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Summary: Three surgical residents find friendship in the halls of PTMC, and two of them also happen to find love.
When your father died and left your childhood home in Pittsburgh in your name, the last thing you expected was to end up where you are.
The house itself felt too big after the funeral. Too quiet. Every room still carried traces of him and the last few years— coffee mugs left in cabinets exactly where he liked them, old jazz records stacked beside the living room stereo, the dent in the hallway wall from when you crashed your bike into it on Christmas morning at nine years old.
You couldn’t bear the idea of selling it. But you also couldn’t afford to keep it on a surgical resident’s salary.
You took the surgical residency at PTMC and upon looking for roommates to subsidize the cost of the new house as well as your nearly zero dollar income, you stumbled upon Emery Walsh and Brendon Park, your fellow surgical residents.
Em couldn’t afford anything in the city and Brendon had been dying to get out of his parents house.
The arrangement was supposed to be temporary. Just a practical solution between three exhausted residents drowning in student debt and eighty hour work weeks.
But somewhere between overnight trauma rotations, takeout containers piled in the kitchen, and collapsing together on the couch after thirty hour shifts, the three of you became something dangerously close to a family.
You became inseparable in and out of the hospital. You were a dynamic trio, people often feared you all in the OR due to your cut throat attitudes and lack of emotions. You were all shaping out to be the perfect surgeons.
Attendings loved you because you were efficient. Patients trusted you because you were calm. Other residents avoided getting scrubbed into cases with the three of you because it always became a competition no one else could keep up with.
Emery was brilliant and terrifying under pressure. Brendon was meticulous, almost annoyingly precise. And you were cold in the way only someone desperate to prove themselves could be.
The three of you developed reputations fast.
Residents whispered that the PTMC surgical house never slept.
That one of you was always at the hospital.
That if all three of you were scrubbed into a procedure, the patient was guaranteed to survive.
And amongst all of you also started the tumultuous situationship you have been involved in with the one and only Brendon Park for the last four years.
It started off as these things usually do, a release. Both of you were stressed and too tired to find other sexual partners. So, you wound up down the hall in his bed.
The first time had happened after a brutal overnight shift during intern year. You’d lost a patient. Brendon had found you sitting on the back porch at four in the morning still wearing your scrubs, staring blankly into the dark.
He sat beside you silently for almost ten minutes before offering you half of his sandwich and his beer.
You kissed him before he could even finish chewing.
After that, it became routine. It was unspoken and convenient,
Some nights he ended up in your room. Some nights you ended up in his. And by morning, everything reset back to normal.
Except somewhere along the line, lines blurred, as they normally do in these situations.
It happened quietly for you.
Not during sex. Not during one of the stolen kisses in supply closets or the nights he crawled into your bed after thirty hours awake. It wasn’t during the lazy Sunday mornings where Emery would throw pillows at the two of you for monopolizing the couch either.
It happened on a random Thursday in February.
The kind of Pittsburgh morning that was all sleet and gray skies, where the roads looked wet even when they weren’t and everyone in the hospital was already miserable before their shift started
You walked downstairs half asleep, still tying your scrub pants, mentally preparing yourself for the twelve hour pediatric reconstruction case waiting for you.
And Brendon was already in the kitchen. Because of course he was.
His hair was damp from a shower and he had his glasses low on his nose while he looked over scans on his iPad. The coffee was brewing and the smell was overwhelming in the best way.
Then you saw it. Your to go mug sat next to the pot, the creamer already filled to the exact level you like it.
He didn’t even look up when he heard your footsteps.
“You slept late,” he said casually, filling the mug, and sliding it across the counter toward your usual seat with the lid securely on.
You frowned. “It’s six fifteen.”
“Exactly,” he said, finally placing the iPad down.
You rolled your eyes, wrapping both hands around the warm mug. He reached over absently and fixed the collar of your jacket where it had folded under itself.
The gesture was automatic but it was intimate in the smallest, stupidest way.
And that was the problem.
Because Brendon touched you constantly now. Not sexually. Just naturally, like it was easy.
A hand at the small of your back while passing behind you. Fingers brushing your wrist when handing you instruments. Pulling your hood over your head when it rained because you always forgot an umbrella.
Like loving you had become muscle memory for him… and the realization hit so hard it almost made you nauseous.
You were in love with him.
Not in the fun, messy situationship way where feelings stayed manageable because neither of you acknowledged them. No no no. You loved him in the terrifying way.
The forever way, the way you and Em fawn over in rom coms while Brendon complains about watching When Harry Met Sally again even though he likes it. The kind where you noticed he always ate around the pickles in his sandwiches and gave them to Emery. The kind where you could identify his footsteps in the hallway without looking up. The kind where seeing him exhausted after call physically hurt something inside your chest and made you want to fix it.
You stared at him over the rim of your coffee cup while he annotated scans like none of this was life altering.
And the worst part?
You suddenly realized he had probably been loving you for a long time too, but that couldn’t be true, could it?
Brendon finally glanced up, brows pinching slightly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Your stomach flipped violently. And not because he totally caught you, but because you almost said it.I love you.
The words sat right there behind your teeth, dangerous and irreversible, yet somehow easy to say.
Instead, you took a sip of coffee and shrugged lightly.
“Just tired,” you shook your head.
His expression softened instantly.
“Mm.” He stood, grabbing his bag before leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of your head like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Try not to commit homicide before noon today, okay?”
You snorted quietly, “no promises.”
He smirked and disappeared toward the stairs to finish getting ready for the day.
And you sat there alone in the kitchen afterward, staring at the spot where he’d been standing.
Somehow, without either of you noticing, this had stopped being casual a long time ago.
Ever since that moment, you noticed it all.
It became Brendon automatically making your coffee before your early cases because he memorized how you liked it.
It became you falling asleep with your head on his shoulder during movie nights with Emery.
It became his hand brushing against the small of your back in crowded elevators.
It became rushed kisses in storage rooms and seeking each other out to talk.
It became every person in the hospital assuming something was going on between you long before either of you admitted it to yourselves.
Still, neither of you said anything.
Because saying something would ruin it.
And losing him felt significantly worse than pretending none of this meant anything at all.
It was coming time to pick specialties, and with that it was coming time to pick hospitals.
Offers started appearing one by one.
Emery had already committed to trauma.
Brendon had always been dreaming of ortho.
And you had changed from general to pediatrics, which everyone expected (so they said).
The other two musketeers picked PTMC, but you were the girl who swore she’d never stay in Pittsburgh permanently and you had New York calling your name again.
NYU Langone.
Prestigious. Competitive. Everything you’d dreamed about before life rerouted you back to Pennsylvania.
When you went to medical school in New York you swore you would stay, but your dad got sick and life changed. So you ended up in Pittsburgh for the last eight years.
And every time you looked at the acceptance email sitting in your inbox, your stomach twisted.
Because for the first time in your life, ambition and love were no longer pointing in the same direction.
“Have you told him yet?” Emery said, leaning against the counter besides you.
You scoffed, “why would I do that?”
The two of you were in the kitchen after another late shift. Emery sat cross legged on the counter eating dry cereal straight from the box while you pretended to focus on anything but the acceptance letter open on your laptop.
Emery laughed, “you can’t be serious?”
You raised your brows in response.
“He’s in love with you? Does that ring a bell? God you two are so stupid,” she shook her head.
“Em. Please. We are not in love,” you said matter of factly.
This made her laugh again, harder, “all I’m saying is, he’s going to be upset. And he should hear it from you.”
You nearly flinched at her words, because you knew she was right.
You hated how easily Emery saw through you.
Maybe because she had spent four years watching the two of you orbit each other like idiots.
“Seriously,” she added softer this time, “you guys act like you’re casual but you look at each other like divorced parents trying not to reconcile.”
You rolled your eyes but your face burned anyway, “he’ll survive.”
Emery gave you a look that practically screamed liar. “You know what I think?” she said, hopping off the counter. “I think you’re terrified that if he actually asked you to stay… you would.”
There was a pause, she studied your face, “I’m not going to tell you what to do. But tell home before you leave, Kay?”
You nodded. She squeezed your shoulder as she walked passed you to go to bed.
So, you sat at your favorite bar that three of you typically drank too much at and got carried home from. But this time it was for a different reason.
“You really want to go back to New York?” Brendon asked.
The question came quietly.
You and Brendon sat shoulder to shoulder at the small bar tucked a few blocks from the hospital, the same place you always ended up after difficult weeks. The air smelled like whiskey and fried food and rain soaked jackets.
You shrugged, “other than the house, I don’t really have a lot here.”
That wasn’t entirely true. You had Emery. You had the hospital. And you hated to admit it but you had him.
But admitting that out loud felt dangerous.
“That’s not true, I don’t think you’d be happy if you went back there,” he said.
“Oh, cause you know me so well?” You were testing him, and he knew that.
He let out a breathy chuckle, “cmon don’t make me say it.”
Your chest tightened instantly.
Because suddenly this wasn’t flirting anymore.
You looked down at the drink in your hands, twirling it slowly.
“Give me a reason to stay,” you said it calmly. You turned your head so that you could face him from the barstool you were sitting next to him on.
Your eyes met his but you were met with complete and utter silence. And not the comfortable kind, the kind that swallowed you whole.
His jaw was slightly slack, like there were words right there that he was fighting to keep in.
You could practically see the war happening inside his head. The years of pretending this wasn’t real catching up to both of you at the exact same time.
You sighed and knocked back the rest of your drink.
“Goodnight Brendon,” you grabbed your bag and stood up, “I have a flight to catch in the morning.”
Before he could respond, you turned and left without even sparing him a glance.
You heard him say your name once behind you. But he didn’t follow and you didn’t look back.
Sleep didn’t find you, and when you finally crawled out of bed, you just barely made your flight.
You sobbed the entire one hour and twenty minutes from Pittsburgh to JFK.
The woman sitting beside you kindly pretended not to notice, which you were very thankful for.
You spent most of the flight staring out the tiny airplane window wondering why it felt less like chasing your dream and more like losing something.
By the time plan landed, you locked in.
You changed in the bathroom into your best suit, fixed your hair and makeup.
You pulled out your phone, the anxiety was starting to crawl up your throat. Your finger hovered over Brendon’s contact, before deciding to call Em.
“Hey, you okay?” She answered worriedly.
“Yeah, I— I made it.” You tried to hide the shake in your voice but you knew she could clock it.
You could hear her sigh, “he told me about last night.”
You sniffed, taking a deep, shaky breath.
“Babe. You’re going to go in there and crush this. We’ll be just fine,” she said firmly.
You nodded even though she couldn’t see you, “okay.”
“I love you, okay?” She said softly, “I have to go okay? But call me after.”
“Yeah, okay, I love you too.”
You hung up and stuffed your phone away. You took another glance in the dirty mirror, wiping your eyes.
Time to make this interview your bitch.
To say you crushed it would be an understatement. You stepped out onto first avenue, right outside the NYU building, the chief of surgery shook your hand and you thanked them for your time.
You’d been sharp. Confident. Charming— when necessary. Exactly the new pediatric surgeon they wanted.
After they walked back into the building you couldn’t hide the grin on your face any longer. You pulled your phone out of your bag and realized you were about to call him. Him who you left on the barstool last night. Your grin immediately faded at the thought. You stepped past the people on the sidewalk, reaching the curb to call a cab.
Because no matter how well the interview went, your first instinct had still been Brendon.
Just like when you got off the plane and couldn’t calm down, your first thought is that he would know exactly what to say.
You decided you were going to at least try to enjoy the rest of your New York evening by meeting some med school friends for a drink.
Just as you lifted your arm to hail a car, one stopped short right next to you, so short it made you jump.
But then the back door slammed open, the rider was mumbling thank you’s and throwing cash at the driver before he slammed the door shut and turned around.
Brendon fucking Park.
Your jaw went slack with shock. You were suddenly frozen in place. His eyes found you and he hurriedly made his way towards you.
His dress shirt was wrinkled like he’d slept in it. There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair looked windblown from sprinting through Manhattan.
He pushed his messy, ungelled hair back with his free hand, the other gripped a bouquet so tightly his knuckles were white. You loved his hair like this, the way it looked when he would roll over and plant a kiss on your lips in the morning.
“How’d it go?” He asked breathlessly.
“Really well,” you said simply.
“Yeah?” He asked.
You nodded in response.
For a second he just stared at you like he was reassuring himself you were actually standing there. Like he’d been terrified he missed you.
“Don’t do it.” He said firmly.
Your eyebrows shot up, but he spoke before you could respond.
“Take the job at PTMC. Not this one. Take the attending position at PTMC and be with me.”
“Brendon—”
“No, I mean it. Take the pedes position at PTMC. I know it’s not New York. Hut Em is there. Our house is there. Your favorite sandwich shop is there. Fuck it. I’m there. And I love you. I’ve been in love with you for longer than I even realized. And last night I choked. I thought I was holding you back, I convinced myself that you were better off without me, but I can’t live without you,” his eyes were glossed over and his chest was rising and falling.
You looked at him dumbfounded.
People moved around you on the sidewalk, cabs honked, someone shouted down the street, but all of it faded into background noise.
Because Brendon Park — emotionally constipated, terrifyingly composed Brendon Park — was unraveling in front of you. Publicly and without hesitation.
“Do you want me to get on my knees? Because I will, right here. I don’t care what it looks like,” he slowly kneeled down, placing the flowers next to him, causing you to look around at the small crowd trying to act like they weren’t staring, “we are meant to be together. And if you don’t realize that, I will try to prove it to you everyday.”
A woman walking by audibly whispered “oh my god” to her friend. A cab driver leaned out his window to watch. You wanted to die and kiss him simultaneously.
He took both his hands in yours, now kneeling in front of you on the New York sidewalk.
“Okay,” you said quietly.
“Okay?” He parrotted hopefully.
You nodded, “now please get up before I change my mind.”
Relief crashed over his face so intensely it almost looked painful.
He smiled, pulling himself off the ground, and before he could do anything else, he pulled you in by your waist and kissed you. It was far from soft, it was passionate and you melted into his arms without even trying to.
The people gawking from the sidewalk cheered and you felt like you were having a 90s rom com moment.
For the first time in years, neither of you were holding back. When he pulled away, you were both breathless.
You let out a breathy laugh.
“I love you,” he said with a smile.
“I love you too,” you brought your hands up to hold his face.
Brendon leaned into your touch instantly, his eyes fluttering shut for half a second like he still couldn’t believe this was real. Then he kissed you again.
His hands settled carefully at your waist while yours slid into his hair, soft against the back of his neck. The city noise faded into nothing as he kissed you like he had spent four years waiting to do it properly.
Not rushed between shifts.
Not hidden behind closed bedroom doors.
Not pretending it meant less than it did.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours and he let out the smallest laugh.
You smiled despite yourself. “This is very bold of you Dr. Park.”
“Oh, I was fully prepared to publicly humiliate myself for you,” he said with a laugh.
He grinned, the kind that only ever appeared around you.
And somehow, against every plan you had ever made for yourself, Pittsburgh became home again.
Not because of the house your father left behind. Not because of PTMC. Not even because of the city itself.
Because somewhere between overnight surgeries, grief, takeout dinners, and four years of almosts, you had built a life there with Emery and Brendon.
The kind of life people spend their whole lives looking for.
Later, Emery would loudly claim she deserved credit for “bullying two emotionally repressed surgeons into communicating,” while you and Brendon argued over who had technically confessed first. Brendon would insist it was him. You would insist it only counted because you said okay.
And for the first time in a very long time, the future didn’t feel terrifying.
The PTMC house would still never sleep.
One of you will still always be at the hospital.
And if all three of you were scrubbed into a surgery, the patient was still guaranteed to survive.
But now, when Brendon crawled into your bed after impossible shifts or kissed you in empty elevators or made your coffee before sunrise, neither of you pretended it meant less than everything.
Yes anon!!! Coming soon, I have a Brendon park x reader as residents and Johnny Storm x reader also coming soon! (Sorry my editing has been so slow - life has been really crazy lately)
Thinking of just doing something about Sid and Reader next, with less Pitt crew involvement, like their first time meeting or something! Idk, let me know what you think!
Now that your coworkers had seen your relationship twice in person, they wanted to know more. After seeing the typically stoic captain go soft for you, they constantly asked you questions.
To say it was annoying would be an understatement.
Because now everybody treated your relationship like community property. And you know this is a champagne problem, but you and Sidney valued your privacy deeply. And your coworkers were making it very hard to hold up to your usual standard.
“You never actually told us if he cooks,” Dana said, spinning in her desk chair.
“I answered that one already,” you hadn’t even looked up from the notes you were taking, and your tone was portraying your disinterest in the conversation.
“No, you said he ‘tries.’ That’s not the same thing,” she said, tapping her chin curiously.
Whitaker looked up from his charting across the nursing station, “does he still do the hockey-player thing where he eats that chicken dish before every game?”
You continued writing, choosing to ignore them.
“Answer the question,” Dana said beside you.
Before you could respond, Robby walked into the nurses’ station holding his phone, saved by the bell… or so you thought.
“Your boyfriend’s ruining my department,” he said dramatically, placing his palm on the counter besides you and leaning.
You frowned, “what could he have possibly done?”
Robby tossed his phone on the counter so that it was facing you. Six tickets.
Six seats in your usual row and section. For tonight’s Penguins game.
The entire station exploded with excitement.
“NO WAY.”
“Are those real?”
“Oh my god.”
Dana grabbed the phone dramatically. “I take back every bad thing I’ve ever said about Sidney Crosby.”
“You’ve literally never said a bad thing about him,” Javadi pointed out.
“Because they’re usually said in the comfort of my home after a bad game,” she answered obviously, looking between you and Javadi.
You groaned as everybody immediately started arguing over carpooling.
You pulled out your phone.
You: tickets… really?
His text bubble popped up almost immediately.
Sid: should you be texting at work dr? And just had to thank them for taking care of you after you passed out.
You rolled your eyes.
You: should you be texting from the rink, captain? And you didn’t have to do that… but they’re excited to say the least.
Sid: :) love you. See you tonight dr❤️
You smiled, trying to hide it, before sliding your phone back into your scrub pocket.
“He didn’t have to do that,” you muttered quietly, trying and failing to continue hiding your smile.
Robby noticed instantly. “There it is,” he said, pointing. “That stupid little smile she gets.”
“You people are exhausting,” you rolled your eyes, for what felt like the millionth time in this shift alone.
“And yet we’re all going to the game,” he said with a smirk.
“Who exactly,” Dana started, “is getting one of these six tickets?”
Robby huffed a laugh, “me, you, Langdon, because he would murder me if he didn’t,” he looked around the room of hopeful nurses and residents, “Javadi, because why not,” she “yesed” dramatically in celebration, “Whitaker and Santos.”
Some disappointed grumbles were heard amongst the nurses and other doctors.
“This is the best day of my life,” Langdon whispered to himself, walking to his next patient.
You had taken yourself to the game, needing some peace prior to spending the evening with the same people you spent your entire day with.
You also needed time to perform your pregame ritual and change into your lucky jacket that Side demanded you wear. Put your hair in a bun because that’s what was currently working, and making sure the gold s was hung perfectly around your neck.
You took a deep breath as you sat in the friends and family parking lot, before willing the courage to meet your coworkers inside.
You could not let their presence mess up the routine, because if they lost, you knew Sidney would never let them come to another game.
By the time everybody reached the arena, the Pitt crew had somehow become more chaotic than the actual hockey fans.
Frank looked one step away from cardiac arrest.
“I have never sat this close before,” he whispered, staring down at the glass seats, “I can practically smell the ice.”
Dana rolled her eyes at him, “You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“I don’t care, and that’s brave coming from someone wearing a sweatshirt that’s older than me,” Frank quipped back, glancing down at her faded and ripped Penguins hoodie.
She scoffed, “I had this on when they won the cup and real hockey fan knows you can’t wash the luck out.”
“Did you just admit that you haven’t washed that in ten years?” Frank said with a look of disgust.
Dana murmured “amateur” under her breath before bringing her attention back to warm ups.
Whitaker was already taking pictures of the rink, “this is my first hockey game and this is insane.”
Warmups had just started when Dana looked around suddenly. “Wait. Where’s Mrs. Crosby?”
You were gone.
Frank frowned. “Bathroom maybe?”
“No chance,” Javadi said immediately, “she was right here and then she disappeared suspiciously.”
Robby sighed, “you guys are worse than middle schoolers.”
Then Frank abruptly grabbed Robby’s arm hard enough to nearly dislocate it.
“Oh my God,” Frank said slowly.
“What?” Robby asked, prying Frank’s fingers from his forearm.
“LOOK,” Frank pointed down towards the ice.
Everyone turned toward the glass.
You were standing down near the boards by yourself in what looked like one of Sidney’s old jackets.
And directly in front of you, still in warmup gear, Sidney skated over to the glass.
“Oh my GOD,” Dana laughed, “this is so effin cheesey.”
“He came right over to her,” Javadi cooed.
“Look at his face,” Whitaker said with a smile.
The commotion actually made Santos glance up from her phone and fake a gag at the sight.
“Why did you even come?” Her roommate asked her.
She shrugged looking down at her phone again, “Robby said he would buy us drink.”
Dennis shook his head at her.
Frank looked deeply emotional already, “this is beautiful. My very own coresident, dating the man of my dreams.”
Robby turned his head, slightly confused and not even sure if Frank knew what he just said out loud.
Sidney tapped the glass twice with his glove and you smiled immediately.
Not your polite work smile that you gave to patients to make them feel better. You’re actual smile.
The one the ER only saw occasionally, when he called you, or when you were all out to drinks and you let a little loose.
Then Sidney pulled a puck from his pocket.
Dana gasped dramatically, “NO.”
“He’s giving her the puck?” Frank asked.
Sidney mouthed something through the glass they couldn’t quite hear from afar.
You laughed and shook your head.
Then he tossed the puck over carefully.
You caught it easily.
The entire section around them started cheering immediately, all the surrounding fans whistling and hollering.
Frank clutched his chest, “I can’t handle this.”
Whitaker narrowed his eyes suspiciously, “wait. That looked practiced.”
“Oh it absolutely was,” Dana agreed.
Sidney lingered for another second at the glass, eyes fixed on you with that same unbearably soft expression he always had.
Then one of his teammates skated by and shoulder-checked him hard enough to make him stumble.
You could actually hear the teammate yelling from the seats—
“QUIT FLIRTING!”
The row erupted in laughter, and your cheeks burned bright red.
Sidney flipped him off without even turning around. He gave a shy wave and you blew him a kiss as he skated off.
By the end of the second period, everybody had decided bullying you was more entertaining than watching the game.
Dana pointed accusingly with her french fry, “so. The puck thing.”
“What about it?” You asked nonchalantly, shifting in your seat nervously because of the close score.
Whitaker nodded, “it was very rom-com coded.”
You rolled your eyes, “it’s not romantic.”
“HE LITERALLY GAVE YOU A GAME PUCK,” Frank shouted across everyone from where he was seated.
You rolled your eyes and sighed. “There’s a superstition.”
Frank leaned forward immediately. “A hockey superstition?”
You sighed, already regretting opening your mouth.
“Sid says if he sees me before warmups and gives me a puck, he plays better,” you shrugged, trying to act like it wasn’t your favorite thing he had ever said to you.
“He’s obsessed with you,” Santos said casually, with an eye roll.
“You’re his emotional support doctor,” Javadi said sweetly, “this would be a really good hockey novel. There’s a whole genre for that now.”
You hid your face in your hands while everyone laughed.
Robby looked entirely too entertained. “How long has this been going on?”
“A while,” you said, looking at your popcorn.
“A WHILE?” Dana screeched. “How many pucks do you have?”
“…I don’t know,” you looked up, as if thinking about it, “I guess probably 72.”
Frank looked horrified, “that’s not a guessing number. That’s an ‘I’m counting’ number.”
You muttered into your hands, “please let the ice swallow me whole.”
Javadi was crying laughing now, “this man has hockey rituals about you.”
“He’s Canadian,” you defended weakly. “They’re weird about hockey.”
“You are dating the captain of the Pittsburgh Penguins and he performs girlfriend-based sports rituals,” Dana said dramatically, “honestly, whatever works.”
Your phone buzzed against the table.
Sidney: stop letting them make fun of me…
You immediately looked down toward the ice.
Sidney was staring up at you from the bench already, where he had just returned from the locker room. The smile he wore immediately gave him away.
Dana noticed instantly, “oh my god he texted her.”
Frank looked ready to ascend into another plane of existence, “he can’t text during games.” He said offended, as if he were the coach himself.
You shrugged, holding up your phone, “he can text me.”
Although they made fun of you for what felt like the longest hockey game of your life, you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy having them there.
Three days later, you thought you were going to dinner with Sidney.
That was it. It was your birthday, and you didn’t want anything over the top. You just wanted to spend time with him. Since he was in Pittsburgh and had two days of no games, it felt like the perfect chance to actually celebrate your birthday.
Being born during hockey season and dating a professional hockey player usually made it impossible to do something. But, for the first time since dating, you got lucky.
So, he had agreed to just dinner. And you thought that was it, at least until he drove past the restaurant entirely.
You frowned, “Sid.”
“Hm?” He said, eyes still focused on the road.
One hand casually on the wheel, the other mindlessly drawing shapes on your thighs right where your skirt falls.
“Is that not where we were going?” You asked confused.
“Change of plans.” He said firmly, leaving no room for discussion.
You narrowed your eyes immediately.
Then he pulled into the driveway of his own house and you knew something was wrong because there were way too many cars there.
“…Sidney,” you said questioningly.
He looked painfully pleased with himself, smiling before turning to face you. “Happy birthday, baby.”
He hopped out of the car, jogging over to your side and opening your door before you could. You took his hand and let him guide you up the path to the front door.
The front door opened before you could react.
“SURPRISE!”
You jumped so hard you almost dropped your purse.
The entire living room erupted into cheers. It was filled with your friends, family, coworkers, and over half the Penguins roster.
You stared in shock while Sidney laughed beside you.
“You planned a surprise party?” You asked, looking over at him, “for me?”
He shrugged, “you said you never had one before.”
Emotion climbed into your throat so fast it caught you off guard, “oh,” you said softly, “yeah… that’s true. I didn’t think you caught that.”
He pulled you against his side while everyone continued cheering.
You made your rounds while tucked into Sidney’s side, hugging your friends and family.
One of his teammates appeared with a glass of champagne for you and a beer for him, making you smile.
Frank appeared suddenly looking seconds from fainting.
“You did not tell me your boyfriend’s house looked like this,” he whispered, as Sidney talked to one of his teammates.
“It’s just a house,” you said, bringing your champagne to your lips trying to act like Frank wasn’t being weird.
Frank pointed wildly across the room. “Evgeni Malkin is standing by the chips.”
You started laughing, “go get’em tiger.”
Frank grabbed your shoulders dramatically. “DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS TO ME?”
He stomped away to go make small talk and try his best to act normal.
Across the room, several Penguins players were already openly amused by the Pitt crew, Dana and Robby were animatedly explaining their best ER stories.
Sidney disappeared briefly to grab refills, kissing your cheek as he moved and the second he walked away, Dana appeared and leaned toward you immediately.
“He’s in love with you,” she said while wiggling her eyebrows.
You snorted, “you say that every day.”
She simply shrugged before making her way back to her group.
Then Sidney returned, sliding an arm easily around your waist while handing you a drink.
“You okay?” he asked quietly, “I know you’re not big on the party thing. But everyone wanted to celebrate you. And you deserved it.”
The softness in his voice immediately made you smile. “Yeah,” you admitted softly, “you really surprised me. I had no idea ”
A tiny smile tugged at Sidney’s mouth, “good surprise?”
You looked around the room.
At your coworkers laughing with his teammates. At Frank still visibly malfunctioning. At the decorations Sidney had clearly spent way too much time setting up.
Then back at him.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Really good surprise.”
His hand squeezed gently at your waist. He leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips. For a moment, all the noise faded into nothing and it was just you two standing in his living room.
And then from across the room Frank suddenly yelled— “SIDNEY! GENO SAID YOU CAN SIGN MY JERSEY!”
He pulled away from the kiss, you whipped your head around and glared at Frank.
The entire house burst out laughing.
Sidney sighed dramatically. “Frank.”
“You said we were friends now!” Frank said, throwing his hands up defensively. You groaned, leaning your head on Sidney’s shoulder.
And although it was chaotic, and somehow Whitaker and Santos had taken control of the aux, everyone you loved was there, and you had never felt more thankful.
would you continue the sidney crosby x pitt!reader where they all go to a hockey game but she’s not w them, she’s down near the glass watching him and they’re all like “omg they’re so in love”
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Summary: You catch Jack behind the curtain with a resident after having the worst morning of your life, but he knows exactly what to say to make you feel better.
Sidney Crosby x the Pitt Reader coming tomorrow! Sorry guys, when I went to bed this fic was winning so I finished editing it first❤️ I hope you can forgive me XOXOX
This is the last place you wanted to be right now.
It was the fourth of July and while you were trying to wrangle your children into their outfits for their friends house, your son fell. It was more of a crash than a fall, missing almost every step on your back deck and hitting the patio. The scream he let out alone nearly gave you a heart attack.
So, that’s how you ended up at the Pitt.
Your husband was moonlighting the SWAT team, given why he hasn’t answered any of your phone calls.
Once you had kids you made him compromise to only help once a year. You knew he couldn’t give it up completely, Jack was addicted to helping others. But you couldn’t handle the stress of him being out in the field. So, one day a year was agreed upon. And, unfortunately that one day had to be when you were rushing your kids to the ER.
That’s why he wasn’t answering any of your calls. Luckily, Robby did, and you were able to surpass the people in the waiting room, being placed in a trauma room for some sort of peace with your seven year old son and five year old daughter. She sat pressed up against your chest, still hiccuping from the sobs she had just barely calmed down from.
She was terrified by the entire ordeal, seeing her brother in pain like that had her crying the whole way to the hospital. You were trying your best to comfort the both of them, but in reality you were barely holding it together yourself.
You knew how lucky you were to be a stay at home mom, to have the privilege provided by your husband’s career to stay home and care for them. But, some days felt impossible. Especially since it’s summer and the hottest one Pittsburgh has seen in years. As the kids got older, it was harder and harder to keep them entertained.
All you had to do was get them out the door and to their friends house, where you could have a glass of wine and gossip while they splashed around. But you couldn’t even do that. So now, here you were spending the day in the emergency department.
You held your daughter against you, rocking her back and forth, your other hand firmly in your sons, who was holding onto you for dear life.
“Mommy, where’s daddy?” Your daughter asked, muffled into our shirt.
You sighed, kissing the top of her head, “he’ll be here soon baby.” Which wasn’t a total lie, he had a shift tonight, so he had to be here at some point.
A knock sounded at the door before Robby pushed it open, "How's the super star doing?" he asked, looking at your son.
“It hurts Uncle Robby,” he said it so softly it broke your heart.
“Mommy says he’s brave though!” Your daughter butted in, attempting to make her brother feel better.
Robby nodded in agreement, checking the IV on the other side of your son’s bed, “well, we are a little backed up today so we’re still waiting on XRay.”
You pursed your lips, giving him an understanding nod.
“But, I am going to sit here with my favorite god children while mommy takes a little walk,” he said, making your son smile and your daughter perk up. She hopped off your laugh and ran over to him. He scooped her up happily.
He nodded towards the door, where he met you half way.
“Trauma 2,” he whispered.
You furrowed your brows, but decided to just listen to him, you had nothing else to lose and you were truly too exhausted to argue with him. You stepped out, closing the door behind you, taking your first deep breath of what felt like all day.
You walked around the nursing station for a moment, a bit overwhelmed by the chaos around you. You were reading the signs on each door, Robby gave you no directions and seemed to forget that you were in fact not an employee of the hospital.
You finally found your way, noticing the door was open, you let yourself in, but when you pulled the curtain back you gasped.
A very shirtless Jack whipped his head up at you, and you scoffed once your eyes landed on the resident touching his bare back.
“Oh so this is why you can’t answer your phone?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.
“What’re you doing here?” He asked, tone laced with confusion.
“I think I could ask you the same thing,” you snapped back.
“I got grazed in the field,” he said quietly. The pretty, young, probably very smart, resident froze behind him.
“YOU WERE SHOT?” You exclaimed.
He shook his head, “grazed.”
Samira excused herself, disposing of her gloves and passing you to leave the room.
“Unbelievable,” you said under your breath before leaving your shirtless husband in the trauma room by himself. You could feel everything from the day coming to a head. You felt like an awful mother, you hadn’t eaten, it was ninety seven degrees outside, and now your husband was shirtless with a resident behind a curtain? Is this why he wanted to do SWAT so bad? Why he worked so much? Was it all a ploy? You pushed the thoughts aside and tried to focus on your son.
Jack stared after you for half a second, completely blindsided. Then his brain caught up. What were you doing in the ER?
He shoved past the curtain immediately, pulling a shirt over his head while ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he jogged down the hallway. By the time he rounded the nurses station, you were already disappearing back into the room Robby had tucked you into.
Jack pushed through the door fast enough that your daughter jumped.
“Daddy!” She launched off the bed toward him and he caught her automatically, one arm around her while his eyes immediately locked onto your son.
The panic in him shifted so fast it nearly made him dizzy.
“What happened?” he asked, crossing the room in two strides.
Your son’s face was blotchy from crying, arm wrapped carefully against his stomach while the IV sat taped to his hand. The second he saw Jack, his lip started wobbling again.
“Hey, hey, buddy…” Jack’s entire voice softened as he crouched beside the bed. “What hurts?”
“My arm,” he whispered.
Jack carefully pushed his auburn hair back from his forehead, his cheeks red and somehow emphasizing the freckles that matched his. He checked him over with practiced eyes despite the adrenaline still pounding in his veins. He looked at the splint, then the monitor, then finally at you.
You wouldn’t look at him. That almost made his stomach drop harder than seeing his son in a trauma bed.
“What happened?” he asked again, gentler this time.
“He fell off the deck,” you answered flatly, still looking at your son and not him. “Robby said they’re waiting on XRay.”
Jack inhaled sharply through his nose. He looked back at his son immediately, keeping his expression calm despite the horror creeping up his spine. “You scared mommy pretty bad, huh?”
His son nodded miserably.
Your daughter was still clinging to Jack’s neck, sniffling quietly into his shoulder. Jack kissed the side of her head automatically before standing again, “you okay, peanut?”
“I cried,” she admitted sadly, “I was worried about JJ,” her tiny voice wobbled.
“I can tell you were brave though,” he said reassuringly.
That finally got the tiniest smile out of her. Jack looked at you again but you still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Can you stay with them for one second?” he asked quietly.
You shrugged, “been with them all day.”
Jack sighed and carefully handed your daughter back to you before stepping out of the room.
The second the door shut behind him, Robby looked up from the nurses station knowingly.
“Well,” Robby said, “you look like you’re about to throw up.”
Jack scrubbed both hands down his face, “she thinks—” he started before stopping himself with a groan. “Jesus Christ.”
Robby leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. Probably don’t love that she walked in on you half naked with Samira.”
“It wasn’t— how did you even know that?” He asked
“Oh, word spreads fast at the nurses station. And I know what it wasn’t,” Robby interrupted. “Does she?”
Jack’s jaw tightened, “no.”
Robby sighed. “She’s had the kids alone all day, Jack. Your son gets hurt, she can’t reach you, she ends up here exhausted out of her mind, and then she sees that.”
Jack leaned his palms against the counter, guilt washing over him in waves now that the initial panic about his son was easing.
“What even happened?” Robby asked.
“Samira was helping me clean up because I couldn’t reach the wound,” he said in a low voice,gesturing to his shoulder.
Robby nodded once, “then go tell your wife that.”
Jack looked back toward the room.
“She looked embarrassed,” he admitted quietly. “Not angry. Which is arguably worse.”
That made Robby soften a little. Jack exhaled hard.
Samira was young. Pretty. Brilliant. Confident. The kind of woman who was never overwhelmed by the thought of what to make for lunch or covered in popsicle stains and sunscreen. Meanwhile you’d spent the day carrying two terrified children through an ER after your plans blew apart.
Jack suddenly felt sick thinking about the look on your face.
“You’re supposed to start in a few hours, right?” Robby asked.
Jack nodded distractedly.
“Go home.”
Jack blinked. “What?”
“I’ll cover your first few hours. And Santos owes me a favor anyway.” Robby pointed toward the room. “Your wife needs her husband more than the hospital needs another attending tonight.”
Jack stared at him for a second before nodding slowly, “thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Robby muttered. “You still gotta fix it.”
By the time Jack walked back into the room, XRay had already come and gone.
Your son had finally calmed down enough to watch cartoons on the small TV while your daughter had curled up asleep against your chest.
You looked exhausted.
Jack’s chest physically ached at the sight of you.
“Hey,” he said softly.
You gave a small nod but kept your attention on your daughter. Jack sat carefully beside your son first, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
“They said they think it’s just a fracture, buddy. You got lucky,” Jack said pushing his hair off his forehead.
“Can I still swim tomorrow?” He asked with bright eyes.
Jack smiled a little despite himself. “Probably not tomorrow.”
His son sighed dramatically and Jack looked over at you again, “I took the night off.”
That finally got your attention, “you did?” You tried not to let the hopefulness you felt seep into your tone.
Before he could answer, the door pushed open revealing Whitaker.
“I’ve been sent to relieve you both for a minute,” he turned to your son, “is it okay if I hang with you for a minute bud?”
JJ nodded shyly and you passed your daughter to Whitaker, he took a seat and you mumbled a thanks to him, knowing Robby assigned him this duty.
You followed Jack out into the hallway and into a small on call room right around the corner. He pulled the door shut before turning and looking at you.
“I should’ve answered my phone.”
You looked down immediately, “you were working.”
“I still should’ve answered.”
Silence settled between you. Jack moved closer carefully, and sat on the small cot, patting the spot next to him. You sat down and exhaled, rolling your shoulders back.
“You wanna tell me what that was out there?”
You swallowed hard.
“It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing.”
You laughed once under your breath, tired and humorless.
“I just felt stupid.”
Jack frowned immediately.
“Why would you feel stupid?”
Your eyes finally lifted to his.
“Because she’s beautiful,” you admitted quietly. “And young. And smart. And you were standing there shirtless with her behind a curtain while I look…” you gestured vaguely toward yourself, “…like this. I wasn’t paying attention and he fell and now he’s hurt. I should’ve been watching him, and—“ your voice broke as you spoke so you stopped, taking a shaky breath.
Jack looked genuinely confused for a second before his face completely melted. “Baby.”
The nickname alone nearly cracked your composure.
“That’s what this is about?”
You looked away again, embarrassed now that you’d actually said it out loud.
Jack reached over carefully, taking your free hand, “I got grazed.”
“That somehow does not help your case.”
He actually laughed softly at that before shaking his head, “she walked in looking for a patient, I was trying to clean the sound but I couldn’t see or reach it, so she helped me. That’s it.”
You nodded once, still not looking convinced.
Jack leaned closer, “hey.”
Your eyes met his again.
“I do not see her. She’s nothing more than a coworker.”
Your expression softened just slightly.
“But I see you everywhere,” he said quietly. “In every room of my house. In my kids. In my entire life.”
Your eyes immediately glassed over, “Jack…”
“You think I want twenty-five year old resident?” he asked gently. “I want my wife. The one who keeps our entire world running while I play cowboy with SWAT once a year.”
Despite yourself, you huffed out a tiny laugh and Jack squeezed your hand.
“You’re allowed to feel insecure sometimes,” he murmured, “but don’t ever think for a second I’m admiring anyone but you.”
Your face crumpled a little then, exhaustion finally catching up to you.
Jack leaned over immediately, pressing a kiss against your forehead carefully so he wouldn’t wake your daughter.
“I’m sorry I scared you today,” he whispered.
And for the first time all day, you finally let yourself lean into him. Jack stayed there for another moment, his forehead resting against yours while your breathing finally started to slow.
His thumb rubbed softly against your knuckles.
“You know this wasn’t your fault, right?” he asked quietly.
You swallowed hard. “I should’ve been watching him better.”
“No.” His answer came instantly.
You pulled back slightly, eyes glossy. “Jack—”
“He tripped on the deck stairs,” he said gently. “That’s what kids do. They fall. They get hurt. It doesn’t mean you failed him. He’s a kid. You work so hard to take care of them both. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You looked down at your lap, voice barely above a whisper. “It felt like I did.”
Jack’s chest tightened painfully. He shifted closer on the cot until his knee pressed against yours, “look at me.”
Reluctantly, your eyes lifted.
“You are an incredible mother,” he said firmly. “Do you hear me?”
Your lip trembled again.
“Our kids are happy. They’re safe. They’re loved beyond belief.” His expression softened. “JJ was only calm because of you, you make him feel safe.”
“And our little girl,” he continued quietly, “calmed down the second you held her.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “You walked into an ER alone with two terrified kids and somehow kept both of them together while you were scared out of your mind.”
A tear slipped down your cheek and he brushed it away carefully. “You didn’t fail today,” he whispered, “you handled it like super mom.”
You let out a shaky breath and leaned into him again, your forehead falling against his shoulder. Jack wrapped an arm around you immediately, holding you close.
“And I’m done with SWAT,” he said softly into your hair.
You stilled. “Jack…”
“I mean it,” he said it gently, but with enough firmness to know there was no room for discussion.
You pulled back enough to look at him, “but you love it.”
“I love adrenaline,” he corrected gently. “I love helping people.” His hand slid up your back slowly. “But not enough to keep scaring my wife every time my phone stops working.”
Your eyes welled again immediately, “I don’t want you giving it up because of me.”
“It’s because of us,” he said firmly. “Because today made me realize something.” He glanced toward the hallway where your kids were waiting. “I already have the most important people I’m ever gonna save.”
Your face crumpled a little at that. Jack smiled softly and kissed your forehead again.
“So no more SWAT,” he promised. “No more one-day-a-year compromise. I’m done.”
You searched his face carefully like you were trying to see if he meant it.
“You swear?” You asked quietly.
“I swear,” he answered confidently.
The tension in your shoulders finally eased for the first time all day. He stood then, holding a hand out toward you.
“C’mon,” he said quietly. “Let’s go get our babies.”
The second you both walked back into the room, your daughter perked up in Whitaker’s lap, now awake.
“Daddy!”
Jack grinned immediately, opening his arms just in time for her to launch herself at him for the second time today.
“Hey, peanut.”
Whitaker looked relieved to hand her over. “She’s bossy.”
“She gets that from her mother,” Jack replied easily.
You rolled your eyes while JJ sat up straighter in bed.
“Are you staying?” he asked hopefully.
Jack looked over at you once before smiling at his son.
“Yeah, buddy. I’m going home with you guys,” jack answered as Whitaker slid out the door, leaving just your family.
JJ’s entire face lit up. “Really?!”
“Really.”
Your daughter gasped dramatically. “No hospital work?”
Jack shook his head, “nope.”
JJ looked at Jack suspiciously, “so… since you’re coming home…”
Jack narrowed his eyes playfully. “What?”
“Can we get ice cream?” He asked sweetly, “since it’s mommy’s favorite.”
You laughed for the first time all day, “oh very thoughtful of you baby.”
Jack looked over at you, smiling when he saw your laugh.
Then he looked back at his son dramatically, “buddy, after the day we’ve had?” He stood, still holding your daughter against his hip. “I think ice cream is medically necessary.”
Both kids erupted immediately.
“YES!”
Your daughter clapped excitedly while JJ nearly bounced despite the cast.
“You hear that?” Jack said seriously to his son. “Doctor’s orders.”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. Jack caught your eye from across the room. And for the first time since the phone calls went unanswered earlier that day, everything finally felt okay again.
Tags (the Pitt): @sexychickenmagnet @thehockeynerd30
You were standing in the middle of the gallery tugging at the neckline of the modest black dress you thrifted specifically for tonight. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other because the heels you were wearing felt completely unnatural.
It was your very first art show. And to be surrounded by your works under beautiful lighting with price tags displaying numbers more than your monthly rent felt surreal.
It started as a hobby, painting over old or broken boards in the surf shop where you worked besides Adrian.
Eventually, your boss started encouraging it. Any broken board or old that came in went right to you.
They displayed them every now and then just to add some “color” to the walls of the old wood surf shop.
And one day the right costumer stumbled in and saw the piles of painted surfboards you had accumulated. And that’s how you ended up in downtown San Diego, shaking hands with the upper class people of southern California, feeling very out of place.
“You’re going to be just fine,” the manager said, shaking you from your thoughts as she continued filling the champagne glasses for the guests.
You gave her a tight lipped smile and took a steadying breath before jumping into the events of the evening.
You shook hands and wore your best smile, acting as polite as you possibly could. Sipping your champagne slowly. This was a far cry from your usual denim shorts and tank tops you sported in Oceanside. But it felt good, to act like you fit in, to be praised, to have people listen about your art that weren’t your boyfriend. Hell, to have people wanting and willing to pay for your art.
As happy as you felt, your eyes kept wandering to the door.
He said he would come, it just wasn’t like him to be late. You looked down at your watch, fifteen minutes, that’s not your Andrew.
The manager of the gallery pranced you around and encouraged your mingling, until you felt the shift in the air.
And there he was.
Andrew walked in with a well fitted sports coat and khakis. Deran and Adrian were trailing behind him in similar silhouettes, looking a lot less comfortable in their getups.
You smiled to yourself, thinking about how he must have dressed them himself.
He looked slightly panicked as he searched the crowd for you. The bouquet of roses he held were beautiful, but all you could focus on were his eyes.
When his eyes landed on you, they lit up immediately.
“Excuse me,” you muttered politely to the potential buyer you had been chatting up.
You slid past them and made your way in his direction.
When you reached each other, his free arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you into a hug, “hi baby,” he said in your ear.
When you pulled away from him you hugged Deran and Adrian next, thanking them for coming. They muttered something about drinks and walked away hand in hand, leaving you alone with your boyfriend.
“I’m sorry we’re late, getting those bozos in anything other than board shorts was a real challenge,” he smiled, and handed you the bouquet, “you look beautiful, baby.”
You blushed under his gaze, taking the roses from him, “thank you for coming.”
He nearly furrowed his brows in confusion, “where else would I be?” He said it like it was obvious, like there was literally no where else on earth more important than this, “I’m so proud of you.”
You blushed even harder, “c’mon, I gotta schmooze and I need my arm candy.”
He grinned at your joke, making your insides warm.
You laced your fingers with his, setting the roses down in a safe space, before pulling him along into the sea of people you didn’t know.
Your nerves washed away the second you had him next to you, because if Andrew believed in you, then you knew you could do it.
Hello everyone! Sorry I’ve been a little more MIA than usual. I’ve started a new job and have been visiting my family for the long weekend so I haven’t had as much writing time as normal. 💗
What’s next?
Jack Abbot x wife!reader - jealous of Samira on 4th of July
Sidney Crosby x the Pitt!reader part 3
Johnny Storm x reader - he forgets how to flirt because he’s obsessed
Summary: Deran enlists Pope’s ex to get through to him because she’s the only one he’s ever listened to. AKA you and Pope find your way back to each other at Deran’s bar.
The knock at your front door startled you awake.
But that’s because it was more of a loud bang rather than a knock.
You sat up straight, blanket falling from your chest, exposing the thin tank top you had on. Your heart beat roared in your ears as you blinked away the sleep and tried to process the sound.
BANG BANG BANG
You reached for your side table, pulling out the hand gun your ex had bought for you years ago.
You steadily made your way to the front door, reminding yourself of the self defense steps he taught you.
Keep the lights off, no one knows your house better than you. You took a deep breath when you made it to the door, trying to calm yourself and slow your heart rate.
You glanced through the peep hole and your shoulders immediately relaxed. You let the breath you were holding out and put the safety back on your gun. You pulled the door open.
“Deran, is there some sort of bar emergency you need me for at three in the morning?” You said, waving the gun around dramatically.
He looked up from the ground and frowned. Your demeanor immediately changed to one of concern.
You stepped aside and he moved passed you, mumbling a thanks.
He sniffed, wiping his eyes as he moved to your couch, “you gonna use that?” He nodded towards the gun.
Your lips twitched as you softly placed it on the counter. You opened the fridge and grabbed him a beer.
“I need a favor,” he said rather rushed as he took the beer from you. You stared at Deran Cody for a long moment.
“That’s never good,” you replied, taking a seat across from him.
“It’s not that bad,” he said after taking a sip.
“You showed up at my apartment at three in the morning wearing sunglasses,” you tilted your head towards him.
Deran pulled them off with a grimace, “okay, maybe it’s a little bad.”
You crossed your arms. “What happened?”
His eyes flicked around your tiny living room before finally blurting it out. “It’s Pope.”
Your stomach tightened immediately.
Even after all this time, hearing someone mention Pope Cody still felt like somebody grabbing your ribcage with both hands.
Andrew to you, but Pope to pretty much everybody else.
Your ex-boyfriend.
The man you’d spent years loving before everything between you became too heavy, too complicated, and too painful for you to survive.
You hadn’t seen him in almost eight months you’d realized.
“What about him?” you asked carefully.
Deran scrubbed a hand down his face, “he’s doing bad.”
You frowned slightly, “bad how?”
“He barely leaves the house. He doesn’t sleep. He just sits there staring at walls half the time,” Deran sighed harshly, “J keeps trying to get him involved in jobs, but he won’t touch anything. Or when he does he’s totally reckless. Craig’s about two days from punching him just to get him to react.”
That sounded painfully believable, “and this involves me because…?”
Deran looked at you like the answer was obvious, “because he’d do anything you asked.”
You laughed once softly, humorless, hiding the pain you felt, “not anymore.”
“Yeah,” Deran said immediately, like it was obvious, “still.”
Silence stretched for a second. You hated that part of you that hoped he was right, that wanted to test it out.
Deran leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, “I need help at the bar. I’m drowning over there and Craig’s useless unless the problem can be solved by throwing someone through drywall or snorting something up his nose.”
Your lips twitched, despite yourself, “and you think Andr— Pope working there will help?”
“I think he needs something,” Deran’s voice softened slightly, “and I think you’re the only person who can get him to listen.”
You looked away. Because that was the problem with Andrew. No matter how much time passed, some part of him still listened when you spoke.
And some part of you will still come running whenever he needs help.
“Okay,” you said softly, knowing you wouldn’t be able to let it go if you tried.
The relief in Deran’s face eased some of the uncertainties.
~
When the gates to the Cody driveway opened, it didn’t take long for your eyes to land on Andrew’s form. He was exactly where Deran said he would be, boxing in the driveway, hitting the bag like the world depended on it. He didn’t even look up as you put your car in park.
You don’t say anything as you walk up to where he is standing. The closer you get, the slower he punches, until he’s holding the bag and trying to catch his breath.
”You shouldn’t have come,” he says flatly.
You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest loosely, as if to guard yourself from the conversation.
”Your brothers are worried about you,” you responded quietly.
He laughed bitterly at that.
You tried not to let your eyes roam his shirtless body. You hate to admit it but he looked good. Something about him all cut up and bulked was driving you a little wild, but you swore you would go into this conversation with a clear mind, and with one goal, to talk to him.
You were always the only one that could get through to Andrew. When you had started dating a while after he got out of prison, it felt like you communicated in a way no one ever understood. Deran used to say that you could read each other's minds.
And sometimes you thought he was right.
It all came crashing down after Baz’s death and losing Lena. You tried so hard to push through it all, but when Andrew told you he was moving back in with Smurf, you lost it.
It will always be her, you will never take priority. You couldn't do it anymore.
He moved away from the punching bag, turning his body to fully face you. Your breath caught, but you tried not to show it. Although you knew nothing got past him.
He looked so tired.
Like somebody had sanded all the sharpness off him and left only exhaustion behind.
Your chest ached immediately, “Andrew,” you said softly, softer than anyone else ever says his name. Nobody called him Andrew anymore except you.
You saw the way it hit him as his shoulders loosened slightly.
“You been okay?” he asked automatically.
The question nearly killed you because he still sounded exactly the same. Like your wellbeing mattered more than his own breathing.
“I’m okay,” you gave him a sad smile.
He nodded once and then the silence fell again. It was a painfully familiar silence.
Finally you sighed, “Deran came to see me.”
Pope’s expression flattened immediately, like he was deciding the conversation was over, “don’t wanna talk about him.”
“Well, unfortunately, you’re going to,” you said gently, but firmly.
His eyes flicked back to yours instantly at the tone. You used to be one of the only people on earth who talked to him like that, because you were never afraid of him.
“He needs help at the bar,” you continued. “And apparently you’re driving everyone insane.”
Pope looked away toward the yard, “I’m fine.”
“You look terrible,” you said curtly.
That actually made him almost smile, “you always did that,” he muttered.
“Did what?” You asked.
“Say everything so bluntly,” he responded.
You crossed your arms, not in defense but to guard yourself, “somebody has to.”
He stared at you for another long second before asking quietly. “Why’d you come?”
“Because I was worried about you,” you said softly.
The look on his face hurt like he didn’t know how to respond to kindness anymore because it had been so long since he received it.
Finally, he nodded once, “you want me to work at the bar?”
“Yes,” you said firmly.
“You gonna be there?” He asked quickly.
You blinked. “…What?”
“If I work there,” he said slowly, eyes fixed on you, “you gonna be working there still?”
Your heart stumbled stupidly hard.
He was really asking whether he’d have to stand near you again after spending months trying to forget you existed.
You should’ve said no, should’ve told Deran it was you or Pope at the bar. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I’ll still be there.”
Pope looked down immediately, jaw tightening slightly. “Okay.”
You glanced at him suspiciously, “that easy?”
A quiet shrug, “you asked.”
Like it was really that simple. There it was. The same terrible soft spot he’d always had for you.
~
The bar was chaos, Deran had not exaggerated.
You knew, but Pope had assumed it was more of an overdramatization on his brother’s part.
“This place is a nightmare,” you muttered.
Deran pointed at Pope immediately, “good. Tell him. He listens to you. And he’s OCD, so he can fix it.”
Pope leaned against the back counter watching you unpack liquor bottles. He hadn’t stopped watching you since you got there. Not in a creepy way, in a way you had grown so comfortable with you often missed it.
“You hired idiots,” Pope told Deran flatly.
“Hey!” You said throwing your hands up in offense, making Deran laugh and Pope almost smile.
“You see my problem then,” Deran responded with a grin.
~
Over the next few weeks, things slowly started changing. The bar got cleaner, more organized, and even got a better health score. It was mostly because Pope scared everyone into competence without even trying. One look from him and cooks suddenly remembered how to do their jobs.
“You know everybody here is terrified of you, right?” you asked one night while wiping down the counter.
Pope glanced up from counting receipts, “I didn’t do anything.”
“That’s the scary part,” you said with a smile.
A tiny smile tugged at his mouth again. You’d started noticing how often those appeared around you now.
He’d hand you drinks before you asked.
Walk you to your car without mentioning it.
Stand slightly too close behind you at the register.
And every single night, no matter how late it got— “Text me when you get home.” Like he physically couldn’t stop caring about you.
Tonight the bar was finally emptying out around one in the morning.
Deran had gone home to Adrian an hour ago and left you and Pope alone to clean and lock up… again.
You carried glasses toward the sink while Pope wiped tables nearby.
“You know,” you said carefully, “Deran’s really happy you’re here.”
Pope shrugged, “he needed help.”
“So you did it?” You asked as you wiped your hands.
Another shrug, “you asked me to.”
You set the glasses down slowly. “Andrew.”
His eyes lifted immediately. Always immediately when you said his name, like he had no time to waste.
“You can say no to me sometimes,” you said sweetly.
“No,” he said quietly.
The honesty of it knocked the breath from your lungs. Pope stared at the floor for a second before speaking again.
“I tried stayin’ away from you,” he shook his head.
Your heart started pounding. “And?”
His jaw tightened slightly, “didn’t seem to work.”
Silence swallowed the room whole.
He stepped closer slowly, “I think you were the only good thing I ever really had,” he admitted softly.
Emotion climbed painfully into your throat, “Andrew…”
“I know I messed it up,” he said honestly, “I’m sorry.”
His eyes finally met yours fully then.
“S’okay,” you took a deep breath, “ I forgave you a long time ago.”
He nodded, and you grabbed your keys, “don’t forget to lock the door.” You slipped out into the humid night, trying to keep yourself composed after you processed the apology you just received.
~
It happened on a slow Tuesday, the bar only had its regulars hanging off the stools. You were behind the bar picking at your nails while Pope finished mopping the floor for the third time because apparently nobody else in the building knew how to do it correctly.
“You’re doing too much,” you muttered, watching him.
“The floor’s sticky,” he said without looking up.
“It’s a bar,” you said.
He shrugged like that explained everything. You smiled softly to yourself and went back to your nails.
A few quiet minutes passed before he spoke again, “I got a place.”
You looked up automatically. “What?”
“A house,” he clarified quietly, still focused on the floor, “over near the marina.”
Your brows furrowed immediately, “a house?” you repeated.
He nodded once. Something about the way he said it made your stomach tighten because Andrew Cody did not do change easily. That was something you knew all too well.
“And you’re… living there?” You asked again.
Another nod.
“…Not at Smurf’s?” You really needed clarification on this.
This finally made him glance up, “no.”
The answer was simple, but your genuine shock must’ve shown because Pope’s mouth twitched slightly.
“You’re surprised,” he stated.
“Andrew,” you said carefully, not knowing that the way you said his name gave him chills, “you’ve lived under Smurf’s roof basically your whole life.”
His jaw shifted slightly at the mention of her.
You stared at him harder. “Wait.”
Pope went back to mopping which immediately told you there was absolutely something he wasn’t saying.
“What happened?” You asked.
“Nothin’ happened,” he said while focusing on the floor.
“That’s a lie,” you quipped back, walking around the bar so that you were in front of him.
He shook his head in response. You gave him a look.
Pope sighed quietly through his nose, abandoning the mopping entirely before leaning against the table beside you.
“We just…” he searched for the words awkwardly, “aren’t talkin’ much anymore.”
That nearly made you laugh in disbelief, “you and Smurf aren’t talking much?” you repeated.
His eyes dropped briefly, “it’s better this way,” he said it calmly, like there were no regrets in the decision.
Your chest tightened unexpectedly at the honesty in his voice. You faced him slowly meeting his eyes that were already staring at you, “Andrew… why?”
He immediately looked away.
Your eyes widened slightly, ”oh my god.”
Pope frowned faintly. “What?”
“This is because of me?” It came out as a question, but it wasn’t.
“No.” But he said it too fast.
You crossed your arms immediately. “Andrew.”
He rubbed the back of his neck roughly now, suddenly unable to look at you at all.
“Oh my god,” you repeated softer this time.
“It’s not just you,” he muttered, “Smurf kept…” he stopped himself, jaw tightening hard before starting over quieter, “she kept sayin’ stuff.”
You stepped closer carefully. “Andrew…”
“She kept actin’ like you leaving was good,” he said flatly now, emotion slipping through despite himself, “like things were better after.”
His eyes finally lifted to yours, “and they weren’t.”
The room went quiet. You could physically feel how hard this conversation was for him.
“You moved out because she talked badly about me?” you asked softly.
Pope shrugged immediately, uncomfortable with the weight of it now that it was out loud, “it wasn’t just that.”
“But, yeah,” he admitted quietly.
He was standing in front of you telling you he chose something else, whether that be peace, or himself, or maybe it was you.
“How do you feel about it?” you asked gently.
Pope looked down at the floor for a second like he genuinely had to think about it, and then with a deep inhale, “good.”
Your brows lifted slightly as a tiny smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“Feels… quiet,” he admitted softly, “at the new house.”
“No yelling. No people watchin’ me all the time,” his eyes met yours again, “I sleep better there.”
That one nearly broke your heart. You stepped closer without thinking, your hand sliding gently into his.
“I’m proud of you,” you whispered.
“You are?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” you smiled sadly. “I think this might be the healthiest thing you’ve ever done.”
A rough little laugh escaped him at that, “probably.”
There was a beat of silence, and you squeezed his hand gently for letting it go.
“You should come see it sometime,” he spewed.
You gave him a soft smile in response.
~
The first time you realized you were in trouble again was over something stupid.
It wasn’t one of the late-night conversations.
Or the way Pope kept instinctively touching the small of your back whenever he passed behind you.
Or even the way he looked at you now—like losing you once had physically altered him.
It was because some drunk asshole grabbed your wrist at the bar.
And before you could even react, Pope was there.
His hand wrapped carefully around your wrist above the man’s tight grip, easing the guy off you with a terrifying calm.
“She said no,” he said with a tight jaw.
The guy laughed nervously. “Hey man, I was just—”
“You should leave.” That was it, the man practically stumbled over himself getting out of the bar.
Pope didn’t move again until the door shut behind him.
Then he looked down at your wrist, “you okay?”
Your chest hurt instantly. Because nobody had ever loved you the way Andrew Cody did. You must have stared at him too long because his brow furrowed slightly.
“What?” He asked after not receiving a response.
“Nothing,” you whispered quickly, “it’s fine, I’m fine.”
But it wasn’t nothing. Because later that night, lying alone in your bed, you kept replaying the feeling of his hand around your wrist.
And somewhere around three in the morning, staring at your ceiling, the truth finally slipped through your defenses: you never actually stopped loving him.
~
The second time it hit you was the last.
You were sitting on the counter in the bar after close counting tips while Pope fixed one of the broken stools near the wall. His large hands worked carefully with the screwdriver, completely focused.
You found yourself staring again. God, it was embarrassing at this point.
“Why you lookin’ at me like that?” he asked suddenly without looking up.
You nearly dropped the stack of bills in your hand.
“I’m not.” You answered too quickly.
“You are,” he said simply.
“I literally am not,” you doubled down, as if that would change it.
He looked up and you saw that little almost-smile he only seemed capable of around you.
“You get this face,” he said quietly.
“What face?” You asked, again too quickly.
“Like you’re thinkin’ too hard,” he said with a smirk.
Your stomach flipped. You looked down at the money in your lap, trying to avoid his eyes, “you’re imagining things.”
Pope stood slowly, setting the screwdriver down before walking toward you. Every instinct in your body became hyperaware immediately.
He stopped between your knees.
Close. Too close. Not close enough. Your mind was swirling.
“You remember that apartment you had over on Ocean Drive?” he asked suddenly.
Your brows furrowed. “The terrible one with the leaking ceiling that you were always trying to fix?”
A soft huff of laughter left him. “Yeah.”
“It had a really good view,” you said nonchalantly, “what about it?”
“You used to fall asleep on the couch waitin’ for me,” you swore his eyes flicked to your lips as he said it.
Your heart squeezed painfully.
Because you did. After jobs, fights, nights where Smurf dragged him away for god knows what. You used to try to wait up anyway.
“I remember,” you said with a soft smile.
Pope’s eyes dropped briefly before lifting back to yours. “Nobody ever waited up for me before you.”
There it was again. That unbearable honesty.
“And nobody has since,” he said softly, holding your gaze.
Emotion climbed into your throat so fast it scared you and suddenly you understood why this whole thing felt so impossible to walk away from.
Andrew knew every ugly, complicated piece of you and loved you anyway. And somehow, despite everything he’d done and everything that happened between you— you loved every broken piece of him too.
The realization settled so deeply in your chest it almost made you dizzy.
Pope tilted his head slightly. “What?”
You blinked quickly, “nothing.”
But this time your voice cracked. His expression changed instantly, feeling concerned that he had upset you somehow.
He stepped even closer, hands settling lightly on your hips gently, like he always was with you, “hey.”
You looked at him and that was your mistake. The second your eyes met his, you felt it completely. The years, the grief, the love. All of it, and God, you were so still in love with him. Tears burned unexpectedly in your eyes.
Pope looked genuinely alarmed. “Why’re you cryin’?”
You laughed shakily, wiping at your face. “I’m not—”
“You are,” he said, his eyes searching your face.
“I hate you,” you said with a wet laugh.
“No you don’t,” he whispered.
The quiet certainty in his voice destroyed you a little.Your hands grabbed lightly at the front of his shirt before you could stop yourself.
“I tried so hard to,” you whispered.
Pope went perfectly still.
“I tried to move on,” you admitted quietly. “I tried to be angry enough. I tried to hate you for choosing Smurf over me and for making me leave and for all of it but—” your voice broke completely. His hands tightened carefully against your hips. “But I still love you,” you finished softly.
Pope looked at you like the world had just stopped turning, “you still love me?” he repeated quietly.
You nodded once.
And suddenly he was kissing you. One hand was cradling your jaw while the other pulled you impossibly closer against him.
You melted immediately, the kiss felt desperate and needy and it was everything you craved for the time you had been without him.
Because this was the thing you’d been missing for months. This was the only place you’d ever really felt safe.
He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of your breathing uneven, “I didn’t know how to stop loving you,” he admitted roughly
Your eyes closed, “me either.”
For a long moment neither of you moved.
“You should probably know,” Deran’s voice called suddenly from the office doorway, “I absolutely knew this was gonna happen.”
You both jumped apart violently.
Deran stood near the liquor shelves eating chips like he’d been there for hours.
“Oh my god,” you groaned.
“What?” Deran shrugged. “I’m happy for you guys. Sickened. But happy.”
Pope looked one second away from homicide.
Deran pointed between the two of you. “By the way, everybody already knows.”
Your eyes widened. “What?”
“You guys are far from subtle,” Deran grinned. “Also, you guys owe me because now I gotta pretend I didn’t see that.”
Pope glared at him. “Get out.”
Deran grinned around another chip. “Love wins,” he laughed all the way out of the bar.
Pope looked back at you a second later, expression softer than you’d ever seen it, “you stayin’ this time?”
In my head… Brendon Park and reader were residents together (Emery Walsh also). They all live in reader’s family home that she inherited in Pittsburgh once her parents died.
(( It’s Meredith, Alex, and Izzy in her mom’s house vibes. ))
They are navigating surgical residency while meeting Abbot, Robby, Dana, etc. All while Brendon and reader are falling in love via a miscommunication trope style situationship that Em is stuck in the middle of constantly.
MerDer level love and confession, residents being exhausted and broke, heading to bars, singing karaoke, and crying together. The whole nine yards.
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Johnny Storm never lets you lift a finger… Masterlist
You didn’t even notice it at first.
On the very first date, he brought you flowers. You tried to reach for them after you put your coat on, but he grabbed them before you could without saying a word.
And on the way home he had the flowers tucked under his arm and the doggy bag with your left overs in his hand, the other one holding yours firmly.
Then he tagged along on your shopping trip a few weeks later, you didn’t hold a single thing, not even your purse.
You thought it was just the honeymoon phase, but months of shopping trips and dates, you never carried a thing.
When you went on coffee dates, he wouldn’t even let you hold that. He carried it to your next destination. Or leaned it towards you if you wanted a sip.
It didn’t even dawn on you until you had been dating for a year. You reached to grab your purse after dinner and Johnny grabbed it first.
“As long as you have me you won’t lift a finger baby,” he said smoothly, extending his other hand for you to hold as you left the restaurant.
Everything he said made you blush, another thing that never changed.
Then, it came time to move out of your studio and he insisted on handling it with Ben.
Hell, he basically unpacked for you too. Then he made sure all your furniture was put together and all your pictures were hung while you went to work the next day.
When you went on your regularly scheduled museum date you had your coat over your arms as you walked around. The MET was always your favorite date spot with him.
You’re not even sure if he liked it, but he loved you, so he didn’t mind one bit.
He pulled your coat from your arms and put it over his so that he was holding them both.
“Johnny, I can hold it,” you said in a hushed tone.
He shook his head, “I got it. Keep looking baby.”
And that was the end of the conversation.
Your friends noticed it too.
“God you really spoil her,” your friend said as Johnny kept his hand around your waist at the bar. He slid his card in front of you so that you could order everyone drinks. Your purse was in his shoulder and your jackets was in his other arm.
Before you could respond, he did, “as if she doesn’t deserve it?”
She didn’t mean anything by it, just an observation, but he was rather insulted at the insinuation that you deserved anything less than princess treatment.
You were more than capable of doing these things on your own. You had a job, you had your own money, but god it felt good to be cared for.
“You do everything for me without even being asked,” you said as he unpacked the groceries after carrying them up three flights of stairs.
He stopped what he was doing, “is that… a problem?”
You shook your head, “no. Guess I’ve never met a guy I didn’t have to nag.”
He huffed a laugh and shrugged, reaching into the grocery bag to continue what he was doing, “I just like making your life a little easier, making you happier. I honestly don’t even think about it. I just do it.”
He wasn’t even looking at you, he was organizing the cabinets, you could’ve exploded. How did you stumble upon the best man in the world?
Part One (can be read alone) Based on this & this!
Summary: the Pitt’s favorite ED resident’s emergency contact arrives to take care of her in the sweetest way possible.
TW: fainting and illness, but nothing too specific!
Three months after the entire ER found out you were secretly dating Sidney Crosby, absolutely nothing had gone back to normal. If anything, it had gotten worse.
Sidney had fully recovered from his concussion, and was back on the ice just as quickly as he had hoped, but everything else remained insane.
“Morning, Mrs. Crosby,” Dana called across the nurses’ station.
You didn’t even look up from your coffee. “I’m blocking your number.” She smirked.
Whitaker grinned as he walked by. “Sid drop you off today?”
“Can all of you please do your jobs?” You asked in bewilderment.
“We are literally all working right now” Javadi deadpanned.
Unfortunately for you, the entire Pitt had become deeply invested in your relationship.
If flowers arrived? Not just the nurses noticed, everyone noticed.
If Sidney dropped food off during night shift? Half the ER somehow appeared nearby.
If you took a phone call and smiled even slightly afterward? Dana acted like TMZ.
Today, though, you barely had the energy to threaten any of them.
You felt awful. And not in a dramatic way. In a way that meant you should’ve stayed in bed. Your head pounded. Your stomach turned every time you smelled food. Your body felt heavy and you could feel the thin layer of sweat you were sporting even though it was a perfectly comfortable temperature.
“You look pale,” Robby said immediately when he walked past you.
“I’m fine,” you said quickly.
“You say that like every patient does right before they pass out,” he quipped back, looking at you over his glasses like a disappointed dad.
You didn’t justify him with a response, simply moving to grab a chart.
You took another sip of coffee and instantly regretted it. Your face scrunched in disgust, even your coffee didn’t taste right.
Dana narrowed her eyes at you from across the desk. “Okay, wait. You really do look terrible.”
“Thank you.” You said sarcastically.
“No, like you should not be here terrible,” she said back.
You waved them off. “I’m okay. I probably just caught something.”
“From your hockey player?” Whitaker asked.
You rolled your eyes, but honestly you were too tired to properly argue.
The morning stayed busy enough that nobody hovered for long. The patients piled in, charts stacked up, and ambulances came and went as they always do. You managed to keep moving mostly through stubbornness alone, and for that you were proud.
Until about noon. The mask you had been sporting all morning suddenly felt a little too tight and your lungs along with it.
You were explaining discharge instructions to a patient when the room suddenly tilted sideways. Your sentence stopped mid-word and you tried to blink the dizziness away.
The patient frowned. “Doctor?”
Your vision blurred, “just excuse me for a second, sorry.”
You pulled the curtain back and tried to make your way to the nurses station to sit down, leaving Javadi and your patient utterly confused. You had just barely made it when you reached for the counter, missing by a centimeter and falling straight to the ground.
The next thing you heard was shouting.
“Hey!”
“Get Robby!”
“She’s down!”
Everything sounded far away and underwater. When your eyes finally opened again, fluorescent lights glared overhead. You groaned softly.
“There she is,” Robby said immediately.
You blinked slowly and realized you were in one of the trauma beds now.
Dana stood nearby looking stressed.
Whitaker looked horrified.
“…Did I pass out?”
“Yes,” four people answered at once.
You sighed and covered your eyes with one arm. “That’s embarrassing.”
“EMBARRASSING? You scared the hell out of everyone,” Dana snapped.
Robby was already checking your vitals. “How long have you felt sick?”
“A few days,” you mumbled quietly.
“And you said nothing because?” He asked, exhausted with your stubbornness already.
“I thought it’d go away,” you said softly.
Whitaker looked deeply offended. “We scold patients for doing that.”
You tried sitting up.
Immediately dizziness slammed into you again. A firm hand pushed gently against your shoulder.
“Nope,” Robby said. “Lie back down.”
“I have patients,” you whined.
“You had a syncopal episode in the middle of my ER,” Robby responded sternly.
“I’m still working,” you said back, shifting on the thin mattress, “we really make patients lay on these, god they’re awful.”
“No, you are absolutely not working,” he said back firmly, ignoring your complaints and leaving no room for arguments.
You glared at him weakly. Robby ignored you completely and looked toward Dana instead. “Did someone call her emergency contact?”
Dana’s expression changed instantly into something dangerously interested. “…Yes.”
“Dana,” you said softly.
“He’s already on his way,” she said apologetically.
“Oh my God,” you groaned.
Whitaker looked thrilled. “Sidney Crosby is coming here?”
“You people are vultures,” you put your arm back over your eyes.
Dana pointed accusingly. “You cannot deny us this. We never get to see you guys together outside of him being concussed.”
The ER doors slid open down the hall, normally you wouldn’t even notice… but something in you knew that he had arrived.
Dana grabbed Whitaker’s arm, her Pittsburgh pride outweighing her professionalism, “oh my God, hockey boyfriend incoming.”
You wanted to disappear, you could practically feel the heads turning all throughout the ER as he glided through with that easy, humble confidence he always wore. The one change was the look of concern on his face.
Sidney walked in wearing a black hoodie and baseball cap, clearly having come straight from home. Perlman spotted him and pointed to the trauma room where you were currently laying.
The second he spotted you in the bed, his expression changed completely.
Every trace of casual calm vanished.
“Hey,” he said quickly, crossing into the room. “What happened?”
The entire nurses’ station was openly staring now. You could literally see people pretending to chart while watching.
“I’m okay,” you said immediately.
Sidney stopped beside the bed and rested one hand carefully against your forehead. “You passed out.”
“Traitor,” you glared weakly at Robby.
Robby shrugged. “He asked.”
Sidney’s eyes stayed fixed on you, worried and soft all at once. “How long’ve you felt bad?”
You shrugged, trying to avoid the question, but he gave you a look that you knew you would’ve be able to overpower. “A few days.”
His expression immediately tightened. “And you didn’t tell me?”
You avoided eye contact.
“That’s what I thought,” he muttered gently.
Whitaker whispered from across the hall, “Oh my God, he’s doing the voice.”
Dana smacked his shoulder without taking her eyes off Sidney.
Robby looked entirely too entertained. “Vitals are okay now. Probably exhaustion, dehydration, maybe a virus. We’re running labs.”
Sidney nodded once, but his attention never left you, he placed the back of his hand on your forehead softly, then your cheek, “you’re burning up.”
“I’m fine,” you said with heavy lidded eyes, unable to keep the stubborn facade up now that he was there.
“You fainted at work,” he said softly, trying to reason with you.
“Everybody keeps reminding me of that,” you quipped back.
You tried sitting up again, but two hands gently but firmly held your shoulders. Sidney had moved to quickly you hadn’t even realized he was up, “easy.”
“I can walk,” you argued.
“You literally hit the floor last time you tried,” his hands hadn't left your shoulders.
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help how your heart fluttered because of how concerned he was.
Dana whispered to Santos loudly, “This is the best day of my life.”
Sidney glanced over finally, noticing the entire department staring.
“…Why is everyone looking at us?”
Whitaker answered immediately. “Because this is extremely cute and you’re the King of Pittsburgh.”
You dropped your face into your hands. Sidney laughed softly under his breath, but turned his attention back to you.
“Oh my God.”
“He laughed.”
“He actually exists.”
“You guys are so annoying,” you muttered.
Robby finally stepped in before the crowd could get more ridiculous. “Alright, enough. She’s going home.”
“I have seven more hours in my shift,” you argued again.
“No.” Robby stated simply.
You looked at Sidney. “Tell him I can stay.”
Sidney blinked at you like you’d lost your mind, “absolutely not.”
“Sid—”
“Nope.” His hand settled carefully against the back of your neck, thumb brushing lightly beneath your ear, “you’re sick. You scared everybody. You’re going home.” You could practically hear everyone cooing because of how he was looking at you, “you’re really gonna fight me on this?”
“Yes,” you said it as firmly as you could, but you were quickly running out of steam.
“You’re too tired to fight me, and you know it.”
The exhaustion sitting in your bones suddenly felt crushing now that the adrenaline had worn off. Your eyes burned.
Sidney noticed instantly and his expression softened even more somehow, “c’mere,” he said quietly.
Before you could protest, he carefully pulled you against his chest while still bending towards you beside the bed. Sidney just held you there, one hand rubbing slowly up and down your back.
“You don’t gotta do everything yourself,” he murmured against your hair.
Your eyes stung unexpectedly. Being taken care of felt strange. “I know,” you mumbled tiredly.
Robby watched the two of you for a second before pointing toward the exit. “Take her home. She’s off for at least two days.”
“I don’t need two days—” you started.
“You fainted,” multiple voices said at the same time, interrupting you.
“You guys are never letting that go, huh?”
“Nope,” Dana said instantly.
Sidney thanked Robby quietly before helping you off the bed.
Robby nodded at Dana who moved toward the door.
“Robby. I swear to god if you try to wheel me out of here I’ll punch you in the throat with the last of my remaining strength.” You said it firmly enough that Dana stopped moving and Robby looked a little frightened.
“I would listen to her,” Sidney said softly, helping pull you off the bed.
The second you swayed slightly, his arm wrapped firmly around your waist.
“I’m okay,” you insisted again.
Frank stepped in with your bag from your locker, “Mr. Crosby sir,” he coughed nervously, “your lady’s things.” He Presented the bag, your jaw went slack.
“Reaaal smooth, Langdon,” Dana said, biting back a laugh/.
”Frank… you did not just say ‘your lady’ in 2026,” Santos teased from behind him.
Sidney took your stuff with the arm that wasn’t holding you up, “Sid is fine, thanks man.”
Frank beamed in response and moved to the side so you could leave. You glared at him as you walked by, but he was still admiring your boyfriend with heart eyes.
The entire department watched shamelessly as he guided you toward the doors.
“You better update us!” Dana yelled after you.
You grunted in response, making Sidney huff a laugh, “we will.”
Sidney opened the passenger door for you once you reached his car.
“You know they’re gonna talk about this for months,” you muttered.
“They’ve already been talking about us for months,” he responded.
By the time you got home, exhaustion had completely won. Sidney barely let your feet touch the floor.
“Nope,” he said, steering you gently toward the couch. “Sit.”
He disappeared briefly before returning with water, medicine, and three blankets like he was preparing for war.
“You know I’m not dying, right?” You asked, already over being taken care of.
“Humor me,” he placed everything in front of you.
You took the medicine obediently this time. Then, like your true knight in shining armor, he pulled his hoodie off and handed it to you, leaving his chest bare. Your lips twitched up as you took your scrub top off and slipped it on. He knew it was your favorite, a hoodie right after he wore it, perfectly warm and smelling just like him.
He sat beside you immediately, pulling you carefully against his chest, “get some sleep.”
“What about you?” You asked, but your eyes were already betraying you.
“I’m staying right here,” he kissed the top of your head.
“Sid?” You said sleepily.
He hummed in response.
“I don’t feel good,” you admitted softly, suddenly feeling extremely vulnerable in your current state.
He sighed, “I know my love.”
Your eyes were already drifting shut. One of his hands moved slowly through your hair while the other stayed wrapped securely around your waist.
You mumbled sleepily against his chest, “Love you.”
Sidney kissed the top of your head instantly, “love you too, baby.”
Then he held you there quietly until you finally fell asleep in the arms of the most beautiful hockey captain the NHL had ever seen. And you thought to yourself, maybe being taken care of isn’t so bad.
Hey 👋 I hope you’re doing well, Can I request a Sidney Crosby x reader she’s sick and stubborn and has a fainting spell and Sid just taking care of her
The first time Santos noticed it, Dr. Brendon Park was in the ED for an ortho consult. AKA the only time they really saw him.
Typical Park behavior involved three things: looking mildly annoyed and inconvenienced, saying as few words as possible, if any, and leaving immediately after doing the bare minimum, leaving no room for small talk with residents and med students.
He was currently standing beside trauma room 3, reviewing X-rays with Robby, sleeves rolled to his elbows, expression blank as usual. Santos stood to the side, taking notes and trying to learn from the two attendings without getting in the way.
“…fibular head’s intact,” Park said, “tibial plateau’s a mess though.”
Robby nodded. “Think surgery tomorrow?”
“Assuming he stops trying to stand on it, yes,” he stated simply, no smile, not trying to make a joke, as serious as he always was.
Then, the service elevator opened.
You stepped out pushing an empty gurney, coffee balanced beside the paperwork squeezed by your elbow as both your hands held the bar of the gurney.
Trinity noticed the way you caught Park’s attention and she thought back to the first time she met you. You were wheeling a gurney with a body into the elevator while eating a blueberry yogurt. She remembered being confused how you could stomach food in the morgue. And she’ll never forget when you looked at her after she asked you why you didn’t mind “all the death” and you simply responded: “it’s the only thing in life guaranteed, Dr. Santos.”
She shook her head of the memory and went back to analyzing the effect you seemed to be having on the Shark.
Park looked up automatically and smiled. It wasn’t a big grin, just his lips twitching up at the corners as he caught sight of you, which for Park might have been a celebration.
Santos nearly dropped the chart in her hands.
“Hey, corpse bride,” he called casually.
“Hey, butcher.” You glanced over at him without breaking stride. “So kind of them to let you out of surgery.”
Park’s eyes flicked to your coffee. “That your third one today?”
“Fourth. I work with dead people, Brendon. I’m tired,” you gave him a playful frown.
Robby immediately looked down to hide his expression and both men stepped aside to let you maneuver the gurney through the hallway.
“You stealing another patient?” he asked.
“Depends. You all done gawking at him?” You flicked your eyes through the ED.
Robby shrugged, Brendon did the weird lip twitch thing again.
You nodded toward the trauma room behind them as you moved passed them. “Try not to break that one.”
“No promises.” Brendon replied dryly.
Santos stared openly as you disappeared toward the back hallway. Then she whipped around slowly “…what the hell was that?”
Park blinked at her once. “A conversation.”
“No,” Santos said. “No, that was chemistry.”
“It was sarcasm,” Park corrected.
“Sexually charged sarcasm,” she said like it was obvious.
Park looked exhausted already, “I don’t even know why I’m engaging. I’m going back upstairs.” He flipped the chart, passing it back to Robby.
The second he left, Santos rounded on Dana and Robby, “you saw that, right?”
Dana kept typing, “saw what?” She asked flatly.
“The flirting!” Santos nearly shouted, growing frustrated with everyone’s denial.
“I think Dr. Park was discussing orthopedic treatment.” Robby said matter of factly.
Santos pointed aggressively. “Dana. Robby. That man looked at her like she was the prettiest girl in the ED. He nearly smiled. Do you understand that. He made a joke! A JOKE!”
Robby failed to hide a smile behind his coffee cup.
Whitaker looked between the two seasoned ED members, “you guys are being weird.”
“We’re not being weird,” Dana said carefully.
“You’re absolutely being weird,” Santos replied.
Dana and Robby exchanged the briefest glance. The kind shared by people actively withholding information. Santos narrowed her eyes at them immediately.
“Oh my God. You know something.” Trinity said with a glare.
“We know many things,” Robby said vaguely before shoving another chart in her direction and waving her and Whitaker off.
Over the next month, Santos became obsessed, once she noticed it, she started noticing everything. Park somehow always appeared downstairs when you were in the ED.
Never lingering. Never obvious.
But always there: an ortho consult, a pre-op check, a fracture reduction.
And somehow, somewhere in the middle of it, he’d run into you, nearly every single time. And the conversations were always more bizarre than the one before.
One afternoon you walked past while Park was scrubbing blood off his hands at the sink down the hall.
“Busy day?” you asked.
“Teenager launched himself off a roof,” he responded quietly.
“Ouch,” you said with a wince, bringing the straw of your smoothie up to your lips.
“He said he was trying to impress a girl,” he dried his hands and turned to face you.
You nodded solemnly. “Closed head injury then.”
Park huffed a laugh.
And then, without another word, you tilted the straw towards him… and he took a sip. An actual sip from your drink.
Santos clapped a hand over her mouth and nearly fainted from where she was spying around the corner.
Another night, you arrived to pick up a body while Park was waiting for radiology results.
You stopped beside him. “You eat today?”
He answered with a shrug, not even looking up from his chart, “crackers.”
“Those little peanut butter ones?” You asked furrowing your brow.
He nodded in response.
You grimaced. “Jesus. No wonder you surgeons are miserable.”
“Bold statement from the woman who willingly works in a basement full of corpses,” he said with a smirk.
“At least my patients don’t complain,” you smiled as you moved past him, putting your gloves on.
Park’s mouth twitched and Dana physically swiveled her chair in the other direction because she was smiling. Santos caught it instantly.
“YOU KNOW SOMETHING.” She yelled, pointing in her direction.
Dana straightened immediately. “I know lots of things.”
“You’re a terrible liar.” Santos said, narrowing her eyes at Dana in suspicion.
“I’m actually excellent at it.” Dana quipped back with a proud smile.
Eventually the residents decided they had to take matters into their own hands and prove it. Because they couldn’t take Dana and Robby gaslighting Santos into thinking she was insane.
“You’re reading into things,” Dana said one morning.
“She called him Brendon,” Whitaker added as they crowded around Dana.
“So?” She said casually.
“NO ONE calls him Brendon,” Santos said, raising her hands in frustration, “not even Robby or Gloria call him Brendon.”
Whitaker looked up from charting. “Actually that’s true. Attendings call him Dr. Park because they’re just as scared of him as the rest of us.”
“He let her steal fries off his plate one time in the cafeteria,” Santos hissed.
“Maybe he wasn’t hungry,” Dana shrugged.
“He looked happy, Dana. He even sipped from her straw once. I saw it. With my own eyes.” Santos said confidently.
Dana made a thoughtful face. “Hm. That is concerning. But you were probably tired, who knows what you saw.”
Trinity nearly screamed out of frustration. Whitaker sighed, “unbelievable.”
So the residents began engineering situations.
“Hey, can someone page ortho?”
“Call the morgue upstairs for a transport.”
“Wow, Park’s here again… coincidence!”
“Maybe if we lock them in a closet they’ll kiss!”
The betting board went wild.
The first few times, you and Park ignored it completely. But the fourth time, Park caught Santos physically trying to shove Whitaker toward you both so he could “observe naturally” is what you think you overheard.
“You people need hobbies,” Park said flatly.
The breaking point came during a particularly brutal overnight shift.
The ED was packed, there were distant groans and whines in the distance of all the people around you having the worst days of their lives. Santos was already emotionally hanging by a thread when you appeared at the desk carrying paperwork.
Park happened to be there reviewing scans with Robby, as he always seemed to be doing when you appeared.
You set your clipboard down beside him. “You forgot your wedding ring in the bathroom this morning,” you placed it gently in front of him.
The entire desk went silent. Park closed his eyes briefly. “…thank you.”
Santos stopped breathing and Whitaker slowly lowered his energy drink. Robby suddenly became very interested in his computer screen. Dana bit the inside of her cheek so hard she nearly lost composure.
Santos was pointing at you dramatically, right where your wedding ring sat on the chain around your neck, which you had never worn on the outside of your clothes before.
You looked around at the silence, “…why does everyone look constipated?”
Santos pointed violently. “WEDDING RING?” She wheezed like she was hyperventilating.
You blinked once and then looked at Park. He looked back at you with the exhausted expression of a man realizing the secret had finally died.
“You left it by the sink,” you clarified weakly, giving a casual shrug, as if that would solve the problem. He calmly slid the ring on his finger and it fit there like that was its home.
Santos looked moments from cardiac arrest. “You’re MARRIED?”
Neither of you answered immediately, just glancing at one another, which was answer enough.
“WHAT?” Victoria suddenly chimed in, making you jump, “ugh. I’m out $60. I had it on sleeping together NOT married.”
“How long?!” Whitaker asked.
Dana finally cracked, laughing into her hand. Robby shook his head. “I told you this would happen eventually.”
Santos spun toward them so fast she almost slipped. “YOU KNEW? I KNEW YOU KNEW SOMETHING,” she shouted, pointing an accusatory finger between the two of them.
“Knew what?” Dana asked, feigning innocence.
“Santos,” Robby said calmly, “you’re making assumptions,” but the smirk he was trying to hide gave him away.
“You were at their wedding, weren’t you?!” Javadi asked accusatorily.
Dead silence.
Dana burst out laughing like she was going to combust if she held it in any longer and Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, biting back a laugh.
Park muttered, “Fantastic.”
You covered the lower half of your face, covering the smile you were wearing, but your eyes gave it away.
Whitaker looked horrified. “YOU GUYS KNEW THIS WHOLE TIME?”
Dana was still laughing. “We were sworn to secrecy!”
“YOU LET US INVESTIGATE THEM FOR WEEKS.”
“To be fair,” Robby said, “it was very entertaining.”
Santos looked betrayed on a spiritual level, “you gaslit me.”
Dana pointed at her. “You called it ‘sexual sarcasm.’ We couldn’t encourage that.”
“Because I WAS RIGHT. AND YOU TWO,” she said turning towards you and your husband.
He was already rolling his eyes, and you were smiling beside him.
”You did this on purpose. This is how you decided to blow it?!” Santos sounded borderline offended as she glared between the two of you and Brendon’s ring.
You simply shrugged, Brendon mumbled something under his breath before turning back to his chart.
“How did you guys meet?” Whitaker pressed.
You shook your head, Brendon’s eyes snapping up, “you already know too much.” He said it firmly, enough for all the residents to go back to being scared of him.
After that, the secret obviously didn’t survive.
Not that you or Park particularly cared.
The ED just slowly adjusted to the fact that the terrifying orthopedic surgeon and the deadpan morgue attendant were disgustingly in love and weirdly domestic.
People noticed Park bringing you coffee during shifts and realized he wasn’t just a manly man with no feelings who fixed bones all day.
There was also you fixing his badge as you caught up in between transports and dropping off food upstairs whenever you got a chance.
There was the fact that he always waited downstairs patiently by the service elevator if your shift ended late.
One night Santos caught the two of you near the ambulance bay taking a break together. You were leaning against Park while he scrolled through his phone one-handed, the other resting automatically at your waist.
Santos sighed dramatically. “I need you both to understand this ruined my life,” she shook her head, “Langdon walked away with almost $700 from this bet. He was literally the only one that got it.”
You looked up. “That feels like you’re redirecting your anger. You lost a bet that you started, might I add.”
“You’re too compatible,” she accused. “It’s upsetting.”
Park nodded thoughtfully, “you should probably lie down before your head starts to hurt. You’ve been thinking way too much.”
Santos groaned.
And Park smiled down at where your head rested comfortably on his shoulder, a real smile this time.
Tags (all): @ilocuras24 @nyxmoretti @kmc1989
Tags (the Pitt): @sexychickenmagnet @thehockeynerd30
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Hii!! First request ever :33 could you possibly do something with Park the Shark and a mortician reader? Maybe a familiar face with removals? Anything else is free game for you :33 thank you!!!
