#GET THAT BEAST TO A SURGEON

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐍𝐈𝐀 .

# with trafalgar water d. law.

despite the overextended manner with which law behaved, and the fatigue that crept into his soul due to his tendencies of avoiding a decent rest, sleep could not find him in the slightest. when his insomnia lurked around the corner, law could always count on your mouth to tire him out.

⎰ & smut (mdni!) gn!reader. oral (male!receiving). deepthroating. praise kink. no y/n used.

W.C: 2K.

the incessant ticking of the obstinate clock on the wall had the opposite effect of what was meant to be soothing. law had quit on writing the reports that dwelled on his mind, finding that his grip on the pen was unusually harsh — and enough to split it in two. law wasn’t against the vision of black ink on his skin — the tattoos on his body were enough proof of that — yet, when the ink that stained his palm was born from the destruction of one quite expensive and favored pen, pleased was the last adjective he’d use.

he scrubbed his eyes with the cleaner fingers, shutting them with a sense of bubbling rage born from intrinsic exhaustion. the strained muscles of his back began to ache an hour ago. he failed to concentrate on even the smallest of details, his synapses so lethargic he’d probably end up writing their instead of there in his paper. law clenched his jaw; stressed, sleep-deprived, and frustrated.

bepo had knocked on his door ten minutes prior — for the fifth time that night — with the same advice prepared. law’s answer remained equal, empty promises and meaningless deadlines that he had no intention on following. it was but a matter of time until the navigator pulled out his secret weapon, or that was, at least, how you were called under that context.

law sent a piercing gaze towards the closed door, fidgeting and quietly begging for your intervention, as though a religious fool who placed his trust on the force of manifestations. he thought of seeking you out himself, hours prior. yet, during instances drawn to his duties, law was but a rooted tree lost amidst a vexing fog, incapable of moving even one miserable inch; hence the urge to have you. his refugee; his medicine. the surgeon of death — more than a billion-worth bounty hovering over his head —, had succumbed to both the plague and blessing of love. with his head nearing the table’s surface, a weary sigh past his lips, law pictured your face and found that he would have fallen victim to such a feeling a thousand times over, so long as that meant claiming you his.

he heard the scratch of the door against the ground, and perked up upon the knowledge of, at last, having you in his office — for no other crewmate was allowed to barge in without a warning knock.

you walked towards him — slowly —, your hips swaying, malice-filled eyes. law felt but a prey under the gaze of its hunter; one left with a sense of gratitude upon the approach of the searing and delicious taste of death’s kiss.

you sat on the edge of his desk, careful as not to meddle with his papers, and softly removed his hat to caress the disheveled locks of black hair. law surrendered to your touch, sighing with relief.

“it’s getting late,” you stated, drawing circles on his cheek. law intertwined his fingers with your own, pressing his lips to the back of your hand.

“can’t sleep,” he answered, chasing your scent; drowning his nose on the skin of your wrist.

law glanced up at you, enamored. you tilted your head to the side, gears turning as you deconstructed his sentence and stance, figuring the innuendo underneath. there were moments in which his restlessness was a product of his past. from the plague, to the death of cora-san, nightmares hunted him down as though starved beasts aiming at a dying creature. however, in other instances — such as the current one — law was but too overworked to fall asleep. whatever the context of the disease, the cure remained the same: your touch.

you moved to the back of his chair, massaging his shoulders. law relaxed, leaning his head back with a low groan. your lips hovered above his jaw, the tip of your tongue darting out to lick a stripe on his skin. your fingers lost themselves under the fabric of his coat, re-drawing the patterns of the tattoo on his chest.

“and how should i cure your problem, doctor? hands or mouth?”

law breathed out heavily upon the hearing of his title, sounding oh-so-sinfully on your tongue. he cleared his throat. “mouth. doctor’s orders.”

you hummed. law watched through half-lidded eyes as you knelt and crawled under the table, the brief sight of your ass enough to harden his neglected cock. he unzipped his pants, not having the patience for the teasing you, for sure, had in mind.

“getting hasty?” you teased, and law moved in his chair, pressing his crotch closer to where — he guessed — your face was.

“get on with it,” he bit back, searching for the back of your head.

when law did find it, he froze. under his palm was the familiar texture of his hat. the thought of having you wear it, with your face stuffed with his cock, made him desperate. a shambles followed-in-suit to a room, and the desk that had once hidden you from his glance was moved to the other side of the office, papers and pens and books falling over. law ignored the sound and the chaos, forcing your face against his covered erection, eyes trailed to that damned hat.

you pushed his underwear enough to free his cock from its cuffs; your hand gripping it before it had the chance to meet his abdomen. law all but shuddered, one hand gripping his chair as the other bruised the skin of your nape. your movements were slow at first. your thumb rolled over the tip and smeared his pre-cum over his shaft, causing his hips to buckle ever-so-slightly. before law could repeat his command, you moved forward, licking the essence coating his tip and encasing it in your mouth. law gasped, keeping his palm on your head and gritting his teeth at the warmth of your tongue.

“shit,” he cursed, biting the inside of his mouth to avoid louder noises, tasting the metal of blood.

your eyes narrowed, and he could see the resolve in them; the utter determination to tear him in pieces. you sucked, savoring the salty taste before beginning to slide down; another hand clawing down a clothed thigh. law huffed at the sight of you. your eyes had rolled with pleasure when you swallowed him down to the base, his hat secured on your head. with a jolt of overwhelming desire, law rolled his hips up to make you gag.

your head moved on its own, a futile attempt to free itself and retreat. he pushed it back, forcing your nose to brush against his pubes, witnessing the tears pooling in your eyes.

“you can take me,” he stated, hissing for a second at the swirling of your tongue. “you always do— ngh. take me so well, love.”

you hummed, relaxing for a second. law’s glance met yours, and his grip laxed at last, allowing you to take over. you popped off his tip with a gasp, mouth open, briefly regaining the lost air. your hand jerked his shaft, replaced by a sudden lick that traveled from the base to the head in one long stripe. you teased him with the sight of your cock against your hanging tongue; allowing his eyes the grace of his pre-cum latched on the warm muscle.

law trembled, his chest heaving at the swirling movements around his tip. “so gorgeous, make me wanna stuff you so bad, love.”

a whimper spilled from your lips before claiming his shaft yet again. law buckled his hips mid-shout, reprimanding himself for the sound. your hand gripped one of his balls, and the settled pace — with the bobbing of your head —, had him gasping.

he shoved himself down your throat, gripping the edge of his hat. saliva dripped down your opened mouth; hollowed cheeks increasing the pressure around his cock.

“that’s it,” he moaned, rolling his hips as his tip hit the back of your throat.

law felt the muffled whimper around his shaft, transfixed on the sight of your stuffed cheeks; the watery eyes that stared back into his. the room was filled with the erotic, borderline sinful, sounds of your gags; the constant bobbing of your head coating his cock with saliva. law buckled his hips, and your nails dug on his thigh, fingers tugging at the fabric of his pants as you audibly choked. with a harsh grip, he pulled your head back, giving you a few, precious seconds to breathe.

“look at you,” he voiced out in awe. “willing to empty your lungs for the sake of my pleasure.”

law guided his cock closer, fingers curling under his hat and nails digging into your head. “open up, love. just like that.”

your tongue darted out, and he slapped your cheeks with his tip, struggling to drown the urge to cum at the sound of your whimpers; the sight of you, following the movements of his cock with desperate-filled eyes, as though you could not wait to take him again. law placed himself at the entrance of your awaiting mouth, breathing out a moan.

“so pretty like that, all fucked up,” he mused, groaning once your lips claimed him yet again. “fuck, that mouth was made for me.”

the responding moan resonated around him, and law arched his back against the chair, feeling hot under the layers of his coat. his head latched itself on the back of your throat, and the harsh grip on his balls had him on edge. law’s voice sounded pathetic to his own ears when your tongue teased the underside of his dick, his movements growing hectic.

“i’m gonna cum,” he warned through a grunt, struggling to keep his eyes open and glued to your face.

you let out a muffled whimper, begging for it; your mouth nothing but a ruthless lover, swallowing him whole, yet demanding more. his hat fell from your head, and law lost his sense of self, whimpering at his release; his cum painting your throat white, stealing the breath from your lungs. law held you there, spasming with weakened and hectic thrusts throughout his orgasm, crumbling down to ruins as he bore witness to droplets of his essence escaping past the gaps of your stretched lips.

“let me see,” he mumbled, exhausted at the expanse of his own height.

with a teasing, edging suck, you pulled your head back with a pop. a stripe of saliva and cum connected his tip to your lips, and when you opened your mouth to spare him a sight of your whitened tongue, law’s fingers weakly gripped your chin, beckoning you closer.

dried blood lingered on the inside of his mouth, and mingled with the taste of his own seed. his teeth clashed against yours. a meek note of the coffee he drank priorly settled in between. yet, it was one of the best kisses he ever had.

“thank you,” law mumbled, an exhausted and dangling man nearing the edge of a lethal cliff. a soaring feather that remained tethered to the earth as a consequence of your tender grip.

you hummed, pressing a loving kiss to his cheek while zipping his pants. “cured enough to sleep, doctor?”

he smiled — enamored; sweet —, the particular showcase of teeth, born from the devotion directed towards you. the spark on his chest whose light was born from your mere presence. his hat clung to your figure, and law had half the mind to use his devil-fruit to teleport the both of you to his bed, before crumbling against the mattress, blindly searching for your chest.

law pressed his thigh against your core, lazily motioning for you to rub yourself against the fabric. a small giggle echoed through the walls, a sound he wished to steal and seal; a selfish shell of a man who had no desire to share a single thing related to his lover whatsoever.

“there’s no need for that. sleep,” you whispered, caressing his hair. law hugged your waist; drowned his face in your chest.

“want you to feel good,” law insisted, sleep-drunk, drooling on your bare flesh.

“too tired,” you voiced out matter-of-factly. whether he was the subject of such a statement or not, he failed to tell. law fell under the influence of slumber the second thereafter, sheltered in the confines of a loving dome whose barriers were sealed from the looming insomnia outside.

— 🐈‍⬛ : IT’S FUCKING LAW STUPID FRIDAY LET’S GO.

[inbabylontheywept]

Your writing style i think is think is my favorite thing in life right now. How did you develop it?

The short answer to that is by reading Calvin and Hobbes, Patrick McManus, Dave Barry, Douglas Adams, and Terry Pratchett and doing my best to incorporate their style and cadence into my own. The long answer to that would be my life story, which is very long indeed, and uh. Slightly in progress.

But that's my style. If you're asking for advice on how to develop your own writing style, my first bit of advice is going to be to imagine who past works you've read that have really, really stayed with you, then study those. Figure out what you liked about those, and then try playing with them. And be prepared for the results to be weird. I don't even like Cormac McCarthy, but I'd run into this thing where I started reading a line and then fifty pages later, I'd stop and go, what the fuck, where am I, who am I, am I Jason Bourne? So I tried figuring out what made his style do that to me and it was literally just how much the man hates commas. He uses tons of transition words to just keep his sentences rolling. I threw that into my works and it did wonders for the feeling of urgency.

I tried copying Sam Kriss's super ornate prose. Zero success. Still don't know how he does it. I liked the story that came out of it of it, but it's a totally different beast from what Sam makes. I tried making dialogue like Damalur, and I couldn't even bring myself to post the results. Beyond dog. 2/10 work on my end.

And as always, look at what you already do well, and lean into it. Some fields only care about what you do wrong. If you're an airplane mechanic, or a heart surgeon, or an OSHA inspector, your job is not making a single mistake. But writing is one of those jobs that's measured more about what you get right than what you get wrong, and people will tolerate a lot of weird minor annoying bullshit things if you can get even one or two little things extremely right. I mean, I fucking loved The Locked Tomb series (another writing style I could not imitate to save my life) but the books are just aggressively confusing, and the first book's plot is both too slow (at the start) and too fast (at the end) and basically just MacGuffin driven. Right? But it's great, because Tamsyn's narrative voice is amazing, and her aesthetic descriptions are amazing, and the inner worlds of the characters are depicted so vividly. It's a masterpiece. Three things extremely right and it's a masterpiece.

i'm rambling a little and it's late. Thanks for the ask, and thanks for the compliment. I hope you have a wonderful evening.

[rose-lunaire]

Hi!! How you think Hannibal and Will (separate) in a situation where the reader is a nurse and for some reason she finds with them and both falls madly in love with her? Like they follow her, admired her and simply adore her??

brace yourselves, ‘cause it’s gonna be a long one! thank you so much for this idea, i had a great time writing this, enjoy <3

pairing: wiill graham x reader, hannibal lecter x reader

warnings: stalking themes, a lot of blood and inaccurate medical descriptions

(Y/B/T - your blood type)

hannibal lecter

it was a really nasty case, bodies carelessly abandoned in a forest, like a beast haven’t finished feasting on them

by the time hannibal and will arrived, it had already turned into a bloodbath

the culprit, ambushed in his agony, shot at the fbis weakest link: the two consultants

the older man suffered a concussion and wills leg was repeatedly pierced by bullets

it was jack who rushed the to the hospital, knowing damn well it would take hours for any ambulance to arrive

hannibal kept insisting he’s fine, but the policeman was having none of it

he collapsed on the hospital floor

the man woke up to the rhythmic sounds of the operational room: monotone beeping, a clock idly signaling its presence

“you gave us quite the scare, doctor lecter”

a soft timbre brought his closer to consciousness, but an excruciating headache soon followed

torn between slumber and awareness, he groaned quietly

“doctor lecter? can you hear me, doctor lecter?”

the voice soothed his aching body, poured life and yearning into his soul

he squinted his eyes, as from a blur of white light came to life an angel

hair of raphael’s venus, rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes worthy of rubens’s paintbrush, steady and powerful pose of velasquez’s infants

they were perfect like doryphoros or artemis of versailles, sculpted by apollonius himself

the stoic warmth radiating from their eyes couldn’t compare to debussy’s finest works

hannibal felt the sudden urge to take this light with him and never let go

to protect and worship it like gods of ancient times

his killings are not in vain, they are a token of adoration, a promise for a better world

for them

for so the angel wouldn’t have to suffer existing in between such impure souls

he’s always on the lookout for any people in their environment who might have foul intentions

he’s eternally great full to have met them and shows his feelings in subtle ways, like leaving home-cooked meals for them, a note full of gratitude always attached to the gift

he once used his connections to move them to a different department, so that they wouldn’t have to work so hard

they’re his muse, his god(ddes) and he’s just a lowly apostle

he wouldn’t dare bring them into his world, it was too cruel, too dangerous for such a radiant creature

but believe me, he’s always there, a loyal knight guarding their safety and happiness

will graham

he was losing a lot of blood

one of the bullets came through his leg, cutting through his aorta and no amount of pressure could stop the bleeding

his mind was getting fuzzy, but still stuck in painful awareness

he remembered having been sat on a bed, the sting of a needle and helplessness in the voice of a surgeon

“we don’t have enough type y/b/t blood for the operation”

as the anesthesia was wearing out, will felt an unfamiliar presence next to him

calm and unsuspecting, a nurse was sleeping in the corner of the operation room

he finds himself attached to a blood transfusion set

will rested his head in his hands, tired and almost ashamed

the nurse had their sleeve harshly tugged on the forearm with a welt straining their delicate skin

he perceives himself as repulsive and unworthy, yet they gave up their own blood without any hesitation

he’s deeply moved by their dedication

he can’t seem to draw his eyes away

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to stare” - he panicked

“don’t worry about it”

they were graceful even in exhaustion, it send chills down wills spine

maybe it was a crease they a smile painted on their face or the eyes scrunched in kindness and warmth, he didn’t know but in that moment he fell in love

he would ask a million questions about the equipment and the surgery, then their daily life and work

it brought him peace and reassurance and the conversation seemed to flow naturally for hours

after he left the hospital, he often called them

a confusing wound? he calls. a drug found on the scene? he calls. hannibal is hosting a dinner party? he calls every time

his heart is desperate for closure and they provided it, never asking questions, just being there for him

there was one time when a dog got severe diarrhea and vomited a lot, and will was scared it may be parvo or other dangerous dog disease

he called almost immediately, for help and comfort of his favorite person

after this incident he became paranoid when they weren’t around, so he does everything in his power to keep them at arms length

will means no harm, but he simply can’t imagine his life without them

[sanctus-ingenium]

Another one of these since i haven't done it in a while! Sketch -> finished illustration

Thoughts & process below the cut :>

Out of Bounds: i deleted the sketch of this off my ipad because i didn't like it, and for months it only existed as a screenshot on discord. finally in january of this year i was like Wait Actually and decided to keep working on it. I didn't achieve the look I was going for (kind of foggy and vague. It came out too sharp and high contrast) but it was fun to throw the kitchen sink at it for an afternoon and then call it done finally. I don't remember which horse this was originally supposed to be, I think Macha?

I reused the pose, you'll find the same one in my Pascal sketchbook from the section on gait studies. That's the cool thing about doing 30 sketches at once, you can finish them up any time you like for a different drawing

The Fool ft Islin: the original concept for this is from [takes a moment to decipher the american date system on discord] January 2022

It wasn't dynamic enough, but I've had this on the backburner for sooo long. I think I completed like 4 cards in between this sketch and the final version lol. But, for a bit of background, this is from my series of major arcana based in Inver, and in particular the events of the 1860s-era book series, Moth Viper Foal (a demo of the first book, Said The Black Horse, is available for free/pwyw in my shop). This scene is a companion to Said The Black Horse, depicting the aftermath of the traumatic fight that caused Islin to storm off. He had been working at the mill as a semiprofessional back alley surgeon when he received an offer to join the church and work as a trained surgeon in their hospital. But when he brought the good news back to his friends it was met with utter rejection, driving him to basically run away to join the church. while gay and trans. thus the card.

he didn't actually bring a bag with him when he ran out but for the sake of the card i drew him with one

Gryfon and Pantera: This is how 99% of holy beast drawings start out, even the super stylised ones. I struggle a lot to draw them in procreate so they start in sai and then i transfer them over. The story of this is already explained in the caption of the original post so I'll just talk about the process which was... honestly torturous. I actually don't like too much textures and effects on things (wild, I know) and this one and Out of Bounds are ones where I kind of preferred it pre-texturising.

The text on the side is the official in-universe report of the event, detailing the casualties, the valiant actions of Gryfon's knight before he died and so on. There's also spoilers in there :>

My main struggle with this art style is how it always ends up slightly TOO sharp and crisp in a way the just a blur filter never can correct. There's not a lot of immersion to break, to be fair, but I think this still does it a little. I need to get more comfortable doing the lines with larger and softer brushes, and allowing imperfections.

[venussaidso]

ASHWINI CHARACTERS

Yall I asked ChatGPT to give me a list of gifted characters such as Beth Harmon (played by Anya Taylor Joy) and the first 2 examples are characters played by Ashwinis IM CRYINN should I make a post? Obviously I need more data but stillll I'm foaming in the mouthhh.

I'm watching the Chinese drama "Falling Into Your Smile" and the most gifted character in the team of players is played by Xu Kai Ashwini Moon!! He is admired for his quickness and strategic mind.

As I'm watching I'm thinking bro reminds me of Ashwini Sun Song Kang who was in "Forecasting Love & Weather" and his character was set apart from everyone else in the workplace with his activeness and knowledgeable insights so I'm thinking ???? That's when I pulled ChatGPT cause Google ain't shit nowadays.

Ashwini is generally related to the head (Aries, and also the mind due to the connected minds of the Ashwini Kumaras), its related to ultimate speed and an active intelligence (Ashwini Moon Benedict Cumberbatch's characters Sherlock Holmes & also Doctor Strange who was the most skilled, masterful surgeon -- for example).

All these characters, though, have a one-track mind when it comes to ONE thing, and because of Ketu they tend to be unmotivated by worldly things and bad at everything else in their life. Benedict's Sherlock Holmes, for example, has no care for anything else but solving convoluted mysteries; we see his lack of interest of forming human connections or developing relationships and especially acquiring any wealth or fame for that matter. Although, because of him being exceptionally gifted, he unintentionally becomes popular but even that doesn't play into his arrogance. Very similarly to Beth Harmon.

She wasn't particularly excited about gaining recognition which came with being insanely gifted as she was. What drove her was her skill for chess, and everything else in her life was dull or painful. Much like Sherlock, as what drives him is the thrill of suspense.

Them pulling attention makes a lot of sense as Ketu is extremely absorbing of things around them whether intentional or not. Which is why they tend to play golddigging characters or characters that are generally exploitative who are intentional about draining people and things around them. It's not that Ketuvians care for wealth and recognition, it's that this planet type can be so magnetic that they pull such energies although in a rather destructive sense when it's intentional. Claire Nakti described this better in her Ketu Dominant Men video. A character who is talented and relentlessly fixed on one thing is Daniel Plainview, played by Ashwini Moon Daniel Day Lewis, who exploits people that submit to him; extracting resources, draining oils from lands he steals from others etc. using his title and power to further wrong others, perfectly fitting into the negative archetype we've seen in Ketuvians (well, this being the gold digging (or should I say oil-digging, although yes he extracts wealth too)male version of that). But with these other Ketu characters I mentioned in my post, their magnetism due to their personal talents and skills goes either unnoticed by the Ketuvian themselves or generally gets unused (which can go the other way around for exploitative means as Claire explained in-depth).

Ashwinis need something in their life to pour into so that their mind and soul is stimulated, otherwise they may fall into bad vices as their inner beast (primal nature) is hard to manage (much less tame) when they drift through life meaninglessly. They are prone to being unmotivated already. Soon as there's something to get fixed on, it's over for everyone.

I'm not sure who, I believe it was KRS Astrology, who said that Ashwini can have a concentration like no other through the midst of chaos. Ashwini energy is the most intense of the Ketu nakshatras, and it is full of too much potential, but it can only be harnessed through the individual taming it (their inner beast) to find an identity in something, which is interesting as it contrasts the theme of Mula who is able to tame outer beasts as Mula has surpassed that stage (already being one with its inner beast and primal instincts).

[deconstructthesoup]

What's been in my head lately is a Fantasy High pirate AU. Not a Leviathan AU, an actual pirate AU.

Bear with me---

Adaine is a bookish princess of a kingdom by the sea, and while she has everything from an outsider's perspective, she's neglected by her parents as the second child and is incredibly lonely. Her only real friend is Kristen, who's a representative of the church of Helio and is kind of Adaine's unofficial lady-in-waiting, and both of them are fairly sheltered... until one fateful day, while the two are enjoying a small day of freedom, they get captured by a motley crew of pirates.

Fabian is the captain and the son of the fabled Old Bill, and he's been making his own mark on the seven seas via sheer charisma and chaos. He's trying to build up a reputation of being a ruthless thief and murderer like his father was, but it's pretty plain to see that he cares a lot more than he lets on... like, for instance, upon realizing that Adaine's parents don't care enough about her to pay for ransom, he immediately offers her a spot on his crew. And once Kristen has a very public crisis of faith, she's granted a spot, too.

The other members of Fabian's crew are as follows:

Riz, his first mate and best friend. He's a son of two prolific spies from the goblin kingdom, and he initially wanted to take down the vast network of pirates across the world, but quickly changed gears once he realized that working for the monarchy was a lot more morally corrupt. He kind of acts as the voice of reason, while simultaneously being one of the most feral members of the crew.

Ragh, the ship's chef and the other first mate---Fabian couldn't decide between him and Riz. His mom used to be a pretty prolific pirate herself, and he and Fabian have known each other since they were kids... and, yeah, their relationship has changed from "best friends forever" to "work husbands" over the years. They have some good times.

Gorgug, the ship's resident gunner. He grew up in a family of blacksmiths, couldn't find a lot of honest work, and eventually got a steady position on Fabian's ship. He's happy to be here, he's happy to show off the fact that he's a beast in combat situations, and he's one of the most technically savvy members of the crew. Also, he's a surprisingly good listener.

Fig, the musician and "dark sorceress" of the ship. She used to be a traveling singer-slash-songwriter and used an elven disguise to blend in, but eventually decided "fuck it" and took on her true form as a free-spirited tiefling pirate who kicks ass, takes names, and curses anybody who badmouths her. She's great.

Tracker, the ship's surgeon. She was raised in the church of Helio before being bitten by a werewolf, after which she promptly left to learn under her uncle, who was a prolific pirate himself before he retired. Nowadays, she's learned the secrets of both witchcraft and medicine and made a name for herself as a skilled healer and fighter, and is pretty happy where she is.

Gertie, the ship's other chef and resident wildlife expert. She's definitely one of the most friendly members of the crew, and even though she butts heads with Fabian a lot, she's a pretty core part of the crew. And yeah, between her and Tracker, Kristen is definitely getting a big lesbian awakening.

There is, of course, still a version of Leviathan out there, and Ayda still lives there as a librarian... which is the reason why the crew regularly makes stops there, though getting more supplies is also a plus. Garthy is also there, along with Sandralynn and Jawbone (and Hallariel and Gilear, much to Fabian's displeasure). The Seven are also around---they're a fierce crew of pirates who have a bit of a friendly rivalry with Fabian's crew, though it's never escalated into outright battle.

[trickphotography2]

'tis the damn season | Chapter 10

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Julie/Cece (OC, no physical description)

Word count: 11.5K (sorry, she's a beast)

Synopsis: After six years away from home, Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was finally going to make his parents happy and surprise his family by spending Christmas in Magnolia, Texas. Introducing his pregnant fiancee to his family is a culture clash, with rural Texas meeting California influencer. Though unhappy in his relationship, Jake knows he has to buckle down and do the right thing with a baby on the way.

The last person he expected to run into was his high school sweetheart and the one that got away, Julie.

The holidays are already going to be hard enough for Julie. Her home baking business, which had started as a fun side project, exploded after a few TikToks went viral. Just when she was getting the hang of juggling her job and business, tragedy struck. Facing her first Christmas as an orphan, the last thing Julie expected was to hear that once familiar nickname - Cece.

After almost a decade apart, Jake and Julie can't help but feel that old familiar spark. Even with the realities of their lives pressing in, they can't help but wonder what might have happened if just one of them had fought for their relationship all those years ago.

Chapter 9 | Master List | Ao3

---------------------------------------

Chapter 10

Thunder rumbled, and the wind rustled the tall grass. The stems tickled his ear, and Jake absently moved it away before sighing and lifting his hat from his face to squint up at the sky. Grey clouds were rolling in from the west, and he’d seen the cows lying down in the field as he rode to his favorite spot on the property after finishing chores.

The twinge in his knee was right - an August storm was coming in. 

Sighing, Jake settled the hat back on his face, blocking the sun. Mama had dug his old Stetson from the closet the first day he’d returned with a sunburned face after working outside with Will to replace a section of fence that’d come down in a windstorm. When he’d looked for his Longhorns cap the next day, it was drip-drying in the shower. Mama’d claimed she just wanted to wash it for him, but who washed ball caps first thing in the morning? 

A second clap of thunder boomed, followed by a cow bellowing. Starlight, his favorite mare, tossed her head and snorted, foot stomping. Groaning, he slowly sat up, setting his hat on his head and grimacing at the twinge in his lower back. Even months after the ejection, he was still stiff and sore if he spent too much time sitting still. Lying on the ground certainly didn’t help. But he was tired after doing his chores, and it was easier to deal with the nightmares when he didn’t have to worry about his folks hearing him toss and turn. The flight surgeon assured him they’d go away with time, just like he needed to give his back and knee time to heal. The SEALs medic had stabilized his left knee, but trekking eight miles over rough terrain to the rendezvous point on a torn ACL hadn’t been fun. Neither had the surgery in Landstuhl, Germany after he’d been med-evaced from the carrier. But thankfully, he’d been able to get shipped back home shortly after, reaching the States just a few weeks after Rooster and the rest of the SEAL team did. The success of their mission was already making national headlines. Jake knew his next promotion was guaranteed, but it didn’t matter.

Because when he’d been lying in that bed in Germany, the one person he’d wanted to talk to hadn’t picked up her phone. 

He’d known there was a chance Cece wouldn’t answer when he’d called. In their last conversation before he shipped out - permission was granted for a last minute to contact his loved ones - he’d pleaded with her to distract him, and she told him her travel plans, voice brimming with excitement. Pops confirmed she was overseas when they talked after his surgery. He’d offered to call and let her know what was happening, but Jake told him not to bother. Despite his family’s disapproval, he held firm to it - the last thing he wanted was Cece to come back to him only because he was injured. But in his darker moments, he was mad and hurt. He hated being alone in his hospital room. Wanted to see her when he got off the plane. And as much as he appreciated Mama flying out to help him get around his apartment those first few weeks, Jake selfishly wanted Cece. 

But they’d agreed to take the time apart to think. The sight of her tear-stained face that night in January when they’d stayed up until 4:00 AM on a video call still haunted him. The exhaustion he’d felt when they finally hung up wasn’t just physical. The conversation had been a long time coming, but he still hadn’t been prepared. Cece’s voice had broken so many times on that call when she finally opened up to him. Jake was forced to reckon with the fact that, while he’d thought their relationship was perfect, the woman he loved had been miserable for a long time - and he’d been too blinded to see it. Like everyone else, he’d fallen for Cece’s bright smiles and claims that everything was alright. But those smiles were gone, replaced with hurt, anger, and exhaustion as she filled in her side of their love story. 

Going to college across the country was a temporary challenge that would pay off once he graduated and they were back together. But where he’d been on a straight and narrow path toward their dream, Cece struggled to reconcile the woman she was becoming with the girl who had agreed to something she didn’t quite understand. Their spring break trips to South Carolina were fun but another example of Jake’s unspoken expectation that she accommodate him and his career - that she would follow where he led. What he’d seen as a simple request for her to come to him, to remember that his college experience was different than hers, she’d taken as a glimpse into their future. 

Jake regretted his bitter, sarcastic apology for failing her tests when he was a stupid kid. His hissed accusations that she could have talked to him instead of her friends, who dripped poison into her ears that he didn’t care about her if he wouldn’t do something so simple as go on a vacation of her choosing. “I’m sorry I didn’t take you to Florida. We can go when I get back if you - ”

“It’s not about Florida!” Cece yelled, hands flying to cover her face as she sat on her bed. “It was about doing something I wanted for a change - somethin’ that would make me happy, even if it was inconvenient for you.”

“Are you sayin’ I didn’t make you happy?”

“I’m sayin’ you never tried. You never had to choose between what you wanted and what I wanted. And part of that’s my fault because I stopped pushing. But I did that because I knew what you would say - that you would tell me how tired you were between classes and training. You wouldn’t be home for long over the summer because you would be training on different things and traveling. And you wanted to spend as much time together as possible, and it’d be easier for me to come to you.”

“It was easier - you just had to work around your classes - ” 

“And my job and friends, coming home to see Daddy, and my plans. But those didn’t matter to you because you wanted to spend a week in a shitty hotel with your friends, getting drunk on the beach.”

“Which is what we probably would have done in Florida!” 

“Maybe! But we’ll never know, will we?”

They’d taken a break after that, and the whiskey still burned in Jake's throat when they got back on camera. It was clear that Cece had been crying, and the hand holding her water glass shook when they talked through her move to Virginia. It hurt to hear that she’d had doubts about their future when he’d proposed but thought this could be the fresh start they’d needed. “But it felt like y’all were laughing at me behind my back that day at the beach when I found out you were deploying.”

“I didn’t know until I got there, and you were already… I didn’t know.” 

“But you didn’t tell me when you found out. You kept it from me.” 

“Would you have come?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“And that’s why I didn’t tell you,” he’d said, letting out a frustrated huff. “We’d already been apart five years, and the deployment woulda been one more excuse to keep us apart. You wouldn’ta come there.” 

“I don’t know if I would or if I wouldn’t have because I wasn’t given that choice. You took that from me.” 

“What were you gonna do?” Jake demanded. “You’d already quit your job and packed up. Our future was in Virginia, whether I was there or not.” 

“I could have come back here,” Cece’d shot back, throwing her arms out and motioning to her house. “I coulda spent that time with Daddy. Or stayed in Austin.”

“I was only gonna be gone for seven months.” 

“And you spent almost six lying to me.” 

“We could have had six months together, but you left after two. You didn’t even give us a chance to figure it out before you left. You knew what we were going up against with me going into the Navy, and at the first sign of it being hard, you cut and ran.” 

Her laugh was full of disbelief, bordering on hysterics. She’d moved so fast that her computer turned over, and Jake glimpsed her pacing as the camera pointed at the ceiling. “The first sign?” she muttered to herself. He waited as she walked through her house, setting the laptop on the kitchen counter as she rummaged in a cabinet. 

“Cece.” But she ignored him, retrieving a bottle of whiskey and taking a swig. A grimace crossed her face as she swiped the back of her hand across her mouth. “Baby - ”

“The first sign of it being hard?” she chuckled. “Maybe it was the first sign for you, but I had five years of hard. I didn’t know what we were getting into when you said you wanted to join the Navy, Jake. You looked into it and told me what our life would be like, and I just blindly trusted you. And that’s my fault. I didn’t think about the fact that my whole life would revolve around you and your career, and there was nothing I could do to change that.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is,” she shot back. “My hopes and wants and dreams didn’t matter because the minute you decided what you wanted, that was it. That’s what we were doing.”

“You make it sound like I forced you. You had a choice every step of the way,” he snapped. 

“Between letting you steamroll me or losing you?” A sob broke her voice as she shook her head. “I’m sorry I was a stupid kid who thought loving you was enough.” 

I love you too. And I always will. But I don’t know if that’s enough.

Those words had echoed through his head for years after she left, and he was afraid of hearing them again at that moment. “You say I steamrolled you,” he sighed, “but you never talked to me. You just stay quiet and smile and make me think everything’s okay until you're already out the goddamn door. I’m not a mind reader! You have to tell me what’s goin’ on with you, or I’m gonna assume things are fine.” They stared at one another for a long moment before he cleared his throat. “Were you pregnant after we… after the bar?” 

“No.” Jake was relieved to hear her quick answer and nodded.

“Have you ever been pregnant with our…?”

“No, never.” Shoulders falling, he let his head hang while running a hand down his face. He hadn’t realized how much he needed to hear that - that the woman he loved hadn’t betrayed him to the level of his ex by keeping a kid from him. “No matter what was goin’ on with us, I would have told you if I was… if there’d been…” 

Jake replayed their fight over and over in his head during his deployment. And when sleep evaded, he recalled the sight of her falling asleep in his arms, eyelashes dusting the tops of her cheeks as she murmured, “I love you, Farm Boy.” It was her face that he focused on when he pulled the ejection handle, as he screamed when his leg caught under his seat and the ligament tore. The promise of getting home to see her and meet baby Tyler, hugging his parents and Will and Ally kept him going when all he wanted to do was give into the pain and stop. 

But he still hadn’t picked up the damn phone since getting back stateside. They’d promised each other time. Jake knew where he stood when it came to them. But she’d accused him of steamrolling her, and he was trying to be better. He wouldn’t let an injury manipulate her back into his arms.

Movement drew his eye. Will leaned out the driver’s side of the old beat-up farm truck, tapping the horn to get his attention. Jake pushed to his feet, fighting against his stiff, injured knee, and nearly fell on his ass as a result. For as much as he was making sure to keep up with his PT, there were still days when it felt like his body was going backward with its recovery. The docs told him to be patient - that he was on track to get back into his jet in a few months - but struggling down a flight of stairs without clinging to the railing for stability made him doubt that. Rather than sit at his desk and recover, he’d decided to burn the vacation hours nearing use or lose territory. A month in Magnolia was better than one watching his friends tiptoe around him. 

“Your ears as busted as your knee?” Will asked, pulling to a stop. Jake flipped him the bird, carefully putting weight on his leg. The last thing he wanted was for it to give out in front of his big brother. “Storm’s comin’ in, and Mama’s got an errand she wants you to run.” 

“Can’t you do it?” Jake sighed, hobbling toward Starlight and turning his back to the truck, hiding the wince of pain. He’d gone too long without taking his meds. 

“Nope. Need a hand there, old man?” Ignoring him, Jake retrieved the saddle he’d removed, wishing his brother would leave. Mounting would be painful enough without an audience. He’d overdone it that morning with chores. When his physical therapist told him moving would help his recovery, he probably didn’t mean getting a couple hundred cows into their milking bays. “Happy to ride her back if you wanna take the truck.”

“I’m fine.” 

“Suit yourself. Don’t get caught in the rain,” Will said, glancing back at the gathering clouds while pulling away. After checking the girth strap and saddle were secure, Jake grabbed the hackmore and stroked Star’s muzzle. She pressed into his hands, almost knocking him off his feet, and he chuckled. Once she was situated, he took a steeling breath while patting her neck and moving to her side. Taking the reins in his left hand, he grasped her mane and used his right to turn the stirrup toward him. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he lifted his left leg. His muscles shook with the effort, knee refusing to bend enough to slip his boot into the stirrup. Dropping his foot back to the ground, he cursed under his breath. For someone who’d ridden since before he could walk, it was embarrassing not to be able to mount a horse. 

For fuck’s sake, he’d ridden Broncos bareback for a year when he was 16 before taking a nasty fall and breaking his collarbone. Shortly after, Mama ended that particular hobby, offering to let him barrel race instead. Jake declined. 

Gritting his teeth, he tried again, the tip of his boot grazing Star’s side but not slipping into place. After failing for a third time, he lowered his head, the brim of his hat grazing the horse’s shoulder, and forced himself to take a deep breath. Another clap of thunder boomed, and Jake spotted a sheet of rain moving in from the west. Cursing again, he shifted to Star’s right side. Holding the reins in his right hand felt awkward, fingers twined in her mane when he carefully lifted his right leg, hesitantly putting his full weight on the left. When it buckled, he quickly dropped his foot and steadied himself. “I’m not fuckin’ walking back,” Jake grunted, looking around for something that would serve as a mounting block. He felt a slight twinge of regret for letting his pride get in the way of taking the truck. Frustration with his body not working the way he wanted it to quickly overrode it. 

If he couldn’t mount his damn horse, how the hell was he supposed to climb the ladder into his fucking jet?

Tightening his grip on her mane, Jake took a deep breath. His bum knee only needed to hold long enough to settle his foot in the stirrup. Starlight nickered, ears flicking as she shifted with another boom of thunder. “I know, girl,” he muttered. “Just hold still for me.” Forcing himself to take a few even breaths, he adjusted the stirrup. He’d need to move fast - the balancing exercises the PT gave him were still a struggle, and the last thing he wanted to do was fall on his ass. Mentally counting down, Jake gritted his teeth, gripping the handful of mane and horn tightly. Quickly, he lifted his right leg and jammed it onto the stirrup, feeling it hit the heel of his boot, and stood, swinging his left leg over her hindquarters. Star started as he dropped heavily into the saddle, settling when he gave the reins a quick tug. Grinning to himself, he managed to get his left foot situated and adjusted his seat before taking off his hat and rubbing his sleeve to his forehead. 

Loosening the reins, Jake pressed his heels into her side to get her moving. “Ready to beat the storm home?” he asked, chuckling when she tossed her head. Taking that as an affirmative, he gave Star her head and kicked her into a gallop. Leaning forward in the tack, he pushed onto his feet to give her more room, ignoring his throbbing knee. His hand flew up to keep his hat in place, and Jake couldn’t keep the whoop of joy from bursting out. 

As much as he loved that moment of anticipation before the catapult shot his jet off the carrier, nothing could compare to riding under the open Texas sky. 

When they neared the barn, Jake reluctantly reined her in. Star wasn’t happy as she was forced into a trot - at six years old, she was relatively new to working and still high-spirited. A few feet from the barn, he felt her muscles bunch and watched her ears flick back, tail swishing. She started dancing and hopped, and he quickly tugged the left rein, forcing Star to turn in a circle to keep her from bucking. Getting thrown in the field, where the grass would mostly cushion his fall, was one thing, but he sure as hell didn’t want to hit the hard-packed dirt and have to explain to the flight surgeon why his return to duty had to be pushed back. 

“You got her?” Mama asked, stepping out of one of the stalls. Jake didn’t take his eyes off Star and nodded. “Watch your uncle,” Mama said, and he shot a glance over to see five-month-old Tyler watching him from the pack-and-play everyone fondly called the baby jail. Since Ally had gone back to work - chomping at the bit to get back to taking care of her large animal vet practice after Will managed to talk her into taking four months off - Ty spent days being passed around the Seresins at home. Having been relegated to driving the truck so Will could pitch hay and Pops could check the machinery before the morning milking, Jake spent a lot of time with his nephew sleeping in his car seat beside him. 

Starlight settled with an annoyed stop of her foot, and he took the opportunity to dismount quickly. His left knee buckled when his foot hit the ground, but he stayed upright. Patting the mare’s neck, he flicked the reins over her head and led her to her stall. “Will said you needed me to run an errand?” he said, glancing at Mama. He caught her narrowed-eyed examination of his limp and forced himself to ignore it. Working quickly to remove the tack, he murmured an ‘excuse me’ while moving past her to put it away.

“Don’t worry about brushin’ her - I’ll get it. I need you to run to the grocery store for me.” Biting back a groan, he turned to face her. 

“Can’t Will do it?”

“No, I’m asking you.” The stern look she pinned him was so familiar that he felt like a kid again. For the two weeks he’d been home, Jake was reluctant to leave the farm. Will dragged him to Mickey’s one night for a late toast to him becoming a father, and he’d made a few runs to the feed store with Pops, but he hated how people watched him. The way they stopped him, asking why he was home, for how long, and why he was limping. Betty Roberts had quickly turned away when he glared at her, remembering her cruel words to Cece those few months ago. Hell, even the attention he got from the women in town was annoying. The last thing he wanted to do was flirt with someone who’d grown up seeing him in love with Cece and was taking advantage of the fact that she was away to try and get his attention.  

And if he got one more damn question about his ex.

The last thing he wanted to do was talk about Shayla. After posting his video, she started losing brand deals, and companies moved away from working with her. While he hadn’t set out intending to hurt her career, Jake wasn’t upset to see it happen. If he and Cece were facing backlash in their jobs, Shayla sure as hell deserved to go down as well. He wasn’t keeping tabs on her, but he’d overheard a loudly whispered conversation at the gas station about her seeing a minor league basketball player. Jake wished the man all the luck in the world - he’d need it to be with a conniving witch like her. 

“There’s a list on the fridge.”

“Can I take Ty with me?” he asked, grinning as he dusted his hands on his jeans and walked over to lift his nephew from the jail. The baby gave him a gummy smile as Jake kissed his chubby cheek and settled him in the crook of his arm. 

“Ally’s on her way to get him.” Sighing, he kissed Ty again and passed him into Mama’s outstretched arms. Even with two weeks left on leave, Jake dreaded going home and not seeing the little guy every day. He’d need to be better about coming home and seeing the family. 

“Call me if you think of anything else you need,” Jake said after a beat. Mama just nodded and bounced her grandson on her hip, tapping his nose. 

“Might check with Ally to see if she needs you to pick up some diapers.” Nodding, he turned and made his way back to the house, sipping a coffee while perusing the shopping list. His eyebrows knit together as he read the random list and walked to the pantry to double-check that the canister of coffee was still mostly full - he’d just opened it a few days ago. 

“What’re you still doin’ here?” a voice asked, and Jake glanced up to see his sister-in-law frowning at him. “Didn’t Mama tell you to go to the store?” 

“I’m on my way. You need anything?”

“Yeah, your ass outta here,” she scoffed, not meeting his gaze as she looked around the kitchen, setting her paper cup from the new coffee shop down on the counter. “Where’s my baby?”

“The barn with Mama.” Smiling, she walked past him, not pausing as her hand smacked his arm. “Hurry up, Uncle Jakey.” 

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed his boots from by the back door. The sooner he left, the sooner he could get home and relax.

The cart rattled annoyingly as Jake rounded the corner in the produce section. Mama wanted fresh corn for dinner, but the ears in the bin didn’t look good. The Adams farm stand was on the drive home, so he’d probably stop and grab some. After adding a package of strawberries to the cart, he moved into the dried goods section. Keeping his gaze on the list in hand, he ignored the whispers and side-eyed glances from the other patrons. Going down the coffee aisle, he scanned the shelves, reached for a can, and tossed it into the cart. Jake grabbed the handles and turned around, stopping in his tracks, breath catching in his throat. 

“Oh.” Cece’s eyebrows shot up, her lips parting in surprise. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Jake struggled to get the word out around the lump in his throat, which came out half-strangled. “I thought - ” 

“I didn’t - ” Their voices overlapped, and they fell silent, waiting for the other to speak. “You - ”

“When - ” It happened again. “You first.”

“I didn’t realize you were home,” Cece said after a moment, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Yeah. For a few weeks. When did you get back?”

“Last night. When - ”

“Where - ” He smiled at her nervous laugh, and she motioned for him to go. “Where were you?”

The corners of her eyes crinkled with her blinding smile. “New York. I stayed a few days in the city on my way back from Paris.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah. I think I ate my weight in macarons while I was there.”

“Well, you look great.” And she did. The dark circles under her eyes were gone, and she seemed more contented…. happier, and confident. A cute pink flush colored her cheeks, and he caught her appreciative look at his hat and how his t-shirt clung to his arms.  

“You too. Everything went okay with…?” Concern clouded Cece's face, and he forced himself to stand straight, ignoring the twinge in his knee.

“It was rough, but everyone got back in one piece.” 

“Good.” Something flickered in her eyes, and he watched her lift a coffee cup from the new shop to her lips, her gaze flicking to the shelves. Her tongue darted out to catch a stray drop, and his grip on the handles tightened. “Have you been home long?” 

“From the mission or in Magnolia?” 

“Both.” 

“I’ve been here about two weeks, but I got back stateside about a month and a half ago. Are you, uh… are you gonna be here for a while, or just passin’ through?” Movement over her shoulder caught his attention. A woman pushed her cart toward them, openly staring. Jake shifted his cart in front of Cece’s before moving back to her side. Cece’s eyes flitted toward the woman, and she waited until she was gone before shrugging.

“I’m gonna be here a while. Got some stuff I need to take care of before hitting the road again.” 

“Where are you heading to next?” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she shrugged. 

“I’ve got a couple of places in mind.” The hint of mischief in her eyes had Jake shoving his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching for her. It felt like ages since he’d seen that look. 

“Have dinner with me.” The request was out of his mouth before his brain caught up. But Cece just smiled and shook her head.

“I already told Ally that I’ve got plans tonight.” His flicker of worry that she might be meeting up with the firefighter was quickly stifled when she added, “Lucy made me promise to come.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“I’ll be there for breakfast.”

“Great - have dinner with me. I wanna hear about everywhere you’ve been.” While his palm itched to curve around her cheek and kiss away that indecisive look on her face, Jake contented himself with reaching for her hand. Catching her fingers, he squeezed lightly. “Please, Cupcake?” 

Her gaze focused over his shoulder, and he turned to see the woman from before standing at the end of the aisle, talking to someone else as they both stared. Cece watched them when he turned back, and her eyes only moved to him when he stroked his thumb along her finger. It took a moment for him to realize it was her empty ring finger, where his engagement ring had once sat. “Alright.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I wanna hear how you’ve been, too.” Gently shaking off his hold, Cece reached up and flicked the brim of his hat. “It’s good to see you, Farm Boy.” It took all of Jake’s strength and discipline not to catch her wrist and pull her into his arms to kiss that smirk from her lips. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

Though he could feel the stares as he finished his shopping, Jake didn’t care. The only thing that mattered were those fleeting glimpses of Cece in the aisles. Whenever they caught sight of one another, she rolled her eyes and smiled. Unsure of where she was, he tried his best not to limp. Too soon, he finished and headed to the checkout lines. When he stepped outside, the rain was coming down. The storm finally caught up with them. Ducking his head, he hurried across the parking lot and tossed his bags into the truck backseat. His shirt was damp and sticking to his skin, and water dripped from his hat when he finally got in after returning his cart. But instead of pulling out, he waited. 

For ten minutes, he kept his eyes trained on the front doors and was finally rewarded with the sight of Cece stepping outside. His hand gripped the door handle when an older man walked up behind her and tapped her shoulder. Jake recognized him from the firehouse - one of her daddy’s friends. But just as his foot hit the ground, he watched Cece shake her head and reach into her purse, pulling out an umbrella. Smiling, she stepped out from under the store awning and made her way to her SUV while the man headed in the opposite direction. 

Jake hesitated before shutting his door, watching Cece quickly load her car and return her cart. He couldn’t help but grin when she took her umbrella down and strolled back to her car, heedless of the pounding rain. 

His girl always enjoyed a good storm.

With the chores done and dinner finished, the Seresins went their separate ways. Will, Ally, and Ty were back at the foreman’s house, and Mama and Pops had decided to go into town for an ice cream. Jake declined their invitation, knowing he was getting a bit soft around the middle already with all the homecooked meals and strict orders to stay away from the gym until he was medically cleared. Instead, he saddled up one of the new geldings and went for a ride since the rain had blown through. 

Back under his tree, Jake gritted his teeth as he lay down, left knee bent and heel pressing into the dirt. It ached as he held the position for six seconds before relaxing for thirty and repeating. His physical therapist told him to do the exercises three times a day, and he hated doing them in front of his parents. He could see the worry in Mama’s eyes anytime she saw a flicker of pain in his face. Pops was kind enough to ignore it but would make sure that he took it easy on chores. 

If he was ever going to get back in his damn jet, he needed to push through the pain. He refused to be med-boarded out because of an ejection gone wrong. 

After twelve reps, he stretched his leg out, a moan escaping as his knee straightened. Letting gravity press it straight, he closed his eyes and knitted his fingers over his stomach. He could feel his heartbeat throbbing in his knee and sweat beading on his forehead. Blowing a breath through pursed lips, he let his knee bend slightly and banged his head back on the grass. “Fuck,” he huffed, knowing he needed to hold the position for at least twenty minutes. 

One of the worst parts about the exercise was that it made Jake stop. While he was moving, pushing away the memories of the mission and his nightmares was easy. But being forced to lie still allowed his mind to wander. To distract himself, he started running through the NATOPs for his jet, making him think about his friends. They were probably getting together at the Hard Deck for a drink and cursing him for not replying to their texts. Coyote had called him two days ago just to make sure he was still alive.

While he appreciated them checking in, Jake couldn’t help but feel jealous that they could still fly while he was grounded indefinitely. As happy as he was to take the SAM to ensure Rooster didn’t get shot down in hostile territory for the second time in as many years, it was still hard to contemplate that he might never feel the thrill of pulling G’s again. The roar of the engine and his seat rattling underneath him. The wind in his hair while standing on the deck of a carrier.

So as much as the exercises hurt, he’d do them every goddamn day to make sure he could get back up in the air. Gritting his teeth, he forced his knee straight again. 

Grunting, he stared at the darkening sky. The crickets were loud, and the fireflies started flickering in the fields. A smile tugged at his mouth as he remembered running through them with Will and Cece, scooping up the bugs in jars Mama put aside for them, and wondered if Ty would do the same when he was a bit older.

If he’d have siblings or cousins to help him with the hunt. 

A stab of regret hit him, and Jake couldn’t help but think about the baby that never was. If she hadn’t lied, he would have been getting ready for his little one to be born. The phantom weight of a baby on his chest was painful, and he cleared his throat. Whenever he thought of them, he’d always figured on having a son - after all, there hadn’t been a Seresin girl in a couple of generations. By now, the nursery would be finished, and he’d be so ready for the little man to arrive. But when he imagined the mother of his child, it wasn’t Shayla that he saw. He could picture Cece big with their child, teasing him as he catered to her every whim. She wouldn’t lift a finger while he was around to do it for her. 

Of all the things that bitch had done to him, going after Cece and giving him the hope of being a father was the worst.

The sound of a car broke the quiet, and he lifted his head to see the farm truck getting closer. The gelding pulled at his rope, and Jake quickly glanced over to make sure he wouldn’t bolt. Will would probably die laughing if his horse ran and make him walk back. But when the truck pulled to a stop, it wasn’t his brother who got out and slammed the door.  

Cece circled the truck and stared down at him, arms crossed over her chest. Jake lurched to his feet, hissing in pain when his bad knee protested the quick movement. “Hey.” His smile dropped when he saw tears shining in her eyes. “Honey?” he said softly. “Everything okay?” Her shoulders rose and fell as she tried to control her breathing, nostrils flaring as she stared at him. The tall grass licked her calves as she stormed toward him, fists clenched at her sides. “Hey, talk to me, Cece,” Jake pleaded while reaching for her.

Wordlessly, she shoved him. Surprised, he stumbled backward but managed to keep his feet. But then she shoved again, moving with him and pushing every time he stepped back. “Hey!” Jake snapped, catching her wrists. She quickly ripped her hands away and pushed harder, a grunt forcing itself out between her clenched teeth. His boot caught on a rock, forcing him off balance, and her next shove sent him sprawling. “What the fuck?” he demanded, pushing up onto his elbows. His back ached and his ass hurt from the fall. A burning sensation had him lifting his right arm to see a line of blood making a trail from his elbow toward his wrist. But Cece just glared down at him, hands planted on her hips. “Jesus Christ, Julie - what the hell was that about?”  

“‘It was rough’?” she hissed. “It was ROUGH?”

“What’re you talking about?” Jake snapped, matching her glare with one of his own. 

“How bad was it?” Cece demanded.

“How bad was what?” The noise she made was a mix of a groan and a scream. Spinning on her heel, she tugged at her hair and stomped away from him. Carefully, Jake got to his feet, trying not to bend his left knee. Cece turned to watch him, and he eyed her wearily. “You shove me again, and you’re comin’ down with me,” he cautioned. The look she gave him was so far removed from the teasing ones she’d give when they were kids and later teens, wrestling out in the field. He was pretty sure dragging her down with him wouldn’t end with a laughing kiss as he pinned her. More than likely, it’d end with an ‘accidental’ graze of her knee to his balls. “Baby, talk to me.” 

“Why? So you can lie to me again?”

“What did I lie to you about?”

“Everyone got home in one piece?” It took a moment for her words to register, and he shook his head when he realized she was talking about the mission.

“That’s not a lie. We all got home.”

“What happened to you?” A cold sweat broke out on his brow as he remembered how it felt when the SAM hit his tail, splitting the jet and sending him into a spin. How disorienting it was, unable to tell the difference between the stars and the ground. Bitchin’ Betty yelling at him to eject as sensors blared. Rooster screaming at him to get out. 

“I’m fine.” Even to his ears, the words sounded hollow. He’d said them so often since getting home they’d almost lost their meaning. Angrily brushing the tears from her face, Cece stalked toward him. Her hands lifted to shove him again, and Jake reacted. His arms wrapped around her waist, tugging so their chests collided. Momentum threw them off balance, and he sat heavily, grunting while taking the brunt of the fall. Cece’s knee brushed his inner thigh, and he clenched automatically, bracing for the pain of a knee to the balls. 

“Let go of me!” she demanded, pushing against his chest. But he ignored her, rolling so she lay under him, her thighs cradling his hips. Catching the hands pushing against him, Jake drew them over her head, wrapping his fingers around her forearms and pinning her to the ground.

“Told ya you’d be goin’ down with me if you pushed me again,” he teased, his laugh turning into a bitten-back moan when Cece planted her feet and lifted her hips to try and throw him off. 

“Get off me, Seresin!” 

“Not until you tell me what’s wrong, Julie Louise Ryan.” The use of her full name had her glaring at him again, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. 

“Fuck you, Jacob Thomas.” 

“I’d love nothin’ more, baby, but only after you tell me what’s wrong.” She struggled against him but, even injured, he had more weight and strength on his side. With one final buck against him, she sagged into the grass, breathing heavily. 

“You lied to me. Again.” The accusation came out a half sob, and Jake’s heart broke to see her chin wobble. 

“I didn’t lie to you, honey. I’m right here. I’m okay.” 

“You got hurt.” 

“I did.” 

“You didn’t tell me.” The pain in Cece’s eyes was unbearable, especially knowing he caused it. Clearing his throat against the tight feeling, he nodded. 

“I didn’t want you to worry.” Letting go of one of her arms, he wiped away her tears. His palm curved around her jaw, thumb gently tugging her lower lip free of the teeth digging into it. “I’m alright and gettin’ better every day.” 

“What happened?” Her breath was hot against his face. And, while the mission was classified, it was hard to keep the truth from the woman he loved.

“Bad ejection,” he said simply and felt her breath catch. Watched her pulse flutter in her throat. “Tore my ACL and had to have surgery.” Her free hand curled around the back of his sweaty neck, fingers sliding into his hair. Nails lightly scraped his scalp, and his eyes drooped. Shifting, he let go of her other arm, bracing his hand by her head. 

“You didn’t tell me.” 

“‘M sorry, Cupcake,” he murmured. Dipping his head, he brushed the tips of their noses. Cece’s eyes closed as she turned away from him. Denied her lips, he kissed the hinge of her jaw and throat, switching to the other side when she rolled her head. The unmistakable feeling of her hips grinding against him and knees bracketing his side had him chuckling against her skin. “I love you, baby.” The fingers in his hair tightened, tugging cruelly as Cece took advantage of his distraction to flip them. Yelping, he covered her hand with his, trying to disentangle it as she straddled his hips. 

Leaning down, she kissed Jake’s forehead before letting go of his hair and bracing her hands on his chest, scrambling to her feet before he could catch her. Towering over him, she glared and shook her head, swiping at the tears coating her cheeks. Her voice cracked when she said, “You don’t get to die on me, too, Farm Boy.” 

“Julie - ”

“Save it,” she snapped, turning on her heel and walking away. He tried to catch her ankle but missed. But rather than returning to the truck, she was going toward the gelding. 

“Hey,” he called, struggling to his feet. She was faster, quickly undoing the simple knot he’d secured the lead rope with. “What’re you doin’?” Jake demanded as she gathered the reins in one hand and hoisted herself into the saddle he hadn’t removed. His jeans, already tight, felt a bit more snug after that display. 

Jake had forgotten just how gorgeous Cece was when she rode. 

“Stop over doing it before you put yourself back in the damn hospital,” she scowled. 

“Fine. Get down, and I’ll ride back.” But instead, she ignored him and wheeled the horse around, kicking it into a run. 

“Keys are in the ignition!” Cece called over her shoulder while standing up in the stirrups. Jake was treated to the beautiful view of her ass as they started to run across the field back to the barn, hair streaming behind her. 

“God damn,” he muttered to himself, finally tearing his gaze away. Scrubbing a hand through his hair, he retrieved his hat before limping his way to the truck. Just like she’d promised, the keys swayed from the ignition when he got in. But the envelope with his name on it sitting in the passenger seat caught his attention. Frowning, he opened it and saw a stack of postcards.

With the last few rays of sunlight, Jake picked up the first one and saw it was a picture of the Grand Canyon. Smirking, he flipped it over and read Cece’s loopy handwriting.

Farm Boy,

I’m going on the adventure we always talked about. It’s scary to think about doing it alone, but it’s a good scary. I feel like I’ve been waiting around for my life to start, and I’m just tired of waiting for it. I think… I know that I need this. I hate that we’re fighting and that I won’t get to talk to you soon, so I figured this might be a way to talk to you without actually talking. 

It’s probably stupid, and I might forget to do this halfway through. But for now, hello from the Grand Canyon! 

I love you even when I’m mad at you. And isn’t that what matters?

Cece

Will was in the barn brushing down the gelding when Jake reached the house, a teasing smirk on his mouth. “Good ride?” he asked and laughed when he got the finger in response. Mama and Pops were back, sharing their nightly cup of tea. Cece’s car was long gone. After saying goodnight to his parents, he went upstairs and forced himself to shower instead of retreating to his room. 

Hair still damp, he crawled into bed with the stack of postcards and started reading. 

Gripping the railing, Jake slowly made his way downstairs the following morning. He was tired after staying up late and waking up with a nightmare around two. It always sucked to dream about the mission, and usually took him a couple hours to calm back down enough to sleep. Normally, he dozed for a few more minutes before his alarm went off for chores. But last night, he’d gotten through a few more postcards and woken with them on his chest, having fallen back asleep reading. 

The smell of something sweet mixed with coffee and laughter in the kitchen. Following his nose, he paused in the doorway at a sight that made his heart skip a beat. Cece leaned against the counter, Tyler sleeping on her chest as she chatted with Ally. Her hand spanned the little guy’s back, her chin resting on his head as his fingers curled around her t-shirt neck. “Look who finally decided to join us,” Will said, startling Jake. He hadn’t heard his brother come up behind him and wasn’t prepared for the shove to the middle of his back, forcing him into the room. This time, he kept his balance and spun to face his brother. With decades of experience, Will dodged Jake’s attempt to get him into a headlock, quickly batting away his arms. 

“Boys!” Pops snapped. “Knock it off.” 

“Yes, sir,” the Seresin boys chorused. The minute Pops turned back to his conversation with Mama at the kitchen table, Jake smacked the back of Will’s head and moved toward the coffee pot. Glancing at Cece, he fought to smile when she rolled her eyes at him. Her lips pressed to Ty’s head, attempting to hide her smirk, and he barely avoided overfilling his mug. 

Using his nephew as an excuse to get closer, Jake’s hand covered Cece’s on Ty’s back, and he leaned down to kiss the baby’s head. Cece’s shoulder pressed against his chest, and it took all of his willpower not to turn and kiss her, too. “Mornin’ buddy. Ready to go out with Uncle Jake?”

“You’ve had your turn. He’s hanging out with Aunt Julie this morning,” she said, digging her elbow into his stomach. Without thinking, he pinched her side playfully. Mock glaring, Cece hip-checked him and used her free hand to flick his cheek. “Go away. I’m soaking up baby cuddles.”

“Stop being gross around my son,” Ally huffed, thrusting a hand between them and pushing Jake away. 

“You’re supposed to take my side since you’re my sister,” he grumbled, sipping his black coffee. 

“Yeah, well, I like her more,” Ally smirked. “She brings me cinnamon rolls. You just annoy me.” 

“Cinnamon rolls?” 

“They’ll be out of the oven in a few minutes,” Cece said, glancing over at the stove timer before sipping her coffee. She quickly dropped it back onto the counter when Ty squirmed, his little face scrunching as he rubbed against her collarbone. Bouncing him gently, her eyes shot to Ally, who sighed and glanced at her watch.

“Yup, about that time.” Reluctantly, Cece handed Ty over as he started to cry, a pitiful sound that had every adult in the kitchen stopping. Will was quickly at their side, his arm around Ally’s shoulders as he stared down at his son.

“Mornin’, kiddo,” he sighed, cupping his hand to the baby’s head as he looked at his wife. “Want me to take him while you get settled?” She shook her head.

“Mind grabbing the bag? He’ll need a change after.” Nodding, Will pecked Ally’s cheek and walked toward the front door, where the baby bag was stashed. “Save me a roll?” she asked, turning to Cece. 

“Extra frosting.” 

“And that’s why I love you more.” Throwing a wink at Jake, Ally made her way upstairs, smiling when Will walked behind her with his hand steady on her back. Jake felt a wave of envy and tried to tamp it down. His gaze drifted to Cece, who didn’t seem to realize - or mind - that she was leaning against him. Just a little shift, and she’d be tucked under his arm. Setting his coffee mug on the counter behind her, his thumb grazed her back and stroked lightly. Her eyes swung to him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“Morning,” she said softly.  

“Mornin’.” His eyes dropped to her mouth as his hand slid along her back to curl around her hip. It’d only take a slight tug and a dip of his head for him to taste the sweetened coffee on her lips. “You sleep well?” Her shoulder lifted, hip pressing further into his grip as she shifted. 

“It’s good to be home.”

“You’ve been gone a lot. Already got through a couple of your postcards.” Pink dusted her cheeks as Cece bit her lower lip.

“I know it was stupid but - ”

“Not stupid. I’m glad you wrote me.” 

“I didn’t think I’d have to face you while you read them,” she admitted. “Was gonna mail them all at once, but when I saw you were back home…”

“You decided to give them to me after stealing my horse?” Mischief shone in her eyes, and she opened her mouth to reply when a beeping interrupted them. 

“It smells good, Julie,” Pops called from the kitchen table, his eyes darting over to where they stood too close. A smile tugged at his mouth, and Jake saw Mama lightly kick him under the table. Cece quickly pulled away from Jake and walked toward the oven, grabbing a pair of mitts from the counter and putting them on. When she opened the oven, the kitchen was flooded with the smell of cinnamon and sugar. 

“Looks like they're done,” she announced, setting the large pan on the stovetop. “Just gonna let them cool a minute before frosting.” It was on the tip of Jake’s tongue to ask if she needed a hand, but instead, he stayed where he was, sipping his coffee and watching the love of his life move around the kitchen with a familiar comfort. There was no hesitation as she reached into the fridge to retrieve a container, and she located the drawers with spoons and the kitchen sheers immediately. A piping bag and jar were pulled from a sack on the counter, and Cece quickly spooned frosting into the bag. 

“Need anything?” Mama asked, looking up from her coffee. 

“Nope,” Cece replied, walking back to the stove and piping cream cheese frosting onto the rolls. Abandoning his coffee, Jake retrieved a stack of plates from the cabinet before standing beside her. Cece glanced at him, flicking her wrist with each swirl as she made quick work of the task. “Hand me the caramel sauce?” she asked after covering two rolls with extra frosting, presumably for Ally. Nodding, Jake retrieved the mason jar and twisted the top off. Swiping his thumb over the lid, he tasted the salted caramel and let out an appreciative hum. Try as she might to hide her smile, he caught her pressing her lips together. “Good?”

“I’d eat the whole damn jar.”

“You’ll have to fight Will for that one, but maybe I’ll make you your own if you don’t overdo it today.” 

“Promise?” Rather than answer, she took the jar from him and shoved the piping bag into his hand. He squeeze a bit of the remaining frosting onto his finger, watching her drizzle the caramel over the cinnamon rolls before sticking his finger under the stream. “Hey!”

“Damn, honey, that’s good,” he chuckled, licking his finger clean of the sweet combination as she smacked his chest. 

“Out of my kitchen, Farm Boy.” 

“Pretty sure it’s Mama’s kitchen.” 

“Keep it up, and you’ll be goin’ without.” 

“You’d deprive a workin’ man of his breakfast?”

“Absolutely.” His loud laugh drew his parents' attention. “Make yourself useful and get me another cup of coffee, please.” 

Over breakfast, Pops laid out the plan for the day. After milking, they needed to inspect one of the old buildings in the field the cows used for shade, and the truck needed an oil change. The horse stalls needed cleaning, and a yearling was getting picked up today to head to their new home. Ally and Will joined, Mama taking Tyler while they ate. One of the mares had come in from the corral favoring her leg, so Ally was going to do an x-ray to ensure nothing was wrong since she’d been lame for a few days.

Jake half listened, more concerned with the feeling of Cece’s leg pressed against his under the table. 

Too soon, they were up and moving, clearing the table in preparation for going their separate ways. The dregs of coffee were poured into thermoses before Mama started another pot, and Jake watched as Ally helped Cece wrap a long strip of fabric around her chest before sliding Ty into it. “Guess you’re really stealing my WSO,” he said, coming up behind her to look over her shoulder at Tyler. 

“Told ya,” she shrugged, tickling the baby’s cheeks as he shrieked and kicked his legs. “Gonna go to the hen house and get the eggs before Auntie’s gotta go.” Looking over her shoulder, she seemed surprised at how close he was. “What’s a WSO?” she asked, her voice just a bit breathless. 

“Weapons System Officer,” he replied. “The backseater for a pilot that does all the tech stuff so they can focus on flying.”

“Ah. The backseater you never wanted,” she nodded, remembering those long ago nights when he’d just started flight school. 

“I’d have one if they were like this kid.” Reaching around her, he smoothed a hand over Tyler’s head. It was cover for him to get even closer and say softly, “‘M sorry about yesterday. We still on for dinner tonight?” 

“Want me to make something?” 

“No, let’s go out. I heard there’s a new Italian place. Unless you don’t want people…” Jake trailed off, feeling a spike of anxiety at the thought of Cece not wanting to be seen with him. But after two weeks of being the subject of town gossip, he was also weary of offering up more.

“Italian sounds good. Want me to come get you, or are you gonna borrow the truck?”

“I’ll take the truck. Seven good?” She smiled and nodded, eyes darting behind him. The collar of his shirt got tighter against his throat as Will dragged him backward.

“Let’s go, lover boy. Stop usin’ my son to flirt.” Cece’s laugh rang in his ears as he allowed himself to be towed backward. When he winked, she rolled her eyes and leaned down to kiss Tyler’s head. 

True to her word, Cece was gone by the time Jake returned to the house for lunch. He helped himself to another cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll while Pops sliced tomatoes from Mama’s garden for their sandwiches. He’d kept his promise to take it easy on his knee, and spent some time on the couch icing it after eating, waiting for Ally to get back. Pops and Will were heading to the lumber store to get some boards for the new project while he was supposed to help with the horses. 

It took some time to separate Dorrie from her foal, and angry whinnies and stomps filled the barn as the young horse made his displeasure known. Ty babbled from the baby jail, adding to the overall noise in the barn. Dorrie was a sweet mare and stood well when he held the halter so Ally could test the flex of her right foreleg. She’d arrived at the same time as the man picking up the yearling, so Mama took care of the sale while Jake was stuck being Ally’s tech. It was a bit painful to jog back and forth so Ally could study her gait, but it was good to push himself. 

Jake felt his phone vibrate in his back pocket. He held the horse still and tried to keep the panel steady while Ally took an X-ray. Ideally, it was a three-person job, but she had another appointment to get to, and they couldn’t wait for Mama. After taking some images, she stood and held her hand out for the panel. “Alright, let’s get her back in the stall while I look at this. I think it’s just inflammation, but we’ll make sure.” Nodding, he loosened the lead rope tie and led Dorrie back into her stall. The foal was bucking in the corner, little hooves hitting the walls, but quickly settled down once Jake unclipped the rope. He’d be a fun one to work with, he mused - just a few months old and already about 12 hands tall, almost ready for weaning. He’d make a pretty show horse with a bit of training. 

Coiling the rope around his hand, Jake stepped out of the stall and adjusted his hat. After checking that Ally didn’t need anything, he pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen, eyebrows shooting up to see it was a notification from TikTok. 

Cece had posted. 

It had been months since he’d opened the app. In a moment of weakness, he’d checked to see if she posted anything while he was deployed and ignored the thousands of likes and comments on his video. Unable to stomach it, he’d subscribed to her account and decided he wouldn’t open it again. His thumb itched to hit the notification and watch the first video she’d posted since all the shit went down. “You need me for anything right now?” he asked, glancing at Ally. She balanced Ty on her hip as she peered down at the screen, examining Dorrie’s leg.

“Nope.” He nodded, walking out of the barn to lean against the corral. Wiping his mouth, Jake hesitated before tapping his screen. It took a minute for the app to load, and he caught a glimpse of another video before Cece’s opened. 

“Hey guys, it’s been a while.” And there she was, pouring water into a bowl and mixing it with something. She wore the shirt he’d seen her in yesterday. “I decided to take some time off after everything that happened in December and focus on myself. I’m not sure if I ever told y’all this, but I haven’t traveled much. So that’s what I did.” Clips of her at different places flashed on the screen, a soft song playing in the background. There were forests and coasts, plains and mountains. City skyscrapers and little towns. He recognized the sights from her postcards and wasn’t surprised to see Lucy pop up in a couple of the clips. “I also finished my pastry degree. Before I left Austin, I did one of the two externships I needed, and only had one more six-week externship to graduate. So I worked in a hotel pastry department for a little while and did some exploring.” 

Pictures of her in a white chef coat spun by, mixed in with ones of her hanging out. His eyebrows knit together in confusion - there hadn’t been anything in her postcards about that. And a few of the places she showed looked familiar. Those were gone in a flash, replaced by shots of her on a plane. “But mostly, I just had fun, which has been something I’ve been missing over the last couple of years. I went on my first international flight and spent a couple of weeks in Europe, and can’t wait to get back.” A clip of her eating a macaron in front of the Eifel Tower made him smile. “I really needed to figure out what I wanted to do. For a while, I’ve been thinking about leaving my hometown. I only came home because Daddy was sick” - videos of Brian helping Cece bake played - “and as much as I appreciated getting that extra time with him, Daddy didn’t want me to stay here after he passed. So I used this trip to test out possible places I might like to live.”

Jake's heart raced as he stared at the screen, watching as the travel clips shifted to her kneading dough and rolling it out. Mixing sugar. And he realized she was making the cinnamon rolls they’d had that morning. “I love where I grew up, but it hasn’t been home for a while. So, as much as I appreciate my customers, I’m sad to say that I’ll be officially closing my business in its current location as I’ll be branching out.” The phone shook in his hand, and Jake felt sweat beading on his forehead. “There’s no exact timeline, but I’m headed out west.” 

And there it was. A picture of Cece standing in front of a mural, grinning as she gestured to the giant letters spelling out GREETINGS FROM SAN DIEGO. 

Jake laughed, clapping a hand to his mouth to stifle it as tears clouded his vision. Blinking them away, he turned up the volume to hear Cece as she cut the cinnamon rolls and placed them in the baking dish. “I’m so excited for this next chapter, and I hope you’ll tag along as this country girl tries out city living. As soon as I’m ready to take orders, you’ll be the first to know.” Her eyes lifted from the dish, and she stared directly into the camera, a slow smile gracing her lips. When the video started to loop, Jake sat down hard, dropping his head into his hands as he clicked the comments already in the thousands.

OH MY GOD YOU’RE BACK!

California! I’m so excited I’ll get to try your stuff now!

Okay, but what about Jake??? Isn’t that where he lives?????!!!!!!

The last one had over a hundred comments under it and two thousand likes. Shutting the app, Jake pulled up his contacts, thumb hovering over Cece’s name. But instead of tapping it, he locked his phone and got to his feet. Hurrying into the barn, he spotted Mama and Ally standing outside Dorrie’s stall. Both women looked up at him as he jogged toward them, their looks of concern at the tears on his cheek fading when they saw his broad grin. “I gotta go.” 

“You know where the truck keys are,” Mama said. 

“Tell Julie it’s about time,” Ally added. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask how long they’d known, but he resisted. 

Dust kicked up under the tires as he tore down the driveway and skidded onto the road. Thankfully, no sheriffs were around as he sped through Magnolia, fighting against hitting the horn at anyone who slowed him down. Soon - but not soon enough - he was turning onto Cece’s road. Her SUV was parked under the carport. 

His boots were loud on the concrete as he slammed the truck shut and flew up the few steps to her porch to pound on the door. The curtain twitched. A heartbeat later, the door flew open, and Cece stood before him. “Were you tryin’ to - ” Jake cut her off, cupping her face and tilting it up. His kiss was frantic, lips crushing against hers as he smiled and laughed. Her fingers gripped his shirt, and Jake was sure she could feel his racing heart. His hands moved to her hips, gently drawing her out of the house and into his arms. “Break it down?” Cece panted against his mouth when they finally broke apart to breathe. Her eyes slowly opened, lifting to meet his. Their second kiss was more gentle, and she sighed when his tongue traced the seam of her lips, opening to allow him to taste her tongue. When his hands dropped to her ass, hauling her closer, Cece laughed against his mouth and gently pushed him away. “We’re not giving my neighbors a show.” 

Were he not injured, Jake would have picked her up and carried her into the house at that moment. But he satisfied himself by peppering her face with kisses until she giggled. “You’re comin’ to California?” Some of the joy in her eyes dimmed, and she gave him a hesitant look. Her hands trailed down his arms to tangle their fingers, pulling him into the house and kicking the door closed. As soon as it shut, one hand went into her hair, the other crossing her chest as though to protect herself. When Jake reached for her, she stopped him.

“I am. I… I did my externship in San Diego and really liked it there.”

“You did? You were there for six weeks? When?”

“While you were gone. I wanted to see if I liked it without you…” her tongue darted out to wet her lips as she tried to find the words. “Clouding my judgment.”  

It hurt to hear that, but Jake knew it was a smart move. “You coulda stayed at my place.” A wry smile graced her lips when she shook her head. 

“I needed a Farm Boy free trip to make my decision.” Teeth dug into her lower lip as Cece reached for his hands, squeezing gently. “Jake, I need you to…” She paused and took a deep breath, forehead dropping to his chest momentarily before her head lifted. Her eyes were guarded when she said, “I’m not moving there for you.” Hurt and fear that she was ending this before it began slammed into him. Jake stumbled back a step, but Cece’s grip on him was firm. “I needed to make that decision for myself, without you. I can’t move somewhere - start my life over again - for someone else. Again. It needs to be for me. I’m going out there because it’s what I want to do. Being with you isn’t the draw. But it’s certainly a perk.” Jake nodded, unable to get a sound out around the lump in his throat. Her brows drew together in concern, and she cupped his face, her thumb rasping on his stubbled cheek as she brushed away a tear. “I love you, Farm Boy.” 

“I love you too, Cupcake,” he forced out after clearing his throat. 

Time seemed to slow as they kissed, and Jake laughed when Cece lifted his Stetson from his head, tossing it toward the couch. Her hands tugged his shirt from his jeans before hooking in his belt buckle and pulling him toward her bedroom. A trail of clothes littered the floor, but neither seemed in a hurry as they took time to explore one another. Jake swallowed hard when Cece kissed the surgical scar on his left knee and ran her hands along his body in search of any other hurts. She trembled with anticipation as he kissed from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes, the featherlight brushes of his lips contrasting with the coarse feeling of his beard. On his way back up, his shoulders forced her thighs wide as he took her apart with deliberate care, reveling in the feeling of her hands tangled in his hair and the soft gasps and moans she let out.  

Cece could see her arousal coating his mouth when she opened her eyes to see him smiling down at her and tasted herself on his tongue. Jake’s cock was hot and hard on the crease of her hip, and he shuddered when she lightly ran her nails down his spine. The tips of her fingers dug into the tense muscles of his lower back, forcing him to bite back a groan. Her touch felt so fucking good. Especially her leg lifting and curling around his hip. “Baby, I don’t have a condom,” he sighed, swallowing hard as his cock slid through her wet folds. 

“In the drawer,” she replied, nipping his lip playfully. Jealousy shot through him at the idea of her having those, using them with someone else. It must have shown on his face because Cece laughed, raising an eyebrow. “Some farm boy fighter pilot came through Magnolia over Christmas and left before we could use them.” 

“What an idiot,” Jake chuckled, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers. 

Cece’s laugh was music to his ears as he reached into the drawer, her fingers following the trail of hair on his stomach as he rolled the condom on. The sweet sound was only a second to the gasping moan she let out when he pressed into her.

And, for the first time in a decade, Jake Seresin felt like he was home. 

---------------------------------------

Author's Note: Oh man, this chapter was so fun and sad to write. Watching Twisters definitely helped to develop Cowboy Jake more, and I was so excited to write him getting back to his roots, and figuring out how to mix Hangman with Farm Boy. And to see how Cece grew. She has needed to leave her home for a long time, and needed to make her own decisions regarding her life.

And, while I said that this was the last chapter, I decided to break the epilogue off into a separate part since this chapter is already massive. Apologies for that 😅 I debating cutting parts but May yelled at me to leave it.

Read the Epilogue

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[fanaticsnail]

Snail!! Please, I have to many drawing wips already, you can't make me think of cowboy! Rosi right now!

(Unless?)

More Cowboy Rosinante? Don't mind if I indulge. Let's talk about how it'd work before we get into the little scenes.

Eyes

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 650+

He was halfway to death when he came to you.

The man had barely enough clothes to shroud him in, dripping and crusted over with blood belonging to who knows. As soon as you opened your front door, he slumped to his knees and gawked up at you with uncertain eyes that held such deep sorrow.

He claimed he had no idea who he was. All thoughts and notions as the man he chose to become was lost to him. His mind was a web of fog, clutching to each morsel of his mind, body and soul. There was nothing of him that remained: only language from his lips, and soft movement his body as he gazed up at you in the luminance of soft lamplight.

Your father tasked you to dress his wounds, and clean him up as best you could, while you waited for the medics and surgeons to attend him at your farm. Each swipe of flesh, each gentle caress, each smooth motion wiping the marred skin from the remains of his wounds slowly cleansed his body of a violent history lost to him. All you received in return was nothing but a soft look of wonder from the messy blonde receiving your care.

In that expression alone, you, and those who ran your family’s ranch, gave him a new name.

Eyes.

Those eyes never left you. Not for a single moment. Not while training with horses, learning the beasts, wrangling cattle, and showcasing stellar marksmanship. He only ever had eyes for you, and the rest of the workers gave him hell for it. With no other name to crown him with, the Eyes would have it.

When Eyes was crowned with his first hat, his heart swelled with pride. He had been with your family for so long, he felt as one of you. Each hazing he endured, brand he gifted, and championship he managed to win in riding and shooting, he only ever sought you out with that gaze that never left you.

Eyes was your protector. He stuck by you as chaperone to each foul date, never asking questions while only gazing at you from the rearview mirror of your father’s truck. Escorting you inside your family’s homestead by a gentle hand and a kind smile, Eyes ensured you were safe before tipping his hat to you and bidding you a silent farewell.

That's how you remained, Eyes watching on from afar while he graced you with that soft smile you had come to pine for. Washing his face in a troff first thing in the morning, placing a cigarette between his lips and gently enjoying a cup of dark coffee, he always seemed to find where you were with those twin hazel orbs.

There was a crack of red lightning in the warmth of his irises, something simmering beneath the surface. Something partially unhinged and hidden from all of you. While he pined and yearned for you in the silence of ten years, he never once stepped out to find the path leading him back to his memory. Only ever the gentleman, he simply never made a move on you to keep the peace between your family and yourself.

But one day, he finally plucked up the courage to do so.

Just as he was about to take that first step up towards the house, hat in his hands and clutched to his chest, no whisper on his lips other than the rehearsed speech he practiced in the silence, he was desperate for a single name to speak to you. He was so close to finally confessing to you, finally giving in to those feelings he tried to repress, there was not a single thing that would hold him back from it now.

Until it appeared at his leather-boot clad heels.

All it took was a yellow-tanned bounty with a face of a foreign man in a white spotted hat to have that red flash auburn in his eyes. Eyes would find his name, learn his family, and know all of the things he had ever done as both marine and pirate under the name of law and lawless.

Donquixote Rosinante: former marine, saboteur to the Donquixote Pirates, protector of Trafalgar Law, and proclaimed dead by those who witnessed it happen in the fall of soft snow, was holding a page with a face of a boy now grown to a man.

That same Trafalgar Law he wanted to protect had made a name living up to that middle initial that willed him to.

Romance would have to wait for this cowboy, now posed with a quest to seek out that history and reclaim it as himself again. Eyes would be yours eventually, but for now, he needed to be Donquixote Rosinante again.

[devilfic]

❝right place, right time❞

V. curiosity killed the cat.

parts: previously / next plot: when else would you get a chance like this? pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, suggestive content, you're awfully nosy aren't you. words: 6.2k.

a/n: trying out something new with headers. also, hey! it's been three months! I did not realize! I am so sorry!

If you were to recall any other time you'd stood in the middle of your apartment, blindfolded, while a strange man you didn't know undressed for you, you'd come up a little bit empty. You were failing to accept that there was ever a time at all, let alone one happening right now.

But you can't look. You have to listen to the shuffle of clothing, the small grunts and heaves of breath, the maneuvering about your home that carries a breeze to your heated skin. Seconds pass where there is no movement at all, not even an exhale, and then, "C'mere."

You stumble forward and immediately bump your shin against your coffee table—the good shin, the one that isn't cut up in ribbons—earning a sharp "tsk" from your guest that has you flushing. You reach up to your makeshift blindfold and tug it off.

To say you were... probably not supposed to see this was an understatement. You're distracted by two trains of thought, the first being his upper body. Batman is half-sitting on the edge of your kitchen table while his under suit hangs from his waist. Every line and curve is sculpted like a meticulously maintained statue. You follow the deep divots of his collarbones, the swell of his chest, the soft yet defined skin of his torso with each ripple a sign of his strength. His cowl is still in place, and even his gloves remain.

And also, though you'd never tell him this, he looked pretty damn good.

The second thought is that he has more pressing concerns than an old gunshot wound. There are bruises littered all across his upper body, signs of fights that were too heavy-handed. You tried to imagine the force it would take to really, really hurt him under that armor. How a bullet had passed through what should be impenetrable.

The first time you'd had his skin exposed to you, it had barely been anything. A cut hole in his suit, just enough room to focus on the blood and the flesh. You hadn't even thought about it.

Now, beneath all the broken, mottled skin was the evidence of the last three years at work. Between the muscle and size of him, you were beginning to understand why he didn't take his health as seriously as you did.

Batman watches you, head tilted to the floor. One arm props him up on the table and his other hand rests over his knee. His upper armor lay discarded on the table behind him along with his utility belt. He doesn't blink as you approach, doesn't bother saying anything first. He has an intense look on him at all times and it's no different now. Even if he's trusted you enough to bare this part of himself to you, you could see the tension in him. He was prepared to fight if it came down to it.

You don't want that. You clasp your hands in front of you, shrinking yourself down like you were facing a fetterless beast because that's the best approach you've got, "Can I touch you?"

His eyes dilate. He hadn't been expecting you to ask that. You'd already touched him before without asking, had shared plenty of touch before. He moves the arm holding him up so that you can get a better look.

There is a small patch of raised skin on his side that you're delighted to find free of stitches, healing over. You press a finger to the area beneath the healing wound, feather-light. "It's looking a lot better," you begin, glancing up, "though I wish you'd keep it wrapped a little longer." You try not to let your fingers wander too much, regardless of the mind they had of their own, "How'd the bullet break the Kevlar? From what I've seen, that's pretty tough stuff from a distance."

Batman grunts when you press into a bruise on his rib cage, apparently the freshest of them all. You apologize, but he pays you no mind, "There wasn't any distance. They got close and kept shooting until it broke."

"Not to be morbid, but why didn't they just go for the head?"

Batman huffs again, though it sounds more like a laugh this time, "You don't think they tried?"

The image of him on the ground and a gangster with a gun towering over him, fighting to get in a lethal shot springs to your mind. You imagine his hands gripped around the barrel, forcing it from between the eyes, down and away until they just starts letting off every bullet in the mag until- "Oh."

He grunts again.

Despite the fact that he'd come close to death, he hardly looked bothered. You'd lived a life like that, and there wasn't a day that went by where you weren't baffled by the sheer stupidity of your youth. Maybe if you'd been smarter back then, had more self-preservation, you would have stopped much sooner.

Now look at you. A man with a gun threatens your life once and suddenly your whole world is thrown off kilter.

You're not actually looking at his bullet wound anymore. You're looking at his bruises. "You don't have doctors, right? So what happens when you... break a bone? How do you explain all this to an ER nurse?"

"I never said that."

"Well, no. You just brooded and ignored me. Which I took for an answer."

"I don't go to hospitals. If I can't fix it myself, I find someone who can."

You remember the other part of that conversation, when he'd mentioned someone looking at his wound, "That person that checked you out last time?" Batman hums. "Are they like me?"

"...No." You think that's all he'll say, having given you more information than perhaps he'd have liked to, but he surprises you, "Not a doctor, but knows what to do. From experience."

That doesn't narrow down the picture of Batman's Nightingale at all. After all, any number of people in Gotham had knowledge like that just from living here. You also figure if he's lasted this long, they must know what they're doing, "I guess you don't really need me fussing over you after all."

He doesn't need to dignify that with a response, and if he were to, you'd expect him to agree. Perhaps throw in an "I told you so" if he was feeling particularly jovial. You don't expect the sincere, "I think you have the right after saving my life."

You laugh, "By that logic, you should be up my ass about taking care of myself. Scratch that, the whole city's ass."

"I am. Or I would've taken your invitation."

"How many times do I have to say that was a stupid move before you let it go?"

"It's only been half an hour. It's not even cold yet."

"I'm sorry, okay? I can't help..." You falter. What could you say? Your feelings bigger than your vocabulary, if you tried to imprison them in words, you worried they might scare him. Might scare you. The truth was that you trusted him. And his insistence that you shouldn't didn't stop you. "I told you when we first met that I believe in what you do for Gotham, that I want you to keep doing it. I meant that. It's why I fuss and why I left the window open, why I keep hoping you're there and why I hoped you'd come save me that night. I believe in the Batman and I believe that even underneath that, you're a good person. Am I wrong?"

Batman keeps your gaze. You'd give anything to know what he's thinking at any given moment, but especially now. Your desire to be understood comes at the cost of being exposed. You realize that in this situation, he knows so much more about you than you may ever know about him.

That kind of realization is terrifying. You can't take it back now.

Your next realization is that your hand is touching his stomach, more comfortable in its place than it reasonably should be. It'd been hovering there since he'd started telling you about getting shot, warm from his warmth. You don't immediately pull away.

Your hand moves with him when he draws in a breath, "It's not something you can call yourself."

"You're a good person. There. I said it." You tip your chin up in defiance.

"You don't know me."

Then let me, you want to say. "Then prove me wrong."

A tick passes. Then, Batman stands to his full height. Your hand naturally falls away as he zips his suit back up to the neck, then his hand goes for the shirt you'd discarded. It shouldn't shock you the second time, but you shiver when he pulls it taut around your head once more, careful not to catch your hair in the knot.

You listen for the growing familiarity of his grunts, the heavy effort of pulling his armor back over his body, the click of his utility belt about his waist, and then you await the return of his cowl but the noise stops there. Your hands hover in front of you with nothing to do, too afraid to remove the blindfold early but too afraid to break the tense silence.

So you stand there, back to him, waiting for him to give you the okay. You can feel his eyes on your back (all over, really) and a trickle of humiliation works its way up your spine the longer it goes on.

You hear noise again a minute later, though it's not the sound of him putting his cowl back on. It's his boots. He's walking toward you.

You're anticipating something, a touch or a whispered final farewell. A sillier, nervous part of you is anticipating his breath on the nape of your neck. Bending his head down. The heat of his chest against your back. You imagine him dipping his mouth to the curve of your throat and the image sends a tingle up your spine. You're not expecting your hand taken hostage and something slipped into your palm. It feels small and round along the sides. When you allow your fingers to collapse around it, it feels flat. Batman doesn't release your hand until you're holding it properly.

Then you hear him put on his cowl. Then you hear him leave.

Yanking off the blindfold, you're shocked to find that there's a phone in your hand. A flip-phone. It's a prepaid, a simple one you'd find at any bodega up and down your street. You try to imagine Batman of all people, in civilian clothing, walking into one of your neighborhood's haunts and buying this for you.

You flip open the phone and find that in the contacts list, there is only one: "For emergencies only".

Huh. Batman just gave you his number.

You do not hear from Bruce Wayne for a week.

After the papers are signed, you're told rather abruptly that he'll be flying overseas. Business, Alfred had said, and that you'd be expected to be at Wayne Manor the morning of his return for a checkup if you weren't called to Verona before the week's end. If your head hadn't started swimming with the idea, you would have had the wherewithal to be excited about it.

But seven days come and go and you're eventually standing in the penthouse, poking and prodding the man of the hour while Alfred watches on from afar.

Bruce is an obedient patient, if not a little robotic. Every answer is a "yes", "no", "just a little bit". He's in perfect physical health from what you can tell, from what he allows you to see with all his clothes on. The most of note is his visible tan, and halfway through the examination, you can't stop yourself from commenting on it, "How was Italy?"

It's the first question that isn't about his appetite or sleep, so he's not as quick to answer, "Fine. Warm."

"Must be nice. Did you enjoy the beaches?"

Alfred snorts so loudly that it redirects the attention of both of you, but he has his nose deep in tax statements when your eyes find the butler. Bruce looks a little annoyed when he answers you, "I didn't go. I was in meetings most of the week."

You frown, "It's that sunny in Verona?"

"Any sliver of sunlight has him turning colors." Alfred no doubt knows from humiliating experience, and while Bruce doesn't look very pleased, you're just thankful the butler feels in good enough spirits to joke with you. Perhaps now that the contract had been signed, he'd resigned to his fate that you were here to stay. At least until Bruce's mysterious interest in you dulled his rose-colored glasses.

You try to picture Bruce basking in the sun—the kind of sun that didn't find itself on this side of the world—and all you see are scenes right out of Baywatch, so uncharacteristic that you shake your head just to get rid of them.

"Any concerns?" You ask, and then you're reminded to look down at his hands in his lap. You can't help yourself from asking, "What about those?"

Bruce follows your line of sight to the scarring over his knuckles, dimmed some due to the tan. You watch his face the entire way, hopeful to catch him in a lie. He turns over his palm, looks at you through his lashes, and says, "No, I... I fight. On purpose. It's a hobby."

That catches you off guard. You thought someone with his bank account would be into golfing.

Bruce nods over in Alfred's direction when you don't respond, "Mixed martial arts. Alfred will tell you. He's been teaching me since I was ten."

Sure enough, Alfred is watching the two of you over the rim of his glasses, "Just the basics." He confirms.

It adds up, though you can't help questioning it, "Isn't that kind of a violent hobby? Seems pretty dangerous for the future CEO of a major corporation."

"It was self-defense first, then a... hobby." Alfred spits the last word out like a rotten tooth. "Trust you aren't the first to mention it, and surely won't be the last."

You frown, "Just so you know, I'm a general surgeon. Brain damage isn't my forte."

Bruce doesn't answer. He doesn't get the chance. Dory barely has a chance to announce the arrival of guests before they're flooding the living room with balloons, streamers, flower arrangements, and more. You're taken aback by the sheer extravagance. Was it someone's birthday? You look at Bruce for an answer, but it's Alfred who shoots up to welcome them in. You hear him instructing a group of musicians to a corner of the room that you've only now realized has been cleared away of the antiques that once held space there.

A man rushes past you, carrying a folded banner in hand, and another immediately follows with a ladder that almost knocks your things off the end table. You catch your bag and hold it to your chest.

"I'm sorry, the crew for the party is here early." Bruce sounds almost disappointed.

"Party?"

"For the mayor. I'm hosting a celebration tonight for the mayor's new deal passing." Bruce rolls down his shirt sleeve once he unwraps the blood pressure monitor and hands it back to you, rolling his shoulder as you begin to pack up.

"That's awfully kind of you." You comment, glancing at the array of gold and purple being carried in. "I should get out of your hair then-"

"Would you like to come?"

There he is again.

He had such a nervous energy about him all of a sudden. Someone with his power and prestige should believe they have the world in the palm of their hand (because he does), but every time he locks eyes with you, it's like it all falls away. In your presence, he's just a man and you hold all the power.

"I wouldn't want to intrude."

"You wouldn't. It's... supporters, donors, friends. Politicians and some press too but nothing too formal." Bruce must notice the way you shrivel because he's quick to add on, "There'll be wine. From Italy. And champagne. Not from Italy, but it adds variety."

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he wanted you to come.

And it wasn't that you weren't intrigued. You admired the mayor, and being a part of something like this was a once-in-a-lifetime offer. Donors meant money-makers like Bruce who, if going off their politician of choice, would be looking for causes to fund. You could practically hear your boss's heart break at even the idea that you'd turn this down.

It wasn't lost on you that your new position with Bruce Wayne had made you, accidentally, a spokesperson for the hospital. Missing the opportunity to milk the pockets of a few more billionaires would be a waste.

And Bruce... really seemed like he wanted you to come.

"Mr. Wayne," Dory's frail voice calls from the top floor, peering over the railing, "I need to speak with you about precautions for tonight."

Precautions?

Dory hurries back down the hallway without another word, and Bruce grows distracted. You think that he's forgotten all about convincing you to come to the party, but he turns to you one for one last second, "It's at eight. If you'd like to come."

And another thing: you'd have a good reason to snoop around Bruce Wayne's house.

"Nothing too formal" your ass.

You'd had the good sense to spot a rich person lying out of their ass and had dressed as nicely as you could for the occasion, clearly a good decision.

The gathering of guests are all comfortable an hour into the party and a few drinks in, too. You immediately sneak yourself a glass the moment Dory lets you in the door. Bruce is knee-deep in conversation with who you recognize to be a councilwoman, and you catch Alfred observing the party from the edge of the room while hired servers tend to the guests. Mayor Reál is sat on a couch with a glass of champagne in one hand and her suit coat thrown over the back. She's got a line of guests leaning in to hear her recount some story about a diplomat from out of town. You wouldn't have a chance to speak to her tonight, you feared.

Somehow, you find yourself gradually floating in Alfred's direction.

He pays you no mind, not obviously anyway, but he does start speaking once you're in earshot, "Master Wayne invited you?"

Your lips purse. You try not to take his words as the insult they sound like, though his emotionless stare past your person doesn't help his case, "I debated coming. He seemed to want me here."

This gets him to look at you. Then, he turns away again, scanning the party for any signs of disorder. You noticed the tension in his shoulders almost immediately. Even if he didn't want to be friendly, that wouldn't stop you, "I can only imagine how nerve-wracking this must be."

Alfred furrows his brow. "I beg your pardon?"

"Letting strangers handle your fine glasses. God forbid someone trips."

A few moments of silence pass between you and your throat threatens to close up thinking your joke didn't land, but eventually, Alfred huffs, "That would be Dory's concern. That woman is very serious about the dishware."

Dory didn't look it. Greeting everyone with bright smiles and instructing them into the main room, she was more relaxed than Alfred was. "Then what's yours?"

The butler looks down to the side at you, but doesn't bother turning his head in your direction. He clearly didn't want the chance to miss anything, but the guests were behaving. "Someone ending up where they don't belong."

Perhaps that was why he was guarding the staircase with his life. Upstairs, you imagined, was where Bruce slept. Perhaps it was where the late Mr. and Mrs. Wayne had slept once upon a time too. If anyone were to disturb their belongings, you imagined this would be the last time a party was held in the penthouse.

But that got you thinking, "Do you hold parties often?"

"No. Never. This was all Master Wayne's idea, though I can't say it wasn't sudden."

Never was a strong response. Emily knew his shut-in status more intimately than you, but from what you saw, he did just fine on TV. He's got that interview smile on right now, cordial and fair. He laughs at the right times and makes sure to nod often enough so that his conversation partners know he's listening. He looks completely normal when you're not around. Excruciatingly normal. A picture of a proper businessman, billionaire, and bachelor. A man who should have been hosting parties weekly like the Gatsby that was expected of him.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

The way he tip-toed around you was the only proof you had that all of this was just as weird as it felt, that he knew this setup was out of the ordinary. That there was more to this than he or anyone else was telling you. A near-death experience had ushered him into the light of day and had put you right next to him. Maybe this was his version of Eat, Pray, Love.

A crash is heard from some distant part of the house and you see Alfred visibly tense. He looks uneasy to abandon his post, but you set your glass on a windowsill and take a step up the stairs, "I can keep watch until you get back."

Alfred looks skeptical, though another crash is all that's needed to convince him. He holds out a hand to the upstairs, "No one is allowed on the second floor. Understood?"

You nod, just shy of standing to attention and saluting. He rushes off without further convincing.

Your eyes naturally find Bruce again.

He's now in conversation with Mayor Reál and three other politicians all vying for his attention, though it's only she who seems to actually hold it. It's painstakingly obvious that they've seen what his dollars can do, and getting an endorsement from the newly emerged billionaire would do their campaigns wonders, but Bruce doesn't seem convinced of them.

And, if you were honest, it was a good sign.

Despite how little you were yet to understand about him as a person, you did know these politicians. You'd seen their campaign ads and the thinly veiled attempts at distracting from their shady pasts. Many of them had been in office alongside Mayor Mitchell. Many of them had rebranded, denounced him entirely after the Riddler debacle, if only to save face. There was no doubt in your mind that most of them had known about it, if not had their fingers in the pie.

Batman had promised you he wasn't corrupt. You had to believe him. You had to take his word for it.

Reminded of the caped crusader, your hand falls to your pocket to feel for the phone nestled there. Ever since the Batman had given it to you, you'd kept it charged and on you at all times, anxiously waiting for a call or a text or something.

But you hadn't seen or heard from him in a few days. If he was out there, he at least wasn't getting hurt, and that should have overjoyed you. It should have. It just... could also mean something else.

You slip the phone out of your pocket and confirm your suspicions. No messages, no missed calls.

The phone should have put you at ease, reassured you, but all it did was make you restless. Waiting for it to ring, wondering if it had and you'd missed it. You force it back into your pocket before you can fuss over it anymore than usual, and that's when you catch the sound of metal clanging against metal. It's distinct. It's coming from the second floor hallway.

Shit.

You rush up the stairs none too carefully, cursing that you couldn't take them two by two, and when you finally get to the second floor, the banging only grows louder. A glance back at the party assures you no one else is following.

It takes a turn down another hallway before you see a drunken couple standing at an iron gate, one holding their heels and drink in hand and the other positioning a fire poker over the latch. As soon as you spot them, the one with the fire poker drives it into the padlock on the handle and snaps it right off.

"Hey!" You call, and the two of them look to you, giggling like school children. The one with the fire poker puts it to the side, flashing you with a too-straight smile that is meant to put you at ease. It does nothing of the sort. "You can't be up here."

"Sorry, we were trying-" She hiccups, giggling into her hand, "-we were trying to get to the roof, but this place is fucking huge."

The closer you get, you realize that the gate is sealing off an elevator shaft. There's only one button, however, and it points downward.

Sweeping the broken padlock off the floor, the couple shuffle out of your way. "Well, this isn't it, but I'm sure if you ask the nice British man downstairs how to get there, he'll tell you." And then, for good measure, "And don't tell him you were up here or you're never coming back."

The two of them look sober enough to understand, but they're still enjoying themselves as they make their way back downstairs. You watch them go the entire way. If they didn't heed your warning, you'd get the brunt of his anger over this.

You set the padlock down on a nearby table and pick up the fire poker, unsure where they would've snatched it from. You only hoped they hadn't sneaked into any of the rooms to get it.

And then, you wonder where the hell this leads to.

There's the elevator at the front door, the one that each and every one of you had arrived in, but when you pull back the iron gate and peek inside, there aren't any floor numbers. There's two buttons: one that goes up, and one that goes down.

The inside shakes when you step in. For a moment, you wonder if it had been locked because it was out of order, and your heart drops to your stomach thinking that it might drop down a height of sixty stories all at once, but it steadies eventually. It's clear it hasn't been changed, just one part of a fitting antique carved into the other world that is Wayne Tower.

There's a weak white light that buzzes overhead and those two buttons. Curiosity itches.

Whatever was down there, whatever this thing led to, the Waynes didn't want anyone to find it. The "precautions" Dory had mentioned came to mind.

But if they didn't want anyone to find it, why throw a party here where two stupid drunks could wander off and break into it?

You're sure Alfred didn't imagine anyone would come at it with a fucking fire poker, but it had been that easy.

Your eyes burn into the button. That'd be so easy, too.

If you gave into your desire, allowed yourself to push it and someone found you, you'd be fired. You could be stripped of your license for violation of patient privacy, enough HIPAA rules broken in the time it takes to satiate your curiosity. Wayne Enterprises would sue you into oblivion. Jersey would no longer be a question. Nothing would save you.

But there was something down there that you needed to see. You knew it. Felt it like claws burrowing into the wrinkles of your brain.

Your finger twitched at your side and you saw Bruce's face in your mind, all sad eyes and something hidden beneath his skin. He'd wanted you to come, wanted you to work for him—clearly against Alfred's better judgement—and he would trust you not to go any further. Even though he doesn't know you.

Some indignant part of you thinks that isn't your problem.

That same indignant part of you, the part that had convinced you to run with wolves as a teenager, gave in.

The elevator kicked up, so loud you worried everyone in the party could hear it, but then it began its descent with its steady whirring. You held on tight as it dropped floor after floor after floor after floor.

It must've been twenty years or maybe a minute and a half. The elevator comes to a shaky stop. A door outside the gate slides open, revealing... darkness. Absolute, all-consuming darkness.

The meager light above you does very little to light your way as your heart jumps into your throat, regret bubbling up in your chest. You can hear small chittering sounds from within the darkness and dripping like leaky pipes. You're hesitant to pull back the gate, more than eager to leave this a mystery unsolved. You're not entirely sure that if you were to step out into the abyss, you wouldn't fall into Hell's mouth.

But then, light fills up the darkness.

Giant, white stage lights flicker on one by one straight ahead and the first thing you see is a car covered by tarp, elevated on a platform at the heart of the room. There are tools laid haphazardly around the ramps, as if whoever had left them there had abandoned them in a hurry. You can't see much else from this angle except a grungy, muddy mountain bike with its helmet hanging off the handle.

A garage. The big, scary void was a garage. Your heart falls back into place with a dusting of shame crawling up your neck.

You're about to take yourself back to the penthouse when you startle at the sound of a voice—no, voices—echoing off the walls of the garage. None of it makes sense at first; the discussion starts up like you'd just walked into earshot, as if they'd been talking the entire time and you'd only just started paying attention.

You touch a hand to the gate and peek further into the room, pushing it back to let you out. You're cautious, eyes flitting to and fro to find the source of the voices, but all you see are tables and computer screens and a TV just a ways away from you, having flicked on with the power. Seconds later, you recognize the voices. Newscasters. News 7 WGOT to be exact.

What really captures your attention is the darkness that hadn't been chased away by the lights. There are sconces all along the walls that keep the main area lit, an area you realize looks an awful lot like a subway terminal, but they cease at the cutoff of the platform. The lights are bright enough to show some of what lies ahead: train tracks.

You step further into the room, examining the peculiarities: a car engine here, a microscope there, subwoofers packed on top of subwoofers, tables and desks and computer screens everywhere.

A desk near the center of the room catches your eyes next. There are radio transmitters, files, and lamps scattered about the surface. None of it resembles the pristine study upstairs, what you assumed was Bruce's personal base of operations. No, this desk looked lived in. The two or three empty mugs lined up by a table leg tells you as much.

What kind of business could a CEO get done down here? The place smelled of mildew and you could feel the vibrations of trains running above ground.

Your eyes flicker over a leather-bound journal and a handful of folders, your eyes catching on names that only sort of tickle your brain. Names you've heard recently. Names you've heard upstairs. Did he have files on everyone at the party? The level of detail wasn't surprising, not for someone with his kind of position. You doubted he would take a chance on anyone that he invited after last year.

You brush a thumb over one when you catch a name that you don't recognize as quickly. Ironic. It belongs to you.

You snatch the file without thinking, flipping open the cover to see your headshot scanned off your medical ID badge, but there are other photos. One of you and the rest of your department, another of you mid-handshake with the Dean of your alma mater. Publicly available stuff. Except for one you've never seen before. It's candid, though the heavy beating of your heart in your ears is making it hard to determine when it could've been taken. It looks recent. Somewhere outside of Gotham General. You were still in scrubs, completely unaware.

With these types, it wasn't unusual to hire a private investigator before hiring on a complete stranger, let alone one who managed your very life and well-being. You kept telling yourself that, swallowing down the rising unease in your gut, when you made the mistake of turning the page.

There was a picture there that no one should have access to. Your fingers shook as they ghosted over the black and white image, the shock in your eyes, the barely captured tremor in your jaw.

Every single feeling came rushing back to you all at once as if you were 16 again. Standing still in an alleyway. Watching her blood splatter the concrete. Staring down the barrel of the same gun as it turned on you, promised you would be next.

Some names were redacted, but you could tell from the first few lines of the police report beneath your mugshot that it was exactly what you feared it would be. He shouldn't have this.

Panic rises in your throat. You can't keep the nausea down, the growing urge to vomit up your last two drinks onto the paper. Maybe you'd ruin it completely and then... and then...

It still happened. You couldn't change that.

The entire terminal rattles and pulls you out of your shock. A train was passing right above you, sending bolts and screws clattering to the ground. You accidentally drop the file and one of the screens flickers on.

There were four different feeds—camera feeds. CCTV. One of the living room, one of the kitchen, one of the foyer, and one of the second floor. All four wink away, replaced by new angles, and you realize with a chill that one of them is pointed down the hallway leading to the elevator. If these were recording... if Bruce watched back the feed...

You tremble in place, waiting as the feeds are replaced with new ones. You wait for one that would confirm you had stepped into the elevator, had come down here. You wait for the killing blow.

But it doesn't come. There's one camera in that hallway, pointed at such an angle that, really, there's no way to tell if you got on or not. It's all you need to put your file back and rush out of there.

Your teeth are chattering as you climb back into the elevator, shut the gate, and let it take you back to the penthouse, but your mind isn't with you right now. It's back there, years ago. It's reeling. It's thinking he knows, he knows and this all must be a trick. He hired you and he knew. He knew and he let you in his house, let you find that couple, let you think you had a choice to get this far because he knew the truth and the truth was that you would take a chance like this because it took one night and her brains blown out of her head and Bruce would be waiting to arrest you because you never changed-

The elevator comes to a stop. Your name is called in that same moment, and you quickly hurry off the elevator and shut the gate just in time for Alfred to appear.

You probably look incriminating enough, all wild-eyed, but all Alfred does is release a deep, deep sigh. Then, he walks over to you and examines the broken padlock and the guilty weapon in your hand. You hadn't realized you still held it. You've turned the metal warm with how tightly you grip it. "No one got on, yes?" Is all he says.

You nod.

Alfred seems to think that's enough. He holds out a hand for the fire poker and you eagerly hand it over, "I met your friends a moment ago. They've been sent home. I'm afraid letting them onto the rooftop would've resulted in a lawsuit."

It takes you a second to register that he's joking, a second longer to laugh with him, however shaky, "They got as far as breaking the lock before I stopped them."

"Lucky as they were. This elevator's broken."

You blink, "Is it?"

"I'm afraid so. That's why we keep it locked. Who knows what could've happened if someone had stepped inside?"

You did.

"I believe Bruce was looking for you," Alfred offers, and you notice the slight edge to his voice. The forced smile on his face is all it takes for you to be certain, "It appears the mayor would like to hear about your work at Gotham General."

It's an out. You'd be stupid not to take it, "Right. Thanks. Good luck with the... door."

[just-a-sleepy-idiot]

Herbert West Imagine: Being your Roommate and slowly starting to care about you

Why is he so cute it’s so unfair. Shout out to @herbert-west-did-nothing-wrong for being an archive of cool Re-animator content and furthering my hyperfixation hoho hehe

Content/Warnings: Gender neutral Reader, Some fake dating, Violence against Zombie animals, Dr. Hill is obsessed with Reader the way he is with Meg in the movie, Swearing, Herbert being addicted to the Reagent like in the uncut version & Withdrawal, Autistic Herbert West

When his unsuspecting Roommate turned out to be a Insomniac night owl his initial plan of secrecy had to be turned around. Or to be more specific, it was rather the very unfortunate moment when you happened to catch him wrestle the Re-Animated Raccoon that tried to claw through his labcoat in the middle of the night when he realized that he couldn‘t get around some explaining. „Get it off me!! Get it off me!“ He yelled, trying to keep the beasts treacherous little zombie hands away from him. „Fuck! Fuck, Herbert what the hell!?“ You yelled back while hurriedly grabbing a towel and trying to pry it off him with that. The Racoon ended up Re-Dead eventually, after an excruciating fight that showed you the extent to how fucking Undead that thing turned out to be. You stared at Herbert in Horror, he was heaving and leaning back against the Operation table he had set up. He was quick to jump and talk to you, „Listen-„

You were this close to demanding he‘d move out as fast as he had turned up that evening a few days ago, when he knocked at your door with the sign you had posted to the Hospital staff‘s board about looking for a Roommate. You were vaguely aware of what he was studying, at least you witnessed how strongly he defended his opinions about Brain death against Dr. Hill, who was the head surgeon of the clinic but also his teacher. And as such the older man was more than inclined to fail Herbert in class over his upfront disrespect. You were somewhat uncomfortable with Dr. Hill as well for a long time, and maybe the fact that Herbert openly disputed against him was part of the reason why you didn‘t turn him off when he turned up on your doorstep.

But he showed you, he proved to you, that the insane claims he was using as his explanation were actually true. His research has led him to revive the dead, no matter the damage the body has taken before, because soon after the wretched beast you had just thought dead came back to life, if that absolutely murderous state it went into could be called life.

You were sat there, next to him and stared at the cadaver. Blood on Herberts shirt and loosened tie, and you in your silly Pyjamas. „Which is why I need your help Y/n.“ Your head turned quickly, „Help you?“ He scooted a bit closer, „Yes! You are the perfect assistant. You are hardworking, we work in the same Hospital and you have no functioning sleep schedule.“ You frowned at that, but well, he was right. „We could do something great, conquer Death!“ He put a hand on your shoulder and you looked him in the eyes for a very long moment. You let out a stressed out sigh, „for gods sake.. ok, alright. This is.. just insane, Herbert, but it‘s the kind of insane that I can‘t just leave be. I‘ve never seen anything like it.“ Herbert smiled, patting your shoulder enthusiastically.

That is how he got himself an Assistant by chance. As long as he could keep you motivated to keep going and pushing through the Horror his research would really benefit from the help you were providing.

You weren‘t as obsessed about working day and night as he was though, which is why you didn‘t react too pleased when he stormed into your room at nearly 4 in the morning to tell you about a new theory he had. He didn‘t really notice how you were snuggling a plushie, or how you had curled up in the moment as he ranted on and paced your room excitedly. You let out a long stretched moan and grimaced at him, “I was sleeping..!” You complained, but he didn’t really listen. Only when you threw a pillow at him he halted, looking at you in offense. “That was uncalled for.” “Apparently it is! I wanna sleep Herbert now gooo” you stood up and shoved him out of your room. “No bursting into my room while I’m sleeping!” He turned around, getting a last look at your sleepy, disgruntled face before you shut the door on him and went back to sleep. Only when he huffed and puffed, walking back down into the basement, he remembered how you have looked sleeping. Curled up like a Pillbug, he thought.

The next day he found that the lack of sleep had not really made you forgiving towards him when he tried to tell you about his findings. He clenched and unclenched his fists nervously, frowning as he tried to figure out his next step of action. Herbert never needed to prove himself to anyone or be particularly likeable to make it to where he was now, his work spoke for itself. So he genuinely didn’t know how the heck he was going to fix something that was well.. a person. He needed you to be cooperative, and pissing off his only assistant was not very beneficial to his work.

When you came home, Herbert was already sat there and stood up quickly. „Look,“ you already looked at him pretty much pissed, much like this night while you threw him out. He came forward and firmly held out a plastic bag, neatly wrapped inside was a piece of your favorite cake. „No more bursting into your room while you’re sleeping.“ He said, lowering his head without breaking his continuous eye contact. „Is that.. how did you know I liked that?“ He nodded, „See I‘m not always listening but my brain is always taking in information.“

You took the bag and raised your brows, a slight smile on your lips as you took out the cake. „Alright.. I accept.“ you said, putting down the cake to go into the kitchen to get a fork. „So what did you find out?“ He smiled as well, clapping into his hands and starting to explain it all. You came back with two forks. You made Herbert try some too, as it turns out he is more a dark chocolate kind of guy, and he makes a face when he finds things too sweet that makes you giggle.

Herbert was always eager to go back home and experiment after work, the days were Dr. Hill taught were especially agitating to him. „I feel like every minute I am forced listen to this man it’s diminishing my brain capacity.“ He complained every time. Those were days were he stayed in the lab until the sun rose, and listen, throwing stones in a glass house and all but this was too extreme. You noticed he was still up when you woke up to pee. Did he even eat dinner? You spied into the kitchen, no trace of dishes.

He was scribbling down a new variant to his substance he had thought of, it was brilliant! This would solve at least one of the major problems you had been encountering in your experiments, he couldn’t wait to put the chances into action and see how the reagents power changed. Herbert lifted his gaze without fully looking up when he heard the familiar creak of the wooden stairs. „You need to see this Y/n.“ He bickered you closer. He was surprised to find a plate with Pancakes in his field of vision. He looked up from them to you. You were in a different set of silly pyjamas now. „You didn’t eat. How are you gonna save me from Zombie Goldfish if you faint?” You joked and reached for his notebook to read his new results. He stared at you for a while, then said „Why do all of your pyjamas look like that.“ „Hey!“ “Also by now I deem you capable enough to bring down a Zombie fish yourself.” “That is the sweetest thing you ever said to me Herbert.” He shot you a look over his glasses.

Though, he ate the pancakes when you left and they were good. You didn’t make them too sweet. Judging from the way you giggled at his reaction to the cake you must have had remembered. Hm.

It was another night, another period of labwork he was up to with you. You were replicating the reagent for him into smaller, portable versions you could take into the Hospital to begin and document the reactions to human bodies with low dosages. You poured some of it too quickly and a cloud of poisonous gas errupted from the glass, you nearly fell back trying to evade it- your chair already tipped over and you closed your eyes, but the crash didn’t come.

You looked up, still holding onto the glass for dear life, and saw Herbert looming over you from behind the chair. He had swooped in and grabbed it from the back before you could fall. Why did this somehow feel.. close, the way you looked up at him that way. The way his knuckles turned white from gripping the chair, and the way he frowned down at you. You eyed his face. “You should avoid dying before I perfected my reagent.” He said, still holding you. Your feet dangled in the air, you put your head further back. “Don’t worry, I would come back as a ghost to haunt you.” “Why would you do that?” You raised your hands up to his face, cupping his cheeks, surprisingly gently. “I wanna spook you once, not see you as composed as you always appear to be.” Herbert swallowed, his eyes flickered over you for a moment. Your fingertips were warm against his skin. Why were you.. your lips parted in a smile. He cleared his throat and carefully set your chair down again.

“You really need safety googles, let me see if I have an extra.” He looked through his stuff, finding his thoughts trail off. He paused for a moment without noticing, briefly letting his eyes flicker around without really focusing on something. When he found them he turned around and gave them to you for you to try on. “Do I look good?” “You look safe. That is good.”

A week or so later you were both at the Hospital, working as usual. Herbert went to your station to discuss your next test subject, he happened to find an older man who was sure to die soon of his illness that he intended to try and Re-Animate. If the bodies weren‘t registerested in the Morgue in the first place it couldn‘t be traced back to the few with the authority of entering it, aka you. So if he just waited until the patient died and took his chance before anyone took the body he would make for a perfect test subject. When he arrived at your station he looked around for you, only eventually finding you cornered against a door by none other than the most dimwitted person in the Hospital; „Dr. Hill, I really need to be getting back to work..“ you said and tried to walk past him, but he blocked your way with his body.

„Now Y/n there‘s no need to be in a rush, I‘m sure someone will handle it. Surely you‘ll have some more time for me to discuss dinner.“ „Well.. um, like I said, I‘m sorry but I‘m already getting something with Mr. West tonight.“ The older man rolled his head back for a moment and laughed spiteful at the mention of his name. „Yes but you are rooming with.. Mr. West, so you will have plenty of occasions to eat with him. But you see, I am a very busy man and my company is high in demand. You should prioritize me making time for you.“

Herbert saw the way you smiled, and from what he had learned about body language over the years he would most likely interpret this as a sign that you were flattered and comfortable with his invitation- but there was something that went against that deduction; Your eyes. Either way he didn‘t look people in the eye or he did so to an extent that was considered staring. But he had seen you smile, at him, at the cake he got you, at the note he left on the fridge that said ‚Leftover Dinner left, Bag of Eyes right! Do not accidentally microwave‘ so he knew what you looked like when you smiled. And.. you weren‘t smiling with your eyes right now. You always smiled with your eyes, did that mean that your expression was simulated? Were you in distress?

He approached swiftly, clearing his throat to get Dr. Hill to turn around. „I shouldn‘t be surprised to find out that your ignorance isn‘t limited to your scientific research, Dr. Hill, but here we are. Y/n, I need to discuss something with you.“ You were more than happy to use the moment of Dr. Hill‘s bubbling irritation and slip past him and next to Herberts side. „Mister West.“ He said through gritted teeth, „It seems like you are compensating your inability to surpass me by taking something from me in reach, but let me assure you that a Roommate isn‘t as important as a Lover can be.“ When he said the last words he looked at you with a smug smile, not even hiding that he thought of himself as your suitor. You looked horrified.

„I agree. Now if you‘ll excuse us, it’s 3 PM and therefore Y/n‘s Lunchbreak.“ Herbert held eye contact with Dr. Hill as he put a hand on your back and led you away. The older mans eyes widened in disbelief at the implications of him agreeing, of the way he put a hand on your back when you left. „Are you saying you are-?“ Herbert didn‘t stop to listen and made you follow his pace as well. Did he just hugely imply that he and you were affiliated? Yes. Did he plan to do so? Certainly not, but it just happened to be the perfect split between pissing of Dr. Hill and helping you out of the situation and potentially even future attempts like these. How wonderfully efficient.

„Now, I wanna show you the perfect candidate for our-„ „Herbert“ he looked at you, eyes flickering over your features as he rapidly noticed a change in your expression. Your cheeks were reddened, your lips slightly pressed together. The redness even extended to your ears. „You are embarrassed. Or flustered. Which is it so I know for future reference.“ He observed and you blushed even more.

„Now the whole Hospital is going to think we are a Couple!“ He shrugged his brows and led you further through the Hospital, you whispered as a colleague walked past. „Potentially, since Dr. Hill is more concerned with spreading misinformation anyway than working.“ He paused, „Ah, I did not account for the possibility that you already have a crush on someone here. If they heard about that it wouldn‘t be to your advantage.“ „Yes, I mean, I don‘t but- now we gotta act like it in front of him too.“ He hummed in acknowledgement, well, surely that wouldn‘t be too hard.

He had you meet the man that he meant to Re-animate if everything went according as planned, you inspected him and gave Herbert a look. It was doable, his body was weak so in case of aggression he could easily be restrained for both your safety, and lastly the man had decided to donate his body to science anyway after his passing.

„I think I can ask to switch shifts to his station and make sure the beeper doesn’t go off once he passes.“ You said as Herbert walked you back to your station, „Then you distract the nurses while I get the body out in a Wheelchair.“ Herbert added and you nodded, slightly nervous about the whole thing already. Bringing a full human back to life.. was it even possible to conserve the refined parts of the human brain and personality or would it operate like the animals as well that he brought back?

You reached your station. Herbert surprisingly took your hand in his, your eyes widened yet you didn’t resist the gesture. Reaching out, he did that a lot, he does in when he fails to verbalize what he wants to communicate in an emotional extent. But people usually react with.. a leap of faith, and trust in him when he does this instead. Touch, hold onto their arm for a moment. And he reaches out for your hand now and you trust him, you let him.

„Listen, Dr. Hill is watching us.“ He said, and you blinked, eyes darting to your hands as you suddenly understood his gesture for what is meant- an attempt at portraying romance.

Your hands were warm, almost beaming with heat. It wasn’t uncomfortable.

„Would you consent to me pretending to kiss you for the sake of proving our lie. He isn’t close enough to actually see if our lips touch.“

You squeezed his hand and slightly stepped closer, breath hitching. „I consent.“ He studied you, sighing and wetting his lips. The way he looked at you, if he reciprocated eye contact at all, was always intense and yet this was.. as if he was actually taking in much more of you. Not just reciprocating a gesture to an intense amount, but actually looking at your face, all of it. Why did he feel his pulse raise? He took another step towards you and closed in- until there were centimeters left between your lips. Your noses slightly brushed against each other, your breath gently fanned over his skin. Both of you had closed your eyes, Herbert felt your hand on his chest clenching slightly onto his shirt. You radiated warmth, why did he want to have you even closer than that?

He stepped away again, opening his eyes. For a second he saw you, with closed eyes and a reddened face.

„I think that will suffice for a bit, depending if Dr. Hill has enough audacity to flirt with someone who is supposedly already committed.“ He concluded, straightening his glasses. He felt weird, somehow.. anxious? Anticipating? Frustrated? Disappointed? Hm. Hard to tell.

„Ah.. yup! Um, maybe it works!“ You said, swallowing and bidding him goodbye until work ended. And Dr. Hill actually walked past you that shift without saying anything else, purposefully not acknowledging you as it seems.

You felt anxious about going home that day, not really knowing what has changed exactly that made you feel that way. What did you expect to happen? Nothing actually.. happened! You did not kiss, this shouldn’t feel so Sitcom-ish. And yet-

you came home, the kitchen light was on but you didn’t see Herbert. He must be home, he was always tinkering with something as soon as he was free to do so after work. Sometimes he didn’t even wait until then, but right now there was no light coming from the basement. Only from his door, and that was unusual. You never even saw that man in a pyjama once! As far as you were concerned he had an identical set of clothes to sleep in. ‚I can get behind wanting to revive the dead but that is just weird Herbert‘ you once told him, to which he replied ‚at least I don’t sleep in something that is patterned with geese‘ which really only showcased your point.

„Hey, do you wanna eat something?“ You asked, not straightforwardly showing your concern. „Y/n..“ he muttered, and you frowned, now opening the door. What you saw was a very distraught looking Herbert, rummaging through his things with the small fridge he kept in there open as well. „Fuck- there are no probes in the right stage!“ he howled, hands shaky and room disheveled. „What are you talking about??“ he turned around but didn’t look at you, his eyes darted over the room panicking. „I can’t.. inject any of them at this stage this is..“ his breath hitched, you were putting the pieces together in your head. He was talking about using it on himself, and judging from the erratic state he was in he was physically addicted to it. He was pale too, the withdrawal must have kicked in a while ago. He behaved both impulsive and weakened. There is.. something you needed to do. He sat down on his bed, fidgeting and running his hands through his hair. „It keeps me awake, keeps my mind running.“ That didn’t even sound unlike him, it made sense for him to try and find a way to ditch any kind of the human experience he didn’t like. He did it with death so why not sleep too while he was at it.

„That means you‘ll go to sleep after a while, once your body gets exhausted enough from the withdrawal.“ He nodded, you sat down next to him on the bed. „The Hospital doesn’t have a the tools of dealing with the specific addiction you’re dealing with right now and we don’t have any reagents that are ready to fix either so.. I‘m gonna stay here ok? Monitor you so I know you‘re safe. I‘m gonna fetch that terrible Novel I‘m reading right now to distract you from the pain with a different kind of pain, hold on.“

And he let you do so- listening to you read the book to him while fidgeting nervously and running a hand through his hair or over his arm as he tried to let himself be distracted by what you were saying.

You kept reading to him until 5 AM, Herbert was still struggling but getting more weaker by the hour. He frowned and closed his eyes here and there to rest a bit, visually displeased to be requiring that sort of thing. He muttered that it was wasted time he could use better, but his physical agony seemed to find a bit of relief in this. ‚You were usually asleep now‘, he said when he noted how tired you were at this point, ‚you should just go to bed.‘ He didn’t understand how stubborn you were on staying with him to look out for his safety even though he assured you he was fine. You were nearly drifting off to sleep yourself, resting your eyes as well when he asked „Why do you even care so much?„ Your answer was murmured as your consciousness slipped, „Because I care about you“ your head sunk more against the bed frame behind you since you both resorted to sit at the end of his bed.

Herbert stared at you, frowning once more but slightly bewildered. He was important to you? Personally? Your lips parted as slumber caught you fully in mere moments after those spoken words. If it wasn’t for what you said.. he would have never even thought about wether he reciprocated what you felt, but somehow he found that- he did care about you too. He had cared about your distress earlier and went to resolve it without fully acknowledging why, despite being highly agitated just by the thought of exchanging a word with Dr. Hill. He cared about your opinions on his Experiments. And he even cared about how you felt about him, and it wasn’t even fully based on the necessity of having you as his Assistant. He pressed his lips together.

Herbert straightened his glasses and looked over to you again. With a sigh he grabbed the blanket and put it on top of you, covering you up to your shoulder which made you intuitively sink further into the mattress. He crossed his arms and closed his eyes for a bit as well, fully keeping his stern expression as he slowly fell asleep as well without noticing.

For the first time in a long time he fell asleep again, and for the first time in a very long time he wasn’t alone.

I was literally non stop writing this since I watched the movie a few days ago. I would love to write more for him or maybe even write a part 2 of this? If ppl like this and want me to I‘d love to hear what you have to say. Comments get me motivated and keep the hyperfixation running

[ef-1]

Daniel did a really really really cool interview with Nailing the Apex I highly recommend™️ here are some notable bits

- Daniel said when he first got the rushed x-ray at zandvoort, he kept getting told it's a simple break. However, when he went to Spain and actually spoke to the surgeon, the surgeon told him it's an incredibly bad and complex break

- Daniel said at least knowing it was a very bad spiral break was good because he was in "A LOT of pain" and the severity of pain didn't correlate with the simple break people were assuring him he had and he's glad he's not just a wuss [insert Daniel gushing about how strong Motogp riders are and how they might not be human actually]

- A fan asked Daniel what the worst and best part of having to take a break for injury and the interviewer Tim interjects "sleeping?" But Daniel replies that he was "sleeping in pain because it hurts like hell" :((

- He concludes that there wasn't much good about his recovery period but aleast each day he saw progress

- As for the worst part: having to take a break from training because he'd been training all summer and he'd reached a "beast mode" and finally enjoying all of it

- it was "hard not to feel like a set back. But I didn't allow it to feel like a setback"

- " I feel like I had gotten big and strong [before the injury] and some of that slowly went away." bbgorl :(

-Tim: how did you and Josh Allen become mates?" Daniel: it was love at first sight 🥰

- On Josh Allen, after Daniel went on and on about how similar they are and how compelling he thinks bonding to athletes who play drastically different sports, he wraps it up with "he's a big cutie and I adore him"

- even though Daniel missed a considerable amount of time in the car and it was during a pivotal time where the car had seen big developments, in his first session back he felt immediately in-tune again 🥹

- daniel thinks if F1 should insist on having sprints then something about it has to change, he suggests opening parc ferme on Saturday so that drivers can tweak set ups

- A fan asked daniel if there is any lessons he carries all the way back from being in the RB jr program, to which he answers "tough love." He said maybe he "needed someone to kick him up the butt". He said it made him an adult a little sooner 🙃

it was a really cool interview and I highly recommend, you can tell Daniel likes and is comfortable with Tim

[littlespidermonkey]

I think in the universe where the Cullens aren't in Forks, Bella Swan takes a while to come out of her shell, but when she does, she's witty and passionate and smart as a whip, even if she's still quiet and reserved. She sits with Jessica Stanley, who demands the best of everyone, and tells her friends about her boyfriend down on the rez, who is sweet and caring and funny and good with his hands, who works for everything he's ever had.

After class, during a sleepover, Bella whispers to tell Angie and Jess about the night after prom, even though her father, loving and careless, worries about her only a normal amount and loves Jacob Black like his own. When she gets into Dartmouth--all by herself, through study sessions in garages and with Jessica and in Angela's house--she chooses to go to Stanford instead. She misses the heat and light on her skin, even after falling in love with the rain. Jessica comes with her; Angela and Eric go to U of Washington in Seattle instead, for education and journalism respectively.

Bella makes sure to call every week and then one day she drives down to Seattle and her boyfriend, warm like the sun she loves and at least twice as reliable, becomes her fiancé. The ring isn't especially big or ornate or pricey, but the way she smiles could trick anyone into thinking that it was. All of her friends, new and old, are waiting at the small party afterwards, and Bella laughs the entire time. The engagement cake--chocolate, her favourite--is sweet and moist against her tongue.

She moves back to Forks once she gets her masters in information sciences and becomes the town's librarian. She gets married a month before the move, barefoot in the surf and her old prom dress, both her parents weeping with joy and Billy Black beaming damn near as bright as his son, Sue Clearwater holding his hand.

She raises her kids --both beautiful children, blessed with Jake's thick, long hair--with Angela and Eric's and takes them down to Los Angeles to visit their auntie Jess and her husband Quil, who lavishes them with gifts from her career as a top surgeon. She jokes about having to support Quil's career as an environmental lawyer and displays each and every one of his wins alongside her diplomas. When William Black II decides he wants to be a doctor too, she writes him a shining letter of recommendation to her alma mater. Sarah, who has always been the spitting image of her father, joins and eventually takes over Jacob's mechanic shop.

On occasion, Bella fights with Jacob, even though he's the love of her life. Despite this, she is never afraid of him, and he never stops her from doing what she wants. Instead, he goes out and works on his cars and comes back in an hour later with slightly greasy hands and a bouquet of flowers from Emily Young's little garden, planted to celebrate her cousin Leah Uley's wedding. Bella makes him muffins, recipe courtesy of Sue and missing bites courtesy of Seth, Colin, Sarah, Will, and Claire, with raspberries, not blueberries, just how Jake likes them. They make up, and they make changes, and they go on.

Eventually, both slower and quicker than she realizes, Bella gets old. She lives in fear of losing herself, of losing her husband and her children, like her grandmother had. But she remembers her grandkids to the very end, even gets to meet her first great-grandchild a week before it happens. Her heart gives out before her brain does, too weak and too slow.

It was too full of love, the letter from Jacob says. Sarah reads it. Her father passed a day after his wife--simply too heartbroken to live without her. Much of the town of Forks and hordes of family attend their funeral, remembering a life well lived.

It is an unremarkable life, in the grand scheme of things. She does not live to be a thousand; she is no great beast, with speed like the wind and strength; she does not discover her powers or lead a great defiance. Bella Black, happy and human and surrounded by love, could never imagine wanting anything else.

[transingthoseformers]

RAISES FROM THE GRAVE HI! So, same anon who talked about the idea of IDW ShockOP who suggested the idea of Shockwave being sparked before he became well, the Shockwave we know and all that. BUT JUST: HEALINGCORVID'S RAMBLES KIND OF REFUELED THIS BUT IN A PRIME FLAVOR AND IT BEING EVEN ANGSTIER SOMEHOW SO THANKS TO HEALING FOR THAT SINCE YOU ARE THE INSPO FOR THIS TO A DEGREE!

Like Shockwave was a senator or a scientist (i dont fucking remember what he was in the prime timeline) and he would visit the archives where Orion worked and they hit off and bonded briefly before Megatron came into the picture or while Megatron was in the picture. And before Megs and Orion's relationship got serious, Shockwave and Orion had a little fleeting one night stand that resulted in Shockwave getting sparked.

Shockwave kind of isolate himself and the kid is born and he raises it for a bit, but maybe before the war starts the kid sadly dies. So Shockwave cuts off his emotions and becomes the logic beast we know now in Prime to a degree. But when he sees Megs and OP's kid, his carrier protocols act up and he kind of goes "Oh yes I will be the child's doctor I want to see if Optimus Prime's spark/code had any affect on the child" or some BS excuse when in reality he is filling the gap in his spark of his late child (alongside filling the gap with the predacons).

BONUS ANGST POINTS IF MEGS AND OP'S CHILD LOOKS LIKE SHOCKWAVE AND OP'S DEAD CHILD!

okay that is all -Shock💙OP anon (yes I gave myself a name lol)

I think in aligned Shockwave was a generalist scientist ™ before the war (though, he was acting as a surgeon for the gladiators when he met Megatron)

(iicr he just kinda... Does stuff before the war and nobody really stops him!)

But also aughhh 😭😭😭 shockwaveeee

[maharlika]

tend

a little hasltarion ficlet written for @cielsosinfel for the prompt "halstarion wound tending"

warnings for blood and implied (non-graphic) abuse/torture

--

Halsin wakes in the middle of the night to the smell of blood. He raises his snout into the air, paws shifting restlessly on the soft dirt. The coppery scent lingers for but a moment, but it is enough for his heightened animal senses to snag onto. He pushes his way out of his tent, an elf again, and walks towards Astarion’s humble abode.

The camp is deathly silent, and the night is cool. He finds Astarion sitting just outside of his tent, shirtless and twisting awkwardly in what looks like an attempt to reach a spot on his back. 

Halsin stops a few meters away, hesitating, but then he sees Astarion’s ears twitch in annoyance. 

“I know you’re there. I may not know how to spontaneously turn into an animal, but my hearing is just as keen. Though I suppose a vampire is just another kind of beast.” 

Halsin sighs internally—he’s always so prickly, their vampiric companion. But he soldiers on: “Apologies. I smelled blood and thought—but I can leave you to it.” 

Astarion frowns, his shoulders sagging. 

“Unless you could use the help?”

“One of the goblins may have gotten too close,” Astarion admits. He turns as Halsin draws closer, and shows him the deep gash on his back, raking across the circle of his gruesome scars. The blood around the wound is caked and dark, but it’s still bleeding sluggishly, which is worrying. Why hadn’t Astarion told anyone?

Halsin winces in sympathy. “I have healing potions—”

“No,” Astarion says, rather forcefully. He takes a deep breath, then says, with an air of forced lightness, “It’ll heal on its own, there’s no need to waste a potion.”

“It wouldn’t be a waste,” Halsin says. “And if you don’t want to use a potion, we can wake Shadowheart.”

Astarion shakes his head vehemently, his curls swaying with the motion. “It’s fine.”

“Then how can I help?” Halsin asks instead, feeling his patience start to fray. He’s never been good with people who refuse help—all the time spent playing a healer out of necessity should have rid him of this trait, but alas, it only seems to have compounded it.

Astarion raises a hand, and Halsin sees what he’s been holding on to this whole time: a needle and thread.

“It’ll heal faster if it’s closed,” Astarion says, eyes averted. “I’d do it myself, but it’s in a…tricky spot.”

“Let me get this straight,” Halsin says incredulously, “you’ll not accept a healing potion or a healing spell, but you want me to sew your wound closed, causing you a fair amount more pain. Is that right?”

“I suppose you’re not as stupid as you look,” Astarion says, but the haughty smile that graces his lips is a frail line, easily broken.

“Oak Father preserve me against stubborn vampires,” Halsin says, but he takes the needle. 

Astarion startles when Halsin puts a hand on the cold curve of his shoulder but relaxes when Halsin murmurs an apology. 

He does not stir when the needle slides through skin, through flesh. 

How many times, Halsin wonders, has he done this to himself before? He has seen Astarion sew, hunched protectively over bloody, fraying clothes. The light, easy movement of his hands, the glimmer of the needle, the pull of the thread. How many times has Astarion sat by himself, in the dark, sewing his body back together? 

Halsin is no surgeon, but he’s mended enough broken bodies to make quick work of the wound. Soon, it is neatly laced shut, and he hands the bloody needle back Astarion, who has not uttered a word since they started.

“Astarion?” Halsin asks.

Astarion’s shifts, turning to him, eyes half-lidded. He looks exhausted, his lower lip broken and bleeding, as if he had bitten himself to stifle any sort of noise.

How many Gods-damned times, Halsin thinks again, feeling the surge of some helpless, molten anger rise in his chest.

“Thank you,” Astarion says, looking as if he’s about to keel over any second.

“Would you like to feed?” Halsin asks. 

Astarion blinks, slow. He licks his lips, eyes darting to Halsin’s neck. But eventually, he shakes his head. 

“No,” he says. “No, you’ve done enough. I’ll sleep it off. Thank you.”

And as much as he’d like to push, Halsin knows Astarion has already revealed more than he’s comfortable with, tonight. So he nods, turns around, and walks towards the river, where he washes his hands. Blood meanders through the water, then diffuses into nothing. 

How precious that blood must be to Astarion, who must take it from living creatures to survive. How cruelly it must have been spilled by a sadistic hand. 

When they find Cazador, Halsin thinks, he would very much like to rend his limbs apart until they are unsalvageable, nothing that can be put back together by needle and thread.

[malamira]

QUIET LOVE, OH HOW IT SCREAMS

synopsis: "i'd never let anything happen to you, if i could help it."

a/n: GOD, i love doctor!au inukag. i did a lot of editing and revising for this, so it's a different beast from what it was when smutmas version came out. i'm not 100% happy with the ending, but i mean. if i did any more i had a feeling i would just ruin it instead of help it.

— 💓 —

“You’re going to love me,” Sango sing-songed, sliding into the seat next to Kagome’s.

Kagome grunted, massaging her temple. The bar wasn't too crowded, thankfully, but the noise level was high enough that she had to speak up to be heard. “Why? Did you kill the hospital director yet?”

“No,” Sango said primly; Onigumo Industries owned the hospital Kagome was a surgeon at, and Sango's father was vice president of one of the subsidiaries. “But,” she said, grasping her friend’s arm, “I kind of have a solution to your extended shift problem.”

“You mean the hospital is hiring another surgeon?” Kagome mumbled grumpily, knocking back her watered down whisky. The moisture that collected outside the glass splattered unto the bar when she slammed it down. 

“No! A guy!”

Kagome stared at her best friend, first blankly, then sourly. “Sango, I love you and I know you only have my best interests at heart, but seriously? I barely have time to bathe Buyo. I don’t have time for a guy.”

“No, I mean like to fuck!” her friend said encouragingly. “It’s been rough the past few weeks. Maybe a good orgasm will fix you right up!"

Kagome's cheeks colored. "I don't—"

Sango wasn't having any of it. "Aw, come on! It's just some harmless fun. He’s right over there, by the booth—”

“Now?” Kagome said incredulously. “I’m in my scrubs. I have a stain on my shirt!”

“So? Is it a shit stain?” 

“I’m not even going to correct you on how many hospital protocols I would’ve broken if it were a shit stain.”

“Lighten up, Kagome!” Sango insisted, jumping up from her chair and tugging at her friend's arm. “It’s Friday and you deserve to get laid. Come on.”

“It is a testament to our ten-year friendship that I am choosing to trust you,” Kagome said flatly, throwing a few bills on the counter to cover her drink. She called over the bartender before letting Sango pull her away.

“Hello, gentlemen,” Sango said brightly, then brandished her friend from behind her. “As promised, my lady doctor friend.”

“Hi,” the guy at the edge of the booth said, dark hair and bright, blue eyes. He was cute, Kagome could admit, if a little too... pedestrian, for her tastes. He extended a hand to shake. “I’m Kōga.”

“Kagome,” she introduced herself, taking his hand for a brief shake. He scooted over and motioned for her to sit next to him. 

Sango had already settled into the side of a guy who had a short ponytail and earrings. “I’m Miroku,” that guy said. 

She only just managed to land her butt on the leather seat of the booth, she felt a familiar vibration pattern in her pocket. Her emergency pattern.

Before Kōga—or Sango, for that matter—could utter a word, she’d straightened and fished out her phone. “Hospital. Gotta go.” 

Without so much as a look back, she bolted.

—

“I’m here,” Kagome panted, running into the ER. "I'm here!"

“Doc!” Jinenji, one of the nurses on shift, called out, timidly holding a clipboard to his chest as he approached from the nurses' station. “I know you just got out—”

“It’s fine.” She waved away his concern. “What do you need?”

“We did a test for Nazuna, the one who had the appendectomy earlier today, and the results required a change in dosage,” he informed her, then turned sheepish when he continued, “I’m really sorry; her mother was getting… irate, and I couldn't get another physician—”

Kagome shook her head and let out a breath. “It’s okay, Jinenji; it's not your fault. Good thing I was nearby.” A bar two blocks away wasn't necessarily nearby, but Jinenji didn’t have to know that. She took the clipboard. "Nazuna... the one with anemia, right? Can we check if she needs a transfusion? Her RBC's looking pretty low..."

“Dr. Higurashi!” another nurse cried as soon as Jinenji took off with her advice. “Thank God you're here; I need you!”

Kagome sighed and got to work.

—

A few hours later, she yawned as she pushed back against the desk in the middle of the doctor's lounge, her chair screeching against the floor. "Oh my God," she groaned, exhausted.

“I hear Higurashi,” a gruff voice called a few hours later, and a light-haired head popped into the admin room doorway. Gold eyes peered at her with interest. “Hey. Isn’t your shift over? Why are you still here?”

Kagome stretched in her chair and rubbed her eye with the back of her hand. She smiled tiredly at Inuyasha, who regarded her with curious eyes. “Had to do something. You haven’t left yet?”

He strode into the room, hands in his pockets. He’d forgone his lab coat and scrubs, changing into jeans and a button-up shirt. “About to, yeah. Where'd you come from? Your house?”

She shook her head. “No, I was at the bar two blocks down. You know Shikon?”

Inuyasha smirked and jerked his head. “Come on. I’ll drive you back. Unless you wanna walk…?”

“Nah, you’re good,” she said, collecting her things and leaving the room. She fell into step next to him. “And excuse you, I had one drink.”

He opened the door to the stairwell and let her pass; the elevator to the parking was under repair. “Shikon’s for kids anyway. Why not head to, I don’t know, Totosai’s, or something?”

“I didn’t pick the place,” Kagome mumbled. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she fumbled for it, shoes echoing as they made their way down the cement steps.

“Oh? Were you out with friends, then?”

"Yeah." Kagome groaned, pausing in the middle of the stairwell, "And she’s fucking pissed at me.”

Inuyasha raised an eyebrow, curious. He hopped back up a few steps to get back to her level and peered at her phone, eyes widening at the slew of texts she'd apparently ignored.

Sango 23:44 Is everything ok?

Sango 00:22 Kagome we’re still at the bar in case u wanna come back, I’m telling Koga ur coming back

Sango 00:28 Can u reply so i can give an update

Sango 01:18 Kagome PLS!! Trying to call u, pls answer

Sango 01:31 Koga left. He’s kinda pissed and I’m super embarrassed

Sango 01:56 Leaving too, it’s been 2 hours

Sango 02:03 Call me in the morning when I’m more important than your job

He whistled lowly. “She’s really mad, huh?”

“No, really? What gave that away?” Kagome said blankly, furiously typing back. Sorry, stuff at the hospital got hectic. Will make it up to you tomorrow. She sent the message and pocketed her phone, pressing a hand to her forehead. She took a deep breath before turning to climb back up the stairs.

“What’s up?”

“You go on ahead,” she said.

“What?" She could hear Inuyasha climb up after her. "Why?”

“I’m heading home,” she said, looking back at him. She lived on the other side of town, opposite the direction of Shikon.

Inuyasha put his hands in his pockets and looked at her like she was crazy. “Are you crazy? It’s two in the morning, Higurashi. I’ll drive you home."

She gaped. “Are you crazy? I live an hour away!”

“Traffic won’t be too bad,” he said with a shrug, not looking at her. “I don’t mind. Seriously.”

“But—”

He sighed and climbed further up the stairs until they were a step apart, his eyes meeting hers with barely a tilt of his head. “Kagome, seriously. You work too hard and give too much."

She rolled her eyes, "I'm fine—"

"Oh, come on," Inuyasha said, clearly exasperated. "Don’t think I hadn’t heard of you being wheeled out of the operating room after that cystectomy last week.”

She flushed at that. “I—How’d you know about that?”

“Jinenji’s very easy to manipulate.” 

She gaped and lightly smacked his arm. “That’s mean! You know he’s scared of you.”

“He’s scared of a lot of things,” Inuyasha shot back. “And I would’ve known anyway.”

“How?”

“Kagome,” he said, one of his hands slipping out of his pocket to gently grasp her wrist. He raised it so it hovered in between their faces. “You’re shaking.”

Her hand twitched before her eyes, and she bit her lip. “I'm fine, I'm just tired—"

"Tired? But you're consistently taking 24-hour shifts?" He lowered her hand, but didn't let go of her wrist. "Come on, Kagome. Admit it; you're overworking yourself."

She sniffed. "I didn’t know you watched me so closely.” It was meant to corner him, but it came out feeble and shy.

He sighed and lowered their clasped hands. “Seriously, Kagome,” he mumbled as he, to her surprise, rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “You need to take care of yourself more.”

She looked down at his hand, watching as his thumb dragged tenderly over her skin.

Her relationship with Inuyasha was both surprisingly simple and terrifyingly complicated. They had met in medical school, when she was a sophomore and he was in his last year. They'd gone to different schools—rival schools—but they had a mutual friend who introduced them, thinking they’d be perfect for each other.

It couldn’t have gone more wrong.

She looked too much like his ex, he said, while she claimed that he was too big of an asshole. While they were both planning to eventually become surgeons, it seemed like the similarities stopped there. Whenever they managed to come across each other it was like they wanted to bite each other’s head off for the smallest of things—like breathing too loud, or walking too slow—until they discovered that they’d work together in the same hospital, in the same operating team.

They'd learned to deal with each other. At least until the day Kagome’s brother had been wheeled in into the ER.

Sōta had been shot.

Kagome had nearly lost her mind with worry, snapping at anyone who denied her access to her brother, until Inuyasha had to practically manhandle her to sit down on the couch in the physician’s lounge. He had talked her down, told her that he was handling the operation, he'd be the one to take care of her brother, but she needed to calm the fuck down, okay? 

She'd grabbed his hand and made him promise to do everything—everything—he could.

He'd kissed her forehead, unbidden, and left the room. The shock of it was like the icing on the proverbial cake, rendering her speechless. It was too much all at once, and she ended up sleeping on the lounge couch. A few hours later, Inuyasha woke Kagome up and she bolted to see her brother.

Sōta had made it, albeit looking a little worse for wear. Her mother had screamed at the police on the phone, the angriest Kagome had ever seen her. Turned out Sōta had been shot by an unknown assailant after being mugged, and the man was still on the loose. 

The police had found him eventually, Kagome had told Inuyasha when he asked, and she hadn't known anything beyond that. The other surgeon nodded, looking pensive. Kagome had realized she hadn’t thanked him yet, for all he’d done. She had suggested that she pick up his shifts in return.

He'd declined (surprisingly politely). Instead, he'd offered to pick up her shifts while she took a break. When she'd asked what for, all he said was, "To take care of your brother," and left it at that.

She'd thought he'd take one or two shifts, but he'd crossed her name out of the shift sheet for a total of three weeks, declaring that hanyōs didn't really need sleep, and therefore could take on more work. ("I'm the ideal ER doctor, if you think about it," he'd said.)

"Inuyasha," she said.

His thumb resumed its motions. "Hm?"

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked him.

That seemed to snap him out of whatever stupor he'd landed himself in, and he let go. She kind of missed it.

With a blush on his face, he scoffed and looked away. "I—You know, I pick up your shifts when you're out, you know? I—You shouldn't take—If you get sick, I'll have to take more shifts."

Awkward silence settled over them, and Kagome stepped down to stand closer to him. They were practically nose to nose, and Inuyasha's gold gaze met hers with an intensity that made her want to shiver.

"You're lying," she challenged boldly, and that made him scoff again, sounding completely offended this time around.

"Why would I lie?" he said with a roll of his eyes, turning away and stepping down.

Kagome was growing frustrated. She couldn't put into words what she wanted to tell him.

"You're always—" She shook her head. She was ready to yell, but she wasn't angry. Once upon a time, she would have snapped, called him a coward, and stomped past him. But gone was the pure loathing that defined the early stages of their relationship. So where did that leave them?

Where did that leave her?

He turned and looked back up at her. "Look. I can drive you home, and I—" He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Just get some rest, okay? You've had a long day. I can take your shift tomorrow, just... just get some rest."

The next thing she knew, she was watching his back as he climbed down the stairs, and that's when it dawned on her.

Her brother, her job, her wellbeing—why hadn't she realized sooner that—

"Inuyasha."

He paused and sighed, turning back to face her. "Kagome, just—"

Maybe it was the exhaustion, but the way he looked at her made her eyes prick with heat. She bounded towards him and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shirt collar. "Thank you."

He was clearly taken aback, but managed to keep both of them upright. "Wh—For what—"

"For taking care of me," she mumbled. "That's what you're doing, right?"

She felt his body go rigid before relaxing. His arms slowly came around her middle. "Stupid girl," he murmured with so much affection it made her heart skip, "Only because you're doing a terrible job at it."

She sobbed. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

"It's okay."

"And I'm sorry for not noticing sooner," she sniffled. "I'm sorry for being a workaholic, and for being exhausted, and for crying."

His arms tightened just a bit. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry for being annoying about it."

His low laughter rumbled in his chest. "It's okay."

She hugged him tighter. "And I'm sorry I never thanked you for Sōta."

He lets out a breath and turn his head. "You don't have to apologize or thank me for that, Kagome," he told her gently. Pressing a soft kiss to the shell of her ear, he continued, "Your family is important to you. I'd never let anything happen to them." Then, softer yet louder at the same time, "I'd never let anything happen to you, if I could help it."

That made her gut wrench and heart swell and it made her cry harder.

He held her close as she did.

[italeteller]

Undead Unluck week 2024 day 1: Favorite Negator

Unluck - Izumo Fuuko

Fuuko's a character that definitely gets better the more you re-read the story. She becomes an undeniable badass later on in the story, but all the seeds of what made her the beast she is now are planted very early in the series

From chapter 1 when she frees herself for her captors to imbue Andy with unluck to free him and kill their captor, to the way she's almost always down with murder, to her desire to protect other from suffering and doesn't actually want to fight if cooperation is possible, and her stupidly stubborn self-sacrificial nature

The fact that she becomes a badass martial artist gunslinger billionaire heart surgeon ramen cryptid team boss is a second layer of delicious cake, but the first layer was always there, a super solid foundation supporting everything that would come later

Fuuko's the beating heart of the manga and her growth is a delight to see