Hi All! I Worked On My Bingo Card Right Before The Show Started! Im Attaching A Blank Version If Y’all

All exclusive short stories: The Folk of the Air

I decided to collect all exclusive stories I know of. I have done something similar for SJM books .  If you know of any other exclusive story, please let me know! THE CRUEL PRINCE A visit to the Impossible Lands Barnes and Noble edition Deleted Scenes From The Cruel Prince (Some of these are alternate storylines) THE WICKED KING deleted scene from The Wicked King, Barnes and Noble edition THE QUEEN OF NOTHING Cardan’s letters from the Queen of Nothing Barnes and Noble edition, should be read after the book deleted scene from The Queen of Nothing , sent via Holly’s official newsletter THE STOLEN HEIR The Walmart Exclusive Stolen Heir content The Stolen Heir Barnes & Noble Bonus Content, author’s personal journal pages and notes on the manuscript, Some posts I found useful: post about True Names A Guide to Holly Black’s Extended Faerie Universe

MITCHELL | Jake Seresin

Masterlist

Intro prologue chapter two

Chapter one; Our eyes meet

Maverick sat down on the barstool with his daughter following him, Her following him around brought him back to the old times when she didn't want to be separated from him when she was a little girl.

"How was the mach nine?" She asked as they enters the Hard Deck.

"Oh I blow it." He said beaming.

"Im sorry what?" Y/n ask him not believing her ears, questioning herself did she get it right. He nods with his eyes on his phone talking to Iceman.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me." A voice said. The Mitchell's lift their head to see Penny Benjamin.

"Pete." Penny said with a smile.

"Penny?" Maverick says leaning in to the bar, not believing his eyes. He went ballistic with Penny Benjamin when he was younger. After her mother passed away he starts to learn to move on, he met Penny again got into trouble got deployed somewhere else by the Admiral.

"Heya Pen."

"What are you doing here?"

"I should ask you the same thing." Y/n watch the adults interact with a glint of curiosity, they were being suspicious. Like they are still attracted to each other. The two practically stared into each other's souls.

"Please for the sake of my sanity stop eye fucking each other." Her words made them broke their stare, a innocent smile forming to her face. "Penny, can I have a Soda?"

Penny nods then asked what's her dad doing here, he starts to tell her how this is his last post. Penny did not believe him.

"Come on Pete, you've been saying that as long as I known you. You said that after you take me to a joy ride in a F-18 and the next thing I know you're off to Bosnia. Then Iraq, both times. You've got yourself in trouble and Iceman makes a call." Penny said giving Maverick a beer and her Soda. "And you're back into the air."

"Penny..." Maverick starts.

"Too late." Penny interrupt, "You're about to ask me what time I get off."

Maverick shakes his head with a smile, "Don't give me that look" she said making Y/n snorts, she's aware that her dad's smile is cocky and pretty sure he doesn't have any look other than that.

"I'm not giving you any look, I swear."

"You know how it always ends for us," Penny eyed him.

Y/n eyes watched him leans to the counter with a smile, "You look good." He said to Penny, Penny takes a step back and rings the bell causing people to cheer at the sound.

"Much appreciated pal." A Navy said patting her dad's shoulder.

"What am I missing here?" Maverick asked Penny and Y/n.

Penny step aside to reveal the plate behind her, guess he didn't see it because he was too busy lost in Penny's eyes. 'Disrespect a lady, the Navy, or put your cell phone on my bar you buy a round.' Maverick turned to face his daughter, "You knew about this?"

"The plate is right infront of you, you would have known it if you weren't too focused on Penny."

He rolled his eyes, he looks around there was a lot of people "For everyone?"

"I'm afraid rules are rules, sir." Y/n said in a military tone.

"You're lucky it's early." Penny continues.

Y/n takes her glass into her hand with her eyes scanning the room, her eyes meet another pair of eyes.

Jake Seresin suddenly feels the room turned quiet when his eyes laid on the h/c. As if everything in this room faded away, everything felt so slow. Y/n send him a small smile and look away embarrassed that she got caught looking at someone.

He snapped out of it when he saw a familiar face causing him to smirk, "Look what do we have here, Phoenix." He walks closer to Phoenix, "And here I thought we were special, Coyote." He added.

"Fellas this here is bagman." Phoenix introduced to the guys behind her.

"Hangman." He corrected with a forced smile.

"Whatever, you are looking at the naval aviator that have duty to kill."

"Stop." Jake joked.

"Mind you the guy was in museum piece from a Korean war," Phoenix finished.

"Cold War." Coyote said.

"Different war same century." A guy from behind Phoenix stated.

"Who are your friends?" Coyote asked.

"Payback." Reuben Fitch said.

"Fanboy." Mickey Garcia says with a nod.

Phoenix nod her head beside her, "Who's he?" A guy with a glasses patting away the crumbs from his uniform.

"When did you get in?"

"Oh I've been here the whole time." He replied with a sweet smile.

"The man a stealth pilot." Coyote joked.

"Weapons system actually." He answered not getting the joke.

"With no sense of humor." Jake nods. He keeps stealing glanced to the barstool, watching her having a conversation with an older guy beside her. He felt his heart pumped faster when he hears her laugh at the man words beside her.

"You need a drink? I'll get it." Jake push the cue to Phoenix.

Phoenix was little shocked that was new of him. She turn back to the guy asking questions.

"What do they call you?"

"Bob." He answered.

"No, your call sign." Payback asked.

"Uh Bob."

"Bob Floyd? You're my new back seater?" Phoenix asked him, "From lemoore?" She asked.

"Looks like it, yeah." Bob replied.

Fanboy perked up remembering that he was assigned as a back seater to someone who have Ciel as their call sign, "Do any of you know Ciel? I was assigned as their back seater."

Phoenix jaw dropped "Ciel? Lucky you, Ciel's back seater quit being a naval aviator, said he doesn't want his wife to be a widow any time sooner." She quickly looks around for her friend.

Her eyes twinkles when she found Ciel or her civilians name Y/n Mitchell, sitting on the barstool with a older guy that she did not know that happens to her old man. Phoenix was about to call her but shut her mouth when Y/n put her index finger on her lips which Phoenix nods at.

"Penny my dear," He near the barstool making sure to make yet another eye contact with the h/c woman. "All four more on the old timer."

Y/n noticed the guy is slowly approaching her, she look at her glass of Soda pretending to not know he's not going to talk to her.

"I'm Hangman." He reached his hand out to her.

She decided to play the guy's ego, she shook his hand "Well that's unfortunate." Y/n said pretending to not know its a call sign making Maverick smirk at her words.

"No, it's my call sign." He said.

"Call sign? Oh you're a pilot" Y/n send him a awed face, she fake gasp not that he knows. Pretending to not like her dad did not briefed her about pilots introducing themselves with their call sign but for the sake of having fun.

"That's right, a naval aviator." He respond proudly. She cleared her throat, "I'm Y/n Mitchell." She said with a smile.

"Jake seresin." He plastered a smirk on his face making her bashfully look away from his gaze.

"Here you go." Penny interrupt giving the Ken doll look alike his beers.

"It was nice talking to you, Hangman" Y/n flash him a smile.

"Thank you, much appreciated pops" Jake said to nodding to Maverick and send Y/n a flirtatious wink causing her to giggle.

Penny turns to Maverick with a knowing smile.

"Bradshaw! is that you?" Phoenix voice called out.

Y/n turned her head to the entrance, there he is. Almighty Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw. Her childhood bestfriend. She looks at her dad with a toothy grin but turned into sad smile when she saw him turn his head avoiding to be seen by his godson, the Mitchell man pulled out the young Bradshaw papers, set Bradley's career back four years.

She chuckled when she saw Phoenix hit him in the gut with the cue. She watched Jake talk with Bradley, to be honest its more like joking around but in a weird way.

Phoenix leans to his shoulder "I heard Ciel's coming in this mission."

"Ciel? Already?" More aviators starts to enter the hard deck with the evening rush, Fanboy was looking at them.

"The hell kind a mission is this?"

"That's not what we're supposed to be asking," Phoenix continued "Everyone here is the best there is, who the hell are they going to teach us?"

"Any of them is Ciel?" Fanboy ask Phoenix.

"Nope," Phoenix dragged the p. "Ciel just finished her last mission, from what I heard she shot down 5 of the enemy fighter jets."

Everyone jaw hanged, 5 of enemy fighter jets? That's higher than Jake "Hangman" Seresin.

Back to the main character, Y/n tapped her father on the shoulder whispering she's going to the restroom. As she walk she felt someone eyes behind her head.

Entering the restroom she turn the water on to wash her hands as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The door swung open and in walk the guy she talked before on the bar.

"This the ladies restroom, the gentleman is across from this one." Y/n told him looking at him from the mirror.

"Oh I'm not looking for the restroom," He said.

Y/n 'oh'ed at his words, She turned around leaning her back at the counter with her arms crossed, "So what did you wanna do, just drop right down on the tile and go for it?" She asked him tapping the ground with her shoe as he approached.

Jake put his hands on the counter pressing them hard, checking if it can hold someone on it, "No, I had the counter in mind." He said looking at her.

Y/n reach her arm for the tissue, "Great, that would be very, very comfortable yeah."

"It could be unless you prefer standing instead." He says with a smirk leaning on his hand on the counter making her shaking her head at him while she wipes her hands.

"Actually, I came in here to save you from making a big mistake with that older guy." Jake said kissing his teeth.

"Really? So I could go on to a bigger one with a young guy like yourself?" She throw the tissue away looking back at Jake whom she think is fun to messed with.

"Maybe?" He tilt his head while he raises his eyebrow.

She pushed herself from the counter "I've gotta be at work very early in the morning." She send him a tight lipped smile. He shrugs with a smug look, he catch her arm.

"Wait," he pulled her hand to his chest, she raise one eyebrow "I have a friend and he's waiting outside. Wanna fool him?" He asked.

"Aw, what's in it for me?" She tilt her head with her chin high.

"You'll have fun with a guy like me," he says shaking her hand.

"Still don't know what's in it for me."

"I'll buy you a drink next time we see each other," He said with a wink.

"What makes you think we'll see each other next time?" She asked.

"Hey you'll never know, you might miss me." He grinned, leaning down to her face and brush some stray hair out of her face.

"Fine," She rolled her eyes.

They both walked out from the restroom, her eyes scanning through the crowd. "So which one is your friend that we're gonna fool?"

"That one, see that guy staring at his beer?" Jake whispers into her ear and pointed at guy.

"He looks like he's staring at his lover." Y/n commented making him grin at her words.

She was about to walk towards the guy but Jake grabbed her wrist, he turns her head towards him.

"Just need to do this," he wipe her lower lip, wiping her lipstick. Her heart feels like it's going to burst. "Now when you walk to him, apply your lipstick again so he'll believe it."

"Wow, You're full of surprises." She said, stepping away and start to walk to Coyote with her lipstick in her hand.

"Your friend was magnificent" she said as she reapplying her lipstick, he looks up from his beer watching her figure walking away. Jake stood beside him with a smug smirk.

"Nah, that can't be."

She take her sit back next to her dad who stares at her with a slight scolding eyes, she raise her hands "What? I didn't do anything, beside it was fun messing with him."

"Let's go, I'll drive you home, where are you staying?" Maverick asked.

"At Penny's. She offered a place for me to stay as soon she knows I'm in town."

Penny walks to the Mitchell with a card in her hand, she slide the card to Maverick "It's been declined." He take out his wallet for the cash.

"That wouldn't cover it." Penny hands him the check, he cannot believe the bill she had gave him.

"I'll come back tomorrow bringing the cash" Maverick responded. Penny walks to the bell holding the rope, "I'm afraid rules are rules Pete." She rings the bell once again, the crowd cheers and start chanting "Hoverboard."

"Really?" Maverick said to Penny. Who smiles innocently at him.

"You've should use my money," She sighed as Jake and two other guy walks behind her dad, Jake winked at Y/n. He placed a hand on the older man's shoulder and nods at Coyote before lifting him from the ground.

"It's great to see you Pete!" Penny yelled.

"I'll see you later, Do you want me to cook dinner?" Y/n said gathering her stuff.

"Great, I'll see you at home. Tell Amelia that I'll be home soon." Penny beamed, to Penny, Y/n feels like another daughter of her. She gives out a good advices, she showed up at her highschool graduation.

"See ya later." She waved bye at Penng on her way she heard someone playing the piano, causing her stop in mid tracks. He was playing their favourite song when they were little.

She look towards the piano to see her brother figure playing, Bradley who felt he was being watched glanced to his shoulder to his sister figure waving at him. She make a phone like on her hand mouthing call me before leaving the Hard Deck.

Y/n walks out to find her dad staring inside the Hard deck listening to the crowd singing along with Bradley who's playing Great Balls of Fire. He was quiet and looked pale.

"Dad, are you okay?" She asked him.

"No it's okay sweetie, I'm fine. Come on let's go home." Maverick said pulling her into a side hug.

🗒 ❛ note༉‧₊˚✧

I've spend a day for this chapter, I want to write at least one chapter for this book.

Word count: 2.5K

Real Men Wear Tiaras || Iceman

summary: Olivia desires to hold a tea party with Iceman turning into the Ice Queen. It's fingernail painting, pink fluffy boas, and glittery tiaras for this fighter pilot. Tom will do anything to make sure his baby girl is happy.

pairing: Tom "Iceman" Kazansky x Wife!Reader

✧ Iceman masterlist || My Library

Olivia, the bright and bubbly little girl who had pretty blonde hair and crystal blue orbs, peered up at her daddy who was seated behind his desk, looking over a last-minute report an admiral sent over to him. With a doll in one hand, and a hot pink boa in the other, the four-year-old waited patiently. 

Through his reading glasses, Ice could feel the stare of his baby. You and Iceman’s son, Riley, were out with a couple of your friends for a playdate with the boys, leaving Olivia at home with her father. 

“Yes, Angel?” Ice finally peels his eyes off the screen of his computer.

Olivia giggles to herself. Holding her boa and doll, she blinks. Long eyelashes fan along her sweet little cheeks, a light dusty shade of pink covering her skin from how hard she was running earlier. 

“Can we have a tea party?” She asks him in the cutest voice. Ice feels his heart tighten, knowing that voice and those big blue eyes would do him in. Peeling his glasses off his eyes, he contemplates his daughter. Picking her up, he plucks at the pink boa. 

“Just us? Or is Rosie, Snow White, and Maggie joining us?” He questions, referencing her three favorite dolls, one of which was Rosie, a blonde Barbie who was in her hands currently. 

“All of us!” Olivia proclaims. “This is for you, daddy,” She puts the boa around his neck. Ice folds his neck at the light tickling, shaking his head. 

“Alright, then. Let’s go have a tea party.” Ice declares, turning his computer off. Olivia shrieks with excitement, scrambling to get out of Ice’s lap. 

“I have to go find your tiara!” She squeals.

“My what?” Tom jerks his head up, but it was too late. Olivia was much faster, her legs pushing her toward her bedroom. She had a tea set that Tom’s mother gifted her for Christmas, and it was one that she swore by. Every tea party whether it was with you, Ice, or both of you, included this tea set. 

Ice sighs to himself, moving into the kitchen to make actual tea. Olivia preferred the real thing. It was easy when she was two to make her believe that water served as tea, but now that she was four, somehow she grew much wiser. After Ice fixes it and lets it cool, he looks to see Olivia rushing forward with the teapot.

“Here, daddy!” She says, handing it to him.

“Thank you, baby,” Ice responds, taking the teapot from her. He fills it up and soon, he’s being whisked to her bedroom where her table was. She decorated it with some toys and set her dolls Snow White, Rosie, and Maggie in their chairs, leaving two spots open.

“Maggie, Rosie, and Snow White – The Ice Queen is here!” Olivia announces, holding her sparkly tiara. Tom’s eyes double in size. She was seriously going to make him wear it. She marches over, humming loudly as she sets the tiara atop her father’s head. 

“I dub thee Ice Queen Ka… Ka… Katanzsy!” She implodes. She still had a hard time pronouncing her last name. 

Ice smiles. “Repeat after me, baby… Ka,”

“Ka,” 

“Zan,” 

“Zan!” 

“Sky,” 

“SKY!” 

Ice grins. 

“That’s it, Angel! Kazansky.” 

Olivia grins. “KATANZSY!” 

Ice exhales with a laugh. “You’ll get it,” He kisses her head. 

As he pours the tea into the tiny cups, Olivia giggles. “Pinkies out, daddy!” She reminds him. Tom smirks, sticking his pinky out as they share some tea. Olivia is babbling onto her dolls, telling them that they must respect Iceman because he was their Ice Queen. 

Iceman couldn’t help but wonder. If his little girl became a naval aviator like him, would she dub the nickname Ice? Would he lead a legacy that she could carry on? 

It makes a lump form in his throat at the mention. As the tea party comes to an end, Olivia smiles. “Daddy, will you paint my nails, please?” She asks him.

How could he say no? He’d give this baby girl anything she wanted. He’d hand the world to her on a silver platter if it meant he would see that darling smile. Soon the father-daughter duo is on the floor with paper towels spread around. Iceman is holding a deep concentration on the tiny nails of Olivia, coloring them a hot pink. She loved anything hot pink.

And he did so while still wearing the glittery tiara and pink boa. After he successfully painted Olivia’s fingernails, she erupted with giggles.

“Your turn!” She exclaims, taking the cap to the nail polish. Iceman rolls his eyes with a laugh, knowing he should’ve seen this coming. So, without giving her any lip, he puts his fingers in front of her. One by one with a deep concentration that matched his face earlier, Olivia did a rather good job of painting his nails. 

Iceman holds them up for his daughter to examine. “Well? Are these nails fit for the Ice Queen?” he questions with a smile. 

Olivia nods her head. She puts her fingertips on his.

“We match!” She squeals, throwing her arms around his neck. Tom feels himself begin to melt. He loved this baby so much. 

When you arrived with a sleeping Riley on your shoulder, you were greeted by the sight of Ice donning his tiara, pink boa, and bright nails. 

“Well, it seems you two had fun,” You say, putting your keys in the bowl. Ice grins, nodding his head.

“We did.” 

The very next day, Ice went to work as usual. And when he walked in, Slider and Hollywood were the first to notice the pilot’s rather blinding choice of nail color.

“Whoa, Iceman. You got somethin’ to tell us?” Slider laughs.

Maverick walks around the corner to see the commotion. 

“Olivia got you, too?” He asks with a slight gulp. 

Ice’s eyebrows knit together. “What happened?” 

Slowly, Maverick holds up his own hands, but his fingernails were blue and pink.

“Maddie Mitchell,” He announces.

The two pilots smiled widely, Hollywood and Slider glancing between them.

“So, that’s what it’s like to have daughters?” Slider asks.

Iceman chuckles.

“We do anything to make those girls happy. Right, Maverick?” 

Maverick nods.

“Anything,” He agrees. 

Iceman and Maverick would wear their nail polish with pride.

Guiding you to me

Uh- the Marc Spector x Reader + Steven Grant x Reader soulmate au I had in my mind since yesterday. I’m supposed to write a coursework thing, but lol this is what I wrote instead. Side note, this is in the same universe as the Matt Murdock soulmate au story I wrote a while back. Uh- Enjoy

Also, I apologise prematurely if I don’t portray DID in an accurate way. I did my best, but I know I’ll have to read up more. 

The soulmate au is where all people have animal guides to lead them to their soulmates. You have an albino raven whose demeanour switches- 

Masterlist

Ever since you could remember, an albino raven followed you everywhere. When you were younger, he was a small bundle of fluff- chirping as he stumbled behind you. You had to pick him up with your tiny hands and walk with him.

You called him Cloud at first- because he looked like a cloud- soft and fluffy. Later though, that would change. He would grow larger, leaner- feathers no longer soft, but sharp and strong. So, you named him Mani- the moon personified in Norse mythology.

You didn’t know why, but it seemed right. And he apparently liked it too.

Mani was… unpredictable. Sometimes, he was anxious and skittish, and sometimes he was rough and vocal. He almost seemed to be two different individuals. So, you had named the anxious ego of your guide Ernest- and he had gently nipped at your ear affectionately. You had assumed he had liked the name.

Overall, though, both Mani and Ernest were sweet to you. Mani was more protective though, screeching and cawing at whoever rubbed at you the wrong way. He seemed to know you better than you knew yourself sometimes. He was more nippy- he bit your fingers lightly to convey his affection.

Ernest was less so. He usually liked to bury his head into the crook of you neck or into your chest- and he was far more clingy. And unlike Mani, who held his head high perched on your shoulder, Ernest liked to be carried by you. You obliged him of course, you couldn’t resist those begging red eyes. Ernest was the one to bring you small trinkets- ranging from bottle caps and pretty stones to full on key rings and post cards. You kept them all in a small chest, and sometimes, you would see him nestled into the goods.

Keep reading

ZEMOS ACCENT

The Marvel Cinematic Universe throughout the years

Its 3:38am and this idea was keeping me awake so I wrote it...

Sukka. Tokka. Zutara. Kataang.

Long ago, the four mainstream ships lived together in harmony. Then, everything changed when the Kataang & Zutara shippers attacked.

Only New Episodes, beloved by all four shippers, could stop them. But when the fandom needed them most, they vanished.

A dozen years passed and the fandom and I discovered a new OTP: an adorable one named Zukka. And although their sarcasm levels are great, they have a lot to learn before they're ready to unite anyone. But I believe, Zukka can save the fandom.

bitter/sweet

a Dr. Jack Abbot one-shot (The Pitt)

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: when a stubbornly charming chef keeps showing up in his ER, Dr. Jack Abbot finds it harder and harder to ignore the pull toward something—or someone—he didn't plan for…

warnings/tags: slow burn, hurt/comfort, grumpy x sunshine, food as a love language, age gap, fainting/medical emergency, mild language

word count: 5.5k

a/n: my new hyperfixation i guess ???

“Fuck,” you grumbled, clutching your thumb in a blood-soaked kitchen towel, the fibers more crimson than cotton. The pain throbbed in pulses, each step sending a sharp reminder up your arm. You kept your eyes on the linoleum floors, following the resident as he led you deeper into the chaos of the emergency department and into an exam room.

“Oh,” the resident, Student Doctor Whittaker, said, his voice pitchy as he glanced at the kitchen towel. He quickly averted his eyes, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Yeah, maybe we should keep that wrapped.” 

You arched a brow at him, settling onto the exam table as the paper crinkled beneath you. The air in the room smelled sterile – alcohol wipes, latex gloves, and that faint antiseptic sting. “You’re not afraid of a little blood, are you? Because hate to be the one to tell you – you might be in the wrong profession.” 

He gave a nervous laugh. “No, no – just… been a rough day,” he said, the humor dropping from his voice. “Can’t really handle another loss.”

You paused, tone softening. “Oh. Well, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” You glanced down at the towel, now visibly seeping. “Did you get a hold of my sister?” 

He shook his head, eyes already shifting toward the door. “I tried, but she’s in the OR; still scrubbed in. But, don’t worry; Dr. Abbot is the attending on call tonight. He’s one of the best – ”

You frowned. “Abbot? Where’s Robby?” 

Before he could answer, the door opened and a tall man entered the room, pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves with a practiced snap. His scrubs were black, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and his expression was carved from stone. His salt-and-pepper hair was short but wavy; he easily had fifteen or twenty years on you… Still, he was cute.

“Well,” he began, his voice low and even, “It’s almost nine, and contrary to popular belief, even Robby needs to go home and rest. So, lucky you – you get me.” 

You blinked. “Wow, smart and pretty. Lucky me indeed.” 

He gave a subtle eye roll before his gaze met yours – steady, unreadable, deeply hazel. “So, what’ve we got?”

Whittaker stumbled to present. “Uh – female, 27. Has a deep laceration on her thumb. Cut it open on a grater – ”

“Mandoline slicer,” you corrected, 

Abbot moved toward you, taking a seat on the wheeled stool. As he unwrapped your hand, you couldn’t help but ask, “Careful – you’re not gonna get queasy, too, are you?”

Without missing a beat, he stoically answered, “Only if this turns into something worse than a hand injury… like small talk.”

You let out a surprised laugh, half from the pain, half from how dryly he delivered the line.

“You’re funny,” you grinned. “I like you.” 

He said nothing in response, merely peeled the cloth away, sticky and crimson, revealing the deep gash across the side of your thumb. Cold air kissed the open skin, and you hissed. He examined it without a flinch, gently turning your hand between his fingers.

“So, what were you doing with the mandoline slicer?”

“I’m a chef,” you answered. “The prep rush was insane today – guess my hand just slipped.” 

He pressed carefully at the space between your thumb and index finger. You flinched, instinctively pulling back, but his other hand caught yours firmly, anchoring it. 

“What?” you asked, watching his expression shift as he looked up.

“Stitches,” he decided.

“Fuck that.” 

He arched his brow. “It’s a deep cut; can’t just put a bandaid on it and kiss it better.” 

“Well, that’s because you haven’t tried,” you flirted, finding it to be an easy distraction from the pain. Still, his face remained unchanged. “Come on, are you serious? You really can’t just wrap it up and call it a day? I have to get back before the dinner rush.”

“It’s not optional,” he informed. “It’s not gonna heal if it’s not stitched up.” 

“Don’t worry,” Whittaker piped up again, voice chipper. “Dr. Abbot could do this in his sleep.” 

“I could,” Abbot said, already reaching for gauze. “But Whittaker’s going to do it instead.” 

“What?” You both asked, heads whipping to him.

“It’s a good learning opportunity,” he replied casually. “And Robby’s always goin’ on about how we’re a teaching hospital. Besides, it’s just a few stitches – a teenager could do it.” 

“A teenager is about to do it,” you muttered. 

“He’s older than you,” Abbot pointed out, making your frown set on him. 

“I want you to do it.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because he got queasy just looking at the kitchen towel,” you explained. You and Abbot both turned to Whittaker, who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. “It’s either you, or I wait for my sister to finish surgery,” you stubbornly gave him an ultimatum. “And she told me about those patient satisfaction scores.” You let out a low whistle.

Abbot stared at you for a beat, then turned to the student doctor. “Whittaker.” 

“Yes, sir?” 

“Go get me the lidocaine.” 

You grinned in victory before offering your hand back out to Abbot.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he muttered, arms crossing.

“You and my sister should start a support group,” you shot back.

He huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, maybe we will.” 

When Whittaker returned, Abbot explained the procedure before getting to work: numbing first, then the sutures, probably six or seven. His voice was calm, precise. You clenched your other hand into a fist, eyes fixed anywhere but the needle. The sting of the lidocaine made your jaw tense.

“Ready?” Abbot asked. You nodded silently, lips pressed tight. 

His hands were rough but skilled, careful – you could sense it. 

As your eyes gazed over the room, they settled on the chain tucked beneath the neck of Abbot’s scrubs. 

“Military?” you asked, voice quieter now as your free hand reached out to pull at the dog tags.

Without looking up, Abbot momentarily halted his work to swat your hand away. When your hand settled back by your side, he replied, “Used to be a medic. Liked the chaos so much, I went to med school for emergency medicine.” 

You winced as one of the stitches tugged. “You good?” he asked, glancing up. 

You gave him a wry look. “If I cry, will you hold my hand?” 

“I’m already holding your hand,” he deadpanned. 

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Then, buy me dinner? Or, let me buy you dinner, at Francesca.”

“Francesca?” Whittaker perked up. “Wait – you work there?” You nodded, smiling. “That’s cool. I’ve heard some of the other residents talking about it. They really love the food.” 

You turned back to Abbot with a pointed smile. “See? Good food, good company – what more could you ask for?” 

“Probably some peace and quiet,” he muttered. But, before you could press, he was already tying off the sutures and wrapping your hand with fresh gauze.

“So,” you said eventually, “what’s the damage?”

“You’re a rightie?” he asked; you nodded. “It’s your dominant hand. That, and the fact that restaurants have a high risk of infection – wet, hot, high-contact. It’s gonna take a minute to heal. Probably five days off work to initially heal and reduce strain; another five until you’re back to full-duty – and when you are, make sure you wear some sort of splint or gloves. Come back then and I’ll take ‘em out. Sound good?” 

A week off work. 

You already knew you weren’t waiting that long.

Still, you grinned up at him. “Whatever you say, handsome.”

Two weeks later––four days after you were meant to get your stitches out––you finally found yourself back in the hospital. You couldn’t say you missed the bright fluorescent lights or the constant beeping of machines – you weren’t sure how your sister did it every day.

You did, however, miss Dr. Tall, Dark, and Broody. 

That’s what you’d started calling Dr. Abbot in all your conversations with your sister. She’d blinked at you, been less amused, and professionally corrected you every time you brought him up. 

“You mean ‘Jack’?” She’d say, and you’d grinned at that, ready to use this ammunition against him.

And, even though you had every intention to return earlier so you could see Jack sooner, work at the restaurant had gotten busy. Between a busted oven and two line cooks calling out, you’d been elbow-deep in chaos. You’d barely been convinced by Eleni, your sous, to come back even now. She had to practically push you out the front door. 

Taylor, the charge nurse who brought you in, gave a smile as she informed you, “Dr. Whittaker will be in in just a few minutes.” 

Your spine straightened immediately. “Actually, can you get Dr. Abbot? Tall one with the storm cloud for a personality. You know the one.” 

Taylor nearly dropped her tablet laughing. “Oh, I like you,” she said, already halfway out the door. “Let me see what I can do.”

Luckily, it seemed like a slow night in the ED––well, slower than usual––and in a few minutes, your request had been granted.

“You know,” Abbot said by way of greeting when he entered the room, “you don’t get to request a specific doctor in the ED. That’s not how it works.”

You tilted your head. “Yeah? Then how come you showed up?” 

He ignored that. “Why didn’t you let Whittaker take them out?” He already sounded annoyed, and it brought you much more glee than it should’ve. “You know he’s perfectly capable of removing stitches. And putting them in.” 

“And pass up another moment of your stellar bedside manner? Now, why would I do that… Jack?” You smiled sweetly.

His eyes flicked up fast at the sound of his first name. “I hate your sister,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

“She’s the best and you know it.”

Instead of arguing, Jack gently pulled the wrap from your hand. His fingertips were warm through the gloves, deliberate in their movements as he examined the injury. 

“You didn’t wait the five days before going back to work,” he said flatly, frown setting in.

Your brows furrowed. “What are you talking about? Of course I did – In fact I – ” 

You cut yourself off when you saw the look he gave you. All stern disapproval and low-simmering frustration – hot. And in a moment, you crumbled.

“Okay, okay, fine – but I took three days off! That has to count for something! I was going stir-crazy in my apartment, Jack.” You squirmed under his gaze.

He let out a deep sigh, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he grumbled, brows pinched slightly as he prepped the suture scissors in that deliberate, quiet way of his.

You couldn’t watch as he moved with steady practiced precision. Instead, your eyes settled back on his dog tags and after a moment of silence, you asked in a soft voice, “How could you tell? That I went back to work early?” 

He met your eyes then, frowning. After a beat, he answered. “The skin around is red, irritated. The inflammation just started going down. You should’ve come in early if you were gonna go back to work. I said day 10.” 

“I know.” 

Dryly, he continued, “This is day fourteen.” 

“I know, Jack.” You frowned now too. “You know, if you keep on like this, you’re not getting your present.” 

That was when he noticed the light pink bag that sat on the chair by the exam table. 

“I brought you something. As a thank you for stitching me up.” 

Jack tilted his head to the side. “Not a bribe to soften the blow because you knew I’d know you went back to work early?”

You smiled up at him, this time in a way that asked for his forgiveness. “Why can’t it be both?” 

Jack rolled his eyes, then began removing your stitches. “It’s healing,” he noted, “but slower than it should be. You pushed it too hard.” 

“I was careful,” you defended. “I let Eleni do all the chopping and lifting heavy pans – I just ran the line… and plated.” 

Jack hummed, observing. “You’re holding tension through your whole arm. That’s not careful.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, but just then, he snipped one of the sutures and you flinched with a hiss of discomfort. His hands paused immediately, and his expression shifted – not annoyed this time, but concerned.

“Still hurts?” he asked, quieter.

You tried to play it off, half-laughing. “Hurts less than not being in the kitchen.” 

Jack sighed again, shaking his head. “You think I’m impressed by your stubbornness?” 

You gave a crooked grin. “No, but I think you like it.” 

He didn’t answer, just focused on removing the next stitch. Silence stretched between you, the only sound the soft snip of scissors. When he finally leaned back, he said, “Okay, that’s the last one. Take it easy, okay? I mean it. Just plating for now – carefully.” 

You lifted your head. “And if I don’t? You going to come hold my hand through the dinner rush?” 

Jack rolled his eyes. “I’ll come by the kitchen if I have to.” 

You watched him, smile growing. “Still thinking about saying yes to that dinner I offered?” 

Just as quick, he quipped, “I’m thinking about you not landing in my ER again.” 

Your brow rose. “Keep it up and you’re not getting the tiramisu.” 

As he was wrapping your hand in new gauze, his gaze flickered up to meet yours. “Tiramisu?” 

“My sister said you wouldn’t stop talking about it a few days ago. Got a craving.”

“Yeah, for DiAnoia’s,” Jack corrected. 

When he was done wrapping your hand, you hopped off the exam table and offered him the light pink bag, with a tiramisu boxed inside. 

“It’s better than DiAnoia’s,” you promised, already halfway to the door. 

He snorted at that, not believing you. “But, be careful, it's sweet. Might clash with the whole brooding thing you’ve got going on.” 

“I don’t brood,” he called after you.

You turned at the doorway, walking backward as you smirked. “Yeah? Tell that to your face.” 

Then, you spun on your heel, feeling his gaze on you as you let the door swing closed behind you.

You couldn’t tell if the emergency room was changing or if you were just getting used to it. The fluorescent lights felt ambient now, the loud chatter muffled, and the beep of vital machines now felt distant.

“Miss me?” You grinned up at Jack as he strolled towards the nurse’s station. You leaned casually against the counter, trying not to let your excitement show too much.

Without looking up from the chart in his hands, he replied, “Still haven’t recovered from the last time.”

You glanced over at Taylor, who sat typing behind the station, and dropped her a wink. “That’s not a no,” you stage-whispered, giggling. 

Jack finally looked at you then, eyes tired but alert, like your voice had stirred him awake. “What are you doing here?” he asked, handing off the chart to Taylor.

“What, can’t a girl visit her local cute, broody doctor?”

“I already told you I’m not that,” he frowned. 

You tilted your head. “Cute?” you asked, pretending to be confused. 

He narrowed his eyes on you. “Broody.”

“Right,” you nodded solemnly. “Of course not.” 

The silence between you lingered a second longer than expected – long enough for you to catch the faint circles under his eyes, the crease between his brows. His scrubs looked wrinkled, like he’d been running nonstop since the start of shift. Your smile softened. 

“I’m dropping some food off.”

His brows furrowed now. “For me?”

Your smile only widened, but faltered just a touch as you took in just how off he looked, a little out of rhythm. That bone-deep kind of tired. You wondered if he’d eaten at all tonight.

“For my sister,” you said lightly, though your feet were already carrying you toward the break room. You grabbed a paper plate and plastic fork, and returned just as quickly. You set the plate down and began undoing the takeaway box you’d packed.

“Wait,” Jack started, a note of warning in his voice – he already knew where this was going. You ignored him, and scooped a generous portion of pasta onto the plate before sliding it his way. The steam curled up toward Jack’s face.

“Try some.”

He sighed, saying your name like it was both a complaint and a surrender. 

“Come on,” you coaxed. “Just a bite. And if you hate it, I’ll leave you alone.”

He gave you a long-suffering look – but brought the fork to his mouth anyway. The first bite had his eyes fluttering closed, just for a second. A soft sound escaped him – barely audible, but unmistakable. You caught it.

“That was a compliment,” you accused, pointing at him with a victorious grin. “I heard it! Everyone heard it!” You turned dramatically to Taylor, who watched with a dry amusement before shuffling over to a patient’s room. 

Jack rolled his eyes. “Ok, hotshot, relax. It’s just pasta. Hard to mess it up.”

You scoffed. “You’d be surprised.” He shrugged, and you took it as a challenge. “Okay, then what? What can I make to convince you it’s not just luck – it’s these magic hands.” To make a point, you wiggled your fingers. 

To your surprise, he actually gave it some thought. A flicker of memory seemed to pass through him. His voice was quieter when he spoke.

“There was this dish we used to get when I was in the military – in this little town outside Kabul. Locals made it in the market stalls. It was kind of like a lamb stew, over some flatbread. Spicy. Kinda messy to eat. But damn good.” 

You blinked, surprised he’d offered to share something so personal. You cleared your throat, softly asking, “You were stationed in Afghanistan?” 

Realizing the slip-up, Jack shrugged it off like he regretted saying anything. His eyes drifted to a fixed point behind you.

“Jack,” you said softly, reaching out to place a hand over his, which rested on the counter of the nurse’s station. The gentle tone of your voice kept him from pulling his hand out from underneath yours. If anything, that, alongside the glint in your big eyes, made him want to spill everything.

“It was the 68W program – for combat medics,” he revealed, using his free hand to pull the dog tags from under his scrub top. “Standard issue accessory.” 

“I disagree,” you murmured, playful but sincere. “I’ve heard medics are some of the toughest ones in the room.” 

Jack let out a tiny almost-smile. “We were just the ones who didn’t get to shoot back.” 

You paused, then asked, “What was it called? The dish.” 

He thought for a second. “I don’t remember. I think maybe – palau something – or – I don’t know. Doesn't matter.” 

You shook your head, heart melting. “If it stuck with you… it matters.” 

Jack didn’t say anything to that, but his gaze found yours again – direct. You caught him staring. He didn’t look away.

“If you keep staring at me like that, I’m going to think you like me,” you teased, tone light.

He didn’t even deny it, just shook his head – either in denial or disbelief, you couldn’t tell. 

“That’s okay. I like you enough for the both of us.”

That brought a pink tinge to his cheeks. 

Instead of bringing attention to it, you simply offered a half-smile. “Okay. Challenge accepted. One mystery lamb dish, coming up.”

At that, Jack raised a skeptical brow. “You’re gonna recreate something I haven’t eaten in ten years, from a place you’ve never been, with no recipe?”

You shrugged. “Maybe it’ll finally convince you to come to the restaurant.” 

And there it was – just for a second. The edge of a smile. Maybe even the beginning of a laugh. You nudged his side with your elbow.

“Admit it. You’re rooting for me.” 

Jack just shook his head, but didn’t speak. Didn’t stop smiling either. Didn’t even say no.

The next time Jack saw you in the hospital, the occasion was less momentous. You didn’t have a light pink box with the Francesca logo on it and a sweet treat––or Afghani dish––inside. You weren’t your happy, bubbly self jumping around the place. Forget jumping, you weren’t even on your feet. 

You were in a hospital bed, fluids pumping steadily through an IV line taped to your arm. into your veins through IVs. Your sister, elbows resting on the edge of the bed, was scrolling through her phone with the ease of someone used to hospitals – until Jack stumbled in.

His eyes immediately found yours, and whatever breath he’d been holding on the way in came out sharp.

“Every day you’re here – you come and find me. Every day,” he said, voice low and urgent. “So, what changed today? Why was Robby the one to tell me you fainted?” 

You and your sister exchanged a glance. She was already putting her phone down, her expression turning serious.

“Because it literally happened an hour ago…?” you offered, wincing a little. “And that’s still day shift.” 

Jack raked a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every sharp movement.

“Robby had it covered,” your sister said, trying to calm Jack.

It didn’t help.

“Did he do an ECG?”  

“Yes.” 

“Echocardiogram?” 

“Yes, Jack,” she sighed.

“What about a head CT?

You frowned. “Why would he do a CT?” 

“Because you probably hit your head when you fell.” 

You let out a breath, rolling your eyes. “I didn’t hit my head.” 

“How do you know?” 

“Because Eleni caught me.” 

Jack’s eyes bounced between you and your sister. “This happened at work?” You nodded, slowly. “Did this happen because of work?” 

Suddenly, you were having a hard time meeting his eye. 

To make matters worse, your sister answered for you. “She was covering for one of the other line chefs, stressed about a critic visit – Eleni said she was barely sleeping – ”

“The critic’s a big deal!” you defended, “and Luca was getting burnt out. He needed a break.” 

“No, babe,” your sister cut in, not unkindly, “You need a break.” 

Jack stepped closer to the bed, scanning the IV bag. His fingers brushed against your arm, checking the line, then pressing gently against your wrist. “Did Robby hook her up to saline?” 

Your sister nodded.

“What about electrolytes? She’s dehydrated.” 

“He – ” Your sister paused, then asked, a little surprised, “How did you know that?” 

“Her lips are dry,” Jack responded, as if it was obvious. “She squints every time she looks up at the lights. And her leg is tense – probably cramping earlier.” 

You and your sister shared another look, then you grinned up at him, pushing his hand away from your arm to grab it in yours, warm and steady. “What?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“You were worried about me,” you grinned, all grin and no apology.

He exhaled deeply, rubbing his free hand defeatedly over his face. “Oh, my God. You fainted and this is what you’re focused on?” 

You gave him a small shrug. “I’m fine.” 

And, truthfully, you were starting to feel better. Color was returning to your cheeks, and the constant throb behind your eyes had dulled to a whisper. The IVs were helping; the rest, too.

A voice crackled over the intercom, paging your sister to OR 3. She stood, hesitating. 

“Go,” you said, waving her off. “I’ll be fine. Go back to work.” 

“Fine, but tell someone to page me when they discharge you. I’ll get someone to drive you home.”

You rolled your eyes but nevertheless nodded. As she stepped out, Jack moved to sit on the edge of the chair beside your bed, one hand running along the railing.

“How mad do you think she’s gonna be when I tell her you’re not going anywhere? I’m keeping you overnight.” 

Your head whipped toward him. “What? Why?” 

“For observation. I want to make sure it really was stress-related and not some underlying medical condition.”

You groaned, tilting your head back against your pillow. “Jack,” you groaned, frustrated by this decision.

“Oh, I know,” he mocked gently. “How could I do this to you? Keeping you overnight to make sure you’re healthy? I’m the worst.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as dramatically as you could manage while tethered to an IV. 

“Don’t be like that,” he tried, his hand uncrossing yours. Then, the same hand lifted to gently cup your cheek. “You know, you didn’t have to faint just to get my attention. Could’ve just called.”

The blush that crept to your cheeks was immediate, and you cleared your throat, looking away. “Dr. Abbot with the jokes – never thought the day would come.”

“What can I say?” he replied with a shrug. “I’m a complex guy.”

He tugged your blanket higher, gently tucking it around you like it was second nature. “Now, get some sleep. I’ll come check on you in a bit.” 

You nodded, already feeling the weight of exhaustion settle behind your eyes. As Jack slipped out, he left the curtain half-open so he could keep an eye on you from the nurse’s station or while he was passing by to other patient rooms. 

Instead, you found your eyes drifting to him. Even through the haze of sleep, you watched him move through the ED like a controlled current – swift, focused, unshakable. He was in full command, teaching, managing, healing. Something about how intense yet calm he was eventually lulled you to sleep. 

When you woke again, sunlight was peeking through the slats of the blinds, and Jack was beside your bed, carefully unhooking the IV line. 

“Morning,” he greeted, voice soft as it pulled you from your deep slumber. “How are you feeling?” 

You rubbed at the sleep in your eyes and let out a groggy sigh “Wow, thought I died and went to broody heaven.” 

“I’ll take that as ‘fine,’” he said dryly, grabbing a paper cup of water he’d filled for you and maneuvering the straw toward your lips like it was muscle memory.

“Can I go home now?” 

He nodded, his eyes still scanning your vitals, “Soon. Just gotta fill out your discharge paperwork and then shift’s over. I’ll drive you home.” 

“Drive me home? I’m wearing you down, old man,” you grinned sleepily up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, raising a hand to press the back of it to your forehead. “You feel okay? No headache? Dizziness? Nausea?” 

“Good as new,” you promised, reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze. “Must be these magic hands.” 

He smiled at that, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles before letting go. 

“So,” you began as he signed off on your chart, “does being injured get me privileges?” 

He arched a brow. “What kind of privileges?” 

“Favors,” you said with a shrug. “Like you finally coming to the restaurant.”

Jack let out a low groan, head shaking. “It’s too early for this – you’re never gonna let that go, are you?” 

“Not till you say yes. And, as you know, I’m very persistent.” 

“Oh, I do know,” he said, then held his hand out. “Let me see your thumb.” 

You blinked. “Why?” 

Still, you offered it up. He examined it gently, brushing his fingers over the healing skin.

“When this heals completely, I’ll come to Francesca.” 

You beamed. “In that case, let’s speed up the process…” You wiggled your thumb closer to his face. “Never did try that technique of kissing it better, huh?” 

He gave you a look – but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the pad of your thumb.

When he set it back down in your lap, your stomach fluttered.

“Now, can I take you home or are you going to make me do a blood oath first?” 

“You’ve been burying the lede, Abbot,” you teased, making your presence known as you walked across the hospital rooftop and joined him on the concrete ledge. Your shoes scraped lightly against the gravel as you sat, legs swinging just off the edge. 

He glanced over, brows furrowed in confusion. No one but Robby ever came up here. 

“Taylor told me where you were,” you informed. “How many conversations have we had – and you never mentioned this place? Or the crazy views it has?” 

The city was sprawled out below you, glittering the dark earth. A breeze tugged at your jacket, crisp with late night chill. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, checking his watch. 2:56am glowed dimly in the moonlight.

You shrugged, tucking your hands into your coat pockets. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

His concern was immediate, instinctual. “Is it the stitches? Are you feeling dehydrated?” He was already reaching for you, fingertips brushing your wrist as if searching for a pulse.

“No, Jack,” you laughed, pushing his hands away. “I’m fine. I just… woke up with a thought.” 

He stilled, waiting for you to explain what thought could’ve roused you out of bed in the middle of the night and forced you here.

You reached behind you and retrieved a familiar pink Francesca bag, the paper crinkling softly in your hands. In thick Sharpie ink, you’d scrawled his name with a lopsided heart beside it. His brows lifted in disbelief.

“No fucking way,” he murmured, greedy fingers snatching the food container out of the bag and tossing the lid aside like it might disappear if he wasn’t fast enough.

Inside sat the Afghani dish Jack had told you about that one day at the nurse’s station. The rich, spiced aroma was carried through the night air – saffron, cumin, caramelized carrots.

“It’s called qabili palau,” you offered, watching him tear a piece of naan, scoop up a mouthful, and take a bite. The moment the flavors hit his tongue, his eyes immediately rolled to the back of his head and he exhaled a quiet sound that was half-groan, half-moan.

“If you’re making those kinds of noises at my cooking, just imagine my skill in the bedroom,” you teased, flashing him a grin. 

That earned you a look – but not one you expected. Quiet, intense. His mouth twitched at the corner like he was trying not to smile, and then he went back for another bite. And another. You watched him eat in silence, the wind occasionally rustling his curls, and you couldn’t help but feel the intimacy of the moment, on this quiet rooftop, and this ridiculous hour.

He quietly finished the food, sharing it with you. And, when the food was gone, his eyes drifted out across the skyline. He looked… lighter somehow. And it reminded you why you loved being a chef – because food had the power to take people home, even when they were miles and years away.

You nudged him. “Oh – I almost forgot!” You excitedly held your hand up like a prize, thumb out. The skin had healed cleanly, leaving not even a scar behind. “All better.”

His eyes found yours, amusement dancing in them. “I’m pretty sure I said when it’s healed, not the exact moment it is.” 

You scooted closer to him, shoulders brushing, as you accused, “Oh, no. You’re not gonna get out of this.” 

He shook his head at you, like he had countless times before, but this time… this time the look in his eyes changed. Slowed. Softened. Like he couldn’t quite believe you were real, sitting here, choosing him.

His smile faded as he lifted a hand to your face, brushing a windblown strand of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn’t want to,” he said softly. 

And then he kissed you. 

It wasn’t rushed – not some messy, passionate crush. It was slow, intentional. The kind of kiss that people waited a long, long time for. His lips were warm, and soft, and they fit perfectly against yours. 

You melted into it, one hand curling around the front of his scrubs as the city disappeared beneath your closed eyelids. The hospital lights, the stars, the hum of distant traffic – it all faded until it was just the two of you. Just Jack.

When he finally pulled away, he didn’t go far – just rested his forehead against yours, his breath brushing across your skin as he murmured, “You know, you scare the hell out of me. Make it hard to stay behind the lines I drew.” 

You smiled softly at that, brushing your thumb over the edge of his jaw. “Good. Means it’s real.” 

There was a beat of quiet. Then, he gently took your hand again, turning it over to inspect your healed thumb. You rested your head against his shoulder, grinning – you both knew exactly what this meant.

He sighed dramatically, mocking defeat. “What’s the dress code?” 

“No scrubs,” you teased.

“Button-up?”

“Only if it’s black. Very broody.” 

“Deal,” he said, leaning in for another kiss.

.

.

.

A/N: this was just supposed to be a oneshot but why do I wanna write a part 2 😩

WE GOT A HUNTER & OMEGA HUG!!!!

bro i swear i’ve been living off Hunter&Omega SCRAPS i live for this

in S2E5 when the robot thing is ‘exploding’, Hunter says “grab onto something!” and proceeds to run Omega to safety.

then they sit together safely, until the robot starts going down, and it’s only for a split second

BUT THEY EMBRACE EACH OTHER IN A HUG AND KEEP EACH OTHER SAFE AND ITS JUST dhdkdjdhhs

can someone pls make a gif of it

idk how to do it

i’d give you all my love and appreciation

man, teenaged girls aren’t allowed to have a genuine interest in anything without being ridiculed for it. if a girl likes ugg boots and starbucks she’s stupid and stereotypical, but if she likes combat boots and obscure coffee houses she’s a hipster wannabe and is trying too hard. if a girl listens to boy bands and other popular artists she’s a dumb follower, if she reads comics or plays video games she’s a poser/fake geek girl, if she likes sex she’s a slut but if she doesn’t like sex she’s a prude, if she wears makeup she’s fake but if she doesn’t wear makeup she’s a slob, if she has low self-esteem she needs to learn to love herself but if she has high self-esteem she’s overconfident and vain, if she’s interested in politics she’s a crazy social justice warrior but if she prefers to stay out of social matters she’s a dumb airhead. girls are literally mocked for every single thing they like or do, no matter what those things are, and i’m really really sick of it.