._.

"Your gloves and wraps are in here," Magnus nodded his jaw towards the box in your hands, "Please follow the safe wrapping method I taught you before."

There was a glint in your eye as your socked foot stepped forward to hand over the kit. His eyes stayed a moment longer on the white socks bunched up around your ankles as he picked up his kit from your grip. Aren't you supposed to wear shoes in the arena?

Your soft lips tugged into a grin when you caught his eyes go down, "It's strategic technique, very much for me only," you teased as you wiggled your socked toes, "you're not advanced enough to be without shoes in here."

Brendon glanced from your face, your smile, to your feet and back to the kit in his hands, "Didn't it rain a few hours ago?"

Coach snorted loudly and nudged your ankle with his shoes. Your leg immediately buckled and you gasped, stepping back to avoid his foot.

"Wrap and warm up," Magnus nodded at Park, then turned to you with a smile, "watch for form, come find me in 20."

Clearing your throat and glaring at his monster-sized shoes, you turned to a side bench to pick up you notepad. "So," you twirled your pen between two fingers while Brendon wrapped his knuckles, "How many sessions exactly have you done?"

"About four," he drawled while clenching and unclenching his fists, "two of which were cut short."

"Oh?" you were sectioning your notes and you looked up to find his eyes on yours, "Family?"

Your tank top tightly wrapped you in a burnt brown color, overlayed by a see-through black shirt that was loose and boxy. Brendon took in your black shorts, stopping where they stopped mid-thigh, "Work."

You hummed and adjusted your posture, your eyes going back to the pad on your arm. He expected you to ask what he does for work, but you payed more attention to his hands, the way he wrapped his knuckles, and the flex of his fists.

Sitting back on the bench, Brendon adjusted his shoelaces, tucking them in. As he leaned back up, his eyes caught a discoloration along your right leg. Right under your knee was a faded scar, it went down all the way to your socks. Almost imperceptible if he didn't have an eye for it. Was that what go you here?

A lot of Brendon's patients found new passions and hobbies after their injuries, or during physical therapy. One of them recommended Magnus to him, not for injury healing, but for his professionalism, directness, and clear-cut fitness plans. Brendon found the coach to be pleasant company without the silliness of small-talk.

The surgeon stood up, prepared to start, and tucked away questions about your injury. It was none of his business what happened your leg, you've met barely an hour ago.

The eyes, pretty and playful, were still eerily familiar, but Brendon forgot all about that immediately under the frustrations of being corrected every two minutes for the last 10. 

"Brendon, where is your swing coming from?" pen tapping at your lips, you walked a wide circle around him.

Brendon rolled his eyes. For some reason, he was expecting to already be good at this, he was good at most things for most of his life, and he had to consciously take a step back and listen. Your smile didn't leave your cheeks even as his frustrations appeared. 

"Ok," you placed your notepad on the floor, and stepped closer, waving you hand at him to step behind you. 

Then you took the stance, the one he'd practiced at home. It looked so different on your body, confidence and power overwhelmed that playful first impression of you. Feet shoulder-width apart, with your heels a bit off the mat. Knees soft and weight centered, chin tucked in. Hands up, loose fists, and elbows right at your ribs. 

He's memorized it like the rules, like textbook homework, like med-school. Looking at you from the back, how the ripple of muscle moved in waves on your shoulders and upper back, how the tight hem of your shorts dug into the middle of your thighs, even your hair seemed to sway exactly how you wanted it to, curling half-dried strands dancing down your nape.

This is what Brendon was looking for. The undeniable control of it, he craved the centered contentment you seemed to emit from your entire body.

His eyes also caught the open-back gap in your shirt, but he was trying to forget about that for now.

"You understand the stance very well," You said as you instructed him to copy you, "But you keep losing it with every movement. You have to step back into position fluidly and intentionally."

Then you challenged him to a game of the most tedious step drills, in which you pointed to a spot and he stepped, then reset into stance. Forward, back, left, and right. After a few, you added a freeze command and it made you actually giggle when he wobbled. Brendon thought he was too focused to be effected by the sound, he wasn't.

You added shadowboxing to the drills and joined him in synchronized movements, like it was a choreographed dance. Brendon watched as slowly your comments got braver, teasing as you instructed. He couldn't believe he was finding this amusing, fighting his face to remain stoic. No one usually plays with words around him this much.

"If you cross your legs one more time, I'll sign you up for the ballet studio. Camille can handle you."

"You gasped like you forgot to breathe. You did, didn't you?"

"A jab has no business turning your entire body, turn your back foot and swing at the hips."

"If you want to break your wrist, I'd recommend rotating your fist at the laaast second."

"Magnus used to smack my hand with his mitt if I left it forward after a jab. Snap back into guard immediately or I'll tell on youuuu."

Your legs swung as you sat on a press bench, and your eyes sparkled like you were having the time of your life just irritating him. Brendon quipped back occasionally, when his breath allowed it. 

You clapped once and bounced off the bench, "Ok, BigBren-"

"Do not call me that," his head snapped to you with a subtle glare.

"Oops ok," you huffed as you extended your arms over your head, "let's stretch a bit."

"In the middle of a session?" 

"Yes, 100%, sir, you move like a rusted nail," you laughed, then muttered, "long, long, and so uncompromising."

He released his stance, feeling a twinge between his shoulders, "Uncompromising is part of my job."

"Not here, it's not," you smiled up at him and whispered, "it's Magnus's but don't tell him I said that. I promise I'm funnier."

Brendon felt a smile pull up his cheeks.

"I understand you want to punch things soon," Coach nodded slowly as he walked with Brendon towards the lockers, "but that is not the sport. Your balance, your guard, is what protects both you and others." 

He'd been instructed to stay in stance for five minutes everyday, use a mirror and no music, until his muscles have memorized what his mind has. Coach Magnus joined you after supervising a group class, and Brendon watched as you demonstrated the movements again under Coach's watch, while he pointed out tips to keep balances, common mistakes, and breath work. 

This is all to be expected from a very successful trainer. You cheekily knocking down Magnus's pen every time he used it to point at your form was new, so was the giant blonde's laugh when he made you put your feet closer together, only to purposefully knock you off balance. It's for teaching purposes, He'd claimed with a grin.

Something fluttered in Park's chest at seeing the natural flow of your strange relationship. It looked fun, supportive, there was no worry about offense after teasing remarks. Even in the first session with you, Brendon has been subjected to such remarks for over an hour, until he too found them funny.

Your spirit in this had not been deterred by his blank expressions or his glare. You seemed to find joy in producing any eye twitch or half-smile from his face.

"I understand," Park nodded.

"Good, now we may need to focus a bit on that before adding an opponent or getting the mitts, but you're a fast learner once you got the idea."

Brendon huffed, thanked the coach and walked towards the showers. Pausing at the door, he turned and mentioned your name, "she work for you long?"

"Oh," Magnus laughed heartily and shook his head, "she doesn't work for me, this is just what she likes to do."

He was still chuckling as he walked back into the gym.

an: I know nothing about boxing so i made up some stuff and looked up some stuff. also, I made up the gym names and it was so fun. Magnus was something for the plot but omg I love him.

"One time he pointed at a clear plastic straw on the floor and waited for me to pick it up. Held up a round of five doctors for like three minutes."

"When I first started, he scared me so badly I asked him if I could use the bathroom like he was a school teacher. He hasn't looked at me since."

"He yelled Out! when I asked if we just put an NG tube back in if it falls out."

"I remember him kicking me out of a case because I prepped the patient's clothes and added socks. Patient just had a leg ambulation."

Before ever being in the same room as Dr Park, Whittaker assumed rumors and stories change in dramatics as they travel around the hospital. Having embarrassed himself when meeting the man, He understood what triggers these stories. 

Park was terrifying. He moved like he believed everyone else should move around him, direct and never stopping unnecessarily. His eyes seemed all-knowing, like he can detect lies. Dennis wasn't that surprised that even Robby seemed slightly intimidated, the attending didn't color his words or joke when Dr Park was in the room. Dennis was reminded of his older brother's scary friends, those that he knew could bully him mercilessly if they wanted.

All together, experiences with Dr Park were few and larger than life as any encounter would be talked about for daysafterwards. Dennis was never curious enough to ask question, until the day a preschool teacher came in with her 4 year old student.

"Hello, My name is Dr Whittaker," He greeted after pushing open the curtains in cental 10.

A woman sat on the bed with her arm wrapped around a whimpering child, he seemed to be protectively cradling his arm to his chest with his face half hiding in her jacket. Dennis's eyes flicked quickly through the chart in his hand. 

Sam, 4 years old, minor head trauma, elbow injury.

"Hi, I'm Sam's preschool teacher," you softly spoke, giving your name, "He had a fall during school hours while playing."

The doctor saw your hand careful brushing the boy's blond locks, you face seemed strained with worry. Jesse moved the curtains again as he entered and smiled at the child while taking his vitals. 

Whittaker was pleased to see your calming presence and well-versed words effectively calming Sam enough to allow an examination of both his head and arm. 

"This seems to be a pulled elbow," He explained kindly, "happens a lot with kids when they fall, or their arm gets yanked."

You sigh in relief as you listen to the treatment plan he offers. 

"There's no need to imaging since there's no deformity visible, so we will do a quick reduction. It's like a a fast arm movement so the elbow clicks back right."

"Will it hurt?" Sam's small voice reached him as the boy mumbled to you.

"Only a little, sweetie," you reassured him, holding his small hand in yours, "but your arm will be all better after."

Electing to monitor Sam's head bump without subjecting him to unnecessary radiation, you stayed with him in the room after the successful reduction as Dr Whittaker moves towards the nurses station. As he neared the counter, he heard Princess's hushed Gossip Tone.

"-they called ortho three times, that's why he's annoyed."

"He's always annoyed though," Dr Santos retorted from her seat behind a monitor, "like how do you tell?"

"who's-" Dennis started.

"Shhhhh," Princess pinched his scrub sleeve, "He's in Trauma 1."

Dr Park, Orthopedic surgeon, was snapping off his gloves and aggressively throwing them in the designated bin before stepping out the glass doors. He cast a sharp glance over the Hub, one that made Dennis want to duck, and walked past them. The man's chilling aura trailed after him towards the elevators at the far end of Cental to West. 

"What was-" Dennis went again but received a slap on the forearm. 

"Look!" Santos hissed, her eyes, peeking from behind her monitor, were trained intently on Dr Park's path.

Sighing, Whittaker took a step out from behind the large counter covering his view of the hallway. His eyes first caught the bright yellow floral pattern of your skirt, an instant contrast to the blues and whites of the department. You stood in front of Central 10 with you arm in Dr Park's grip. What? 

The surgeon towered over you, standing a step too close, with his head angled down and eyes on yours. "That's my patient's teacher," Dennis told Trinity, "should I-"

"Do not move, Huckleberry."

Park leaned closer as if to surround you, speaking softly as his hand smoothed up to your elbow. You smiled brightly in response and tugged at the bottom of his scrub top once playfully. A sharp ping interrupted from Dr Park's pocket and he reached a hand to answer his phone. 

Dennis saw you take a step back, still smiling gently, as Park spoke tersely to his phone while simultaneously rubbing your upper arm. In a moment, the man ended the call, spoke to you again, then stepped back to walk to the elevators. 

"What was that?" the roommates whispered at each other as they watched you step back into Sam's room.

Whittaker might have forgotten this incident if it weren't for the ortho intern delivering a coffee cup and a toy car to Central 10 sent by Park the shark.

2

July was the Sarcoma awareness month, prompting the hospital management to set up a stall by the main lobby and strongly recommending the staff to wear the yellow ribbon pin. While the ED staff generally felt unsafe wearing a pin during their shift, Dr Robby has been pressured as senior staff -mainly by Gloria- to set an example. So it shouldn't have been a surprise for him to enter the lobby and find Dr Park The Shark standing at the stall picking up his own pin. 

"Dr Park."

"Robby." Park drawled back, still looking through the items on the table.

The attending glanced down at the different size pins, magnets, and pens, and reached to pick one of each as he usually does with free stuff. 

"You don't want a magnet with that?" the staff member running the stall asked Park with a smile, "I like collecting them myself."

The surgeon glanced up blankly for a long beat, then started adjusting the pin in his hand to the pocket of his top. "There's no space on my fridge for any more, thanks," he muttered.

Robby's head snapped up, keeping his widening eyes forward. 

"Woulda' never thought you'd be one for fridge magnets," Robby teased mildly.

"I'm not, but MagniTiles are a thing."

Park sidestepped the table and walked back towards the elevators, leaving Robby confused with both Park's response and his own curiosity. It was only when he walked through the double doors towards the ED, fiddling with the pin through his collar, that he recognized the clink of a chain around Park's neck. A silver ring hung on it and glinted in the light when he adjusted his scrubs. 

Must be part of the Shark persona to have your private life a complete mystery.

"Dr Robby, why are you looking up MagniTiles?" 

Robby flinched at Perlah's question coming from behind him. He fought the urge to cover the monitor screen as if he got caught doing something scandalous instead of Googling a children's toy. God, he hated getting himself too deep in work gossip.

"My kids obsessed over them for a phase, then we lost them," The nurse shrugged when Robby asked if she's familiar. 

"Oh," He whispered.

"What's up? where'd you hear about MagniTiles?"

The attending hummed in thought and leaned back in the desk chair, "Dr Park mentioned it yesterday." 

Perlah's brows furrowed, then raised as her eyes widened. "Oh.."

"Oh."

3

"Eh, he's not that bad." Dr Abbot shrugged, resting his back against the Hub counter, eyes focused on the ambulance bay.

"We're talking about Park," Dana muttered from behind the counter where she was listening to a resident anxiously explain that she hadn't meant to refer to a Scapula as Shoulder Blade in front of The Shark.

"So am I," huffing, Jack turned around to see Dana raised brows, and the back of the resident scurrying away.

Dana pushed her glassed to the top of her head, and pinned him with glare. "I can't say he's ever been rude to me, but he's too blunt with the littles. This is a teaching hospital."

Jack hummed agreeably and leaned his forearms on the counter between them. 

"Did I ever tell you about the time this one kid held up her surgery because the mom wasn't there to braid her hair?" 

"What? no," Dana leaned forward curiously.

"Park went to see what the delay was on the anesthesia," He continued, "listened to the kid cry about how her braid has to be a specific way, she was young and seemed fixated on it for comfort maybe."

"Did he scare her into compliance or something?"

Abbot's grin widened, "He braided her hair himself."

The charge nurse's face went slack, eyes unblinking, "come again?"

"He dismissed the anesthesiologist, sat with the girl on the bed, and braided her hair the way she wanted," Jack whispered, "OR nurse said he explained that he learned how sometimes a ponytail is too tight and loose hair is annoying so a braid is best. Apparently he assured her that he had the practice to back it up."

Dana's hands rested at her hips, brows suddenly smoothed, "That's so …" 

Jack nodded slowly.

"… Soft." 

"Yup."

4

"-and apparently, I should experiment with another iced drink," Dr Shen scoffed into his phone as he sat on the entrance steps on the parking level, the elevator behind him busy since the day shift was starting soon. 

"No, I'm not trying matcha," He fake-gagged, "too grassy."

John was taking the time to call his wife before continuing his double shift, this usually leads to her taking the phone everywhere with her so he can keep yapping while resting in the "cool" spot in the parking lot. It was uncomfortable here, but any physical comfort after a night shift will drop him into the very sleep he was trying to avoid. 

"Sure but doesn't strawberry overwhelm the tea?" He mumbled as he turned his head, hearing a car sound growing louder and closer, "What would be the point of the matcha if I'm drinking strawberry milk-"

That's not Dr Park. 

The white Porsche SUV took a sharp turn into the parking lot closest to the entrance, the figure in the driver's seat sat rummaging with things beside him then the door clicked open. John held a gasp at the sight of Brendon Park stepping out with his hair in soft curls flopped on his forehead. Shorter and slightly wet at his temples and around his ears, it made him look like a random guy at the grocery store. What the f-

"-apparently, you're only supposed to use one side of the eraser," Park's voice came closer, holding his phone by his ear with a rare smirk on his face, "I tried to suggest cutting it in half but she refused to change the logic."

The man's eyes caught John seated beside the glass doors, and gave him a stiff nod as he walked towards the elevators. Very cold, familiar, shark eyes.

"Sweatheart, I know. I talked to the Wi-fi company-" 

Shen's eavesdropping was cut off by the closing doors as the elevators took the shark to where he needed to be. 

"John, Baby?" 

"Shit. Yes, sorry, I caught something really juicy I forgot I was on the phone," he spoke quickly, standing up to clock back in, and whispered as if the walls would rat him out, "I think Park the Shark is married."

5

"There's a baby shark."

"What did you just say?"

Yolanda and Parker stared at each other, eyes budging as if what just happened was a glitch in reality. Dr Ellis had come to Surgical Recovery to check on a patient, finding Garcia updating a chart behind the nurses desk. The moment the trauma surgeon saw her, she sped around the counter, caught her sleeve and walked briskly to the stairwell. Then she hissed the most outrageous utterance Ellis had ever heard.

"Park the Shark," Garcia blurted, face intense and hands wild, "has children!"

"Dr Park-"

"At least one!"

"Girl-"

"Girl," Yolanda hissed back.

"Ok spill. Quick."

"All the clues line up, Ellis," She started, holding up her hand to count of her fingers, "There's a booster seat in his car, a leftover fairy sticker on the bottom of his leather duffle bag, and for the first three minutes of coming on shift, he has a wedding band on his ring finger-" 

"Thee minutes?" Ellis hummed, these were all news to her.

"-then he loops it on a chain under his collar," Garcia continued over her friend's words, "This has got to be the most casual secret I've ever encountered, he's not at all secretive about it."

"You mean if we just.. ask him…" Parker hesitantly asked.

"Yeah but who would ask him..?"

Fuck.

"w-we'll just never know, I guess," Ellis mumbled, shoulders shrugging while barely containing her frustration. 

Garcia waved her arms up, sounding a tsk in her tongue, and started walking out of the stairwell muttering to herself, "I don't know why we get so into this shit, but fuck I wanna know-"

+1

The farm was finally doing well enough to join the farmers market at Market Square, and Dennis was both excited and terrified. The thought of members of his family reacting to his life in the city was terrifying, but he did find it thrilling to share the fruits of his labor on the farm with his friends. He might almost be prideful about it, but he's never admit that.

Dennis made sure he was there by 4 am to help his brother David and sister-in-law set up their table, because he was just raised like that -and he'd never hear the end of it if he didn't. By 10am, the previous day's shift had caught up with him and he started drooping in his bench behind the table. 

"You absolute Hucklefarmer, are you wearing a plaid shirt?!" 

Trinity wore a smirk as she walked towards him, with Samira and Mel waving excitedly behind her. 

"Hey!" Dennis greeted them and rounded the table.

The girls looked relaxed and well-rested in casual clothes. He introduced David, then stood with trinity for a few minutes listening to her complain about the recent plumbing problem in their apartment building. Samira had looped her arm through Mel's and asked if she'd like to go win something fun at a game table, to which Mel excitedly agreed.

"Got any updates from Princess?" Dennis asked.

"What updates?"

"As I understand it, nursing staff gossip is a whole other animal. I am sure they know something about Dr Park."

Trin chuckled loudly, "If it's so hard for you to let this go, why didn't you ask the teacher the other day?"

"I couldn't," he sighed, "she looked so worried for the kid, and it seemed rude to ask. Then his parents arrived and she left."

With a laugh still in her breath, his roommate hummed in agreement. "Well, no. Princess only told me about night shift theories. You want something concrete-"

As Trinity talked on, Dennis's eyes swept over the tables and stalls lining the walkway, wondering where his other friends made a stop.

Mel watched in unfiltered fascination as the the old lady behind the sand art counter started her request, holding a small glass bottle and twisting it delicately as she filled it with colorful sand. 

"That's so cool! how long have you been doing this?" Samira cheered, leaning a hip on the table beside Mel.

"Over 10 years, love." the old woman responded with a smile.

Mel gasped as she started to see the image of a penguin come together on one side of the glass. Mira sneakily took a picture of her friend's face, because nothing is more pure than Mel with wonder in her eyes. Fiddling with the camera settings, Samira saw a tall figure two booths ahead of them. Respectfully, she moved to Mel's other side to avoid including strangers in the photos, which put her a step closer to-

"Bren, Baby, just admit defeat, would you?" Your voice sounded both exasperated and loving, "the babies are getting bored."

Samira tilted her head as your conversation caught her attention.

"Layla said the monkey was pretty. I'm winning her the monkey." The man's voice sounded familiar, but the young resident couldn't place it. A click sounded as he gave away more money and picked up the rifle. 

Deciding to naturally turn her body to catch a glimpse of the family behind her, Mohan's heart was warmed by seeing a toddler in a winged fairy outfit wiggling excitedly as she watched her dad aim a rifle at a sharpshooting game booth. Beside him was a woman in a white sundress, her long hair swayed as she tried to sooth the baby she held against her hip. A few shots sounded off the rifle, and Samira blinked back to look at the man. 

He roughly placed the rifle on the table and turned to you when you tugged the bottom of his shirt. You smiled gently and tugged again. 

"We can teach her how to lose gracefully, Dr Park, not everyday is a win." You said, running your nails along his forearm, your baby boy squirming on your other side.

Dr Park

His hair was so fluffy, laying in un-gelled waves, that it changed the sharp sharkness of his features. Jackpot.

Samira slapped a hand lightly on Mel's shoulder, her jaw dropped open in a gasp. Mel stalled on her face and her what?was shushed firmly. "Behind me!" Samira hissed.

"Everyday is a win, Darlin'," Brendon frowned, almost offended, and pointed at your baby boy, "look at that."

Then he bent down and picked up the kid, Layla, under her arms, holding her up with a blank face, "Look." and you couldn't hold back from laughing sweetly at your girl.

The little girl giggled when her fluffy skirt bounced as her dad turned intensely to the young man running the booth, "Look at this face, man."

Samira slapped a hand over her mouth, the girls clutching each other's sleeves as they watched the guy hesitate between Brendon's deadpan stare and a three year old's absurdly adorable cheeky smile. Sighing dejectedly, he reached behind him and unhooked the stuffed monkey, "I don't get payed enough to handle that."

Brendon placed his babygirl on her feet and handed her the monkey, kneeling to her level, and smiled-

"That's a smile-" "He has dimples-" Mel and Mira both said breathlessly. They turned quickly towards each other, eyes connecting and wide. 

"I think we saw something really important." Mel mumbled.

"But I think we're both the least likely to participate in gossip…" Mohan added.

"… but is it gossip if it happened directly in front of us?"

Samira gawked at Mel's sudden lean into the group's on-going speculations about Park the Shark. "Honey, you've got a saucy streak I don't know about?" She teased, tilting her head closer. 

"It's just.." Mel's lips quirked at the corners as she looked away, "that was really cute and I think I want to talk about it." 

Stifling an excited laugh, Mel look back over her friend's shoulder. You were handing your youngest to his father's arms, Park leaning down to kiss you cheek, and holding out your hand for Layla. You walked with your bouncing fairy toddler towards a nearby ice cream truck, while Brendon talked softly to his son as he pushed a stroller with his other hand towards an empty park bench. 

"I think this is my favorite," Mel whispered.

+Bonus

"Ok, so I'm about to ask you something, I just need you to not bite my head off after."

Brendon Park turned his head sharply to see Robby walking towards him at the entrance of the parking lot. The surgeon was standing there on his phone when Robby headed to his motorcycle to finally end his day shift. Seeing Park stalling, the man usually in a constant movement through the hospital without pause, Robby took his chance. 

"What do you want, Robby?" He grumbled and tucked his phone in his jacket.

What's the worst that could happen?

"Are you married?" Robby blurted out, fighting his face muscles to remain firm.

Park rolled his eyes, "Yes, I am. What? Ahmed's got a new bet?"

"N-not exactly," muttering, Robby rubbed his hands together for more courage, "You're aware how you're… perceived, right?"

"Robby, man," Park's stare was pointed as he unclasped the chain around his neck and took out the wedding band, looking down for a moment to put the ring on his finger, muttering There has got to be some better use of your time.

A buzz sounded from brendon's pocket and it triggered a small smirk at the corner of his mouth. "You want more?" He challenged, nodding his head to the open gates. 

"Park, I didn't mean to-" Robby held his hands up placatingly, but stopped when a white SUV, famously The Shark's car, slowed to a stop beside them. 

Brendon scoffed at him and stepped closer to open the driver door, holding a gentle hand out for the driver to step out. "Artful timing, Doll." He mumbled to you with a softening smile. 

The ring on your hand, the first thing coming out of the car, almost blinded the ED attending when it caught the light. You smoothed down your flowing skirt and stood beside your husband with your hand still in his. 

Robby cocked his head subtly at the familiarity of your features. Oh, the preschool teacher.

"Daddy!" "Dada!" 

He swallowed his shock and offered a smile. Ellis did say Baby shark but that was supposed to be a joke. There were two children, visible through the glass, strapped in the back seat with their arms waving wildly at their parents. You greeted Dr Robby cheerfully, an unburdened smile gracing your face, waiting to see if your husband needed to finish up his conversation.

Brendon Park reached an arm behind you, pulling a lever under the driver's seat and pushing it back. Nonchalantly tucking his duffle bag between the seats, he stopped by your side, eyeing Robby's face with a bored expression, and closed his large hand around your hip. "Anything else, Dr Robinavitch?" 

"Nope," Quickly responding and stepping backwards towards his motorcycle.

Park nodded as he smoothed a hand down your back, "Get in."

After rounding the car to the passenger seat, settling with your work shoes off, Brendon climbed into the driver's seat. He paused as he was about to close the door, glancing at Robby with his brows knotted. 

"Robby."

Not too far, Robby paused on his motorcycle and looked up. "Yeah?"

"There's a helmet right on the strap," Park stated lowly, narrowing his eyes, "Put it on would you? the entire car is watching." 

Robby blinked rapidly, eyes flickering from his helmet, which he hadn't even considered putting on, to the small faces in Brendon's back seat. You peeked to see him from your seat, your finger pointedly urging him. 

Unlatching the headgear, Robby fit it over his head half-ashamed at his recklessness. He snapped up the kickstand and started the engine. He heard muffled child-like cheers and looked up to see Park lazily salute him with a grin, and drive off.

Flower dividers by @strangergraphics

tagging @totallynotashieldagent because they asked :)

an: some personal thoughts/hcs :

Whittaker is actually more into gossip than Trinity, she'll listen but she won't activity think about it, or seek it out.

Brendon used to say "Dude" a lot when he was younger, it slowly turned into "man" as his sharp persona was developing.

Brendon doesn't actually care about secret keeping, it's just his scary resting face is preventing people from having open conversations with him.

Brendon is mean at work. bully-adjacent. it's more about competence than the person, therefore, he's not that bite-y when off the clock.

I have two kids and one fridge. It is absolutely covered (all the way down) in magnet letters and MagniTiles. It's a big metal wall, of course toddlers want to see how much they can stick to it.

Jack abbot is that one guy that's always in the group chat but never says anything. he's got ears everywhere and I think he'd know more outside the ED that is expected.

the kid discussion about the eraser happened in real life more than once.

Clark Kent | Superman:

> Rugby Player!Clark by @kryptidfiles

Tags: 18+, MDNI, Headcanon, F + S Word Count: 1k Description: Glad I had it saved bc I was proud of coming up with this stuff on the fly?

> Lost in The Fire by @/kryptidfiles

Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, S Word Count: 2.4k Description: Clark tells you "it's fine" when you cancel on him again for work. Liar, Liar...

> Meant To Be by @onlyasteelmancanbealover

Tags: Chubby!Reader, One Shot, F + HC Word Count: 1.2k Description: The skirt doesn’t fit!

> Like Father, Like Son by @satellite-evans

Tags: One Shot, A + HC Word Count: 6.7k+ Description: Clark's world is turned upside down when his father passes away unexpectedly. As he navigates the overwhelming grief of losing him, you remain by his side.

> The Things The Heart Keeps by @purplespiritimagines

Tags: One Shot, A + HC Word Count: 12.4k+ Description: Clark Kent x Forget-Me-Not!Reader

> "They Said Your Name" by @gwscastle

Tags: One Shot, A Word Count: 750 Description: After a fight, clark kent comes home terrified--not for himself, but for the person always waiting up for him.

> It's Not What You Think!! by @alrisyl

Tags: Series (Ongoing), A Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 Description: Clark cancels on you again for ‘work’ but it was a lie...

Multiple Pairings | The Last of Us:

> I Need You To Tell Me That I'm Good (Tommy Miller) by @psychedelic-ink

Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, A + HC + S Series Count: 11k Description: You love being part of the community of Jackson. But when you try to learn how to defend it, one humiliating accident makes you realize just how useless you feel with a gun in your hands.

> Time in A Bottle (Joel Miller) by @worlds-we-write

Tags: One Shot, A + HC Word Count: 5.5k Description: You survive. Barely. After a brutal ambush meant for Joel, he’s the one left picking up the pieces. As you recover, both of you have to learn how to live with the scars—inside and out. Inspired by Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce.

> Steady Hands (Joel Miller) by @millermouth

Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, S Word Count: 11k Description: You love being part of the community of Jackson. But when you try to learn how to defend it, one humiliating accident makes you realize just how useless you feel with a gun in your hands.

> Force of Nature (Joel Miller) by @skyesdelight

Tags: 18+, MDNI, Series (Ongoing), F + A + S + HC Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | ... | Pt. 5 Description: The construction company your neighbors hire to do work on their house are loud, inconsiderate, and quickly get under your skin. One man in particular seems hellbent on driving you crazy until one day, all that tension comes to a head.

> The Savage and The Sanctuary (Joel Miller) by @justagalwhowrites

Tags: 18+, MDNI, Series (Ongoing), 2nd POV, A + HC + F + S Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | ... | Pt. 22 Description: The biggest movie star in the world with your newly adopted niece in tow, you throw everything about Joel's life into flux. Is he capable of letting himself feel something again while protecting the only things left in the world that matter?

Multiple Pairings | The Pitt:

> Near The Knuckle (Brendon "the Shark" Park) by @amnatreal

Tags: Series (Ongoing), F Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | ...? Description: The man in the boxing class is the same Park. Key differences, ones you're not ashamed to say caught your breath at first sight, were the soft frizzy waves of his hair, the gentle lift of his brows while listening to Magnus, and that one specific heel bounce right before the class started.  You don't think he's been new to anything in years by the look in his eyes. His gaze swept over your face, then scanned over it again, blinked then nodded, "Brendon Park." Right as your mouth was about to let out the words I know, you realized he doesn't. He couldn't recognize you.

> Take Your Kid to Work Day (Jack Abbot) by @/satellite-evans

Tags: One Shot, HC Word Count: 4.2k+ Description: Your daughter fakes a stomachache to surprise her parents at work on Take Your Kid to Work Day, never realizing the panic it would cause.

> Just Be Healthy (Jack Abbot) by @marismellow

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 572 Description: Jack isn't a fan of fevers.

> Gossip...Boy? (Jack Abbot) by @voidsagent

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 4k+ Description: After finding out a certain attending likes to gossip, you find yourself having a very unexpected Fourth of July shift.

> Do Not Disturb (Jack Abbot) by @wannabespacesmuggler

Tags: One Shot, F + HC Word Count: 5.5k+ Description: Jack Abbot's relaxing day off takes a turn for the worse when he hears his phone ring. After all, his phone is on do not disturb, and there's only one person that he's allowed to interrupt his peace—you. Even worse, your voice isn't the first thing he hears when he picks up.

> The Night Shift Exchange Program (Jack Abbot) by @rizbert

Tags: One Shot/Series, F + C Word Count: 15.7k+ Description: Jack doesn't realize how close you are to the day shift residents until they start stealing you from him. But he is definitely not jealous, no matter what the rest of the night shift thinks...or...the 5 times day shift covers nights and the 1 you're asked to cover days

> I'm Always on My Own (Jack Abbot) by @pencil-n-pen

Tags: One Shot, F + A + HC Word Count: 15.7k Description: Your family is in town for the annual ‘parents berating their kids for their decisions’ get-together. Jack overhears you talking about how much easier it would be if you had a boyfriend to shove in their face and offers his services. No strings attached, of course.

> Too Much (Jack Abbot) by @moon-child-goddess

Tags: One Shot, A + HC Word Count: 6k Description: You talk a lot, you know this. It’s something you have been insecure about your whole life. Jack says something to Robby, and you overhear thinking it’s about you.

> The Birthday Blues (Jack Abbot) by @of-apollo

Tags: One Shot, HC Word Count: 3.1k Description: One of the worst days you have ever experienced in the ER happens to fall on your birthday. Nothing goes your way, and seconds after you finish your shift, you are sobbing in the passenger seat of Jack Abbot’s car. Luckily, Jack knows how best to remind you that you are so important and so, so loved.

> His (Jack Abbot) by @butyoudidthis4what

Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, S Word Count: 1.9k Description: After your true feelings for each other come out, you and Jack finally fall into bed together.

> All The Words We Cannot Say (Jack Abbot) by @redd-blushing-roses

Tags: One Shot, A Word Count: 1.3k Description: There are no words to describe the pain of losing someone you love. and for Jack Abbot, a man who's never been good with words, he finds himself unable to tell you just how much he loves you.

> My One Wish (Jack Abbot) by @fangirl-dot-com

Tags: 18+, MDNI, Dark!Jack, One Shot, A Word Count: 1.3k Description: Tired of reading fanfics based on your newest obsession, you give in to peer pressure and use a seemingly harmless gimmick from a metaphysical shop. you quickly find out that you should have been careful what you wished for.

> I Am Sorry I Left, But It Was For The Best (Jack Abbot) by @forever--darling

Tags: One Shot, A Word Count: 1.3k Description: You thought surgery would give you distance. Distance from the chaos of the emergency department. Distance from the memories. Distance from Jack Abbot, your old attending, your mentor. The man who you left behind with no explanation, but a surgical fellowship application slipped into his locker one day after shift. Ten months later, when a Fourth of July trauma brings you back to the Pitt, one devastating shift forces you to face the truth: you never really left either of them behind.

> Jack in (Jack Abbot) by @lacydear

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 838 Description: You complaining about him losing weight.

> Jack Abbot x Tall!Reader by @/fangirl-dot-com

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 705 Description: As someone who is actually taller than shawn hatosy irl, I needed some tall girl representation (I'm 5'10, but over 6 foot with heels, and google says shawn is 5'9"), this is nothing against shorter people at all! I just think we need a little more tall girl representation, so please enjoy these headcannon/blurb things!

> Jack Abbot x Reader by @fluttervoid

Tags: Drabble, F Word Count: 889 Description: You and Jack are already running late for your dinner reservation, but after seeing you all dressed up, he quickly decides that being a little more late might not be such a bad thing.

> Jack Abbot x Reader by @ofstarsandvibranium

Tags: Drabble, HC Word Count: 332

> Keep Up (Jack Abbot) by @deliciousangelfestival

Tags: Series (Ongoing), F + A + HC Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | ... | Pt. 7 Description: They spent years saving lives in a war zone and driving each other insane. Now they’re coworkers again.

> Hold Me Down (Jack Abbot) by @/amnatreal

Tags: 18+, MDNI, Series (Ongoing), S + F + A + HC Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | ... | Pt. 12 Description: Accidentally finding that D/S app, Dip, felt like having a light bulb moment. Because with all the free time that had been forced upon him, Jack needed something. Badly enough he felt like he was losing his mind. Remembering his experiences caring for a submissive, he felt like perhaps that was what he needed, what was missing. The strength in it, to offer a piece of himself, to reach into someone's psyche when their walls are let down.

> May The Best Man Win (Jack Abbot, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @xreader1989

Tags: One Shot, F + C Word Count: 6k+ Description: You moved in with Robby and Jack right at the start of your residencies, the three of you became family almost immediately. What happens when they both decide they’re in love with you?

> Paper Planes (Jack Abbot, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @inkdippedquills

Tags: Series, F + C Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 Description: So what the fuck are you meant to do if you hate one of your soulmates after falling in love with the other? Hate-fucking him was probably not the best call. (Soulmate AU)

> Part That's Mine (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @paigepie213

Tags: One Shot, A + HC Word Count: 6.2k Description: so... hurt/comfort wise...how do you feel about any male character and new mama!reader where the baby favors their dad, and she feels unworthy of being called a mom or like she wants at least one thing to be hers bc the baby has everything else of their father (except maybe their nose and skin tone). AND THEN FLUFF AT THE END BECAUSE THEIR FIRST STEPS WERE TOWARDS HER! :)

> Teasing To Love (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @/paigepie213

Tags: One Shot, F + A + HC Word Count: 6.4k Description: Do you know what I can't stop thinking about? Pissing off Robby... like nothing serious, just having fun. Just being a bit of a brat and getting him all riled up during the day.

> Clingy Husband (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @/paigepie213

Tags: One Shot, F + C Word Count: 6.9k Description: Hilli! If possible, do you think you could do a cute one where maybe they're married and working together, and you keep getting pulled away and kept busy and he's busy too so he barely sees you? I just have this visual in my head of Robby stood there all grumpy like 'where is my wife?' and then becomes a clingy husband till the end of shift?

> Sweetheart (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @80sfilmclub

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 1k Description: Despite you and Robby agreeing to keep your strictly physical relationship under wraps, you self-combust when your attending keeps calling you 'sweetheart'.

> I Just Want You (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @/marismellow

Tags: One Shot, HC Word Count: 873 Description: If your asks are still open would you do Robby x Reader where reader is in her late 30s and compares herself to the younger women she sees him normally flirting with? Not realizing he’s just desperate for reader?

> I Love You, I Love You, I Love You (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @bluetimeombre

Tags: One Shot, A + HC Word Count: 6.6k Description: Robby is known to speak before he thinks sometimes, but when the cost of his words is losing you, he’d rather die

> No Place I'd Rather Be (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @itsalainaz

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 1.8k Description: Soft domestic morning w your newly bf, Robby!!!

> Unethical (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @redsakura101

Tags: One Shot, A Word Count: 2.5k Description: You had been pushed to the brink. Wearing your heart on your sleeve, carving out all that had been bottled up inside. It cries out. Desperate to be heard. To be listened to... Even whilst it breaks your heart. It was inevitable.

> Do I? (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @ohitsminnie

Tags: One Shot, F + HC Word Count: 2.3k Description: When a patient assumes Robby and you are married, you're forced to confront a future neither of you has ever talked about, and wonder if you're really on the same page.

> I Wish You Loved Me Less (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @snoopysupe

Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, A + HC + S Word Count: 9.3k Description: You put all your efforts during the holiday weekend trying to convince your husband that his three-month sabbatical doesn’t have to end in the unspoken fatality he has been hinting at since it was announced. Whilst Robby puts all his efforts into pushing you away.

> Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader by @deardev0teddelicate

Tags: One Shot, HC Word Count: 2.1k Description: Robby w an slp reader, who usually is sweet as sunshine but due to his tendency to be an asshole, he manages to get silent treatment, stink eye and a level of illegal sarcasm no one knew she posessed. And his only way out: grovelling

> Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader by @docrobinavitch

Tags: One Shot, A + HC Word Count: 1.7k Description: I wanted to ask if you would have any brainworms about Robby and two of the prompts: “You’re standing too close.” and “Say we’re still just friends. Lie to me.”

> The Slippage in the System (Michael "Robby" Robinavitch) by @sweetestcowboy

Tags: Series (Ongoing), A + HC Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Pt. 3 Description: Needing control was Michael’s biggest flaw. control of his department, especially. when a new psych fellow comes to challenge that control—he’s not intimated—he’s infuriated. He should know better than to go toe-to-toe with Dr. Jefferson’s new protegee.

Batfam | DCU:

> Down, Boy! (Jason Todd) by @ferbaby

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 1.8k Description: Jason woke up and decided chaos was his word of the day.

> Spoiled Rotten (Jason Todd) by @/ferbaby

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 1.6k Description: In which Jason has gotten used to your affection aka he's spoiled.

> Like Mother, Like Daughter (Jason Todd) by @jellyfishsthings

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 2.9k Description: Jason Todd had been in love exactly once in his life, and it was the worst possible situation imaginable. Not because you were evil. Not because you were dangerous. Not even because you were a criminal—though you were, technically. No, the problem was much simpler and infinitely more complicated: You were Selina Kyle's daughter. And Selina Kyle absolutely, categorically hated his guts.

> A Language Made of Rage (Jason Todd) by @/purplespiritimagines

Tags: One Shot, A + HC Word Count: 10.5k Description: Jason Todd x child of Bruce banner/ Hulk, like and they have pretty good control over their Hulk form often being about to shift between the two. They lose control during a routine mission.

> Jason Todd x Reader by @honeysucklewatr

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 740

> Whoop, Whoop (Jason Todd) by @fluentmoviequoter

Tags: Series (Ongoing), Cop!Reader, F Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 Description: During a routine traffic stop, you meet Jason Todd in your hometown of Blüdhaven. You let him off with a warning, then show him a part of yourself not even Dick Grayson has seen.

> Man vs. Cat (Dick Grayson) by @llovelygood

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 774 Description: Dick and your cat hate each other. Then your cat gets stuck and Dick is the one in charge of getting him out.

> Pillowcase (Dick Grayson) by @plumstatic

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 1.2k Description: You accidentally fall asleep before your plans with Dick. That's embarrassing enough. Getting caught hiding the real reason you refused to let him into your bedroom? Significantly worse.

> Bad Words and Wrong Names (Dick Grayson) by @hannibals-favourite-meal

Tags: One Shot, Chubby!Reader, F Word Count: 1.4k Description: You’re a single mom who’s just moved into a new house with your boyfriend, and your 6-year-old has decided that now is the time to give him a new name.

> Where We Lie (Dick Grayson) by @oncasette

Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, F + S Word Count: 4.1k Description: “What? You’re still seeing other people, aren’t you?” you ask quietly. Ice crawls up his neck. Why? Does he need to be? Or the one where Dick doesn't want you looking at his Tinder.

> Off Duty (Dick Grayson) by @cherryysunshine

Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, F + S Word Count: 5.5k Description: Prince Richard “Dick” Grayson has spent years trying to make his solemn knight smile. When he finally finds the woman hidden beneath the armor, he decides one laugh is not nearly enough.  

Frank Castle | The Punisher (MCU):

> Take Some Off by @francixoxoxo

Tags: One Shot, Hairdresser!Reader, F + C Word Count: 1.6k Description: Some domestic frank fluff 🥹 haircuts and sleepiness

> Period Pains by @hellilovedit

Tags: One Shot, F + HC Word Count: 3.7k Description: A glimpse at how Frank helps with your period. 

> When Life Gives You Lemons by @/hellilovedit

Tags: One Shot, F + HC Word Count: 4k Description: Your neighbour, Frank Castle, helped you with one thing, one time… and now you’re attached. He’s attached. But are either of you going to admit it?  

> Make It Stick by @/hellilovedit

Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, S + C Word Count: 6.8k Description: Your first morning as the Castiglione’s starts with sex and ends with something new. 

> Birthday! by @peterftpercy

Tags: One Shot, Birthday fic!, A + HC Word Count: 5.3k Description: It's your birthday… but Frank realizes you don't care. You really don't care.

> Suffer in Silence by @dirtylittlediary

Tags: One Shot, A + HC Word Count: 5.8k Description: You hide a life-threatening injury from Frank 

> And It's Too Hard to Describe This (In A Way That Feels Honest) by @tuesdayiminlove

Tags: One Shot, Hockey Coach!Frank, Photographer!Reader, F Word Count: 1.4k Description: You never eat before morning practice. Someone notices.

> I'll Be Your Saviour by @lottie-sweetheart

Tags: Series, Divorced!Frank, F + A + HC Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | ? Description: Frank has been your neighbour for 7 months now, constantly helping you out whenever you need him. You always repaid him. But tonight, tonight you need him more than ever. And Frank doesn't require any payment for this one...

> Less by @tomhardysluvr888

Tags: Series, A + HC Chapter Count: Pt. 1 | ...? Description: Time has passed since your not-so-happy reunion with Frank. You thought that you would find peace after that...so why does the wound still ache?

Bucky Barnes | The Winter Soldier (MCU):

> We Go Way Back by @caeruleusbarnes

Tags: One Shot, A + C Word Count: 2.6k Description: After decades of being away from his wife, Bucky Barnes tried to make his way back to her, only to find out that he was too late. Coping with that hurt, but instead of wasting his life mourning what he didn‘t have, Bucky trusted that he would meet you again when the time was right.

> Childhood Cat by @/caeruleusbarnes

Tags: One Shot, A + HC Word Count: 3.6k Description: After the passing of your childhood cat, you tried to get away from the grief with drowning yourself in work. But when Bucky showed up in the lap one night, in need of your help, you were confronted with a situation that you weren‘t exactly ready for yet.

> Lethal Love by @w1nter-fairy

Tags: One Shot, A Word Count: 5.2k Description: After the mission of returning the infinity stones goes wrong, the power stone leaves you with something you can’t get rid of. You survive the exposure, but now Bucky can only survive you in small doses.

> The Prophecy by @/w1nter-fairy

Tags: One Shot, F + HC Word Count: 11.3k Description: Every psychic and every tarot deck tells the same story: love isn't meant for you. Every reading ends the same way—until one skeptical customer pulls three cards that were never meant to belong to him. Suddenly, the future you've spent years trying to outrun refuses to leave you alone.

> Fertiliz-Her by @pinksplace

Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, Stardew!AU, F + S Word Count: 6.1k Description: Bucky gives you free range of his farm and all the plants and wildlife it includes. You give Bucky fertilizer and any scientific insights you find. Tit for tat. Seems simple enough, but as the days pass, you can’t seem to escape each-other’s orbit. It’s like nature is literally pushing you together, but that would be crazy… wouldn’t it?

> To Be Loved Is To Be Changed by @sheriff-bodecker

Tags: One Shot, F + C Word Count: 4k Description: After his daughter, Winnie, ripped the arm off her beloved stuffed doggy, Bucky takes the day off to take care him, subsequently figuring some things out while doing so.

Miscellaneous:

> The Long Way Home (Frankie "Catfish" Morales) by @berryispunk

Tags: One Shot, C Word Count: 1.6k Description: The only thing worse than a terrible first date is realizing you'd rather have spent the evening with your best friend.

> Wait for Me: I'm Coming (Andrew "Pope" Cody) by @/fangirl-dot-com

Tags: 18+, MDNI, One Shot, A + HC Word Count: 4.5k Description: I saw that one Shawn interview where he spoke about how different he'd make Pope's ending, and I couldn't help but want to write it into existence in my own way.

> Paw-some Career Day (Ryland Grace) by @devisedplan

Tags: One Shot, F Word Count: 1.7k Description: Your younger sister's school has an upcoming career day where parents of students would usually volunteer to share more of their occupation. Out of everyone in the family, she decided to pester you. Too bad, you had the coolest job after all.

"Your gloves and wraps are in here," Magnus nodded his jaw towards the box in your hands, "Please follow the safe wrapping method I taught you before."

There was a glint in your eye as your socked foot stepped forward to hand over the kit. His eyes stayed a moment longer on the white socks bunched up around your ankles as he picked up his kit from your grip. Aren't you supposed to wear shoes in the arena?

Your soft lips tugged into a grin when you caught his eyes go down, "It's strategic technique, very much for me only," you teased as you wiggled your socked toes, "you're not advanced enough to be without shoes in here."

Brendon glanced from your face, your smile, to your feet and back to the kit in his hands, "Didn't it rain a few hours ago?"

Coach snorted loudly and nudged your ankle with his shoes. Your leg immediately buckled and you gasped, stepping back to avoid his foot.

"Wrap and warm up," Magnus nodded at Park, then turned to you with a smile, "watch for form, come find me in 20."

Clearing your throat and glaring at his monster-sized shoes, you turned to a side bench to pick up you notepad. "So," you twirled your pen between two fingers while Brendon wrapped his knuckles, "How many sessions exactly have you done?"

"About four," he drawled while clenching and unclenching his fists, "two of which were cut short."

"Oh?" you were sectioning your notes and you looked up to find his eyes on yours, "Family?"

Your tank top tightly wrapped you in a burnt brown color, overlayed by a see-through black shirt that was loose and boxy. Brendon took in your black shorts, stopping where they stopped mid-thigh, "Work."

You hummed and adjusted your posture, your eyes going back to the pad on your arm. He expected you to ask what he does for work, but you payed more attention to his hands, the way he wrapped his knuckles, and the flex of his fists.

Sitting back on the bench, Brendon adjusted his shoelaces, tucking them in. As he leaned back up, his eyes caught a discoloration along your right leg. Right under your knee was a faded scar, it went down all the way to your socks. Almost imperceptible if he didn't have an eye for it. Was that what go you here?

A lot of Brendon's patients found new passions and hobbies after their injuries, or during physical therapy. One of them recommended Magnus to him, not for injury healing, but for his professionalism, directness, and clear-cut fitness plans. Brendon found the coach to be pleasant company without the silliness of small-talk.

The surgeon stood up, prepared to start, and tucked away questions about your injury. It was none of his business what happened your leg, you've met barely an hour ago.

The eyes, pretty and playful, were still eerily familiar, but Brendon forgot all about that immediately under the frustrations of being corrected every two minutes for the last 10. 

"Brendon, where is your swing coming from?" pen tapping at your lips, you walked a wide circle around him.

Brendon rolled his eyes. For some reason, he was expecting to already be good at this, he was good at most things for most of his life, and he had to consciously take a step back and listen. Your smile didn't leave your cheeks even as his frustrations appeared. 

"Ok," you placed your notepad on the floor, and stepped closer, waving you hand at him to step behind you. 

Then you took the stance, the one he'd practiced at home. It looked so different on your body, confidence and power overwhelmed that playful first impression of you. Feet shoulder-width apart, with your heels a bit off the mat. Knees soft and weight centered, chin tucked in. Hands up, loose fists, and elbows right at your ribs. 

He's memorized it like the rules, like textbook homework, like med-school. Looking at you from the back, how the ripple of muscle moved in waves on your shoulders and upper back, how the tight hem of your shorts dug into the middle of your thighs, even your hair seemed to sway exactly how you wanted it to, curling half-dried strands dancing down your nape.

This is what Brendon was looking for. The undeniable control of it, he craved the centered contentment you seemed to emit from your entire body.

His eyes also caught the open-back gap in your shirt, but he was trying to forget about that for now.

"You understand the stance very well," You said as you instructed him to copy you, "But you keep losing it with every movement. You have to step back into position fluidly and intentionally."

Then you challenged him to a game of the most tedious step drills, in which you pointed to a spot and he stepped, then reset into stance. Forward, back, left, and right. After a few, you added a freeze command and it made you actually giggle when he wobbled. Brendon thought he was too focused to be effected by the sound, he wasn't.

You added shadowboxing to the drills and joined him in synchronized movements, like it was a choreographed dance. Brendon watched as slowly your comments got braver, teasing as you instructed. He couldn't believe he was finding this amusing, fighting his face to remain stoic. No one usually plays with words around him this much.

"If you cross your legs one more time, I'll sign you up for the ballet studio. Camille can handle you."

"You gasped like you forgot to breathe. You did, didn't you?"

"A jab has no business turning your entire body, turn your back foot and swing at the hips."

"If you want to break your wrist, I'd recommend rotating your fist at the laaast second."

"Magnus used to smack my hand with his mitt if I left it forward after a jab. Snap back into guard immediately or I'll tell on youuuu."

Your legs swung as you sat on a press bench, and your eyes sparkled like you were having the time of your life just irritating him. Brendon quipped back occasionally, when his breath allowed it. 

You clapped once and bounced off the bench, "Ok, BigBren-"

"Do not call me that," his head snapped to you with a subtle glare.

"Oops ok," you huffed as you extended your arms over your head, "let's stretch a bit."

"In the middle of a session?" 

"Yes, 100%, sir, you move like a rusted nail," you laughed, then muttered, "long, long, and so uncompromising."

He released his stance, feeling a twinge between his shoulders, "Uncompromising is part of my job."

"Not here, it's not," you smiled up at him and whispered, "it's Magnus's but don't tell him I said that. I promise I'm funnier."

Brendon felt a smile pull up his cheeks.

"I understand you want to punch things soon," Coach nodded slowly as he walked with Brendon towards the lockers, "but that is not the sport. Your balance, your guard, is what protects both you and others." 

He'd been instructed to stay in stance for five minutes everyday, use a mirror and no music, until his muscles have memorized what his mind has. Coach Magnus joined you after supervising a group class, and Brendon watched as you demonstrated the movements again under Coach's watch, while he pointed out tips to keep balances, common mistakes, and breath work. 

This is all to be expected from a very successful trainer. You cheekily knocking down Magnus's pen every time he used it to point at your form was new, so was the giant blonde's laugh when he made you put your feet closer together, only to purposefully knock you off balance. It's for teaching purposes, He'd claimed with a grin.

Something fluttered in Park's chest at seeing the natural flow of your strange relationship. It looked fun, supportive, there was no worry about offense after teasing remarks. Even in the first session with you, Brendon has been subjected to such remarks for over an hour, until he too found them funny.

Your spirit in this had not been deterred by his blank expressions or his glare. You seemed to find joy in producing any eye twitch or half-smile from his face.

"I understand," Park nodded.

"Good, now we may need to focus a bit on that before adding an opponent or getting the mitts, but you're a fast learner once you got the idea."

Brendon huffed, thanked the coach and walked towards the showers. Pausing at the door, he turned and mentioned your name, "she work for you long?"

"Oh," Magnus laughed heartily and shook his head, "she doesn't work for me, this is just what she likes to do."

He was still chuckling as he walked back into the gym.

an: I know nothing about boxing so i made up some stuff and looked up some stuff. also, I made up the gym names and it was so fun. Magnus was something for the plot but omg I love him.

"Your gloves and wraps are in here," Magnus nodded his jaw towards the box in your hands, "Please follow the safe wrapping method I taught you before."

There was a glint in your eye as your socked foot stepped forward to hand over the kit. His eyes stayed a moment longer on the white socks bunched up around your ankles as he picked up his kit from your grip. Aren't you supposed to wear shoes in the arena?

Your soft lips tugged into a grin when you caught his eyes go down, "It's strategic technique, very much for me only," you teased as you wiggled your socked toes, "you're not advanced enough to be without shoes in here."

Brendon glanced from your face, your smile, to your feet and back to the kit in his hands, "Didn't it rain a few hours ago?"

Coach snorted loudly and nudged your ankle with his shoes. Your leg immediately buckled and you gasped, stepping back to avoid his foot.

"Wrap and warm up," Magnus nodded at Park, then turned to you with a smile, "watch for form, come find me in 20."

Clearing your throat and glaring at his monster-sized shoes, you turned to a side bench to pick up you notepad. "So," you twirled your pen between two fingers while Brendon wrapped his knuckles, "How many sessions exactly have you done?"

"About four," he drawled while clenching and unclenching his fists, "two of which were cut short."

"Oh?" you were sectioning your notes and you looked up to find his eyes on yours, "Family?"

Your tank top tightly wrapped you in a burnt brown color, overlayed by a see-through black shirt that was loose and boxy. Brendon took in your black shorts, stopping where they stopped mid-thigh, "Work."

You hummed and adjusted your posture, your eyes going back to the pad on your arm. He expected you to ask what he does for work, but you payed more attention to his hands, the way he wrapped his knuckles, and the flex of his fists.

Sitting back on the bench, Brendon adjusted his shoelaces, tucking them in. As he leaned back up, his eyes caught a discoloration along your right leg. Right under your knee was a faded scar, it went down all the way to your socks. Almost imperceptible if he didn't have an eye for it. Was that what go you here?

A lot of Brendon's patients found new passions and hobbies after their injuries, or during physical therapy. One of them recommended Magnus to him, not for injury healing, but for his professionalism, directness, and clear-cut fitness plans. Brendon found the coach to be pleasant company without the silliness of small-talk.

The surgeon stood up, prepared to start, and tucked away questions about your injury. It was none of his business what happened your leg, you've met barely an hour ago.

The eyes, pretty and playful, were still eerily familiar, but Brendon forgot all about that immediately under the frustrations of being corrected every two minutes for the last 10. 

"Brendon, where is your swing coming from?" pen tapping at your lips, you walked a wide circle around him.

Brendon rolled his eyes. For some reason, he was expecting to already be good at this, he was good at most things for most of his life, and he had to consciously take a step back and listen. Your smile didn't leave your cheeks even as his frustrations appeared. 

"Ok," you placed your notepad on the floor, and stepped closer, waving you hand at him to step behind you. 

Then you took the stance, the one he'd practiced at home. It looked so different on your body, confidence and power overwhelmed that playful first impression of you. Feet shoulder-width apart, with your heels a bit off the mat. Knees soft and weight centered, chin tucked in. Hands up, loose fists, and elbows right at your ribs. 

He's memorized it like the rules, like textbook homework, like med-school. Looking at you from the back, how the ripple of muscle moved in waves on your shoulders and upper back, how the tight hem of your shorts dug into the middle of your thighs, even your hair seemed to sway exactly how you wanted it to, curling half-dried strands dancing down your nape.

This is what Brendon was looking for. The undeniable control of it, he craved the centered contentment you seemed to emit from your entire body.

His eyes also caught the open-back gap in your shirt, but he was trying to forget about that for now.

"You understand the stance very well," You said as you instructed him to copy you, "But you keep losing it with every movement. You have to step back into position fluidly and intentionally."

Then you challenged him to a game of the most tedious step drills, in which you pointed to a spot and he stepped, then reset into stance. Forward, back, left, and right. After a few, you added a freeze command and it made you actually giggle when he wobbled. Brendon thought he was too focused to be effected by the sound, he wasn't.

You added shadowboxing to the drills and joined him in synchronized movements, like it was a choreographed dance. Brendon watched as slowly your comments got braver, teasing as you instructed. He couldn't believe he was finding this amusing, fighting his face to remain stoic. No one usually plays with words around him this much.

"If you cross your legs one more time, I'll sign you up for the ballet studio. Camille can handle you."

"You gasped like you forgot to breathe. You did, didn't you?"

"A jab has no business turning your entire body, turn your back foot and swing at the hips."

"If you want to break your wrist, I'd recommend rotating your fist at the laaast second."

"Magnus used to smack my hand with his mitt if I left it forward after a jab. Snap back into guard immediately or I'll tell on youuuu."

Your legs swung as you sat on a press bench, and your eyes sparkled like you were having the time of your life just irritating him. Brendon quipped back occasionally, when his breath allowed it. 

You clapped once and bounced off the bench, "Ok, BigBren-"

"Do not call me that," his head snapped to you with a subtle glare.

"Oops ok," you huffed as you extended your arms over your head, "let's stretch a bit."

"In the middle of a session?" 

"Yes, 100%, sir, you move like a rusted nail," you laughed, then muttered, "long, long, and so uncompromising."

He released his stance, feeling a twinge between his shoulders, "Uncompromising is part of my job."

"Not here, it's not," you smiled up at him and whispered, "it's Magnus's but don't tell him I said that. I promise I'm funnier."

Brendon felt a smile pull up his cheeks.

"I understand you want to punch things soon," Coach nodded slowly as he walked with Brendon towards the lockers, "but that is not the sport. Your balance, your guard, is what protects both you and others." 

He'd been instructed to stay in stance for five minutes everyday, use a mirror and no music, until his muscles have memorized what his mind has. Coach Magnus joined you after supervising a group class, and Brendon watched as you demonstrated the movements again under Coach's watch, while he pointed out tips to keep balances, common mistakes, and breath work. 

This is all to be expected from a very successful trainer. You cheekily knocking down Magnus's pen every time he used it to point at your form was new, so was the giant blonde's laugh when he made you put your feet closer together, only to purposefully knock you off balance. It's for teaching purposes, He'd claimed with a grin.

Something fluttered in Park's chest at seeing the natural flow of your strange relationship. It looked fun, supportive, there was no worry about offense after teasing remarks. Even in the first session with you, Brendon has been subjected to such remarks for over an hour, until he too found them funny.

Your spirit in this had not been deterred by his blank expressions or his glare. You seemed to find joy in producing any eye twitch or half-smile from his face.

"I understand," Park nodded.

"Good, now we may need to focus a bit on that before adding an opponent or getting the mitts, but you're a fast learner once you got the idea."

Brendon huffed, thanked the coach and walked towards the showers. Pausing at the door, he turned and mentioned your name, "she work for you long?"

"Oh," Magnus laughed heartily and shook his head, "she doesn't work for me, this is just what she likes to do."

He was still chuckling as he walked back into the gym.

an: I know nothing about boxing so i made up some stuff and looked up some stuff. also, I made up the gym names and it was so fun. Magnus was something for the plot but omg I love him.

"Your gloves and wraps are in here," Magnus nodded his jaw towards the box in your hands, "Please follow the safe wrapping method I taught you before."

There was a glint in your eye as your socked foot stepped forward to hand over the kit. His eyes stayed a moment longer on the white socks bunched up around your ankles as he picked up his kit from your grip. Aren't you supposed to wear shoes in the arena?

Your soft lips tugged into a grin when you caught his eyes go down, "It's strategic technique, very much for me only," you teased as you wiggled your socked toes, "you're not advanced enough to be without shoes in here."

Brendon glanced from your face, your smile, to your feet and back to the kit in his hands, "Didn't it rain a few hours ago?"

Coach snorted loudly and nudged your ankle with his shoes. Your leg immediately buckled and you gasped, stepping back to avoid his foot.

"Wrap and warm up," Magnus nodded at Park, then turned to you with a smile, "watch for form, come find me in 20."

Clearing your throat and glaring at his monster-sized shoes, you turned to a side bench to pick up you notepad. "So," you twirled your pen between two fingers while Brendon wrapped his knuckles, "How many sessions exactly have you done?"

"About four," he drawled while clenching and unclenching his fists, "two of which were cut short."

"Oh?" you were sectioning your notes and you looked up to find his eyes on yours, "Family?"

Your tank top tightly wrapped you in a burnt brown color, overlayed by a see-through black shirt that was loose and boxy. Brendon took in your black shorts, stopping where they stopped mid-thigh, "Work."

You hummed and adjusted your posture, your eyes going back to the pad on your arm. He expected you to ask what he does for work, but you payed more attention to his hands, the way he wrapped his knuckles, and the flex of his fists.

Sitting back on the bench, Brendon adjusted his shoelaces, tucking them in. As he leaned back up, his eyes caught a discoloration along your right leg. Right under your knee was a faded scar, it went down all the way to your socks. Almost imperceptible if he didn't have an eye for it. Was that what go you here?

A lot of Brendon's patients found new passions and hobbies after their injuries, or during physical therapy. One of them recommended Magnus to him, not for injury healing, but for his professionalism, directness, and clear-cut fitness plans. Brendon found the coach to be pleasant company without the silliness of small-talk.

The surgeon stood up, prepared to start, and tucked away questions about your injury. It was none of his business what happened your leg, you've met barely an hour ago.

The eyes, pretty and playful, were still eerily familiar, but Brendon forgot all about that immediately under the frustrations of being corrected every two minutes for the last 10. 

"Brendon, where is your swing coming from?" pen tapping at your lips, you walked a wide circle around him.

Brendon rolled his eyes. For some reason, he was expecting to already be good at this, he was good at most things for most of his life, and he had to consciously take a step back and listen. Your smile didn't leave your cheeks even as his frustrations appeared. 

"Ok," you placed your notepad on the floor, and stepped closer, waving you hand at him to step behind you. 

Then you took the stance, the one he'd practiced at home. It looked so different on your body, confidence and power overwhelmed that playful first impression of you. Feet shoulder-width apart, with your heels a bit off the mat. Knees soft and weight centered, chin tucked in. Hands up, loose fists, and elbows right at your ribs. 

He's memorized it like the rules, like textbook homework, like med-school. Looking at you from the back, how the ripple of muscle moved in waves on your shoulders and upper back, how the tight hem of your shorts dug into the middle of your thighs, even your hair seemed to sway exactly how you wanted it to, curling half-dried strands dancing down your nape.

This is what Brendon was looking for. The undeniable control of it, he craved the centered contentment you seemed to emit from your entire body.

His eyes also caught the open-back gap in your shirt, but he was trying to forget about that for now.

"You understand the stance very well," You said as you instructed him to copy you, "But you keep losing it with every movement. You have to step back into position fluidly and intentionally."

Then you challenged him to a game of the most tedious step drills, in which you pointed to a spot and he stepped, then reset into stance. Forward, back, left, and right. After a few, you added a freeze command and it made you actually giggle when he wobbled. Brendon thought he was too focused to be effected by the sound, he wasn't.

You added shadowboxing to the drills and joined him in synchronized movements, like it was a choreographed dance. Brendon watched as slowly your comments got braver, teasing as you instructed. He couldn't believe he was finding this amusing, fighting his face to remain stoic. No one usually plays with words around him this much.

"If you cross your legs one more time, I'll sign you up for the ballet studio. Camille can handle you."

"You gasped like you forgot to breathe. You did, didn't you?"

"A jab has no business turning your entire body, turn your back foot and swing at the hips."

"If you want to break your wrist, I'd recommend rotating your fist at the laaast second."

"Magnus used to smack my hand with his mitt if I left it forward after a jab. Snap back into guard immediately or I'll tell on youuuu."

Your legs swung as you sat on a press bench, and your eyes sparkled like you were having the time of your life just irritating him. Brendon quipped back occasionally, when his breath allowed it. 

You clapped once and bounced off the bench, "Ok, BigBren-"

"Do not call me that," his head snapped to you with a subtle glare.

"Oops ok," you huffed as you extended your arms over your head, "let's stretch a bit."

"In the middle of a session?" 

"Yes, 100%, sir, you move like a rusted nail," you laughed, then muttered, "long, long, and so uncompromising."

He released his stance, feeling a twinge between his shoulders, "Uncompromising is part of my job."

"Not here, it's not," you smiled up at him and whispered, "it's Magnus's but don't tell him I said that. I promise I'm funnier."

Brendon felt a smile pull up his cheeks.

"I understand you want to punch things soon," Coach nodded slowly as he walked with Brendon towards the lockers, "but that is not the sport. Your balance, your guard, is what protects both you and others." 

He'd been instructed to stay in stance for five minutes everyday, use a mirror and no music, until his muscles have memorized what his mind has. Coach Magnus joined you after supervising a group class, and Brendon watched as you demonstrated the movements again under Coach's watch, while he pointed out tips to keep balances, common mistakes, and breath work. 

This is all to be expected from a very successful trainer. You cheekily knocking down Magnus's pen every time he used it to point at your form was new, so was the giant blonde's laugh when he made you put your feet closer together, only to purposefully knock you off balance. It's for teaching purposes, He'd claimed with a grin.

Something fluttered in Park's chest at seeing the natural flow of your strange relationship. It looked fun, supportive, there was no worry about offense after teasing remarks. Even in the first session with you, Brendon has been subjected to such remarks for over an hour, until he too found them funny.

Your spirit in this had not been deterred by his blank expressions or his glare. You seemed to find joy in producing any eye twitch or half-smile from his face.

"I understand," Park nodded.

"Good, now we may need to focus a bit on that before adding an opponent or getting the mitts, but you're a fast learner once you got the idea."

Brendon huffed, thanked the coach and walked towards the showers. Pausing at the door, he turned and mentioned your name, "she work for you long?"

"Oh," Magnus laughed heartily and shook his head, "she doesn't work for me, this is just what she likes to do."

He was still chuckling as he walked back into the gym.

an: I know nothing about boxing so i made up some stuff and looked up some stuff. also, I made up the gym names and it was so fun. Magnus was something for the plot but omg I love him.

"Your gloves and wraps are in here," Magnus nodded his jaw towards the box in your hands, "Please follow the safe wrapping method I taught you before."

There was a glint in your eye as your socked foot stepped forward to hand over the kit. His eyes stayed a moment longer on the white socks bunched up around your ankles as he picked up his kit from your grip. Aren't you supposed to wear shoes in the arena?

Your soft lips tugged into a grin when you caught his eyes go down, "It's strategic technique, very much for me only," you teased as you wiggled your socked toes, "you're not advanced enough to be without shoes in here."

Brendon glanced from your face, your smile, to your feet and back to the kit in his hands, "Didn't it rain a few hours ago?"

Coach snorted loudly and nudged your ankle with his shoes. Your leg immediately buckled and you gasped, stepping back to avoid his foot.

"Wrap and warm up," Magnus nodded at Park, then turned to you with a smile, "watch for form, come find me in 20."

Clearing your throat and glaring at his monster-sized shoes, you turned to a side bench to pick up you notepad. "So," you twirled your pen between two fingers while Brendon wrapped his knuckles, "How many sessions exactly have you done?"

"About four," he drawled while clenching and unclenching his fists, "two of which were cut short."

"Oh?" you were sectioning your notes and you looked up to find his eyes on yours, "Family?"

Your tank top tightly wrapped you in a burnt brown color, overlayed by a see-through black shirt that was loose and boxy. Brendon took in your black shorts, stopping where they stopped mid-thigh, "Work."

You hummed and adjusted your posture, your eyes going back to the pad on your arm. He expected you to ask what he does for work, but you payed more attention to his hands, the way he wrapped his knuckles, and the flex of his fists.

Sitting back on the bench, Brendon adjusted his shoelaces, tucking them in. As he leaned back up, his eyes caught a discoloration along your right leg. Right under your knee was a faded scar, it went down all the way to your socks. Almost imperceptible if he didn't have an eye for it. Was that what go you here?

A lot of Brendon's patients found new passions and hobbies after their injuries, or during physical therapy. One of them recommended Magnus to him, not for injury healing, but for his professionalism, directness, and clear-cut fitness plans. Brendon found the coach to be pleasant company without the silliness of small-talk.

The surgeon stood up, prepared to start, and tucked away questions about your injury. It was none of his business what happened your leg, you've met barely an hour ago.

The eyes, pretty and playful, were still eerily familiar, but Brendon forgot all about that immediately under the frustrations of being corrected every two minutes for the last 10. 

"Brendon, where is your swing coming from?" pen tapping at your lips, you walked a wide circle around him.

Brendon rolled his eyes. For some reason, he was expecting to already be good at this, he was good at most things for most of his life, and he had to consciously take a step back and listen. Your smile didn't leave your cheeks even as his frustrations appeared. 

"Ok," you placed your notepad on the floor, and stepped closer, waving you hand at him to step behind you. 

Then you took the stance, the one he'd practiced at home. It looked so different on your body, confidence and power overwhelmed that playful first impression of you. Feet shoulder-width apart, with your heels a bit off the mat. Knees soft and weight centered, chin tucked in. Hands up, loose fists, and elbows right at your ribs. 

He's memorized it like the rules, like textbook homework, like med-school. Looking at you from the back, how the ripple of muscle moved in waves on your shoulders and upper back, how the tight hem of your shorts dug into the middle of your thighs, even your hair seemed to sway exactly how you wanted it to, curling half-dried strands dancing down your nape.

This is what Brendon was looking for. The undeniable control of it, he craved the centered contentment you seemed to emit from your entire body.

His eyes also caught the open-back gap in your shirt, but he was trying to forget about that for now.

"You understand the stance very well," You said as you instructed him to copy you, "But you keep losing it with every movement. You have to step back into position fluidly and intentionally."

Then you challenged him to a game of the most tedious step drills, in which you pointed to a spot and he stepped, then reset into stance. Forward, back, left, and right. After a few, you added a freeze command and it made you actually giggle when he wobbled. Brendon thought he was too focused to be effected by the sound, he wasn't.

You added shadowboxing to the drills and joined him in synchronized movements, like it was a choreographed dance. Brendon watched as slowly your comments got braver, teasing as you instructed. He couldn't believe he was finding this amusing, fighting his face to remain stoic. No one usually plays with words around him this much.

"If you cross your legs one more time, I'll sign you up for the ballet studio. Camille can handle you."

"You gasped like you forgot to breathe. You did, didn't you?"

"A jab has no business turning your entire body, turn your back foot and swing at the hips."

"If you want to break your wrist, I'd recommend rotating your fist at the laaast second."

"Magnus used to smack my hand with his mitt if I left it forward after a jab. Snap back into guard immediately or I'll tell on youuuu."

Your legs swung as you sat on a press bench, and your eyes sparkled like you were having the time of your life just irritating him. Brendon quipped back occasionally, when his breath allowed it. 

You clapped once and bounced off the bench, "Ok, BigBren-"

"Do not call me that," his head snapped to you with a subtle glare.

"Oops ok," you huffed as you extended your arms over your head, "let's stretch a bit."

"In the middle of a session?" 

"Yes, 100%, sir, you move like a rusted nail," you laughed, then muttered, "long, long, and so uncompromising."

He released his stance, feeling a twinge between his shoulders, "Uncompromising is part of my job."

"Not here, it's not," you smiled up at him and whispered, "it's Magnus's but don't tell him I said that. I promise I'm funnier."

Brendon felt a smile pull up his cheeks.

"I understand you want to punch things soon," Coach nodded slowly as he walked with Brendon towards the lockers, "but that is not the sport. Your balance, your guard, is what protects both you and others." 

He'd been instructed to stay in stance for five minutes everyday, use a mirror and no music, until his muscles have memorized what his mind has. Coach Magnus joined you after supervising a group class, and Brendon watched as you demonstrated the movements again under Coach's watch, while he pointed out tips to keep balances, common mistakes, and breath work. 

This is all to be expected from a very successful trainer. You cheekily knocking down Magnus's pen every time he used it to point at your form was new, so was the giant blonde's laugh when he made you put your feet closer together, only to purposefully knock you off balance. It's for teaching purposes, He'd claimed with a grin.

Something fluttered in Park's chest at seeing the natural flow of your strange relationship. It looked fun, supportive, there was no worry about offense after teasing remarks. Even in the first session with you, Brendon has been subjected to such remarks for over an hour, until he too found them funny.

Your spirit in this had not been deterred by his blank expressions or his glare. You seemed to find joy in producing any eye twitch or half-smile from his face.

"I understand," Park nodded.

"Good, now we may need to focus a bit on that before adding an opponent or getting the mitts, but you're a fast learner once you got the idea."

Brendon huffed, thanked the coach and walked towards the showers. Pausing at the door, he turned and mentioned your name, "she work for you long?"

"Oh," Magnus laughed heartily and shook his head, "she doesn't work for me, this is just what she likes to do."

He was still chuckling as he walked back into the gym.

an: I know nothing about boxing so i made up some stuff and looked up some stuff. also, I made up the gym names and it was so fun. Magnus was something for the plot but omg I love him.

"Your gloves and wraps are in here," Magnus nodded his jaw towards the box in your hands, "Please follow the safe wrapping method I taught you before."

There was a glint in your eye as your socked foot stepped forward to hand over the kit. His eyes stayed a moment longer on the white socks bunched up around your ankles as he picked up his kit from your grip. Aren't you supposed to wear shoes in the arena?

Your soft lips tugged into a grin when you caught his eyes go down, "It's strategic technique, very much for me only," you teased as you wiggled your socked toes, "you're not advanced enough to be without shoes in here."

Brendon glanced from your face, your smile, to your feet and back to the kit in his hands, "Didn't it rain a few hours ago?"

Coach snorted loudly and nudged your ankle with his shoes. Your leg immediately buckled and you gasped, stepping back to avoid his foot.

"Wrap and warm up," Magnus nodded at Park, then turned to you with a smile, "watch for form, come find me in 20."

Clearing your throat and glaring at his monster-sized shoes, you turned to a side bench to pick up you notepad. "So," you twirled your pen between two fingers while Brendon wrapped his knuckles, "How many sessions exactly have you done?"

"About four," he drawled while clenching and unclenching his fists, "two of which were cut short."

"Oh?" you were sectioning your notes and you looked up to find his eyes on yours, "Family?"

Your tank top tightly wrapped you in a burnt brown color, overlayed by a see-through black shirt that was loose and boxy. Brendon took in your black shorts, stopping where they stopped mid-thigh, "Work."

You hummed and adjusted your posture, your eyes going back to the pad on your arm. He expected you to ask what he does for work, but you payed more attention to his hands, the way he wrapped his knuckles, and the flex of his fists.

Sitting back on the bench, Brendon adjusted his shoelaces, tucking them in. As he leaned back up, his eyes caught a discoloration along your right leg. Right under your knee was a faded scar, it went down all the way to your socks. Almost imperceptible if he didn't have an eye for it. Was that what go you here?

A lot of Brendon's patients found new passions and hobbies after their injuries, or during physical therapy. One of them recommended Magnus to him, not for injury healing, but for his professionalism, directness, and clear-cut fitness plans. Brendon found the coach to be pleasant company without the silliness of small-talk.

The surgeon stood up, prepared to start, and tucked away questions about your injury. It was none of his business what happened your leg, you've met barely an hour ago.

The eyes, pretty and playful, were still eerily familiar, but Brendon forgot all about that immediately under the frustrations of being corrected every two minutes for the last 10. 

"Brendon, where is your swing coming from?" pen tapping at your lips, you walked a wide circle around him.

Brendon rolled his eyes. For some reason, he was expecting to already be good at this, he was good at most things for most of his life, and he had to consciously take a step back and listen. Your smile didn't leave your cheeks even as his frustrations appeared. 

"Ok," you placed your notepad on the floor, and stepped closer, waving you hand at him to step behind you. 

Then you took the stance, the one he'd practiced at home. It looked so different on your body, confidence and power overwhelmed that playful first impression of you. Feet shoulder-width apart, with your heels a bit off the mat. Knees soft and weight centered, chin tucked in. Hands up, loose fists, and elbows right at your ribs. 

He's memorized it like the rules, like textbook homework, like med-school. Looking at you from the back, how the ripple of muscle moved in waves on your shoulders and upper back, how the tight hem of your shorts dug into the middle of your thighs, even your hair seemed to sway exactly how you wanted it to, curling half-dried strands dancing down your nape.

This is what Brendon was looking for. The undeniable control of it, he craved the centered contentment you seemed to emit from your entire body.

His eyes also caught the open-back gap in your shirt, but he was trying to forget about that for now.

"You understand the stance very well," You said as you instructed him to copy you, "But you keep losing it with every movement. You have to step back into position fluidly and intentionally."

Then you challenged him to a game of the most tedious step drills, in which you pointed to a spot and he stepped, then reset into stance. Forward, back, left, and right. After a few, you added a freeze command and it made you actually giggle when he wobbled. Brendon thought he was too focused to be effected by the sound, he wasn't.

You added shadowboxing to the drills and joined him in synchronized movements, like it was a choreographed dance. Brendon watched as slowly your comments got braver, teasing as you instructed. He couldn't believe he was finding this amusing, fighting his face to remain stoic. No one usually plays with words around him this much.

"If you cross your legs one more time, I'll sign you up for the ballet studio. Camille can handle you."

"You gasped like you forgot to breathe. You did, didn't you?"

"A jab has no business turning your entire body, turn your back foot and swing at the hips."

"If you want to break your wrist, I'd recommend rotating your fist at the laaast second."

"Magnus used to smack my hand with his mitt if I left it forward after a jab. Snap back into guard immediately or I'll tell on youuuu."

Your legs swung as you sat on a press bench, and your eyes sparkled like you were having the time of your life just irritating him. Brendon quipped back occasionally, when his breath allowed it. 

You clapped once and bounced off the bench, "Ok, BigBren-"

"Do not call me that," his head snapped to you with a subtle glare.

"Oops ok," you huffed as you extended your arms over your head, "let's stretch a bit."

"In the middle of a session?" 

"Yes, 100%, sir, you move like a rusted nail," you laughed, then muttered, "long, long, and so uncompromising."

He released his stance, feeling a twinge between his shoulders, "Uncompromising is part of my job."

"Not here, it's not," you smiled up at him and whispered, "it's Magnus's but don't tell him I said that. I promise I'm funnier."

Brendon felt a smile pull up his cheeks.

"I understand you want to punch things soon," Coach nodded slowly as he walked with Brendon towards the lockers, "but that is not the sport. Your balance, your guard, is what protects both you and others." 

He'd been instructed to stay in stance for five minutes everyday, use a mirror and no music, until his muscles have memorized what his mind has. Coach Magnus joined you after supervising a group class, and Brendon watched as you demonstrated the movements again under Coach's watch, while he pointed out tips to keep balances, common mistakes, and breath work. 

This is all to be expected from a very successful trainer. You cheekily knocking down Magnus's pen every time he used it to point at your form was new, so was the giant blonde's laugh when he made you put your feet closer together, only to purposefully knock you off balance. It's for teaching purposes, He'd claimed with a grin.

Something fluttered in Park's chest at seeing the natural flow of your strange relationship. It looked fun, supportive, there was no worry about offense after teasing remarks. Even in the first session with you, Brendon has been subjected to such remarks for over an hour, until he too found them funny.

Your spirit in this had not been deterred by his blank expressions or his glare. You seemed to find joy in producing any eye twitch or half-smile from his face.

"I understand," Park nodded.

"Good, now we may need to focus a bit on that before adding an opponent or getting the mitts, but you're a fast learner once you got the idea."

Brendon huffed, thanked the coach and walked towards the showers. Pausing at the door, he turned and mentioned your name, "she work for you long?"

"Oh," Magnus laughed heartily and shook his head, "she doesn't work for me, this is just what she likes to do."

He was still chuckling as he walked back into the gym.

an: I know nothing about boxing so i made up some stuff and looked up some stuff. also, I made up the gym names and it was so fun. Magnus was something for the plot but omg I love him.

Couch Magnus, while sounding flat and soulless over text, was a giant Swedish kickboxing trainer who's insides were as soft as a collagen surgical sponge. Brendon has worked with him for a while, starting a few months ago when he needed something physical for his frustrations to target. 

Magnus was bouncing between two fitness clubs for years by then, one of which was close enough to Park's house that he could just walk to, leaving him no excuse to slack on a commitment. Phoenix Fitness, however, was a 15 minute car ride that Brendon did not think was worth the travel time. It might be now, since his coach was exclusively there.

At least he received and read that text before heading home, before packing to walk to his Boxing class. Small mercies, Brendon hated wasting his time.

You've been coming to your shift in different shoes than when you leave. 

The idea was to put on running shoes after logging off, run directly towards the gym, get warmed up on the way, save gas, all that good stuff. It's been working for a few weeks, before Pittsburgh decided to open the floodgates right on top of your head in the middle of a crosswalk. You did do this to break a sweat early, you thought, guess soaking wet on arrival also works.

The socks squished against the shoe soles when you stepped through the glass doors and you cringed, scrunching your nose tight. You ran through remedies for the situation and you got hung up on the lack of extra shoes. Always packing extra clothes and socks, you have not once thought about shoes. 

"Fucking-"

"Hey!" your curse got interrupted by Magnus as he stomped his way over from the lockers, his white-blond head tilted, "Did you fall into a puddle?"

"Hey there, Mr I'm so big I can make short people jokes at everybody," you retorted, not pausing as you dropped your duffle on the wooden bench and dug into the shelves for a towel, "the sky has descended upon my head, so I'm working barefoot today."

The man snorted, and walked past you into the training arena, pushing open the glass door.

"I am of above average height, you know," you yelled behind him.

"I don't," Magnus shrugged, "I know I can pick you up with a finger and a thumb, though."

You scoffed dramatically and rolled your eyes, "that counts for nothing when your body is a brick wall."

"Glove up and I'll show you brick wall."

"You ever look into reusable sports gauze?" you heard Mag through the pounding of your pulse in your ears, "We could stock up, then people won't have to buy things to start boxing."

How considerate. This giant fluff ball of a man, who is an immovable force against your gloved swings and sweeping kicks. Coach had just finished up your hour, and was tauntingly jogging in a circle around your prone body as you lay on the padded vinyl flooring. He loved to chat at you when all you could hear is your heavy breath.

"Why does everything have to be reusable?" you whined and turned your head to the other side, cheek against the plastic-y floor, "are you gonna wash hundreds of wraps so they can be reused?"

He sighed as he passed your head in surprisingly light steps.

"It's too late to save the planet anyway, a dozen boxing class kits won't tip it over the edge," mumbling, you pushed your hands under you and sat up on your knees.

"Afternoon is for light taps and lying down on a bouncy canvas, not for your pessimistic-" His phone blared a buzzing noise from the floor behind you and he stopped mid-sentence.

"Bullshit?" you fake-whispered as you watched him answer a call, " were you about to say bullshit?"

"Coach Magnuson," he said, his hand waving at your face dismissively ,"Park. Yes."

Your head tilted curiously. Magnus doesn't usually book a slot after yours on weekdays, so it must be one of his clients from FitFlex gym.

Coach's stomping steps passed by you, heading to the front door. You dropped your head to your chest, took a deep breath while wiggling your arms, then stood to head to the showers. While exiting the first glass doors and walking left towards the lockers, you heard Magnus talking with his client at the reception desk. 

"I'm gonna need your name and phone number please," Amy from behind the desk politely said.

You looked down at your fists, finding one end of your dark green wrap and starting to release it. For a reason you couldn't identify, your ears stayed at the reception desk as you slowed your stride. Tilting a shoulder back while opening the door to the lockers, you peeked behind you just as the client said-

"Brendon Park."

His presence was always so palpable, It's surprising you didn't recognize him sooner. You blinked down at your sneakers, your body halted with a hand to the door. Brendon Park. Magnus said Park.

It would've been fine, made no difference, if you hadn't agreed to assist Coach on his classes. 

The distinction was in his jaw, the outer ends of his eyebrows, and his earlobes. The semi-permanent scowl knotting his forehead. The shoulders that were bit too wide for the sleeve seam on his shirts. These were all Dr Park. Park The Shark. 

The man in the boxing class is the same Park. Key differences, ones you're not ashamed to say caught your breath at first sight, were the soft frizzy waves of his hair, the gentle lift of his brows while listening to Magnus, and that one specific heel bounce right before the class started. 

You don't think he's been new to anything in years by the look in his eyes.

"So, friend Park has covered a few sessions of basics," Coach walked beside you from his office towards the arena, "training was staggering due to scheduled so progress is good but not."

"Not? still beginner, you mean?" you looked up at him.

Magnus hummed and held open the door for you. You walked forward carrying a boxing beginner's kit containing complimentary items to support training, including disposable boxing wraps.

Brendon. Park? you weren't sure what you could call him in your head. You weren't even sure this man existed outside the hospital, outside Park The Shark, until today. He sat on a bench at the edge of the training area, ready in an unfairlyfitted sports top and shorts. You slowed your pace while he was looking down, not yet alerted to you and coach arriving.

He'll know. 

Dr Park will look up and know, you thought. 

Your relationship with boxing, fitness as a whole actually, was an incredibly private, separate-world for you. The OR nurse part of yourself was never mentioned here, she usually takes a backseat and pretends she doesn't work in healthcare. The athletic, loud, and frankly powerful part of you was an entirely different person, and you weren't sure how to feel about anyone from PTMC knowing about her, let alone Dr Park.

You shouldn't have pulled your wet hair in a ponytail, you had no way to hide.

"This is my assistant trainer," Magnus introduced you, prompting Brendon to look directly at you, "She will be helping me organize the contents of your sessions, as well as assist during demonstrations and mock duels."

His face did not do anything for a while. His gaze swept over your face, then scanned over it again, blinked then nodded, "Brendon Park."

Right as your mouth was about to let out the words I know, you realized he doesn't. He couldn't recognize you. It was that, or he has the most control over his face muscles out of everyone in the world. Park has never seemed to like acting.

You, instead, blurted out your first name, your voice a tad quieter in a way that made Mag throw you a glance, and smiled, "Welcome to Phoenix, Mr Park." 

From your knowledge of him within OR theaters, you expected him to say "It's Dr Park," but he shook his head minimally, "just Brendon's fine."

That tone, the surrender of such a high title, rested your nerves and you settled back into the gym vibe you love. Your smile widened as you offered him your hand in a fist, "Brendon."

His hand came up to copy yours, and the moment your knuckles touches, you saw the curl at the corners of his lips for the first time. 

Fuck, he has dimples.

an: All of this is made up lol I know nothing about boxing. I've written ahead a little bit, I'm going on vacation so I might set up some posts during my travels. I'm not promising anything though bc it takes me a while to find the pictures lol. I love it but it takes a while to get the right feel :)