was the harm in Sam sharing you with him or letting you spend a night with him alone?
"Ok, uh, let's go," Dean said, flustered. Sam gave you a disapproving look.
"What?" You laughed. "It's just a kiss."
"I know, but I only want you to kiss me," Sam says sheepishly. You're standing facing each other, holding hands.
"Like this?" You ask, then hike up onto your tippy toes to give him a deep kiss. He responds by whimpering against your lips. He leans into you, but you laugh and break the kiss.
"C'mon, cowboy, we gotta catch a wendigo!" you say in a goofy voice, and slap his chest as you walk towards Dean. He's standing not too far away with his mouth slightly agape at the sight in front of him. The lustful stare in his eyes is the same he gets right before he steals Sam's laptop and disappears into the bathroom for 10 minutes.
"Catching flies, Dean?" you tease.
"No!" he retorts. Adjusting his jacket before following close behind you and Sam.
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SHARK WEEK | Dr. Brendon "The Shark" Park x ORChargeNurse!Reader
summary: a week crushing on the shark has you confronting scarier things than the orthopedic surgeon's music taste
cw: medical inaccuracies, author has limited knowledge of medical terms and procedures, and will often write around it (and let's be real, we're here for the shark, not hemoglobin). smut ideation. The implication of it, if you will.
wc: 1.7K
MONDAY
6:30AM
It’s an open secret that you’ve been trying to get with Park since the day you first saw him. If there was anyone with a stronger reputation than him, it was you.
You had dealt with a gnarly rumor in med school about sleeping with your mentor, Dr. Jack Abbot, and as much as the rumor was true, it was still annoying to walk around as "Jack's Rabbit" until graduation. It was a different time; he was older, you were greener. It was actually going somewhere until it wasn't. Until you weren't.
A speciality change and several months of bullying later, you've managed to overcome it. However, you've been very, very careful about flirting at work since. There was just something about The Shark that made you want to break every rule for him.
You felt stalkerish, watching him pull into the parking lot every morning in his all-black Porsche 911. Ogling as he stepped out with nothing but his wallet, keys, badge, and iced coffee in his hands. His hair wasn't gelled down, so that meant he had no surgeries planned today. Other times, he would gel his hair down real quick while going over notes for a case or if he forgot to do it before he left that morning.
"Morning, Shark," you shout over the parking lot. Face scrunched up from the sun in your eyes.
"Rabbit," he shot back, walking over to you. His keys jingled as he dropped them in his pocket. Switching his iced coffee over to his right hand so he could hold the door open for you.
Whenever anyone saw you two walking in together, they knew what you were up to. Hell, Park knew what you were up to. He was not oblivious to your crush on him, as you were to his. He wanted to see if you actually had the guts to make a move.
"Book me in ORs 2 or 3 today," he says, "the speaker systems in the other ORs suck."
"You will get the OR that is available at the time of your surgery. You know the rules," you say softly. There was a certain thrill in reprimanding him most calmly; Like taming a lion.
"You can break the rules for me," he whispers, his cool breath just brushing your ear. You can smell the remnants of the zyn pouch he must have spat out earlier and the coffee he was currently drinking. Hazelnut guy.
Your gaze catches his for a split second, a moment, then he backs away and gives you a lazy smirk. You stop in your tracks, watching him walk towards the doors for the orthopedics unit.
You take the elevator up to the operating room floor. Eager to take over for the night nurse and strap on your cellphone pager. You'd be lying if you said you didn't get a power trip from all the decisions you had to make all day to make sure all the operating rooms run smoothly.
Coordinating with anesthesiologists, scheduling all different types of procedures, talking with surgeons and nurses all day, and making sure every OR is stocked with all the essential items to save someone's life. Being a charge nurse was like being king of the castle. It's a fucking awesome job.
After one floor, the elevator stopped to let on more passengers. The doors opened up to reveal none other than Jack Abbot.
"Morning," he says, low, a small smile on his face as he walks in.
"Jack," you respond curtly. No expression on your face.
The harsh lighting in the elevator somehow gets brigther and it feels like the walls are getting closer. Both of you stand in silence the whole rest of the trip until the elevator opens on your floor.
"Have a good shift," he rushes out to you before you leave.
"Yeah," you spit out, walking out of the elevator as fast as possible to ignore the sinking feeling in your chest.
9:00AM
Finally, sitting down after the morning shift change and team meeting to have your breakfast, you get a call on your pager.
"Surgery, this is—"
"So what can you do about those ORs?" his velvety smooth voice interrupts on the other line. Shark.
"I told you, you can have the one that's available," you giggle, shameless, mindlessly scraping the edge of your yogurt cup.
"I have a leg replantation, and it would be sick to listen to the new John Summit on the surround speakers in OR 3," he pleads. You scrunch your face in disgust at the brief reminder that he is an ortho bro at the end of the day. You leave him hanging on the line to hear if he will beg.
"C'mon, you know I'm right." His voice sounds so delicious when he coaxes you to get his way. Something that rarely happens. He's cute but not risk-your-job cute.
"John Summit is not worth any good speakers," you tease back, licking your spoon clean before grabbing the cup and tossing both into the trash.
"Rabbit, please. I know what it does to you to see me in a good mood," he coos. Jerk. No fair.
"What time?" you sigh, defeated, with the biggest smile on your face.
"Yes!" you can practically hear his bicep tense and curl over the phone as he does a fist pump to celebrate. "Let's do 11am."
"Booked. You get OR 4 at 1:30," you state, hanging up the phone. You laugh to yourself as you now sip on your coffee before being called back to the fray.
1:00PM
You come back inside from smoking your cigarette, barely sit down again, before your phone starts ringing, but this time it's your personal cell phone. You see the phone's screen light up on your desk with Jack's name. Every time you see or hear his name these days, it gives you pause.
You let it go to voicemail and wait to see if he'll leave a message.
"My OR set up?"
"Yes, Dr. Park," you respond in a patronizing tone.
"Better be," he says, tapping your desk before walking away.
"Good luck!" you call out to him. He turns and gives you a befuddled look, questioning why you think he would ever need that.
The bliss of his presence doesn't last long, as you see a notification on your phone for Jack's voicemail. The sooner I listen, the sooner I can forget it, you say to yourself.
You pick up your phone, open the voicemail, and hit play. Your breath stops as you hold it up to your ear, bracing for the most gut-wrenching confession.
"Ah shit, sorry, butt dial." Then the line clicks.
Right right.
5:30PM
Your shift passed by in a blur. Your mind was mostly preoccupied with why you wanted Jack to confess some unknown feelings to you. When you know what his feelings were, well, are. And you know what your feelings are, so what does it matter? It matters a lot.
The other part was thinking about how tight Shark's scrub must squeeze his arms day in and day out.
What it would be like to be nestled between his bicep and forearm. To feel his other arm wrap around your waist to pull your back flush against him. Lean your head back on his plush shoulder while he plants the softest kisses along your neck. Arching your back into him while he slowly bucks into you. Feeling him getting harder with each small thrust of his hips.
"This day blows," Shark says, leaning over the edge of your desk, snapping you out of what was about to become a wet daydream.
"I know, right?" you huff out an awkward laugh.
"Oh," he smirks, "I know what's happening here."
You give him a confused look.
"You were thinking about my biceps again," he laughs.
"I was not!" you retort. He laughs harder.
"I was thinking about all the restocking I'm going to have to do now that you're done making a mess in OR 4," you say, hitting him across his arm. His arm barely moved. Fuck.
"Whatever you say, Rabbit," he puts his arms up in innocence.
"Stop calling me that," you fake pout.
"What do you want me to call you instead?" he fawns.
"I don't know, just something else," you mumble, unable to make eye contact all of a sudden.
His stare bores into you. He loves to toy with you about your crush on him. He's impressed by how oblivious you are to his charms. How could you not see he was crazy about you? Who else does he act like this with? What he wouldn't give to take that precious face in his hands and rut his cock into your face until he came. Make a complete mess of your face, then lick it off fuck it. Fuck he wanted to ruin you.
"Brendon?" you call. "Brendon? Hello?"
His eyes are stuck staring at your chest. You look down to see if your pager is weighing down one side of your shirt, exposing your breast. Wouldn't be the first time that's happened, you lament to yourself. When you see everything is in order, you get the most devious smirk on your face before full barrel laughing at him.
"What?" he snaps out of his haze.
"Now who's thinking about who?" you laugh.
"Whatever," he mutters, walking away.
7:00PM
"Goodnight," you say to your colleagues as you walk out at the end of your shift. Heading out of the locker room and towards the elevator.
Hearing the small chime as it passes each floor and the quiet hum of the machine helps ground you after a nonstop day.
As you walk out into the cold night air, you see Jack walking up to the building. "Good shift?" he asks as he nears you.
You look at him for a long second before pulling him into a hug. You don't say anything, you just stand there and hug him, deeply. Deeper than you have in years. Maybe even ever.
Shark walks out shortly after and notices your encounter. Sighing to himself, he keeps walking and drives off.
Jack returns your embrace. "Hey, are you alright?" He careses the back of your head in hopes to soothe whatever might be bothering you.
"Yeah," you sniff, then walk over to your car. Jack watches you go but doesn't dare to press for more. That usually doesn't work out for him.
*Starts chanting* Park the Shark, Park the Shark, Park the Shark
You ogle at Dr. Park during that 30-second ortho consult.
"Hi Shark," you say as the ortho attending walks into trauma room 2.
"Is this a favorable amputation?" He asks as he brushes past you to circle the patient. You let him know it was "clean sliced through like a guillotine."
"X-ray?" You nod and motion for him to look at the mobile X-ray machine
As you stand next to him, you take a moment to savor the feeling of him next to you while he examines the results. Taking in the sheer size of him hovering near you, the sheen of the gel in his hair against the harsh bay lighting, the smell of his Old Spice deodorant engulfing the room in a scent you can only guess is named “swagger.”
You don’t hide your gaze from him. A very love-drunk, hazy sort of stare. It's no doubt unprofessional, but everything about him enthralls you. He even looks like a shark from the side.
"Where's the amputated leg?" He asks, turning from the machine.
"Double bagged over ice," you point to the leg on one of the rolling tables by the patient.
He walks over to it, takes it out of the bag, and holds it up to examine it before making his final prognosis.
You see his arms flex as he turns the leg in every direction, examining all the angles. His own legs look like tree trunks planted right on the trauma room floor. You can see the outline of his zyn can in his pocket. Wintergreen, 6mg, if you had to guess. You try to imagine what music he would pick for this surgery later.
"Replantation is a go. I’ll book an OR," he says firmly, putting the leg back on ice before barking more orders to the residents about irrigation.
As he turns to walk out the door, you stare at the width of his back, which is almost double the width of two people standing next to each other. You let your gaze drop down to his tight ass, and that does you in for a deep breath.
"Thank you, Shark," you say with a smile before you can realize you’re speaking.
He walks out without another word.
Robby turns to give you a look, and you can only give him a shameless shrug in return.
Does anyone else feel the overwhelming urge to start a new blog every time a niche interest pops up? I don't need to dedicate a separate blog to my new GOT hyperfixation, but yes, I do? I can write all the GOT fics I want on this blog, but no, I can't because it will clog up the randomness of this one? idk man.
Summary: To save her father from crushing debt, Birdie made a deal with the devil. Treasure hunting alongside Rafe Adler promised fast money—but it became a fifteen-year marriage, a lifetime of control, and a debt she can never repay. She convinces herself she chose this life. That she belongs here. That she’s safe. But when Samuel Drake, the man she loved and lost, returns from the dead, Birdie is forced to confront the truth: was she ever Rafe’s to begin with, or has she been waiting for Sam all along to finally set her free?
Author's Note: Is this the end of the story? No, but it is the final chapter in this series. I hope you've enjoyed it!
AO3 Link | Masterlist
AVERY'S SHIP
Once they escaped the catacombs and met up with Nate, Elena, and Sully on the beach, they fought their way through another round of Nadine’s goons before finally being rid of them.
“Are you okay?” She and Elena asked at the same time as they approached Nate.
“Yeah,” he responded, watching the two of them embrace and check in with each other.
“We heard those explosions. We thought—” Elena started.
“Yeah, it’s all this guy,” he turned, pointing to Sully.
“You saved his ass again?” She laughed.
“Naturally. How you doing?” He smiled proudly before taking her into an embrace.
“Good. Good. There were some close calls, but um…” she says, turning to point to Sam, “He covered me.”
“Hey,” Sam said, approaching Nate.
“Hey. How’s that?” Nate said, pointing to his arm.
“Oh,” he laughs, “Bullet grazed my shoulder.”
“Yeah,” Nate says, half laughing.
“You?”
“Cliffside… grazed my face,” he says, gesturing to his face, “So how’d you two lose Rafe?”
“I led his crew right into one of Avery’s traps,” Sam chuckles.
“Smart,” Nate says.
Sam chuckles before continuing, “Hey, hey look… about the whole Alcazar thing—”
“Hey, just, we can save that for later, okay? Which way?” Nate says, diverting their attention to leaving the island.
“On the beach, the other side of this town,” Sully says, pointing behind them.
“Okay,” Nate nods, starting to walk away.
“Good. I hope all that ruckus didn’t attract any attention,” Elena jokes.
“I know,” Nate sighs.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Sorry. What are we doing?” Sam says, mildly confused.
“What do you think we’re doing? We’re getting the hell off of this rock,” Sully says, turning back to face Sam.
“Right, we— we could do that… or we can head in that direction… which is a shortcut,” Sam says, turning back to point at the mountain behind them.
“Short cut, to what?” Sully asks.
“To Avery’s treasure,” Sam states.
“Oh, wow,” Sully sighs in disbelief.
“I mean, Rafe’s got to go all the way around, but we could just—” Sam starts to explain.
“Hey, screw Rafe!” Sully interrupts.
“Hey, Victor, with all due respect, maybe just—” Sam says, trying to defend his position.
“You just don’t know when to quit,” Sully calls him out.
“Look, we’re all here for the same reason, right? Right?” Sam looks among them, trying to gain numbers for his side.
“They didn’t come after the treasure; they came after you,” She says.
“And I appreciate that. I do. But we’re good. And we’ve got the lead for now. We can do this. Nathan, c’mon. Huh? Look around. Okay, Avery scuttled every last ship on this island. You know why?” Sam continues.
“Because he was hell-bent on keeping his treasure…” She states.
“Exactly,” Sam agrees.
“No matter the cost to the others around him,” She points out.
“Because he didn’t want anyone to follow him,” Sam sighs, “Because he was leaving. Look at this. Okay. I found his map of the island. Okay? That’s his ship right under that mountain. That’s where our treasure is. And it is exactly where Rafe is heading right now… while we stand around here and argue like idiots,” He tries to get out before they waste anymore time.
“How long we been chasing this thing, huh? You and me. No offense to these guys… but they don’t get it,” Sam says, turning to talk to Nate.
“Actually, Sam, they do. They really do,” Nate admits to Sam.
“Okay,” Sam says, hurt.
“Trust me, they’ve seen this… kind of obsession before,” Nate says, “But Sam… we’re not those kids anymore. We’re not. And we got nothing to prove,” he concludes.
“No. No, no, don’t even think about it, you hear me?”
“I’m sorry I got you into this. All of you,” Sam yells out his apology.
“Hey, all that doesn’t matter anymore, okay?” Nate urges him.
“I gotta see this thing through, Nathan,” he calls back out to him.
“Sam. Hey, listen to me! If you do this, I’m not coming after you! You hear me?” Nate threatens.
“I’m sorry,” Sam says before turning around and heading towards the mountain.
“Sam! Sam! Stupid, stubborn…” Nate calls out to him, “I’m gonna save him… then I’m gonna punch him,” he says out loud to no one in particular.
“All right, let’s just worry about the saving part first,” Sully says, patting Nate’s chest, trying to keep him calm.
“What the hell is he thinking? I mean, after everything we— Wasn’t this enough?” he sighs, “Let’s just find him. Hey, we can get over that wall with this. C’mon.”
“Nate… No. Not by yourself,” Sully forbade.
“Look, I’ll come right back, okay?” Nate sighs, unsure of how much more of this he has in him, but still knowing he has to push through for Sam.
“Look, he is not gonna leave without a fight,” Sully points out.
“Then I’ll fight him if I have to,” Nate says, throwing his hands up in defeat, “But either way I’m bringing him back. Just get the plane as close to the mountain as you can. And be ready for a quick getaway.”
“Like there’s another kind?” Sully sighs.
Once she and Nate reach Avery’s ship, they run into Rafe on the dock.
“Tweety, how could you help them out?” Rafe asks, betrayed.
“Help them out?” she asks, befuddled, “You were trying to kill them!”
“What concern is that of yours?” he scoffs.
“You’re my husband, not a murderer, Rafe!” she exclaims. “Your husband,” he mocked, “is trying to get you rich.” He deflected, completely ignoring the first part of her statement.
“Already rich,” she shoots back.
“What is this about exactly?” he challenged, “That I’m such an evil husband that I’ve been searching endlessly for weeks for a treasure that would set us up for life and restore the glory of our family name?”
“We’re already set, Rafe,” she laughs bitterly, “We have everything, except each other.”
He laughs as he walks over to her. He grabs her face with his hands. She feels the cold metal of the gun against her cheek. He hasn’t let it out of his hand. “That’s where you’re wrong, Tweety,” he leans in close to her ear, “I’ve had you since the day you took the money.”
“I didn’t beg you for your charity, Rafe!” She shoves him away from her.
“Don’t speak to me like that. I forbade it,” he pointed a finger in her face.
“You forbade it?” She laughed, “Rafe, my God, it’s me!” she says, voice cracking, pointing at her chest, “it’s me who loves you, who knows you!”
“You know what I want you to know!” He barks at her. “God, Tweety! I mean, did you really think I’d ever let you near this treasure? We know how bad you are with money after all,” he laughs bitterly, “You know, you’d probably spoil all with your rotten luck.” He spat at her.
She couldn’t fight the sting she felt behind her eyes. All he did was hold that debt over her head, and when he didn’t, he wasted no chance to throw it back in her face.
“And what I wouldn’t do to be rid of it, so hopefully I’d be rid of you,” she said low, before turning and walking away.
She walked angrily back to the beach, knowing the earful she would get on the ride home. She just hoped Nate and Sam could find the treasure fast so that this nightmare could all be over. It felt like ages before she, Sully, and Elena saw the opening of the cave close in on itself, and they saw Sam and Nate swimming to shore. She reached out towards Sam to help pull him in.
“Where’s Rafe?” she asked as soon as they touched land.
“What do you mean?” Sam says coughing up water.
“I mean, where’s Rafe?” She lets out an empty laugh, “Is he behind you?
“Birdie, look at the state of the cave. There’s no way he survived that,” Sam says, pointing back at the rockfall.
“You two made it out!” she exclaimed, “He could’ve jumped out with you two and been right behind you.” She motions, urging them for any information to make sense of his whereabouts. The brothers look at each other, debating how to break the news to her
“No, Birdie,” Sam says, now standing, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“He’s still in there?” she shouts. “We have to go back for him,” she says, running out to shore. Sam grabs her arm to pull her back.
“No birdie, I mean, he’s dead,” Sam says, solemnly.
“How do you know that?” she laughs. “Are you sure?” She looks at him in disbelief.
“We saw him get crushed by tons of treasure,” Sam says low.
She lets out a brief laugh before looking at Nate, who can’t meet her eyes. She sucks in a sharp breath, immediately blocking the idea of Rafe really being gone. She pulls her arm back from Sam’s hold and turns around. With her hands on her hips, she looks up at the sky, tears brimming in her eyes, trying to brace herself for the inevitable, but she knows it’s no use.
She turns around to face them and says, “The last thing I told him was that I wanted to be rid of him.” Her voice was cracked.
“I’m so sorry, Birdie,” Sam says, walking over to her to embrace her.
Tears flow freely down her face, she feels the warmth of Sam’s chest, and realizes it’ll never be Rafe’s chest again. Sam brushes her hair and slowly rocks her. He whispers in her ear, “It’ll be ok, you’re better off without him.”
She pushes him off her, “he was my husband!” Her voice cracks. “He wasn’t the perfect husband, but he was my husband,” she points to her chest, distraught, at the same time realizing how ridiculous she must sound right now.
Sam holds his hands out in front of him in defense, “Whoa, I’m not saying that, but-”
“But nothing, Sam!” she exclaims, looking at him, betrayed.
She got everything she wanted when she had just learned to accept what she had.
Seducing Ser Lyonel Baratheon to completion
cw: implied targcest, age gap, smut (18+)
She lie naked across the grand table in Ser Lyonel Baratheon's tent, wearing nothing but his antlers. The tourney was mindlessly boring as a princess who couldn't compete, but that never meant she couldn't stir up some trouble of her own.
It was just the two of them in his tent now. He sat before her in his chair, staring lustfully at her, admiring the contrast of her bright silver hair against the bronze of his antlers.
He grabbed the dip of her waist as he leaned in close to her and said, "How could the purest of temptations spring from so rotten a tree?"
He peppered her face with kisses, trailing down her neck, until he met his hand at her waist.
"You know it full well, do not feign ignorance," she said, smirking, squirming under his touch. Running her hand through his hair, she sat up to meet her breasts with his face.
He reached up to squeeze them both in one hand. They spilled over his fingers as his other hand that rested on her waist, tightened from the excitement of the sight before him. He bared his teeth and looked up at her before devouring her breasts in his mouth. She threw her head back in pleasure as she grabbed hold of the back of his head, grabbing every last curl on his head that she could.
It was no secret that she would be wed to her brother, Aerion Targayren; however, she could not deny the excitement this clandestine meeting with Ser Lyonel gave her. His hatred for the Targaryens only made it that much better.
"Had you not been born a Targaryen, I would have claimed you for my own long ago," he murmured, pulling her into his lap.
"Pray, how do you speak of loathing me, whilst you claim me in the flesh?" she tempted, moving to straddle him and making a point to rest just above his crotch.
"A simple matter, truly, no more than this," he grunts as he lifts her to lower his pants and enters her in one swift motion.
She gasps out a moan as his laugh fills the tent, feeling a surge of power as he was able to catch her so off guard and have such a strong effect over her. If Maekar could see it now.
"Would that I could favor thee," she whimpered, completely intoxicated by the power he wielded over her. Aerion would have her head if she so much as considered favoring another knight.
"And send Brightflame reeling into a spiral on the tourney grounds? There is naught I would not give to see it," he strains, thrusting harder into her every few words.
He finishes inside her just to spite her and her entire bloodline.
"Ser Lyonel! What in the seven hells have you done?" she said, angry, chest heaving. It was always her dream to breed the purest Brightflame. A feat she knew they could conquer because Aerion was truly a dragon in human form.
"So that you shall always return to me, in body or in soul," he laughed in her face.
"Had I but half a mind, I would drive your own antlers through your chest. But fear not, Aerion casting you from your saddle will suffice," she said with a brunt push to his chest.
He catches her hands and pulls her into him, inches from his face, and chides, "Aerion will cast naught but cruelty across the Seven Kingdoms. And you, poor fool, are the first upon whom he has practiced." He shoves her back before taking his antlers back and dismounting her from his lap.
She felt the sting of tears in her eyes and a pang of disillusionment as she now sat at the foot of his chair. He walked away without a word more and left her to sorrow in the tent.
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Summary: To save her father from crushing debt, Birdie made a deal with the devil. Treasure hunting alongside Rafe Adler promised fast money—but it became a fifteen-year marriage, a lifetime of control, and a debt she can never repay. She convinces herself she chose this life. That she belongs here. That she’s safe. But when Samuel Drake, the man she loved and lost, returns from the dead, Birdie is forced to confront the truth: was she ever Rafe’s to begin with, or has she been waiting for Sam all along to finally set her free?
Author's Note: Thank you for enjoying the little fanfic that could! I'm glad to see some of the comments I've gotten on it, and I hope you enjoy the rest of the series. Also, apologies for the inconsistency with the Ao3 links; the website is up and down. Hopefully it's back up today!
AO3 Link | Masterlist
MADACASGAR
Their time in Scotland was nothing to write home about. Endless explosions, Rafe and Nadine arguing when they weren’t eye-fucking right in front of her, and right when she ran out of cigarettes, the Drakes had destroyed the crypt in the cathedral. Perfect timing. Madagascar wasn’t so easy. This would stay with her longer than Panama.
“I’ll see you soon, Buddy.” Rafe takes off his Bluetooth and drops it in the middle console before barking at her to drive faster.
“I’m driving as fast as I can,” she barks back, “unless you want me to hit innocent pedestrians.”
He groans in annoyance, turning his attention back to his phone and looking over the pictures he hacked from Nate.
“For God and Liberty,” he mutters to himself.
“Where’s this heading?”
“Tweety, if I knew,” he grits through his teeth, “just focus on the road, please.”
For God and Liberty, For God and Liberty, For God and Liberty, she repeats over and over in her head. She swears it sounds familiar; she can hear Sam’s voice almost. Before she can think of the answer, Nadine’s convoy speeds ahead of them. Shots are firing off ahead, but she can’t see their target.
“Wait, what are they doing? I thought you said you knew they were at the tower,” she shouts over the now explosions going off ahead of them.
“I’m doing what needs to be done, Tweety,” he shouts back, “why do the Drakes always have to have everything?”
“Have everything?!” she exclaims, “Rafe, you have more than all of us combined!!”
“They have that team of mutts; I have no one. They have women who love them; I don’t. They don’t get to waltz into every room and make it go their way.”
She slams on the brakes, making the jeep lurch forward before it falls back with a heavy drop. Her knuckles are white from her tense grip on the wheel. Her breathing is ragged, and she can feel the rage coursing through her almost like an electrical buzz. She stared at him in disbelief for a long while. The man she sacrificed her whole life for just said he had no one.
“What?” he scowled.
“You have no one?” she asked bluntly.
“I meant no family. My parents are dead,” he brushed off her question.
“No, you didn’t,” she said, disappointed, “I’m your wife! You think that these fifteen years I’ve spent by your side have all been because of some debt?”
He couldn’t meet her eyes. Hasn’t it? He thought to himself. He’s bought everyone in his life; why would she be any different? She ran her hands down her face, looking forward at the smoke caused by the explosion from Nadine’s goons. Worried that now she might have to mourn Sam twice.
“I meant it when I said I love you, Rafe.”
He looks over at her and takes her face in his hand. He leans over and kisses her.
Patting her hair, he looks in her eyes and says, “I know I wasn’t your first choice.”
This admission shatters her. It’s the only truth she can not deny. Her ears burn, feeling very exposed in front of him now.
“Drive to camp, Tweety,” he lets go of her face, turning back in his seat to face forward. The rest of the drive is silent.
Their camp was a serious operation. An entire village of bungalows set up with clear entry and exit points. Fully equipped with all the ammo and manpower of a small army, well, because a small army occupied it. As they walked into the main tent with all the plans, Rafe asked her to wait outside. Rolling her eyes, she obeyed. She decided to use this time to see what she could get her hands on. She slipped a sat phone and a para 9 into the waistband of her pants.
Rafe would lose his mind if he saw her packing. He thought it was so unbecoming of her that she knew how to shoot. Whatever, he should just be lucky she never shot him. She was leaning against a crate, smoking a cigarette, waiting for this meeting with Nadine to end. It was times like this that she really felt like a fool. Letting Rafe include and exclude her as he saw fit.
“Tweety, what have I told you about smoking? I hate it when you do it around me!” Rafe exclaimed as he stepped out of the tent. Dramatically waving his arms around to rid himself of the smoke. She put the cigarette out against the crate, lifting her hands apologetically, while letting out a billow of smoke. She mouthed a small “sorry” before walking over to him.
“For God and Liberty…it’s talking about Libertalia,” she says.
“The lost city of Libertalia, c’mon Tweety,” Rafe laughs.
“Think about it, Nate’s already found three lost cities, it only makes sense-”
“Believe me, I know how many cities Nathan has found.” Rafe scowls.
“So it makes sense, this would be where they are headed.” She continues.
They are interrupted by Nadine over the walkies, saying she’s located Nate and Sam. They ran as fast as they could, but it was too late when they turned the corner and saw Sam holding Nadine at gunpoint. She knew this would solve nothing, but it did bring her small pleasure to see her compromised like this.
“Whoa! Everybody, just calm down ok?” Nate says, getting in between Rafe and Sam.
“Well, this is interesting,” retorts Rafe, “Nate? Samuel?” he teases, cocking his head to the side when looking at Sam.
“Put your guns down, all of you!” Sam demands.
“No,” Rafe whines.
“Sam, what are you doing?” she asks, mimicking an almost eerie calm to Rafe.
“Rafe, this guy’s on edge,” Nadine urges.
“Oh, don’t worry about him, Nadine. These guys don’t kill anyone in cold blood, it’s just not their style.” Rafe assured her.
“You willing to bet her life on that?” Sam challenged, pulling her closer to him.
“Go ‘head then,” Rafe dares, “shoot her.”
“Sam-” Nate calls out.
“Rafe-,” she calls out at the same time.
“I die, you both die,” Nadine commands.
“So be it,” Sam cocks the gun. “Not another step!” he says, pushing the barrel further into the side of Nadine’s head.
“You mean… like this?” Rafe dares to step forward.
“Rafe, stop it,” she says, now more worried about what Rafe would do than Sam.
“Sam… put the gun down,” Nate urges again.
“I warned you,” Sam calls out.
“Do it!” Rafe demands.
Sam shoots, but Nate knocks the gun out of his hand.
“Rafe!” Nadine shouts, disbelief in her voice at her boss almost getting her killed out of pride.
“It’s done!” Nate say grabbing the gun from Sam.
“Hold your fire! Don’t shoot!” Rafe turns to face his men before turning back to Nate, “Put it down?”
“It’s done. Okay? It’s done,” Nate throws the gun on the ground and kicks it back to Rafe.
“Don’t worry, Nadine. It’s not their style,” Nadine says out of breath, reaching down to pick up her gun.
“What can I say? I didn’t think he hid it in him,” he shrugs. “Samuel. You okay? I guess you knew this moment was coming, huh?” Rafe laughs before pistol-whipping Sam in the face.
“Rafe, enough! What’s wrong with you?” she says, running over to Sam only to be blocked by Rafe.
“Hey! C’mon, man. You got us. Take it easy.” Nate says, wincing, having just seen his brother get knocked out. “C’mon now, you’re a businessman. Let’s just… work out a deal.” Nate says, standing between the two of them.
“Oh, a deal. Oh yeah, I’d love to hear what you have in mind,” Rafe says as he kicks Sam in the face as he’s getting up. Rafe still has her blocked behind him, disgusted by her overt concern for Sam.
“Oh, you can go ahead. I’m listening.” Rafe looks back up at Nate, smug.
“All right, just… all right… Look, you wanna find Avery’s treasure? We’ll help you find it.” Nate says trying his best to keep the peace.
“And in exchange, I let you live?”
“Yeah. That… and a small cut…” Nate barters.
“The gauchos on this guy.” Rafe laughs, turning to see her looking at Sam with deep concern. It takes everything in her not run over to him.
“Just enough to get his freedom, okay?” Nate insists.
“His freedom?” She and Rafe say at the same time. She steps closer to them.
“Nathan—” Sam interrupts.
“Yeah. He did hard time,” Nate continues anyway, “Our time. And the guy who broke him out, Hector Alcazar… he owes him a lot of money.”
“Whoa. What the hell are you talking about, Nate? Hector Alcazar died in a shootout in Argentina, like six months ago,” he scoffs, “I’m the one who got Samuel out.” he points at himself.
“What— ?” She and Nate say at the same time. She’s getting total information overload.
“Ohhhhh. Wow. What did he tell you? Sam, what kind of story did you cook up? Alcazar? Really? You lied? You lied to your baby brother?” Rafe said, looking over to Sam now.
“We’re wasting time,” Nadine whined behind them.
“Just a second,” he sighed, “Thing is, Nate, I never stopped looking for Avery’s treasure. I just kept running into these dead ends,” he laughs, “You know? And then I hear that our dear ol’ Samuel Drake, an authority on Avery, is alive and somewhat well. There was no breakout. I bribed the prison warden, and your brother waltzed right out the front gate. He just spent the last two years tracking down the second St. Dismas Cross. And you know what? He did it all with me.” Rafe relished getting to confess this to Nate. It was as if all the strife and trials of the fifteen years were worth it because he finally had something on Nathan Drake.
“No.” Nate looked at Rafe in utter disbelief.
“Oh yeah.” Rafe smiled.
“No, that’s bullshit,” Nate said, completely dismissing everything Rafe had just said.
“Oh, Sam? Care to refute?” Rafe looked over to Sam.
“Nate…” Sam starts.
“Aw, Sam… Ah, Jesus no, no…” he starts to back away from his brother.
“Listen, Avery’s treasure was ours… It was always ours.” Sam urges Nate to believe him.
“No! I left my life for you!” Nate says in anger, pushing Sam away.
She had no choice but to watch this all unfold. Her heart breaking for Nathan and Sam. All of this for some measly treasure.
“Hey, look, look, Nate, if it’s any consolation, he duped me too. He pulled Houdini on me. He brought you… and that old man back into the mix. And I cannot lie, Sam, that really… pissed me off. But you know… all behind us now.” Rafe said, party through gritted teeth and some deep sighs.
“You don’t deserve it,” Sam said, looking over at Rafe, disgusted.
“You do?” Rafe challenged, “Last I checked, we’re all a bunch of thieves… digging around where we shouldn’t.”
“Rafe?” Nadine called out.
“What?” Rafe turned around, annoyed.
“One way or another, end it. Or I will.” Nadine commanded.
“Well, you heard the lady.” Rafe shrugged, turning back around to face the brothers.
“Hey, you miss one clue, and you can kiss that treasure goodbye. You said it yourself: you keep running into dead ends. Why don’t you face it, Rafe? You need us.” Nate tried one last time to barter for his and his brothers’ lives.
“Rafe, this isn’t worth it,” she pleaded with him.
“Yeah, you know what? You two are right.” Rafe said before changing his mind, “You’re half right. I just need Sam,” he said, pointing his gun at Nate.
“Wait now, you’re making a mistake, you got—” Nate urged, stepping back.
“Rafe, don’t! Rafe, don’t, don’t, listen, I—” Sam stepped in front of Nate, hoping to shield him from any rash action Rafe was going to take.
Rafe shoots at him, but Sam takes the bullet. Nate fall of cliff into the sea.
“Nathan!” she and Sam yell out at the same time. She starts to walk over to the side of the cliff, where Nate fell off, before she feels Rafe grab her arm and pull her back.
“Don’t think this absolves you of anything,” Rafe says to her through gritted teeth. She tries to pull herself away from his grasp, but it’s useless. She looks back at Sam to see him being apprehended by Nadine and her goons. They make eye contact, and it’s as if they speak to each other, realizing the mess they made in Panama finally caught up to them.
As they walk through Libertalia, she and Sam are just exchanging sad looks at each other. Rafe, disgruntled with the hunt, tries his best to keep them separate, but it was useless. She didn’t know who she felt more betrayed by, her husband or her lover.
“Birdie,” Sam muttered.
“Samuel, that’s enough,” Rafe reprimanded him, “I think you’ve caused us enough hurt for one day.” He tried to urge her along, but even if she wanted to talk to him, she didn’t know what she would say.
She had held out so much hope all these years that somehow he would come back to her, and somehow it was a fraud that had returned in his place. He looked so weak to her now, and she didn’t know how to look away. Her heart sank thinking about Nate. All the hurt he’s been through, and now he’s possibly dead.
“I can’t keep taking turns mourning you and your brother, Sam,” she said, low.
He couldn’t meet her gaze. He knew there was no coming back from this. He thought of the only way to get her alone and get back to Nate. He had to lead them into one of Avery’s traps in New Devon.
Once they entered the catacombs, he’d set off one of the skeleton bombs to cause a rock avalanche to fall in on the opening, but not before pulling her into him. As the dust settled, they coughed and waved their hands in front of them in an attempt to clear the air.
“Sam, what did you do!” she exclaimed.
“Birdie, listen to me, I never meant for any of this to happen. I knew if I went to Nathan with the truth, he would never have joined me on this-”
“Two years,” she interrupted him, “you were out for two years, searching for a treasure with my husband, and you never once thought to reach out?” she asked, solemnly.
“I-” it was like his words got stuck in his throat. He let out a deep sigh, trying to find the words that would make this all ok before realizing there were none.
“I’m sorry,” he said, taking her hand in his and holding it up against his chest. “I know nothing I say will even come close to making any of this right, but I need you to know I never meant to hurt you.”
“I find that hard to believe when your brother is suffering most of the consequences of your lie,” she said, pulling her hand back. “You know, I’m really getting tired of guys trying to ‘sorry’ their way into my pants.”
He scoffed.
“What?” she looked at him, befuddled.
“In Italy, you would’ve given anything for me to just waltz you right up to my hotel room.”
“So that makes it OK now?” she challenges.
“No, just makes you hypocritical wanting to take the high road now when you were looking for any excuse before.”
She hits his chest. “You have some nerve, Hotshot.”
“Ow!” he rubs the spot she hit. “Birdie, I only ever did this to get back to you.”
She looks at him longingly. “That was stupid.”
“A stupid dream I dreamt for fifteen years,” he grabbed her face and pulled her close.
She was tired of waiting. She closed the space between them and kissed him harder and more passionately than she’d kissed Rafe in the last decade. It was soft, deep, and passionate. She felt his stubble scratch against her face and let out a small moan. He took advantage of this and slipped his tongue into her mouth to deepen the kiss further. Seconds, minutes, hours passed of them embracing each other, trying to make up for lost time, but there wasn’t enough time in the day and certainly not in this one.
“Sam, we gotta get out of here,” she laughed against his lips.
“Shit, right,” he laughed back, kissing down her neck.
Alex Weiss who gets really flustered when you ask him to explain anything remotely technological. (You asked him how to replace the ink in the printer on board).
Alex Weiss who gets caught staring at you on multiple occasions and comes up with the worst lie to brush off his open-mouth gaze. "You had, uh, something on your face. But, uh, don't worry, you got it."
Alex Weiss who names his program WIPs after you, as motivation to actually work on them.
Alex Weiss who, while filming for Sam, got distracted and captured hours worth of footage of you on the Endurance doing any and everything.
Alex Weiss who got caught filming you on the bow one morning, and instead of being angry, you decided to tease him endlessly. Resulting in the sweetest footage of the two of you laughing (the sight of pure lust in your eyes), and one you would treasure for a long time.
Alex Weiss who doesn't know his feelings are reciprocated by you, because you said you were done dating the guys you worked with.
Alex Weiss who doesn't realize he's boring you half to death by going on and on about the storm tracker he hacked to see the weather conditions on Yamatai.
Alex Weiss who immediately fills with goosebumps when you trace over his neck tattoo and laughs with you at the irony of it.
Alex Weiss who never got to tell you how he felt about you before sacrificing his life for the crew of the Endurance.
