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star-girl69 · 2 months

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American Teenager

Clarisse La Rue x Fem!Demigod!Reader

—-

synopsis: you get caught in the crossfire of clarisse’s anger, and have to convince clarisse you love every part of her.

a/n: i took over a year off, cut you bitches some slack…… TELL A FRIEND TO TELL A FRIEND… SHE’S BAAAAAACKKKK!!!!!!!!!

for those who do not know, i changed my theme. yes it is me. do you like it 😀

American Teenager - Ethel Cain

warnings: NOT BETA READ!!!, ending sucks yet again but i cant be bothered, y/n gets PUNCHED!!!!!!, creepy men, violence, very sad clarisse, IT IS VERY HARD FOR HER TO TALK ABOUT HER FEELINGS BUT SHE TRIES, swearing, usual demigod stuff, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Clarisse is angry.

She has been angry all of her life, you know that. She was born with a fire in her veins that came straight from her godly father, potent and rolling around inside of her like a storm, a rabid dog biting at a cage, and nurtured over the years by a stern mother.

Clarisse was a recipe for destruction, for pain, for suffering. That’s what most people thought she was. They all thought she was her father’s daughter- full of fire, and she would never be anything else except the mean bully all the campers had grown to somewhat resent.

But she was more than that. She was your girl, she was everything you wanted and had prayed for years for. You knew she was angry, you knew she carried regret in her heart, you knew she ate up anything nice inside of her long ago.

But you didn’t care.

You gave her some of your own softness, your own nicety, drew it out of her with soft touches and sweet words, until she learned to love you and believed that she was the girl you always saw hidden inside.

Clarisse is angry.

You know that, you know the harsh girl you fell in love with, and you know the sweet girl she really is.

So, it’s no surprise to you that Clarisse has spent the entire afternoon glued to your side, glaring at anyone who walks by- but particularly her brother, Caden.

Caden has some sort of inferiority complex coupled with extreme sexism. He couldn’t stand the fact Clarisse was better than him, that she was the camp counselor instead of him. She had received her beloved spear from their father, he had no gifts to show.

Somewhere in his fucked up head he realized he couldn’t force his father to notice him, couldn’t uproot Clarisse from her counselor position, and though the next best thing was to go after you.

It started with glances that lasted too long, then subtle touches during camp activities, then actively flirting with you when Clarisse wasn’t around.

The only reason Caden had been allowed to this for this long was because you didn’t want to tell Clarisse and be responsible for what could very possibly be Caden’s death. You felt dirty, having his hands on you, barely-hidden sexual remarks whispered in your ear, his eyes on you- practically undressing you.

Clarisse would kill him if she knows what he’s done, how it makes you feel. And you really don’t want blood on your hands, so you avoid him as much as possible and attach yourself to Clarisse.

It’s a rare afternoon that you both have free, and it’s snatched with greedy hands and stretched out long like molasses, the two of you move slow and leisurely, try to sink into this time together.

You promised your sister you would help with the arts and crafts class she runs, spewing something about how you’re the best at making friendships bracelets- but really, her usual partner is on a quest and taking care of the rowdy 12 year olds is not an individual task.

So, here you are, sitting at a picnic table and making sample bracelets, feeling the sun on your face and Clarisse’s arms around you. She sits sideways, her front pressed against your side, straddling the bench. She watches the way the sun hits your face, the way your fingers move swiftly as you continue to bead and tie together.

There’s been this pit in your stomach since Caden started his advances- like a new organ had formed inside of you, pure black instead of a usual pink flesh. A physical form of all your guilt and disgust, filled with the dirt like you felt like.

It’s still there, even through the gaps of hot sunlight, the cooling shade of the tree above, but it’s easier to ignore when Clarisse is there. It’s easier to ignore, but it’s still there.

“I don’t understand how you’re so good at those,” Clarisse mumbles. She kisses your shoulder and you dig your feet into the dirt, smiling to yourself.

“I don’t either,” you smile. “What can I say? I’m the queen of friendship bracelets.”

“Ha,” she says, somewhat sarcastically, but you can hear the fond, loving smile in her voice. “How much longer?” she asks.

“Two more. Maybe 10 more minutes?”

“Okay,” she hums, drawing out the word. “Wanna get somethin’ to eat after this?”

“Yeah,” you say, looking away from the bracelets for just a second- to admire her like she gets to admire you.

“Nah, nah, you better finish those bracelets so I can have all your attention on me again.” She presses her face against yours, pushing you to face forward again and focus.

She departs with a kiss to corner of your lips, and you wonder if you really need all six example bracelets, but you know your sister would kill you if you didn’t show up tomorrow with six. You sigh and turn back to your bracelets, listening to the sweet sound of Clarisse laughing.

“Okay,” she says, leaning closer to you after a minute. “I’ll be back in a few, okay? I’m just gonna go change into shorts.”

“Okay,” you smile, and she squeezes your waist as she stands up. The feeling inside of you sinks in even more, the blackness in your stomach, but you focus on the feeling of the sun and her promise that she’ll come back soon.

“First time I’ve seen you alone in weeks.”

Your stomach sinks.

You’re a demigod and you deal with monsters and the whims of gods daily- but there’s something about humans, about demigods that makes you especially scared.

A step below a God, filled with resentment and blessed with superhuman abilities.

You’re not sure you’ve ever felt fear like this.

You glance up at him, quickly gathering all your bracelet supplies, shoving it into the pockets of your jeans without much care.

You force a smile, pretend like nothing’s wrong.

“Sorry,” you say. “I’m just leaving. Nice seeing you, Caden!”

“Why you leavin’ so quick, baby?”

“Meeting Clarisse,” you smile through gritted teeth.

“Well, I just saw my sister walk away so… are you lying to me, Y/N?” he laughs slightly, almost as if the idea of you not being completely observing of his will is unheard of, laughable.

“Yeah, I was just finishing up.” You shove a pile of beads into your pocket, moving for the next one-

His hand covers yours.

“You don’t look done. Sit down, huh?”

You glance around the courtyard, not even bothering to hide your fear like you were taught- at the sight of him, his tall stature, the fact he could easily overpower you- you forget everything you ever learned and turn into a puddle of fear. You’re fucking terrified, and it would be humiliating if it wasn’t just the most basic human tendencies preserving in you.

You can’t be embarrassed about biology, about what your human body was designed to do. At the end of the day, your blood is red- not gold.

“No, no, I really gotta go.” You rip your hand away, mourning the loss of a few beads that didn’t quite escape with you. Instead of dwelling on that, you quickly turn around and head towards the main pavilion, where there are more campers- maybe you can find Matty or Carrie, another one of Clarisse’s siblings who would just get him off your back.

But, he follows. Of course he follows. He’s a man who’s never been told no, and he won’t be refused by you.

“Y/N,” he drawls, voice still teasing.

You clench your fists and walk faster, finally risking a glance over your shoulder- you slam into a familiar warm body you have spent countless nights with, now wearing a pair of jean shorts.

One hand swings around your waist, the other sits over her hip- where her favorite dagger is hidden.

“Y/N?” she asks, not taking her eyes off of Caden, but her voice is soft and full of concern.

“Nothing, Clar. It’s fine, let’s just go, yeah?”

She looks at you for just a second, and you haven’t had time to school your features back into a flat facade, so there’s still fear all over your face.

“What the fuck did you do, Caden?”

“Just tryin’ to spend time with Y/N. That a crime?”

He avoids calling you her girlfriend, even though that’s how most of the Ares cabin has come to know you.

“Yeah,” she says, slightly incredulously. “You hit your head too hard? She’s my fuckin’ girlfriend. I don’t know what you did, but don’t do it again.”

It’s like a sixth sense, the way you feel his eyes rake down your body, lingering on your ass. The blackness inside of you squeezes, and you feel the sudden urge to throw up, squeezing your eyes shut-

Clarisse tugs you behind her.

“Don’t fucking look at her, Caden.”

Her voice is level in barely-masked rage, and it honestly would scare you a little bit- if it wasn’t for the way her hand caressed your hip so softly.

“I’m not hurtin’ anyone. She probably likes it, huh?”

You wonder if he genuinely thinks he’s flirting with you, or just trying to piss Clarisse off.

Her jaw clenches.

“Four weeks laundry duty.”

His smile drops.

“Don’t fucking test me, Caden.”

You’re silently surprised at her strength, so you quickly grab her hand and squeeze, trying to urge her forward. Your stomach feels lighter, hoping that maybe- finally, finally he’ll leave you alone-

“Really, Clarisse?” The edge of desperation in his tone is pathetic. “You’re gonna choose her over your own half-brother. We both know who’d she choose between the two of us though, huh? The stronger one. The better one. She’d choose the son.”

She drops your hand and spins around.

“Clarisse,” you warn. “Clarisse.”

But she seems to be lost in her own world, where everything narrows down to him and the cocky look on his face, memory of his words, and you know any trace of your sweet girl is gone and it’s just the anger.

You quickly push yourself in between them, putting your hands out to Clarisse- you feel sort of stupid, but you’re desperate for her to just turn around, to take you with her, for the two of you to do like she said and get something to eat. You want to eat by the beach with her, you want to feel her in the sun, you wanna let yourself believe that four weeks of laundry duty will deter him.

“Y/N,” she says, warning you, and you know she won’t stop.

“Clarisse, I’m telling you, turn around. He’s not worth it.”

You can hear his smile.

“You won’t be saying that when I finally get my hands on you, baby.”

Fuck.

“Clarisse!” you shout, knowing its coming- she aims around you, pushing you out of the way as she sets a deadly punch on path with his face.

But it doesn’t hit him. It doesn’t hit him, and he gasps in shock before quickly running away, not wanting to deal with the consequences of his actions.

And you can’t blame him, because with your knees on the ground and the sting of Clarisse’s fist on your cheek- you should have just let her fucking kill him.

—-

Clarisse hasn’t looked at you in two weeks.

After you fell to the ground, completely disoriented by her punch, you remember the sound of her screaming and Caden laughing as he ran away. You remember her hands shaking as she helped you up, touching you as little as possible, staring at her now red knuckles.

Although you really didn’t have to, she led you to the healers, and one of the Apollo kids looked at your swelling eye, gave you something for the pain, and said you could leave.

And then, she made sure you got home safe to your cabin and hasn’t looked at you again.

In hindsight, knowing that that was the end of the relationship you used to have, it feels like a bad goodbye for something so good. You can’t even call it a goodbye, because it wasn’t good at all. There should have been something. Something more.

You remember the way Clarisse couldn’t stop staring at her bruised knuckles, you remember the way she couldn’t look you in your eyes, couldn’t touch you- wouldn’t allow herself to touch you.

That night, the relationship you had with Clarisse ended. But, you were still as in love with her as ever, you didn’t blame her for simply trying to protect you- you were the person who stepped in front of her. One second you weren’t there, the next you were. She didn’t have time to pull her punch, she didn’t have time to aim somewhere else- you don’t blame her.

You remember her saying she was sorry as she helped you to the healers. Sorry, over and over again. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, baby, Y/N, sweetheart, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. You almost asked her to stop saying it, because the word was starting to sound weird. You almost told her it was unnecessary-because it was- but you didn’t get the chance. She made sure you got home safe to your cabin. She said she was sorry again, and then two weeks of torture commenced.

And you’re fucking sick of it. Sick of her acting like a coward, running away instead of owning up to the consequences of her actions- you aren’t mad at her for punching you. You never were.

You’re mad at her for leaving you in the days after, the nights where you couldn’t sleep on your favorite side because of the bruise. The nights where you would yawn and tears would well in your eyes, and it burned as it rolled down the sensitive skin. The nights where you would forget, and you would expect her to crawl into your bed like usual- but you would fall asleep alone and wake up alone.

You’re mad at her for abandoning you, for refusing to talk to you, to figure it out. Because while what you had before is gone, you can still have something new.

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” your friend Tyla asks.

“Yeah,” Jackie, your other friend, continues. “Like, she did literally punch you in the fucking face- are we sure that’s not some sort of subconscious thing?”

She shrinks at the harsh glares you and Tyla give her.

“Okay. That was mean,” she says, softly. “Sorry.”

You roll your eyes and continue walking towards the training fields, where you know the entire Ares cabin is practicing hand-to-hand skills.

“I told you,” you huff. “She was trying to protect me from Caden. She loves me, she’s just angry. Angry at herself, but she shouldn’t be.”

“What even happened to Caden?” Tyla asks, noses scrunching at the fact she has to even say his name. “I mean, I saw him walking around with that broken face but-”

“Clarisse!”

You look up to the top of the small hill, the plateau where the sparring rings are marked into the grass by eco-friendly spray paint.

She’s holding one of her siblings down, her knee on his back, her hands holding his arms behind his back.

“Stop! I tap out, I tap out, Clarisse!” The boy screams. She smiles softly before letting him go and standing up.

He lays face down on the ground for a minute, breathing heavily before he finally picks himself up- staring at Clarisse’s offered hand. After a moment, he takes it and lets her tug him up. He nods at her and walks away to his friends, moaning about his arms and his back.

Clarisse shakes out her hands and looks around, but she knows no one wants to spar with her after that, even thought even from here you can see the fire in her veins. The need for a fight, for something to distract her. The need for movement, hard and fast. The need for anger to be the only thing she can feel.

“Me next?”

“Y/N,” Tyla hisses, and Jackie reaches out to grab you but you merely shake her off.

Clarisse’s eyes lock with yours.

It takes you a second to recognize the emotion in her eyes. Her body tenses up, she seems frozen in place like a deer in headlights. She’s scared.

“Clar,” you smile, meeting her in the circle.

She tears her eyes away from you, choosing instead to stare at the grass.

“I’m not fighting you. Go.”

“I’m not asking you to fight me,” you smile. “I’m asking you to spar with me.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I’m not sparring with you.”

It’s so tense, no matter how much you try to make it like before, no matter how much you smile and try to look in her eyes.

“Can I talk with you, then?”

You shuffle closer, and she doesn’t move.

“Y/N,” she sighs. She looks up at you, but you can tell she’s staring right past you, towards the tree line. “Please don’t make me do this.”

“Do what?” you snort. “Face your feelings? Let me help you?”

Her face is level, almost bored. She turns her face into a facade, a mask of nothingness. She won’t let you in, not now, and it makes you angry.

You would take anything from her right now.

You want her to hate you. You want her to love you. You want everything and anything.

You would take another punch, as long as you got to feel her skin on yours for a split second.

You dig your foot into the ground and glare at her.

“Clarisse. I’m serious, I want to talk to you.”

Her eyes meet yours for a split second, before she’s moving.

“Too bad. Forget me,” she says over her shoulder.

She fucks up and she runs away.

“Clarisse!” you shout, following her out of the training field, out of view from the eyes that were trying and failing not to look at the two of you. “You can’t leave me here. You can’t just pretend like the last year we’ve been together didn’t happen.”

“It’s better that way,” she sighs, like she’s doing you some big favor by staying away from you, when all she’s doing is hurting you.

“It’s not!” you shout, finally surging forward and grabbing her wrist-

She whips around and tugs her wrist out of your grip.

You don’t think she’s ever once refused your touch.

It burns. It burns in your heart so badly, burns worse than any regret you could ever feel.

“Don’t,” she says, like she’s warning you. “I’m- I’m trying to protect you, okay? Just- stop bein’ fuckin’ stubborn.”

You take a dejected step back, even though all you want to do is run into her arms.

“I don’t get it,” she continues, folding her hands behind her back. Her eyes finally land on the faded bruise. “Why don’t you hate me?”

The heartbreak in her voice hurts more than the punch, than the nights without her.

“Because I love you, Clar. I don’t care about what happened, it was an accident- you’re the only one who can’t see that.”

“I hurt you.”

“The only thing that hurts is you being away from me.”

“Nah,” she says, taking a step back. She shakes her head, staring at your eye before finally turning away. “I’m only anger, Y/N. I’ll only hurt you. And I can’t take hurting you again.”

The feeling of staring at her back, the sound of her footsteps crunching in the leaves, hurts so bad it creates another new organ in your body.

This time, it’s like a tumor growing from your heart, encasing it so every beat is a struggle, every breath is ragged. This new organ carries your heartbreak, and it grows bigger by the second.

—-

It’s starting to feel like Clarisse is never going to even look at you again.

Even when you look straight at her from across the pavilion, she doesn’t look back. You stare at her back all day. The memory of her walking away from you replays in your mind every time you close your eyes.

You wonder, when it’s just you in your lonely bed, if Clarisse isn’t angry but rather scared. She’s angry at herself for hurting you, yes, but she’s terrified she’ll do it again. And you know Clarisse rarely feels fear, and you want nothing more but to help her navigate these unknown feelings- but she won’t let you in.

You don’t know how to let her help you, but you give her time. You stare at her when you hope she isn’t looking, you wrap your arms around yourself and pretend it’s her, you dream of her lips and the way she holds you, the way she loves you.

Clarisse took you to the docks for one of your dates. The fourth? The fifth? Somewhere around there, but it was the first time you kissed. Both of you had realized that you liked each other but agreed to take it slow, but you’d never forget the way she looked at you after you put the flower she brought you into your hair. The way she looked at you when you let your feet hang over the edge, kicking the water. The way your thigh pressed against hers, ankles hooked together.

You’ll never forget the way you looked up at her after dipping your fingers into the cool water, the control and self restraint finally leaving her eyes, her body, as her face sunk into a wide smile and she slammed her lips into yours.

The dock is sacred to the two of you, so when you’re missing her, especially during this sunset, this is where you go.

And it’s perfect. It’s so perfect you can almost convince yourself she’s here with you.

Except, if she was here with you, there wouldn’t be this tumor on your heart.

At the sound of his voice, the other organ your emotions have formed twists.

“This wasn’t my plan, y’know.”

“Go away, Caden,” you moan. Is it a crime to want to wallow in your own self pity? It is a crime to want the black organs inside of you to swallow you whole?

“I just wanted to knock Clarisse down a few pegs, and I certainly did that. Paid the price, too, you seen my fuckin’ face?”

It looks as horrible as it always does, you think, but you bite your tongue.

“I wanna be alone, Caden. Please.” You bite the word out like you’re a hyena choking on a laugh.

“But, c’mon.”

He steps closer to you, until you can feel him looming over you, tips of his sneakers pressing into your ass, he’s so close to you. You kick the water, annoyed, but he either doesn’t get the hint or ignores it.

“I’m not that bad, am I? Do me a favor, baby, let me cart you around for a few days and make her miserable.”

You’re about to just get up and leave all together when the sound of someone stepping onto the dock surprises you.

“Get away from her.”

But there’s something unspoken in the air. You’re just “her” now- not “my girlfriend” not “her’s.”

“Why are you always fuckin’ bothering me, Clarisse?”

You turn around. She smiles sarcastically.

“Why are you always fuckin’ bothering Y/N?”

“I’m not botherin’ her though, huh?”

He reaches down to grab at a piece of your hair, running it in between his fingers.

You flinch, but you’re more focused on the way Clarisse’s fists clench, her jaw ticks.

“Caden,” you sigh, batting his hand away.

“Seems like a pretty clear no to me, huh?”

Caden sighs and straightens, letting your hair fall from his fingers.

“What are you going to do about it, Clarisse? You gonna try and punch me- again? Try to hit the right person this time, huh?”

“Go fuck yourself, Caden.” She finally, finally, looks at you. You feel blessed and divine, like she’s a goddess who’s taken the time to merely look at you. “C’mon, Y/N.”

You scramble up to follow her beckoning hand at the same time Caden shifts on his feet.

He knocks into you, and you’re on the edge of the dock, and you scream as you fall in.

The water wasn’t that deep, but it was cold and embarrassing, and you fell at an awkward angle.

You surface, paddling to keep yourself afloat, coughing water out of your mouth and glaring up at him.

“Shit,” he swears, quickly running down the dock before you can shout some curse on his entire bloodline.

“Y/N?!” Clarisse shouts, panic on her face falling immediately at the sight of you afloat. She breathes out, fixing her hair that got all moved around in her frantic sprint down the dock. “You good?”

“Does it look like I’m good?” you deadpan.

She smiles.

“C’mon, come around to the ladder.”

She smiles as she helps you up, wrapping an arm around you even though you’re soaking wet, and you’re so mesmerized at the sight of her smiling, the feeling of her smiling at you that you can’t even comprehend it.

She has her arm wrapped around you.

She’s touching you.

Gods, did you miss this.

“Cold?” she asks, your hips pressed together as you walk down the dock.

“Yeah,” you whisper, feeling how warm she is against you. “I’ll be okay, though.”

“How long has he been… doing that?”

Your eyes meet hers.

“Jackie and Tyla told me- yelled at me, really- after they cornered me the other day. They said you were really fucked up about everything, and I should talk to you and I- I don’t know. I thought staying away was for the best.”

You cringe at the memory from a few nights ago, when you finally broke down and cried like a baby in front of your friends because of how much you missed her.

“And I saw you at the dock, and then fuckin’ Caden got over here before I could,” she laughs, dryly. “Whatever. I’ll walk you back-”

“Will you talk to me, Clar?”

You both stop, beachy sand sticks to your wet shoes, and Clarisse nervously looks away before you prod.

“I’m not mad at you. And I know you’re mad at yourself, and scared-”

She scoffs, but it’s halfhearted.

“But I love you, Clarisse. I love you, and I don’t blame you. Don’t blame yourself, and love me.”

In the sunlight, you can still see the remnants of the bruise. Softly, she reaches out and traces her pointer finger around your eye.

Her touch is so soft, the pad of her finger so rough- that sweet juxtaposition with her has always made your mind fuzzy. She makes all the tension in your body melt away. She makes everything better.

She swallows hard.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes, tears welling in her eyes. “I know I’ve said it so much, but I’m so fucking sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t- I didn’t mean to hit you, I swear on my father-”

Her voice chokes up, and you can tell she hates the fact she’s crying, so you draw her into your neck and let her hide away there. Running your hands through her hair, telling her it’s okay each time she apologizes.

“I know who you are,” you say when the tears have stopped, and you’re just relishing being in each other’s arms again. “I know who I fell in love with, and I know who you are. You’re angry and you’re sweet, you’re mean and you’re kind, and I love all of it. Don’t doubt that, please.”

She breathes out before leaving the comfort of your neck, putting her shaky hands on your face.

“I love all of you,” you repeat.

She smiles softly.

“I love all of you.”

She kisses your eye softly, literally almost like a butterfly landing on your eyelid, unable to not whisper one more apology against your skin.

You roll your eyes, smiling to match her.

“And don’t think I’d leave you over one mistake, seriously, La Rue. You insult me.”

She rolls her eyes too, thumb stroking your cheek.

“Oh, forgive me,” she teases.

“You’re already forgiven,” you smile, eyes traveling down to the lips you’ve been dreaming about. “But kiss me to make sure.”

—-

“-and he would just look at me all the time. That was the creepiest part, I think. Like, okay, he would feel up on me sometimes, but whatever. I could avoid him. At meals I would just be minding my business and he would be staring at me. More just annoying, you know? And, yeah. That made me feel horrible, like literally sick. I just felt so dirty, so fucked up- Clar?”

You watch as she stares up at the ceiling, cracking her knuckles.

“Clarisse,” you scold.

You shift from your stomach to your side, head propped up so you can properly look at her. Your bed is full and warm now that she’s here.

“Oh, no, keep goin’, baby.”

“Do not kill him. Do not hurt him. I told you, I don’t want that on my conscience.”

“Nah, I know, sweetheart. I’m just thinking about it, don’t take that away from me, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but a smile crosses its way onto your face. She smiles back, and it just feels so surreal, so different- but exactly like it’s supposed to be. You know Clarisse is angry, but you know she’s sweet too. Clarisse knows you love all of her.

She draws you to lay on her chest, hand in your hair, the other slipping under your shirt to scratch your back.

“I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me,” she whispers. “That’s the worst thing. You were dealing with all this alone- and I had no fucking idea.”

“Yeah. ‘Cause being with you made it better, of course you didn’t notice.”

She kisses your forehead. “You’re too sweet, baby.”

You smile and kiss her chest.

“I’m only not killing him ‘cause you asked, I hope you know that. If it was up to me, he’d be dead.”

“Oh, baby, I know lots of other ways we can channel that emotion.”

You glance up at her and she searches your eyes before promptly throwing you to the side and climbing on top of you.

Yeah, Clarisse is angry. But you love her angry.

—-

clarisse staring at her hands like they’re covered in blood: oh gods… oh gods what have i done. what have i done (again that picture of ivan the terrible holding his d3ad son)

y/n: ouch! ok anyways- girl you did not kill me calm down.

—-

caden trying not to die after clarisse inconveniences him for the sixth time today… hides his favorite sword, permanently sticks him on laundry duty, puts literal “kick me” signs on his back, puts holes in his favorite clothes…

—-

y/n is that one song that goes “FUCK ME LIKE YOU MAD AT ME BABY I NEED A FREAK TO DRIVE ME CRAZZYYYYY”

…and she’s so real for that.

—-

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1 @maxlynn17

@thewritingbarbie

—-

from this ask

#clarisse la rue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue x you #pjo tv show #pjo x reader

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fieldofdaisiies · 6 months

Text

Alone

ship: Theodore Nott x Hufflepuff!Reader type: angst/fluff word count: 2,6k words warnings: mentions of racist parents, awful parent child relationship, talk of war and Death Eaters summary: Y/N and Theo are childhood friends, when she receives a howler from her mother that breaks her, he is there for her. (I'll blame @azrielscrown for her amazing Theo stories and hence making me want to write about him, and also @moonlightazriel for the tiktok videos she sent me hahaha)

It is quiet. So very quiet. All of a sudden everyone stops talking. There aren’t even any hushed whispers. Nothing.

It is so quite that one could hear a needle drop.

So quiet that even the mice in the smallest nooks and corners of the castle could hear your mother’s voice blaring out of the howler that has just unfolded itself in front of you. Its tongue poking out, the howler spats the exact same words your mother shouted into it in your family manor.

The words drip with venom. Disdain and disappointment lace every spoken syllable.

Your blood runs cold, your chin quivering, as you watch and listen in absolute shock. Your whole body has gone rigid, you don't even dare turn to glance around, not wanting to see the either mocking or pitiful looks of your school mates.

How would she know? How does she know? And why is she so mad?

It was just a school project, not your decision to spend time with him. You had to spend time with Harry Potter — it was for a Potions project, preparing a recipe, trying it out and then presenting it in class. It was project where you were assigned partners. A project where you were forced to spend time together. And even if you don't hate Harry, you would not have chosen to do the project. But you had no choice.

'The shame you brought upon this family by being sorted into Hufflepuff.'

There is a pause, and it is so long, so dreadful, so painful, and you just hope the letter won’t continue talking. Maybe it is over and the letter will just rip itself into shreds — the same shreds your heart has been ripped into when the letter started howling.

Or maybe a hole in the ground will open, and swallow you wholly? A ghost will appear and take you with him? A giant will crash both you and the letter?

But your prayers are ignored. Of course they are…

'And now, now you are doing partner work with him? Spending your free afternoons with him? What comes next? Dating a Muggle? Marrying one?'

'Y/N Y/L/N, in this house I allow none of that!'

Your best friend slides her hand into your cold one, squeezing it tightly. She is the purest and kindest soul Hufflepuff house has ever seen and in this very moment you are more grateful to have her than ever before. She somehow grounds you, stops your body from shaking or convulsing fully.

'I am deeply disappointed. So very much. What you do to this family, the shame you bring upon us.'

That’s how the letter ends. No well wishes, no goodbye, no I love you, no motherly love. Nothing.

You are shocked, sad, embarrassed — feeling too much. Too many emotions. Your heart can’t take them, can’t deal with them all at once and you know you have to leave, get away, escape. Cry. And be alone.

You need to get out of the Great Hall. And that right now.

You know your friends want to support you, comfort you, but sometimes you just need to be alone.

Your voice sounds choked, throat constricted, as you climb over the bench, the howler still in pieces on the table.

"I am sorry, I need to be alone now." You run, weaving your way through the pupils crowded in the Great Hall and the corridors outside. Tears start to burn behind your eyes, clouding your vision and your throat starts to burn.

You run, run until your feet ache, slumping down on the ground, sliding down the ball. And then the damn breaks. Hot, burning tears rolling down your cheeks, as one ragged sob after the other leaves you.

It hurts so much, growing up in a family like this. It is so painful. Your mother's words, laced with venom, still reverberate through your mind, loud and awful, filling every fibre of your being. A cool shiver makes its way down your spine, making you shiver.

You draw in a deep inhale, your breathing shaky, lower lip quivering. Closing your eyes, you let your head rest against the wall, replaying every single word she said to you.

The eerie silence of the corridor and your calm sobs are suddenly interrupted by the faint echo of footsteps nearing. You have no time to make guesses who it could be, finding you sitting behind a corner, back pressed against the wall to almost become invisible.

"Are you…alright?"

It is strange seeing him like this. He is always so confident, so cocky, arrogant, silver-tongued. And not so…reserved, and at a loss for words. Your desperate state has probably shocked him, you think, trying to hold his gaze, but the tears are coming back again.

"I am…fine," you croak, the lie in your voice louder than the Howler you received earlier.

Theo breathes out a cold chuckle. "That was the worst lie I've ever heard, Y/N."

His voice is flat, his expression stoic. He just looks at you, his normally confident demeanour nowhere in sight. "And I thought you Hufflepuffs are those goody-two-shoes who never lie."

You watch how the corner of his mouth tips upwards, but only shortly. He quickly presses his lips in a thin line, something he has always done when thinking deeply. A crease appears on his forehead, eyes solely focused on you.

You have known Theo basically since the day you were born. He is two months older than you, both of you coming from noble pureblood families, your father's had once been good friends, are still probably, but you don't really know. When you were placed in Hufflepuff…things changed.

Also the friendship with Theo changed. He got distanced, you did too. Being friends with him was somehow no longer possible, and still isn't. You are not rude towards each other, he also always stayed out when the Slytherins mocked you and your housemates, but he has also never sought you out to spend time with you…and neither did you.

You have been growing apart and this is alright — some friendships are not forever. Or at least that is what you always tell yourself.

"I…I just had to get out."

He nods, slowly, and in understanding. "I always come here when I want to be alone."

"Yes, that is why I am here, I want to be alone." You hope he gets the memo…that you want to be alone. Fully alone.

Not deigning him another look, you bury your face in your hands again, knees pulled up to your chest. It is not in your nature to be rude to anyone, but…

"I know I should probably leave…" But he moves closer.

"I heard what the howler said and I don’t really want to—"

"Everyone heard what the Howler said." A humourless chuckle escapes you and you lift your head. Theo is already looking at you, his eyes, meeting your red and puffy ones. Pain flashes in his eyes, bright and stark and you feel yourself shiver.

He nods slowly, almost like he wants to tell you it is not the truth, hoping it will ease the pain and discomfort a little, but he says nothing. And that for a long moment. Until—

He closes the distance between the two of you, claiming the spot on the ground beside you.

"I am sorry," he says, stretching out his long legs and leaning his head against the stone wall behind him. "I am so sorry for what she said and that everyone had to hear."

"It is not your fault, you don't have to apologise." You furrow your brows as you turn to look at him.

His eyes are filled with concern. You can still feel the embarrassment, the way the entire hall had turned to watch as the red envelope exploded in a blaze of your mother's fury and rage. Everyone became witness to your misery…

You swallow hard, trying to push the memory aside, but it lingers like an illness that just won't get better.

"Y/N," Theo says, his voice softer than what you are used to. "I can't believe she sent you this letter…"

"Howler," you correct him, wearing a forced smile.

The corner of his mouth curls up, and he casually runs a hand through his hair. "Indeed, a Howler, you smartass."

You chuckle, and playfully nudge him with your elbow. But then you shake your head, take a deep breath and shrug."You know how she is. Always expecting more, always disappointed in me."

Theo reaches out, his hand brushing gently against yours. He does not take your hand into his, just rests it next to yours on the ground, your pinkies touching. "You don't have to listen to her, Y/N. You're so much more than what she thinks of you."

You draw in a shaky breath, thankful about his presence.

Funny, you think. You would not have thought that exactly his presence would bring you so much comfort now. You had wanted to be alone just moments before, but talking to him feels somehow good. "Thank you," you say.

He smiles. "Of course." But he does not look away, keeps holding your gaze, his hand shifting the tiniest bit, his pinkie finger now placed on top of yours.

The dimly lit sconces cast eerie flickers of light upon the stone walls, and also on you two. His lashes look longer in this light, casting shadows across his cheeks, his eyes looking so much deeper. And soon you realise you are staring at him.

It feels like he leans closer, but you could also be mistaken.. And yet, his presence wraps around you, like a gentle embrace or a warm winter coat. And, with his voice barely above a whisper, Theo says. "You deserve so much better than this."

Tears glisten in your eyes once more. His gaze is intense, filled with an emotion you have not really seen on him before. "Thank you for being here for me."

"I am your friend, of course I am."

Your expression must have given you away.

He huffs, and lowers his chin to his chest. "Well, at least I hope we are still friends…"

For a long moment silence stretches out between you because first of all, you did not expect that statement and secondly, you don't know how to answer.

Are you really friends? Still?

You’ve doubted it in the past years, you’ve never talked to each other, unless you had to do so in class. You’ve never spent time together. This is not what you would call a friendship.

"I don't know, are we?" you answer honestly, and a small smile appears on his face. "I can't blame you for not considering me your friend anymore…"

It is still strange seeing him like this. He has never been like this…so vulnerable somehow.

"I know I should have been here for you so much more in these past years."

This is not at all what you expected, and it confuses you greatly. Is he blaming himself for not being here? You also did not reach out to him, you did not seek him out, and you are in different houses.

"There is no blame on you!" Your voice is stronger, firmer, wanting him to see that it is absolute bullshit that he is talking. "Why would you say something like this?"

He shrugs. "I am…" He does not continue, only draws in a deep inhale, and leans his head against the wall. His eyes close for a moment.

There has always been a connection between you, a connection that is still somehow there, even though you might no longer be friends. The kind of friends you once used to be.

You also lean back against the wall, your own eyes closing, his finger still touching yours. It is such a tiny gesture, but you feel it everywhere. Feel him so strongly.

Theo breaks the silence, his voice quieter when he says. "Y/N, I want you to know...I've always cared about you more than just a friend."

Your heart skips a beat, and you open your eyes, turn your head and look up at him, your eyes meeting his gaze. "Theo..."

"I know it's complicated," he continues, his hand now flipping yours over and taking it into his. "I can't pretend anymore. And seriously, if Draco or Blaise would see me like that right now…stumbling over my own words, they would call me the biggest fool on this planet, but I need you to know…"

He groans almost like in frustration, and squeezes your hand.

"In Salazar's name, why is this so fucking hard?" A chuckle escapes him, but you only look at him, not sure if you are ready for his confession.

"I'm in love with you, Y/N. And I have been for the longest time."

Your breath catches in your throat, and a mixture of emotions swirls within you, a whirlwind starting for a whole new reason now. "Theo, I..." You hesitate, not sure what to say.

He smiles and shakes his head. "You don't have to say anything right now. I just needed you to know. And if you ever need someone to talk to, to be there for you, I'll always be here, I want you to know this."

This is a side of him, you think, only you know. And only you know since this very moment. He has never been like this before, he is not like that to others and it makes your chest warm from the inside.

Tears well up in your eyes again, but this time they're not tears of sadness — they’re tears of happiness and comfort. Without thinking you throw your arms around Theo and hug him tightly, feeling the warmth of his embrace. "Thank you, Theo. I... I really care about you too. I want you to know this."

He holds you close, his hand gently rubbing your back. "What happened today, and what is maybe about to come…we'll get through this together. You are not alone in this. I know you have your Hufflepuff friends, but you also have me."

He holds you tightly, and for as long as it takes the pain of the former happenings to ease. The weight of the howler and your mother's hurtful words begins to fade, replaced by the knowledge that you have someone who cares deeply for you by your side. His words and his confession were like balm to your soul, and they make you smile, even when you thought you wouldn't be smiling much this day.

"I am really glad to have you back in my life."

He smiles, a genuine and adorable smile that makes your heart flutter. "I have always been in your life. Maybe we weren't that close, but our bond has always been there."

You nod, and draw in a deep inhale. "You are right."

When more pupils file into the corridors, you know lessons are probably soon about to start. You give his hand a final squeeze and slowly get up. "I'll see you later, Theo."

He nods, his eyes never leaving yours. "Take care, Y/N. I'll see you for lunch?"

You nod, a smile on your lips and his eyes momentarily dip to them.

With one last smile, you turn and head toward the Hufflepuff common room, your heart lighter. You know you can talk to him about the issues in your family, and he will listen, because he understands. Understands the pure blood nobility and problems. And maybe, just maybe, there is also a chance for something more between the two of you in the future. He, after all, already confessed his love for you.

#theodore nott #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #slytherin boys #slytherin #slytherin x hufflepuff #harry potter #theo nott #theo nott x reader

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nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos · 7 months

Text

Totally not projecting my own present emotional instability here but

Oh look hurt/comfort

Shiny 🤩

Probably going to be doing one for each Shanks, Zoro, Sanji, Mihawk, and apparently Buggy too who seems to have become a mainstay now.

I'm having trouble continuing my current WIPs, usually if I can crank out a oneshot or two I can focus and get back to it.

Sanji first.

And aaawwaaaaay we go~

Late Night Chats

Trigger Warnings: death of loved one

SFW and cloyingly fluffy

Hurt/comfort with

OPLA!Sanji X Reader

♫♬ Six Days In June - The Fratellis ♫♬

And if I could paint you a picture now it would be nothing less than tragic

I would trade a lifetime for a moment now of magic

Sanji knew full well he was a hopeless romantic. He had always known it. While his desire to work in the kitchens at Baratie had always been the greatest source of bitterness between him and Zeff, the second greatest probably stemmed from the older chef berating him for flirting with customers, no matter how respectful he was about it. He really couldn't help it—women were the gods' greatest gift to creation, and they deserved to be treated as such.

The hiring of a new garde manger had been another source of hostility, however briefly; Zeff had said he would consider Sanji for the position, and then tore it right out from under him, like always. He even had the nerve to roll his eyes and say, "You'll get over it." The rest of the staff stayed out of it, and kept a fair distance during prep hours that day, as it wasn't uncommon for such a row between the head chef and Sanji to devolve into physical violence.

But when the kitchen doors came open and you entered at a minute past eight that morning, he had frozen—and rather unbecomingly so, with his mouth hanging open, holding a sauté pan in the air, primed and ready to sling it right at Zeff's head.

He barely registered Zeff's snort of laughter at his reaction, or the gruff old chef's taunting apology for "the idiot waiter's behavior." Sanji's heart had simply ceased when your eyes met his, however briefly, as you glanced between him and Zeff in clear alarm at the scene you had just walked in on.

For once, Zeff was right—Sanji was already over it.

You had your work cut out for you, starting your two week stage that particular day—there was a party of more than twenty world government snobs expected at one that afternoon, which meant cold apps and hors d'oeuvres needed to be in no short supply. Sanji kept his eye on you throughout the entire shift, any time he was in the kitchen. Your station was right next to the break table in the corner, and oh, he could have watched you work all day, your graceful and precise movements as you piped filling into two trays full of deviled eggs, the deft motion of your wrist in cutting the chives to perfectly even half-inch lengths, carefully adding a few to each with your tweezers, ever so delicately topping each egg with a few salmon roe and a turn of your pepper mill.

Sanji stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray, and crossed the short distance to your station before you could call order up to retrieve the trays.

"Absolutely stunning," he commented with a small sigh.

You met his eyes briefly as you set to cleaning your station and checking your next order. "Just following the recipe."

"Well...." he chuckled lightly, leaning across the counter. "I wasn't only referring to the food, chef."

Your eyes locked with his a moment longer, before you rolled them and went back to work—but there was the slightest hint of a blush on your cheeks as he lifted the second tray, a hint of a smile curving your soft lips, and Sanji didn't fail to miss it.

Your stage was two weeks, before you would either be hired in fully or told to take a walk, but you melded so seamlessly with the rest of the staff that Sanji had no doubt you were on track to becoming a permanent fixture at Baratie—and god, he hoped he was right.

He was genuinely drawn to you—not only your talent in the busy kitchen, your ability to keep a level head and your spirits high under the high stress of the lunch and dinner rushes, but everything. The subtle and teasing way you returned his flirting. The late nights cooking with you, experimenting with new recipes after shift, or just chatting by the bar while you shared a drink and a smoke or two. Well before a week was out, he wanted to just grab you by the waist and kiss you like his life depended on it.

But he was nothing if not a gentleman, and for all the time he had been blessed to spend with you, there was still something distant about you. You skirted around any personal topics—your family, friends, your home before you came to Baratie, all of it was a mystery. Sanji didn't push it. He did prod at it occasionally out of sheer curiosity, how you had come to be so accomplished a chef at only a year younger than him, but he didn't push. He couldn't stomach the thought of pushing you away if he tried too hard to get you to open up.

Your eighth day at Baratie, just after the end of dinner rush, Sanji watched Chef Zeff hand you an envelope as you stood over the dish pit, your chef coat slung over your shoulder. He spoke to you quietly as you opened it and scanned over the letter inside. Something shifted in your eyes for a moment, so quickly that it was difficult to tell what it was.

Then you stuck the letter in your apron pocket and shook your head. Your mouth formed the words, "It's fine," as you went right back to scrubbing a plate.

Zeff gave you a nod, a light pat on the shoulder and a sigh as he passed.

And it was all Sanji could think about for the next hour as he squared away the dining area. He did so quickly, perhaps a bit less thoroughly than he should have, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that flicker in your eyes, a flicker of something. Whatever news had come to you in that envelope had been nothing good.

You were the last person left in the sprawling kitchen by the time Sanji returned, still making your way slowly through the stacks of dishes, a task that was normally split between a few of the kitchen and dining staff.

Yet you were still there, clearly taking your time, meticulously cleaning each dish that passed through your hands. Drying each one thoroughly before placing them lightly in their designated areas, your breathing slow and controlled, your eyes focused and yet somehow miles away at the same time.

Sanji plucked the ash tray from the break table and crossed the kitchen, lighting up a smoke and grabbing a dish towel before he reached you. You proved just how thoroughly you had spaced out when he set the ashtray down—you let out a small cry of alarm and dropped the plate you were holding.

Sanji managed to stoop down and catch it just before it could hit the floor and shatter. Your eyes locked with his for a moment, and there was that flicker again—pain, sadness, so much that it made his chest ache. Then, in the blink of an eye, you were back to washing dishes.

"Don't sneak up on me," you chided, elbowing him playfully as he leaned back against the counter, drying the plate. "You know how Zeff gets about anyone breaking dishes."

"That's entirely unfair, I wasn't even sneaking." He knew he had to be careful—had to play it safe, act like everything was normal. He couldn't outright ask you what was wrong without you either changing the subject or outright storming off. "Now, had I been sneaking..."

Ge set the plate down, and you were already rolling your eyes as he circled behind you, resting a hand lightly at your waist.

"I'd have come up behind you...maybe...put an arm around you..."

Your lips pursed, clearly fighting to keep a straight face as his hand slipped from your waist, across your stomach, his arm curled around you to pull you gently back against his chest. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, tilting his head to lean in close over your shoulder.

"Said something like, 'How about we leave these dishes for someone else and go have a drink or two, beautiful?'"

You tilted your head to meet his eyes, shaking your head a little. "I'm sure you would have," you said, giggling a little as you patted him on the cheek. Your lips lingered barely an inch from his, and for a few impossibly long seconds Sanji briefly forgot why he had approached you in the first place.

Then you reached over your shoulder and held a bowl out to him.

"Sooner we get done, sooner we can go have a couple," you said, smiling sweetly.

"Oh, fine," he sighed, taking the bowl. "But I'm going to sulk about it the whole time."

You giggled a little more when he pressed a brief kiss to your cheek, shoving at him lightly. "I wouldn't expect anything less," you laughed as he resumed leaning back against the counter beside you.

He kept his eyes on you, wondering if you thought you were hiding it well. You were far too quiet, too tense as the laughter faded from your breath and you went back to work. Your shoulders were squared, your chest rising and falling under your apron in slow, even, carefully controlled breaths, your eyes growing distant again.

Distant, sad, almost hopeless, on the verge of breaking and desperately trying to hide it.

And Sanji couldn't stand another second of it.

He plung the towel over his shoulder and placed a hand lightly on your shoulder—and before he could do more than open his mouth, you spoke up, your voice low and quiet.

"I'm...going to have to leave for a few days."

"What?" His eyes widened, his cigarette falling from the corner of his mouth in alarm. He quickly stooped down to pick it back up. "Wh—why?" he blurted out.

You swallowed, keeping your eyes on the plate in your hands, not washing it anymore but just staring at it.

"I...I have to handle funeral and burial arrangements for my father." Your voice was still quiet, still so carefully controlled, and his heart sunk right into the pit of his stomach at the slight tremor in your hands. "He...didn't have any other family so I have to...I have to go home for a few days."

That was it. The letter Zeff had handed you. Your mouth forming the words "I'm fine," when he no doubt offered to let you take the rest of the evening off. Over an hour you had stood there washing dishes, alone with nothing but your own thoughts for company, one little push from falling apart.

Sanji took one last puff from his cigarette before putting it out, before gingerly pulling the plate from your hands and setting it aside, before taking a step closer and pulling you just as gingerly into his arms. He felt as well as heard your breath hitch and stutter the slightest bit.

"I'm...so sorry, sweetheart," he said quietly, lowering his forehead over the crown of your hair, cradling your head at his shoulder. You still kept your breathing mostly level, but kept your head down, your hands shaking the slightest bit as they gripped lightly at the front of his shirt. "Was...he ill?"

You nodded shortly. "Dementia." Swallowed. "Early onset. Started around five years ago. I...we had a restaurant in Loguetown. Just a little bistro. Things...got bad a couple years ago. I couldn't keep up running a business and take care of him. He'd go down into the restaurant and try to cook, end up cutting himself or starting a fire. I had to close it and find something else. He...told me a while back that the head chef at Baratie was an old friend, so I..." Your voice cracked a little as you went on. "I had to leave him with a live-in nurse. When I left h—he didn't—he was so far gone he didn't even know who I—"

He pulled his arm a bit tighter around your waist as your sentence cut off in a small sob, his fingers curling in your hair near the nape of your neck. You had been dealing with all of this, alone, this entire week—for five years prior to that, trying to run an entire restaurant on your own and juggle it with taking care of your only family.

He was speechless—couldn't do anything for some time except lean back against the counter and hold you against him, stroke your hair and press a kiss to the top of your head while you clung to him and cried quietly.

He gladly would have held you all night, if that was what you needed—but you drew away after a few minutes, rubbing your palm into your eyes and turning to sit on the floor against the counter, glaring up at the ceiling.

"I never even really got to say bye," you said, giving a small scoff as you ran a hand back through your hair, your head falling back against the counter. Sanji took a seat beside you, and you exhaled a slow, shaking sigh as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. "Not in any way he'd know. He just looked right at me and asked who I was."

"I'm sure he knows now. And that he'd be proud." You leaned your temple into his shoulder, swallowing, your eyes drifting shut. It didn't matter if you believed it right now—he still wanted to make sure you heard it. "You're...kind, beautiful, talented. To be honest, I could hardly take my eyes off you your first day."

"I know." You laughed quietly at that, your voice still choked from your tears. "You weren't exactly discreet about it."

"Never said I was trying to be."

You glanced up at him at that, and nudged your elbow lightly at his ribs...but you smiled as you shook your head, and that was all that mattered to him. Making you smile, genuinely smile, not just putting it on to mask the pain.

You rolled your eyes a little and closed them again. "I planned on making a point of not getting close to anyone here." You sighed slowly. "You made that impossible, of course."

"You're welcome."

"Would you stop?" you said, both of you laughing a little. A little more of your tension seemed to slip away as he pulled you closer. You shifted so your knees were bent to the side, resting over his leg, your temple at his shoulder. "I wasn't sure if I'd stay here after...." You bit your lip. "If I'd go back home and try to re-open the restaurant. But..." You shook your head. "I like it here. It's like having a family. I never really had that since it was just me and my dad." You drew in a deep breath. "I...still have to go back for a few days and handle his arrangements, but...I want to stay here. There's really nothing for me there now, anyway."

There it was. Without saying it outright...you were staying because of him. Sanji could have floated right off in that moment on a cloud of pure elation. There was nothing official between the two of you yet, but he had grown quickly to adore you. To savor every moment of time you gave him, every second of your flirtatious banter and your late night talks after the kitchen closed, and that only increased with everything he learned about you. Even if you had decided to leave, he couldn't say for sure that he wouldn't have just followed you right out the door like a lost puppy.

Even a few days was too long.

He laid his forehead over the crown of your hair, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to your temple.

"Let me come with you." He heard your breath catch in surprise, felt you freeze as he shook his head. "This isn't something you should have to do alone."

You were quiet, still as stone for several long seconds. He didn't regret the offer, wouldn't ever regret it. The worst you could do was say no, leave for a few days and come back.

You drew in a slow, deep breath after a moment.

"Are you sure Zeff would let you?" you said quietly.

Sanji laughed a little. "He's a cranky old bastard but he isn't heartless," he said, his thumb brushing against the nape of your neck in slow, small circles. "He'll probably tell me not to let the door hit me in the ass on the way out and leave it at that."

Your little giggle made his heart soar.

"You...really don't have to," you said softly, but you couldn't hide the hope in your voice. And that alone was enough to make him sigh softly, hearing hope after seeing the lost, hopeless look in your eyes as you stood over the dish pit minutes earlier.

"I want to," he said gently. "Besides...." He dug into his pocket, pulling out his cigarettes, and held the pack out. "Why in hell..." You took one when he offered it, and he tapped one out as well before tossing the pack up onto the counter behind both of you. "...would I want to stay here waiting tables and arguing with our most esteemed chef..." He leaned in close enough to light both his and your smoke together, taking a long drag and blowing the smoke away out the corner of his mouth, "when I could be spending a few days doting on the single most beautiful woman in the world?"

You gave a small snort of laughter, shaking your head before meeting his eyes again. "You never switch off, do you?"

"Never," he affirmed, grinning.

Sanji leaned back into the counter, resting his arm across his knee, staring up toward the ceiling as a thought struck him—an idea, moreso, one that he couldn't resist acting on.

"What," he said slowly, glancing down at you as you pressed the cigarette to your lips, "would you say was your old man's best dish?"

"Risotto," you said instantly. You smiled a little, turning your head to blow a cloud of smoke away. "His mushroom risotto was our most popular item, he could have made it in his sleep. Shallots, chardonnay, portobello, white truffle, little pinch of nutmeg and thyme to bring out the earthiness, it was...."

"Perfect." He smiled when you glanced uo at him. "Let's make it."

"Wh—*now*?" Your brow furrowed as he shrugged a shoulder. "But—" You nodded back at the counter, up toward the sink behind you. "I have to—the dishes—"

"Will still be there in an hour," he finished for you, and you pursed your lips. "Come on..." he said, lowering his head to rest his forehead against yours, lowering his voice to a light, teasing tone. "Say yes."

"I..." You sighed after a moment, shaking your head. "You are impossible." He lifted his eyebrows, waiting, as you returned his smile. "Fine, yes."

"Perfect," he said once more. He plucked your cigarette from your hand and stood, dropping it as well as his own into the ash tray before offering you both of his hands. You took them and he pulled you to your feet, your fingers lacing together with his.

And, without any warning or hesitation, you pulled yourself up onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips lightly to his.

And, oh, he could have melted into a puddle right there in front of the sink.

Your lips were even softer than they looked, and Sanji knew in an instant that he was going to be hopelessly addicted to them. A slow sigh left him as he tilted his head slightly, returning the slow, sweet kiss, his hands leaving yours to wrap lightly around your waist and draw you in a little closer, a little deeper. Yours came to rest just as lightly at his abdomen for a moment, before you looped your arms around his neck and sank right into him.

He was smiling when your lips parted, his forehead resting against yours as you bit your bottom lip. He curled an arm around your back and lifted his other hand, brushing your hair behind your ear as his eyes remained glued to yours.

"So..." He brushed his thumb across your cheek. "Would you call me an idiot if I said I think I'm falling for you?"

You chuckled softly. "Being that we barely met a week ago...yes." And you smiled, leaning in closer. "But I guess then I'd have to call myself an idiot, too."

And you pressed your lips to his again.

#opla #sanji opla #sanji one piece #vinsmoke sanji #sanji x reader #fluff #one piece fanfiction #opla fanfiction

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youkissedareaderinthedark · 5 months

Text

Under the Weather

Synopsis: You’re sick. George’s sick. Someone else is probably going to get sick. It’s an interesting last race in Abu Dhabi

young female driver reader x 2023 F1 grid

A/N: this fic is pretty vague so i’m not going to give the reader a team or teammate, we just know that she’s a driver on the grid because that’s all we really need to know

. so

. you think you caught it in vegas

. it was colder than you were used to

. you barely got any sleep

. and even though you’re around hundreds of people every race weekend, las vegas felt more packed than a normal race would be

. and you were seated next to george, who’s been feeling sick for a few days at that point, for nearly all pre-race activities

. it was probably all of these combined that gave you a sore throat, stuffy nose, pounding headache, and persistent cough

. you knew the second you woke up thursday morning

. “it’s going to be a shitty weekend”

. the grid, however, did not know until thursday afternoon

. you came into the press conference room, bundled up in a long sleeve and hoodie, nose red with a scratchy voice

. you sit beside an amused lewis, resisting all urges to lay your head against the back of the couch and drift off

. “you okay y/n?”

. the only response he gets is a groan and small shake of the head

. “i’ll get you some tea when we’re done here love, you’ll be okay”

. lewis, who was always your favorite but now has new reasons to be favored, lets you rest your head against his shoulder and close your eyes while you all wait for the conference to begin

. word spreads by the end of the media day, and suddenly you have new reactions from the grid

. daniel walks through the paddock with you, never afraid of a little cough

. “lewis tells me you’ve been on your death bed over here. anything I can do?”

. he insist on giving you a hug and the recipe for chicken soup that he learned from his mum and now swears by

. max, who is afraid of a little cough, is the one who makes sure you’re not being harassed when trying to sleep

" max? who’s under the blanket-”

. “shush. she’s trying to sleep”

. “but who’s-”

. “I said shush”

. lando, a man who’s all too familiar with being clumsy, probably saves you a million times from walking into doorways, a drowsiness affect from the fever you keep insisting you don’t have

. he’ll keep a constant eye on you and hand on your shoulder as a precaution

. “let’s not go over there, that’s a wall”

. “y/n!”

. “mhm?” you’d say, eyes half closed with tiredness

. “that’s a door love, jeez, we should put a bell on you”

. carlos and charles, drivers who’ve had loads of experience taking care of sick younger siblings, make a team effort of ensuring you’re doing your best to get better

. “did you drink the water bottle I gave you?”

. “no”

. “did you drink anything today?”

. “no”

. “oh mon dieu you’re going to kill yourself like this”

. “just try to eat this okay? i know you’re not hungry amiga, but we have a race tomorrow, you need to eat something”

. “i got you more medicine, this one says it should take care of the cough and sneeze so you won’t have to worry about it during the race”

. and then there’s george, your sick partner in crime

. you two make a habit of trapping yourselves in one of your driver’s room

. half to prevent the sickness from spreading further, half to just be left alone

. you guys complain a lot

. take turns choosing movies to watch to pass the time

. reminding the other to take medicine, even though there’s a good chance that person probably hasn’t taken any medicine either

. and passing a bag of cough drops between each other

. as a teammate and friend, lewis tries to talk you two out of racing

. but neither budge

. you get into your car, nose still red and voice still scratchy

. and power through the race, just as you’d been taught to do

. george gets a podium and you get a good points finish, the best results you could’ve asked for considering the conditions

. and stumble out of your car once more, looking for a tissue and that chicken soup recipe

. you get checked on by multiple drivers, though the only response you’re able to give is a nod and thumbs up

. lewis accompanies you on your flight back home, and tries to help as much as you let him

. he feels a bit victorious when you say you wished you’d listen to him and not raced

. but the feeling is instantly replaced with sympathy for his friend, so he just nods and tells you to get some more rest

. after making sure you’re safe at home and surrounded by family and friends that swear on their hearts to take care of you, lewis leaves with congratulations on your season finish and wishes to get better

. you’re fine within a few days, you name the cause of your sickness “end of season fatiague” and ensure the drivers you made a full recovery by wednesday night

. so yeah

. it’s not fun at all to drive while you’re sick

. but it’s a bit easier when you have your friends looking out for you

short little f1 grid sick fic. let’s hope I didn’t just manifest myself a cold

#reader insert #formula 1 #driver reader #f1 grid x reader #formula 1 driver imagines #platonic f1 grid #f1 2023 grid x y/n #f1 imagine #female driver reader #sicfic #sick reader #no graphic sick symptoms #just common cold type stuff #reader x f1 driver #f1 x you #female f1 driver

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sleepy-gee · 2 months

Text

🍒 sweet as sugar - coryo/gn!reader

a domestic afternoon with your husband in your shared bakery.

➼ word count: 421

➼ trigger warnings: none! pure fluff.

a/n: little au where instead of becoming president of panem and a horrible person, coryo settles down with you and opens a bakery :] no hunger games nonsense, we're being cute today!

a sweet and comforting smell filled your cozy little bakery on this fine afternoon, only broken by the occasional ringing of the bell by the front door to signal that a customer had entered– for only being open for a few months, you were getting a lot of attention, which was a delight.

maybe around two years ago, coriolanus had won the plinth prize, and fulfilled his promise of helping you open a bakery with the prize money– he helped you secure the property, order ingredients, hire staff, and even became your personal taste tester for new recipes when he had the time. university kept him busy, but the idea of a quiet life with you became appealing, with coriolanus spending less and less time studying, and more time in your kitchen.

it wasn't a busy day, only a few orders in– which you were currently working on. with your sleeves rolled up to your elbows and apron secured tightly around your waist, you went to work on making the best damn cherry pie you could. clemmie's birthday was right around the corner, and you wanted to perfect the recipe for her special day. it was her favorite.

working carefully, you distributed the cherries evenly into the pan, sprinkling in the tiniest bit of cinnamon for some kick. a pair of warm arms found themselves around your waist, pulling you out from your state of concentration, and up against a sturdy chest.

"hard at work, i see.." coriolanus hummed against your ear, kissing your cheek.

"you ass! you scared me half to death." you laughed.

“my apologies, love. how can i make it up to you?” he asked in the same teasing tone.

you spun around to face him, cupping his cheeks with floury hands. he was dressed in one of the aprons as well, stained with a bit of flour. “hm.. let me think.. i might have to put you to work..”

“oh, how awful, to have to spend the day in your kitchen.” coriolanus chuckled before leaning in and capturing your lips in a sweet kiss. you reciprocated happily, tasting something faintly sweet as you did.

“did you sneak another few of the brownies?” you asked when you pulled away.

coriolanus glanced off to the side. “so you caught me. it’s not my fault they're so good.”

you shook your head with a dramatic sigh. "what am i going to do with you, mr. snow?"

".. you could always kiss me some more."

"oh-" you laughed. "get back to work.."

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sgiandubh · 7 months

Text

Autopsy of a gay lie: the Wikipedia trail

“You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can not fool all of the people all of the time.”

― Abraham Lincoln

For starters, sorry for the length and numerous screencaps. It is an investigation, after all and these are sorely needed.

Never underestimate the conjugated power of Internet, a Sunday afternoon and the lightbulb moment that can happen while baking something, because you know, people have also to reward themselves at some point.

I might have fucked up my foolproof Lemon Squares recipe, but I regret nothing. It took me three hours I could have gratefully used to finish that spirits post, but this is too damn good not to share.

Remember Meow Kabob's cross my heart and hope to die pinky swear she found confirmation of Data Lounge's allegations on Wikipedia, out of all places? How she regularly unburies that infamous screenshot listing S under the Wiki "Gay Actors" category? How she told us, filthy and uneducated shipper mob, over and over again, that story about STARZ people scouring the Internet far and wide and scrubbing any gay reference related to S, as soon or shortly after he was cast as JAMMF?

I can confidently prove now Lincoln's perennial truths I quoted above apply to this situation.

I was just pouring my lemon juice, eggs, flour and sugar mix over the hot and nutty shortbread when I stopped in my tracks: 'wait a second, isn't Wikipedia an open source project? BUT OF COURSE IT IS, SILLY COW - yes, I very often talk to myself like that. RUN. NOW. I HAVE TO KNOW.'

Sure enough, like death and taxes, the full edit list of S's Wikipedia page was there for everyone to see:

Even better, since Internet is forever, we have full access to all these edits and can take screenshots.

This is how Sam's Wikipedia odissey started, on November 11th 2007, when he was the complete underdog:

A ' strapping lad with natural dark blonde hair and 6'2'' tall', ideal for the role of Alexander the Great - pious silence and RIP. I grinned, because it sounds well, naïve? It also sounds gay, perhaps? What else does it prove, other than the gay crowd has an acute interest for novelty and a wandering eye?

Nothing. Not even remotely related to S.

Also, note the two classification categories: British TV actor stubs/ British actor stubs. Mark them, they stayed still and alone for a looooong time.

Up until 2009, in fact, when the wikientry was no longer considered a stub and even got several category additions:

Then again, some movin' on up, on that semi-dormant page, in 2013. Totes normal:

By early 2014, even more interest in S commands an expanded webpage and a longer, more detailed, category listing:

Let's quickly peruse 2015...

2016...

The incorrect Irish descent category stayed there for about ten days, until removed by another user. This is how it is done and it is then added to the list:

2017, 2018, 2019, early 2020, no change in the categories, but all hell broke lose content-wise. From Cirdan, the 'estranged brother' acting in a very gay connotated theatre production I have never heard about, in London, September 2016...

...... to a woman named Tiffany Trach who used to dream the impossible dream, in October 2016 (and she was not the only one, far from it)...

...to some halfwit being rightfully slapped for adding brainless Flukenzie Floozy content in March 2017:

By that time, I was getting supremely bored clicking on links and wanted to pack the tent and throw my lemon squares in the trash bin. But, lo and behold, what do I see on January 26th 2020:

With the tag possible vandalism:

Whodunnit?

A very brave person, hiding under a string of random numbers...

... and one single contribution EVER to the Wikipedia juggernaut. This is what I would call a targeted attack:

It stayed like that, unmolested, for five days only, until the user Spiderpig662 decided enough is enough and did something about it...

....categories being then restored to the previous wording:

The last vicious gay reference on Wikipedia dates back to May 28th 2020 (Ha-wa-wee, anyone?), was labeled as 'hate speech' & promptly removed:

Where wuffter is, in British Cockney slang:

Same modus operandi, this time an IP address, pinging in (you simply can't make this shit up, can you?)...

County Durham, FYI.

I then asked myself when exactly did Meow Kabob appear on Tumblr?

Even more exactly, on...

That is, to say the least, a troubling coincidence.

I do not imply anything, I have no wish to attack anyone. All I am saying, is that particular argument, which this user is shouting anytime she is prompted to, had a very short online lifespan. How could an American woman, who appeared in this fandom shortly afterwards, have known about changes operated for five days only, by an unknown user, on the open source webpage of a B-listed British actor?

I have only one question, Your Honor:

WHY?

I rest my case.

[Edit]: To make it maybe more clear, I now know where the person adding that category lives, thanks to Wikipedia's own tracking system:

No surprises here:

Augusta. Georgia. USA.

Now, yes. Now I rest my case.

#fandom

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alexawynters · 3 months

Text

Scarlet Whispers pt 10

Gif not mine, as always

Trigger Warnings: Some gore and violence.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female!Reader

Rating: M. Minors DNI

Masterlist with parts 1-9 here

Chapter Ten

A/N: I Googled the recipe for authentic Hungarian Chicken Paprikash in order to see how difficult it might actually be to make, and as someone who can’t cook but three things, I have to say it looks hella complicated. I’m giving Reader far more credit than I would ever give myself with regards to kitchen skills.. That said it sounds delicious and now I want it :’( Someone pls feed me. Also I felt super bad that I went so long without posting when I had this just… sitting in my Google Docs, so uh… have another chapter. I only have 12 written so far though so I guess I better get to steppin’. sweats nervously

The pair of you had elected on a movie marathon today, watching the Hobbit series together on the couch when Wanda felt it. That telltale tingle in the back of her mind, signaling that her wards had been tripped. This wasn’t the alarm for a breach, but rather letting her know that someone was at the perimeter attempting to get in. Pearly teeth grit in rage - how dare someone ruin her perfectly good afternoon with you? Everything was coming together, and now someone had the audacity to try and intrude, possibly to try and take you away from her? Wanda couldn’t have that.

Pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, the redhead informed you she needed to check on one of her projects and it might be a while. Your pout was quickly kissed away, Wanda directing you to play the new video game she had gotten you last month. Unintentionally, you had been putting it off - between spending time with Wanda and trying to play all the other video games you had, there hadn’t been much time for it. Excitedly, you agreed, getting the disc ready before putting it in the console, as Wanda stepped away. Sure it would be better with the woman by your side, but you could be patient while she worked on her projects.

Or at least, you would try to be. Healthy relationships and all, you had to be able to spend time apart, and you certainly spent enough time together even if secretly your selfish heart thought not enough.

Out of your view and satisfied you were preoccupied for the foreseeable future, the witch conjured her battle regalia, and stepped through a portal to the ground's perimeter. From the moment she stepped through, the cause of the alarm became readily apparent - Stephen Strange stood just beyond the barrier looking smarmy as ever.

Wanda was getting really sick of that stupid goatee.

“Stephen,” Wanda said, calmly, “How did you find me?” She asked, but she didn’t truly care, the how didn’t really matter.

”America didn’t sell you out, if that’s what you’re asking. The trail of death and destruction you’d left pointed me in the right direction. It took a while but eventually I found where you've been hiding, as you had to know I would.”

The witch hummed noncommittally. “I’m just trying to get my family back, Stephen. You of all people should understand that. I’ve seen what you have done to try and reunite with Christine. Can you blame me for wanting to be happy? Why do you get to choose the reality we all must live in, but when I try to make a life for myself, I’m labeled a villain?”

Strange knew there was some truth to her words, but he was never one to back down. “The family you had wasn’t real, Wanda. They never wer-”

“They were real to me!” The witch seethed, cutting him off.

“In almost every other universe, we are together and happy. If I have to go through you to make that happen, I will. To you they aren’t real, but to me they are my family, and I would burn every universe for them.” Red eyes blazed in rage, and Stephen had no doubt the Scarlet Witch meant her words.

Nevertheless, the sorcerer had no patience for empathizing with his former colleague. There was an innocent person in her grasp and it was his duty to save them. “You have to let her go, Wanda. You can’t hold her against her will like this.”

A sinister chuckle. “Against her will? Does she look like she’s being held against her will?”

With a flick of her stained fingers, and a hazy one-way portal appeared off to the side of them, showing where you were currently engrossed in playing your new video game: Baldur’s Gate 3. From there the scene changed to the recent dates you both had been going on, and how happy you were spending time together, focusing on just how enamored you looked gazing up at Wanda. Another twitch of ink-tinged digits, and the images were gone.

The sorcerer had to admit you didn’t look unhappy, but that didn’t mean all was as it seemed. He knew there was no way she had come clean to you about everything she had done to get you here. If she had, surely you would have run for the hills by now, or at least attempted to. Things wouldn’t be so rosy for you if he left you in her care, Stephen was certain.

“Be that as it may, this Y/N doesn’t belong with you. You decimated entire universes in your search for her, leaving countless innocents dead in your wake. Does she know that? Does she know that you murdered her parents in this universe?” He asked, knowing full well the answer.

His words stung, Wanda knowing that some part of him was right in this instance. No, she hadn’t told you, and initially she had never intended to. As she had gotten closer to you though, Wanda realized she wanted you to know. Not to hurt you, but to solidify that she would always keep you safe from any harm, no matter who it was. She loved you, truly, and wanted you to know everything about her. However, she couldn’t risk that until she was sure your heart wouldn’t turn away from her with the knowledge she revealed.

“They were abusing her, Stephen! In your infinite wisdom, did you know that? Do you know the life she led before me? I’m not her captor, Strange, I saved her! Here she is happy, and I provide her with everything she could ever want or need. Taking that away from her for the sake of your pitiful morality and duty, that would be the real crime. Y/N deserves to be loved, to be happy, and so do I. Don’t take that from us.”

Strange knew he couldn’t win on logic alone. This would undoubtedly end in another showdown, but he was hoping he could reason with the witch. “It’s not just about rescuing her from your clutches, Wanda. You have caused real harm to the multiverse. Untold suffering, trillions annihilated for your selfish obsession. You have to be stopped, Wanda. What’s to prevent you from killing Y/N when she doesn’t fall in line like you want? What will you do then, toss her body aside like so many other innocent people, tearing through countless more universes to find another copy? When will it stop?”

“I would never hurt her!” the redhead snaps, her magic flaring out in warning. She was blatantly ignoring the fact that not long ago she was chasing you through a forest in the fear and anger that you were leaving her. Even then though, she had never planned to hurt you, certainly not kill you. Only to teach you a lesson. Wanda deeply resented that Stephen thought she would ever purposely hurt you. Not to any lasting degree at any rate. She loved you. You were her everything, the key to her happiness.

The witch took a steadying breath, calming herself. She had to think of you first, and she didn’t want to risk a battle so close to her home with you in it. “I have no intention of leaving this universe ever again, Stephen. I can’t say that I am sorry for what I did - it has brought me here with Y/N. But we are happy here, and unless someone comes along to threaten my family, I otherwise have no need to ever harm anyone ever again.”

She paused to look Strange in the eyes, trying to convey her sincerity. “Please Stephen, just go. Leave us in peace. This doesn’t have to be a fight. I’m so… tired… of fighting, Strange, but I want to be clear: I will never give up what is mine. I will neutralize any threat to her, or her happiness, and that includes you.”

The sorcerer couldn’t deny that Wanda looked every bit as exhausted as she suggested at this moment. Unfortunately, he still couldn’t allow the greatest threat to the multiverse that’s ever existed to continue free. Stephen believed that Wanda believed she wouldn’t do anything to hurt you, but that didn’t mean that he trusted her temper. Having already proven volatile at best, and if he left her alone with you, there was nothing stopping Wanda from going on the rampage he expected her to, should you step one toe out of line.

With a deep sigh, he looked at the ground, pondering his options, wishing there was another way. “I’m sorry, Wanda. I can’t take that risk. Not with someone as powerful as you. I’ll ask you one last time, let Y/N go, and surrender. This doesn’t have to end in blood.”

The witch tilted her head, studying him. “I’m afraid that’s where you’re wrong, Stephen.”

Purposefully she strode through the barrier to her home, no longer protected by it, able to engage if necessary. “I won’t let you take her from me. I won’t allow anyone to take her from me, ever again. I have grown so much stronger since we last fought. If you insist on your foolish crusade, this will end with your blood.

By now Wanda was mere feet in front of the sorcerer, refusing to back down. “Like you said, Strange. Last chance.” She tilted her head again, and a chill ran down Stephen’s spine at her determined, if slightly unhinged visage.

Strange sighed, moving to take a defensive stance, when suddenly the witch’s arm was protruding from his chest. He let out a surprised grunt. He hadn’t even seen her move, but he could feel the agony radiating throughout his body, proof enough that she had.

With a disgusting squelch, Wanda withdrew her hand, his heart clutched firmly within, still beating. Horror darkened the man’s face as he stared in shock. He hadn’t even seen her move, much less been able to react. How had she gotten so fast? Pain and shock prevented him from even speaking.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way, Stephen, but I told you. If you continued to come for me, it would be the Scarlet Witch you would be dealing with.” With an almost regretful look at his flabbergasted expression, Wanda crushed his heart in her hand before dropping it. What was left of the ruined organ thudded onto the ground at almost the same time his body did.

Wanda turned and began walking back towards the cottage, not looking back as she waved her hand. Red phosphenes surrounded Stephen Strange’s body as it disintegrated into ash. She neglected to take a portal this time, electing instead to take the long way to the house in the hopes the night air would steady her. It didn’t.

Eventually setting foot in your shared home, Wanda cast a glance towards the living room and was relieved to see you were clearly still enthralled with your new game. So engrossed were you, that you failed to notice Wanda, hand and arm covered in blood, as she headed towards the bathroom for a shower. Though she could have cleaned herself instantly with magic, she knew she was in no state of mind to return to you just yet. Despite how unaffected Wanda had made an effort to appear to Strange, her sins were weighing heavily on her heart. Killing someone she had once fought beside was not something she relished. Another death she was going to have to explain to you one day. Since the walk hadn’t done anything to ease her troubled heart and mind, the witch set about taking a shower. It stood to reason you would hear it and not question her continued delay, buying her time to not only clean up but hopefully also clear her head.

Her shower was longer than usual, with less time spent cleaning than simply existing. Rivulets of water ran down her face as the redhead stood beneath the showerhead, staring sight unseeing at the shower wall. A necessary evil, she told herself. That didn’t make the weight of his death any less burdensome. What was she supposed to have done? Even if she had let him go, eventually he would have come back, the insufferable pest that he was. Likely then with numbers that even the Scarlet Witch might struggle with. She couldn’t have risked that. Risked you. Never again.

Why couldn’t he have just left her well enough alone? Wanda had meant what she said: she had no intention of universe hopping anymore. All she had ever wanted was her family. Now that she had you, she could begin rebuilding that, and you were making such good progress for her. Why would she want to start over with another variant of you, when you were just… so perfect for her? She still missed your Avenger variant, but every day that hole in her heart hurt just a little less. Besides, something about you specifically had a hold on her heart in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Maybe in the beginning Wanda might.. have gone searching for another if you had not panned out as she expected. Terrible as that was to admit. Instead, from the moment she laid eyes on you before even entering into this universe, she was gripped by you. It was Fate, she was sure of it. And now? She couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Of ever even trying to find another. Out of the vast multiverse, there was only this version of you. She wanted you as you were, and she refused to let you go or allow any harm to come to you. Even if it meant protecting you from herself.

A shuddering breath was exhaled, and Wanda began slowly rinsing the blood off of her face and out of her hair. She may have left you with a video game to keep yourself entertained, but Wanda knew from experience if she wasn’t there, it wouldn’t be too long before you would come looking. Wanda had become your rock, your favorite person. You could be playing your favorite game of all time, but if Wanda was not present, you wouldn’t have nearly as much fun. It was sort of cute how you would look for her at every opportunity, unable to stand being without her for too long. She felt similarly, and hoped you knew that now.

Finally clean, and deeming herself capable of functioning again, the witch changed into her most comfortable pajamas before mindlessly making her way back to the living room where you were. Absorbed in your game as you were, you only vaguely registered Wanda’s presence returning. You scooted slightly on the couch to make room for her, without ever taking your eyes away from the screen.

“Hey, Wands!” you said, enthusiastically. “How is your project coming along?”

The former hero was not ready to speak just yet, so she simply hummed instead, and leaned against you. She took comfort in your familiar warmth, even if your arms weren’t around her just now, your presence was enough to be soothing.

The lack of a proper response caught your attention. You almost didn’t turn to look at her, being in the midst of a pivotal battle, but you were glad you did. Hazel eyes puffy and tinted pink from crying met yours. Alarmed, you immediately stopped playing, controller forgotten in your lap, the game not even paused. Turning to the older woman, you placed one hand on her arm, the other to her cheek which she leaned in to.

“Wanda? What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

Oh her precious detka, thought the witch. Always such a big heart, eager to provide comfort and aid. Perhaps if she were to tell you, maybe you would understand. Maybe you would forgive her. As she took in your concerned gaze though, she knew she wasn’t ready to risk it. Not right now. Instead, she shook her head to your question, unwilling to answer it.

“Can we not talk about it right now?” Her Sokovian accent was slightly more pronounced.

Though you were dying of curiosity as to what could bring someone so mighty to tears, you didn’t press. It’s not as if there would be something someone as powerless as you could do anything about whatever it was anyway. All you could do was ask and offer comfort. Wanda would tell you when she was ready. Until then, this was your opportunity to return some of the love and support she had provided you with, and you positively ached to bring that to her. Wordlessly, you pulled her into your arms, leaning back on the couch until she was laying atop your body. Murmuring gentle words of reassurance, you held her close, occasionally running your fingers through her auburn locks.

After a while, you grabbed the remote nearby and turned the tv from your video game to the DVD player. The Dick Van Dyke show began playing softly in the background, and Wanda’s chest bloomed with love for you at your thoughtfulness. She nuzzled further into your embrace, staying that way for the better part of the rest of the day as you both dozed intermittently.

Hours later Wanda slipped into a proper sleep, and once evening had rolled around, you took it upon yourself to cook dinner. Though you hadn’t wanted to part from the witch, she clearly needed the rest, and you wanted to surprise her by making dinner for her. Carefully you rolled her away from your chest and onto the couch instead, placing one of the pillows beneath her head. The only indication she registered any change was the slight, adorable scrunching of her nose. Why was this woman so damn cute?!

The kitchen had never been your chosen domain. Before Wanda, you were more likely to burn a pot of water than actually cook something successfully. Now you were hoping some of her lessons had rubbed off on you as you rummaged through the pantry and fridge trying to locate ingredients. With any luck you would be able to throw together and create something vaguely resembling an edible meal.

It was a pleasant surprise for you to discover that you currently had all the ingredients available to make Chicken Paprikash - Wanda’s favorite meal from her home in Sokovia. Going through her recipe note cards, it didn’t take you long to find it, and soon you were throwing seasonings in a pot along with some onions, tomatoes, peppers, and the chicken. While that was cooking, you prepared the noodles. A little under an hour later, and everything was coming together. You just hoped it wasn’t trash.

The aromatic and savory fragrance must have awoken the redhead because she sleepily padded her way into the kitchen to find her sweet surprise. You couldn’t see her yet, your back to her as you stirred the food while it simmered. Though unable to carry a tune to save your life, you were humming quietly to yourself with your earbuds firmly in place as you focused on making the delicious meal. Precious.

“Are you cooking, detka?” Wanda asked just loud enough to be heard over your music, and you jumped, startled. Blushing you turned to face the witch and grinned sheepishly.

“Uhh.. if you could call it that?” you chuckled, pulling out an earbud. “I just thought since you’re always taking such good care of me, maybe I could return the favor?” Voice lilting upwards almost in a question, hoping you hadn’t overstepped.

Moving to stand next to you and see what you had made, Wanda’s eyes widened as she took in the familiar dish. “Is this chicken paprikash?”

“Haha, yeah uhh.. my attempt at it at least?” You absentmindedly rubbed the back of your neck - a nervous tick you’re pretty sure you didn’t have as a child until you started watching anime to learn the nuances of facial expressions better. It wasn’t until well into adulthood you learned most people don’t actually do that. Embarrassed, you fought not to slap your own arm, and instead simply lower it like a normal person.

“I hope I didn’t butcher it too badly. I tried to follow the recipe you had on the card since we had all the ingredients, but I can’t speak to the integrity of the dish as I haven’t tasted it yet. Besides, you're the true connoisseur here, so even if it seems okay to me, your superior palate might be able to tell the difference.” The joke rolls easily off your tongue, followed by a quick wink.

To you this was no big deal, you were just trying to be kind. But to Wanda? This was the sweetest thing anybody had ever done for her, and it reminded her almost of when she taught your Avenger variant how to make the dish. The other you had never tried to make it for her in return however, opting simply to learn about the meal while Wanda cooked. Now, looking at the beautiful dinner you had created for her, simply because it was her favorite and might cheer her up, Wanda felt her heart about to burst with affection for you.

Unable to hold back, deft fingers gripped your neck softly, quickly pulling you in for a searing kiss. Pouring all her love, affection, and appreciation into the kiss. You were surprised, but not unhappy with this turn of events. It hadn’t been your goal, per se, a kiss from the woman you were coming to love. However, if she wasn’t melancholic anymore, then you considered your goal accomplished. Your arms came to wrap around her neck, though you were careful to keep the spoon from making contact with her clothing or hair, you had heard her take a shower earlier and didn’t want to ruin that for her.

The kiss simmered into something soft and sweet. Meanwhile your food, unfortunately, was starting to bubble over. Hearing it, the pair of you sprung apart, with you frantically pulling the pot off the eye of the stove, stirring it to return to the intended consistency. Embarrassed and amused, you both burst into giggles at the almost mishap.

“Thank you, Y/N. This is incredibly sweet of you, I-” The redhead pauses, unable to eloquently convey everything she felt in that moment. “Just, thank you.”

The wattage of your smile could have been seen from space; you were so happy. “Of course, Wands! Any time.”

While you turned off the stove, Wanda set the table so you could begin plating your dinner. Jokes and laughter flowed easily between you as you both enjoyed your meal. Wanda, who never doubted your cooking skills, though you are pleasantly surprised, enjoyed that the paprikash is not only edible but rather delicious.

As you and Wanda settled into the domesticity of it all, the witch found her heart becoming light once again. So incredibly kind and thoughtful, you brought her joy, and filled her with hope. She resolved then and there to tell you everything one day. Deserving of that much at the very least, Wanda prayed, hoping, with all her being, that you would forgive her when the truth was finally revealed. For now though she sank into the warmth and comfort you provided, falling for you just a little more with each grin you flashed her way.

A/N 2: I’m not proud of what I had Wanda do in this, but I still have some left-over rage for how Stephen treated Wanda. All she needed was a little empathy, especially from the man who made the call to allow the events with Thanos and the Mind stone to play out as they did, basically letting Vision die. For no good reason. No you can’t convince me he was right. Its lazy plot writing that out of thousands and thousands of possibilities, none of them could have involved sparing Vision, or at least making his death mean something. I’m a Wanda apologist first and foremost, and I will die on this hill. Wanda deserved better, especially from those she called “friends”. Also, I stan women’s wrongs 😛

Taglist: I remembered this time!! @dorabledewdroop

#Wanda maximoff x reader #dark!wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x f!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #dark!wanda maximoff #dark!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda x reader #dark wanda x reader #yandere!Wanda #yandere wanda maximoff #wanda x y/n #wanda x you #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader

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acocktailmoment · 1 month

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Death in the Afternoon !

Ingredients:

1 ounce (2 tablespoons) absinthe

1 teaspoon simple syrup

4 ounces (½ cup) Champagne or Prosecco

Instructions:

Pour the absinthe and simple syrup into a cocktail glass. Top it off with the sparkling wine.

Symple Syrup recipes:

Ingredients:

½ cup sugar

½ cup water

Instructions:

Add the sugar and water to a saucepan and heat over medium heat.

Stir until the sugar is dissolved, about 1 to 2 minutes. Remove from the heat before it simmers (or when the temperature reaches 140°F). Cool to room temperature before using. Store refrigerated in a sealed container for 1 month.

Courtesy: A Couple Cooks

This article was not sponsored or supported by a third-party. A Cocktail Moment is not affiliated with any individuals or companies depicted here.

#art #design #cocktails #drinks #cocktail #cocktail recipes #recipes #drink recipes #drink #absinthe #sugar #champagne

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clockwayswrites · 1 year

Text

Shadow of A Bat- Ch 2 snippet

Chapter one is up on ao3 (including scenes not posted here).

It was only afternoon, and Bruce was already in the Cave. Phantom was proud that he knew that it was the afternoon. He was also proud that he could tell that even though they were in the cave, this Bruce and not Batman. Not yet at least. He could see the easy slope of Bruce’s shoulders, the way the eyes weren’t tense, the casual way Bruce looked through the files.

He’d been getting better at noticing things.

He’d been getting better at everything.

The longer he spent in Bruce’s shadow the easier it all became. Yes, sure, there were still days where he lost sense of everything. There were moments when he was still terrified, but even those were less and less and shorter and shorter.

On days he was he was feeling especially good, he even left Bruce’s shadow.

Today was a good day, he thought. He took a moment to make sure that Bruce’s tea was still warm before he drifted up out of the Cave to find someone else to be with.

With time, Phantom had come to see the other members of the family as safe. Not as safe as Bruce (he was still the safest), but when he spent time with the others he was able to experience things that he didn’t get to with Bruce.

His favorite to spend time with was Alfred; Alfred who felt of warm and safety and spice. With Alfred he could watch the other cook. Phantom was pretty sure that cooking like this was something new to him and it was nice to have something that didn’t pull at his mind demanding he remember remember remember.

Remembering was exhausting.

So getting to be with Alfred when he cooked was nice. Phantom drifted towards the kitchen, rather sure that Alfred would be making dinner at this point or be soon to. He had visited Alfred in the afternoon before, but usually he saw him in the morning when the rest of the manor was still asleep (or begrudgingly waking up).

Phantom felt… complicated about mornings. He didn’t really know if he liked them much, but he did like watching the sun rise and feeling warmth sweep over him. And he liked being with Alfred as the other sipped on tea and watched it with him.

Well, Phantom liked to think that they watched it together.

In reality, he didn’t know if Alfred noticed him at all. He hadn’t been… as cautious lately. Not since that night on the roof when he thought he had lost Batman. But then Batman had come back from him and hummed to him and Phantom, after thinking on it later, felt pretty certain that Batman knew he was there. And the other hadn’t turned him in or tried to capture him or run any experiments.

So cautiously, Phantom started to show himself just a little more. To the one of silent death he would sometimes hum back now. Just barely. When the laughing one was there, it sometimes turned onto a quiet song in the round. With the one who was always focused, he worked to keep the coffee warm. For the one who’s emotions were so loud yet so controlled,Phantom would tidy up the art corner now and then. With the bright one, he was a presence when the others were others were busy.

The eldest two— oh, they were older brothers. Yes, Phantom understood that now. The thought made his heart ache, though he didn’t know why. The eldest two were around less, but he would curl up with the one scarred by rage who would sometimes read out loud. And the golden one was always a distraction when Phantom needed it. A few times he had even bravely foolishly rolled a ball back to him. It seemed to make the other happy.

And they all would just talk sometimes.

Phantom liked to think they were talking to him.

(Sometimes he was was almost sure they might be.)

Now he passed through the closed door to the kitchen. Alfred was sitting at the island, flipping through a collection of hand written recipes. Phantom darted over, jumping between the shadows. He made a little game out of not touching any of the smaller black diamond shaped tiles inset into the floor. Settling in next to Alfred, hidden in the shadow of the vase, he reached out to warm up Alfred’s tea.

Alfred reached out for the tea a moment later and hummed as he wrapped his hands around the warm cup. “I’m thinking perhaps the vegetarian lasagna for tonight. It is a bit chilly outside, and the lasagna will be rather warm and filling for the family. Perhaps I should see if Master Dick and Master Jason would wish to stop by for dinner. They both do like the dish and it would be rather nice to have a full house.”

Phantom gave soft little trill, the sound involuntary.

That did sound nice.

“Yes, I think that would be good. I had best get to work then,” Alfred said and set his tea down. He draped his jacket over the stool he vacated and rolled up his sleeves.

Bruce glanced at the notification that flashed up on the screen. It was a message from Alfred that the ‘little shadow’, as Dick had taken to calling the entity, was in the kitchen and seemed content to stay there for a bit while Alfred cooked.

Despite the potential risk an unknown entity still posed, Bruce and his family had been pleased by the increased interaction from the entity. They hoped it meant the little shadow was feeling safer there with them.

Bruce credited a great deal of it to Cass’ suggestion that they speak some of their thoughts out loud to the entity. Of course, at first they couldn’t always be sure when they had company, even if there was often a feeling of it, so there was a great deal of time they were truly talking to themselves.

They all agreed it was small sacrifice to make, especially after Jason had, hesitantly, admitted that he felt pain from the entity.

Since the entity was currently occupied, Bruce took the moment of isolation to call up to the Watchtower. He had been careful with what he accessed when the entity was around. This was both for security reasons, but also to keep the entity from having to hear about the GIW Labs.

“J’onn.”

“Batman. Your timing is is impeccable, as always.”

“The process has finished?”

All of the data they had been able to retrieve from the lab had, of course, been encrypted. Harder to overcome was that a good portion of it had also been partially destroyed in the self destruct process of the lab. They had recovered much of database already, but any video files had been undergoing a lengthier process of defragmentation. It seemed it was done.

“Yes,” J’onn said with a gravity that was sever even for the Martian.

“They’re what we expected?” Bruce rumbled.

“That and worse. I suggest you watch them alone.”

“Understood, send the files through.”

-----

AN: Apparently, I completely failed at getting the tag list up to date on this one, so people who asked to be tagged for the ao3 posting announcement did not. I should have everyone now? If you are not on the list and want to be (and please check first), just let me know. Not sure how that happened. Those who only wanted the ao3 notice (second group), I'll remove you after this unless you'd like to be kept on for snippets. (If your name is tiny, you are unable to be tagged).

Anywho, been poking at the right way to handle this chapter, but I think it's getting there! Sorry for all the mistakes, the endless migraine continues. I'll likely have it on ao3 next week or the week after. Stay delightful!

#dp x dc #eldritch!danny #danny phantom #batman #alfred pennyworth #shadow of a bat

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cookiesupplier · 5 months

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Hell Ain't So Bad - Part Eleven

pairing: Noah Sebastian x ofc (Ellie),

warnings/tropes: slow burn, smut (eventually), angst, fluff, mentions of death, mentions of torture, thoughts of religious ideology, minor violence and swearing.

summary: Ellie was lost in the world, homeless with no idea what to do and nowhere to go.. Who would have thought that one day, she’d end up working in hell itself.. And what does this even mean?

author’s note: Unbetaed, readers beware.. if you want to chat with me about ideas/theories for this story I'm open to it, my asks are always open as well.

tags: @spicywhenspeaking @bngurngheart @cncohshit @valiantroeagleangel @blackveilomens @dominuslunae @tearfallpixie @nyxthedestroyerofworlds @wild-child-7747

Tags are open feel free to ask.

“When I’m done with you, all of Hell will know exactly who you belong to.”

Noah’s words rattle around in her head and she couldn’t get them out. Not that she’d gotten a moment to respond to him after he’d said them, he’d smirked, and teleported away, the coward, or the genius really considered she’d been prepared to slap him, or at least attempt worse, for the audacity of claiming to suggest that she belonged to him! If you thought about it, they’d met less than a day ago.

The nerve.

After Folio stopped laughing, which she didn’t appreciate at all thank you very much. He suggested they order something for lunch, that eating might make her feel better.

She hated that he had been right.

It also made her feel better when Folio helped her flick through a catalogue to find a bat to order so the next time Noah just showed up she’d have something to use on him when he got fresh. It was nice to have a bit of a partner in crime of sorts. Folio was starting to feel like that hyperactive little brother she’d never had, even if he wasn’t remotely younger than her she’d learned, he’d been about her age even before he died. He’d passed quite a few years ago, he wasn't sure on an exact number thanks to his time in punishment, but it was years.

It was probably selfish of her, but she was glad he didn’t want to reincarnate yet. The thought of losing him while she was here she didn’t think it would be the same. She might have only been here for days, and already the boys had made a mark on her that she didn’t want to lose. Of course, Noah’s mark, that was something else, and she didn’t know what to do with him.

Smiling over to Folio after she ordered her brand new baseball bat, a metal one at that. Next time a soul, or Noah, got fresh with her, she’d be ready to deal with them.

By the time she was ready to go home in the afternoon, and they were handing over to the later shift, Folio asked if she was up for a night out again, and Ellie had laughed. Oh no, she was going home tonight, after doing a proper grocery shop, maybe cooking dinner for herself, real food.. She hadn’t made dinner for herself in so long. Smiling at the thought.. Folio had just shrugged, smiled, with a suit yourself, saluted her with his cheeky grin and was out the door.

Jolly however asked if she wanted company to show her where the best shops were, it was so simple a question, but thoughtful that he was looking out for her. She accepted immediately. He’d walked with her to the shops, and they’d just chatted about the day, and the night before, how she was feeling about settling in. How she was looking forward to actually getting to make her own food. He’d chuckled at that, saying he never cooked, considering he didn’t pay for anything, why would he take the time to cook.

Rolling her eyes, she’d just grinned and after they were done shopping for food, dragged him back to her apartment to make him dinner. To thank him for helping her, he was getting a home cooked meal.

She was in the kitchen, chopping up different vegetables with Jolly sitting on the island counter top drinking a beer while she did.

“So, I learned this recipe trick from volunteering at a soup kitchen. Before, everything went to shit. It was a great way to get as much nutrients in the food as possible, quick, easy, and I could add all kinds of vegetables in the mix. The best part, if your sneaky enough, someone like Folio, can barely tell.”

She was making Spaghetti Bolognese,

“All he’d taste is the meat and tomatoes, and it’d be all pasta cheesy goodness for him and think it’s all kinds of wonderful. Least in my opinion. Watch me make enough to heat up for lunch tomorrow, and he’ll never know just how much healthier it is, mister we can’t be friends if I’m a health nut.”

Grinning over to Jolly with that, and the man just chuckled as he swallowed a mouthful of his beer,

“Alright, you’re on.”

She was sure she’d win that one, and even if she didn’t, Folio would enjoy a nice home cooked meal just the same, she was sure of it. Sure it would be with a touch of complaining if he caught her out. She could handle a little bit of complaining just fine. Really though, she hoped that he liked it, the boys had been so nice to her, she wanted to do something nice for them, and this was something she could do. It didn’t feel like much, especially when they could just pick up the phone and order delivery food from down the road for free, but it was something.

Sighing as she chopped up the vegetables, she felt Jolly watching her carefully, looking up from the knife, pausing so she didn’t so something stupid like chop off one of her fingers or something, she caught him,

“What?”

Jolly just looked at her with a raised eyebrow for a moment not saying anything,

“What, you want to say something, it’s all over your face, what?”

The smile that crossed his face then was telling, she was right.

“So now you can read minds now too?”

That thought made her chuckle, hell had an effect it would have her seem.

“No, I can’t tell what your thinking, just that you want to say something, go on, say it Jolly. You've got your serious face on, I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

As she spoke, she went back to her vegetable chopping, ready to listen to what he had to say, hoping that she really could take what he was about to send her way. So far over the last few days, Hell had thrown quite a few curve balls at her, and it would be nice for something not to come at her like a wrecking ball tonight.

“What exactly happened last night, between you and Noah? That you remember anyway, aside from the teasing.”

She sighed, that much was obvious she guessed. She didn’t know if Jolly was looking out for her, or Noah, but at least she wasn’t getting a lecture for being stupid about it today, or Folio making fun of her with all his laughter this morning.

“He walked me home, we were talking, I’ve remembered more through the day. We were talking about what makes him different as a demon to a human, and how he looks as a demon, and he said something.. And I.. reacted.”

She didn’t look up from her actions as she was adding the chopped vegetables to her pot as she continued. Her cheeks flushed so warm, rosy red as she thought about what happened next during the night before.

“If I remember correctly, I ah, he’s right, I pretty much stripped, tried to seduce him, and now he apparently thinks I belong to him.”

Rolling her eyes,

“Possessive bastard.”

Too bad that was actually rather hot to think about. Still at the same time, she’d been down that road before, and didn’t she want to go down that one again. Her college boyfriend had not ended very well. She’d thought she was in love with him, they’d been together for over two years before she realised that everything she thought she knew about their relationship was a lie. He’d been possessive, controlling, and she’d convinced herself at the time that it was because he loved her, but it was all lies in the end, and it was just…

“He can be a bit much sometimes, but he means well.”

Her eyes flickered up to Jolly when he said that. He means well. Now where had she heard that before? Her hand stilled with her knife as she just looked at Jolly, hmm, well, oh, everywhere.

“Noah isn’t just Nicholas’ best friend, they’re practically brother’s. I know you think he is an arrogant arsehole, and sometimes he can be, but other times it can be a product of his age. I don’t know for certain how old he is, but I have narrowed it down that they are both at least a few centuries old.”

Smirking a little,

“He can be beyond frustrating, but at the same time, so many lower demons flocking towards him constantly because of his position, puts so much pressure on him. Noah has worked so hard for where he is, but I don’t think he expected never to have a moment of peace.”

While she supposed that Nicholas was old, and a lord too, he worked a lot in the human world, and with souls, and, maybe other demons wouldn’t see that the same way they would see what Noah did. That was actually kind of offensive, assholes. Making sure souls transitioned, good or bad, was just as important as punishing those that deserved it as far as she was concerned. Then again, she was someone on the outside looking in, she wasn’t a denizen of Hell that had been around here for hundreds of years, and never would be. To her, to judge someone just on their job, was rather offensive.

It would be suggesting the bartender last night was more important than the girl that made her coffee yesterday morning, which was horrible. She called bullshit on that one. Living on the street had taught her that everyone was valuable, and anyone that thought otherwise, they were the people that had less of a value in the world.

The same could be said for hell it would seem.

“Let me guess, this is all a round about way of you telling me I should at least give Noah a chance?”

Raising an eyebrow as she started stirring the pot of Bolognese sauce, now that the water on the stove was boiling however, she added the spaghetti pasta to the pot and let the pasta cook.

“Just a chance, Sweetheart. Besides, from what I can tell, the only thing he did wrong last night is bruise your ego.”

Smirking a little at slight glare she sent his way in return.

“If I tell you I hate your cooking, are you going to turn on me next?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, chuckling slightly,

“Okay okay, point taken, but Noah doesn’t have to be an ass about it.”

Taking in a breath as she stirred the pot of sauce, she would give Noah a chance. She knew what she was going to do.

Once they had finished dinner Jolly had headed home, and she had made plenty, enough that she packed up some containers to take for lunch the next day for them. Hey, she had a point to make now to Jolly, but either way, she was sure it would go well with Folio.

Looking down to the phone that she’d found left in the apartment, in it were a couple of numbers, and a message from Nicholas, one of the numbers belongs to none other than Noah.

She opened a new text thread and then paused. Staring at the blinking cursor on her screen on her phone for a long moment, considering what she should say, wondering, if she had his number, did he have hers? If she waited, would he call her? Did she want to wait? Did she want to let him control this?

No. She didn’t want to let him control this, she didn’t want to let him have control over the situation when he so obviously thought he had so much control over her in other ways. Claiming that she belonged to him and all. No. In this, she wanted to have at least a little bit of control, and if it was it was only in that she was the one that said something first, then it was at least it was a touch of control. She’d take that much. Smiling to herself she tapped out a message on her phone to him.

Ellie: Noah, are you free tomorrow night? Ellie: This is Ellie btw Noah: I don’t know BabyGirl, am I free? Ellie: I’m trying to ask you out don’t be a smartass. Ellie: Only I don’t know what’s good to do here. Noah: I’ll take care of that, and yes, I’m free. Noah: Pick you up at six.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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wardenparker · 1 year

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 13

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.

Rating: Explicit for references to violence. 18+ Word Count: 7.6k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Angst, guilt, possible unwanted pregnancy, lies, nausea/illness, talk of abortion, anxiety, canon typical injuries. Summary: Your return from New York is bumpy to say the least, and things to awry that no one ever could have predicted. Notes: This chapter is short but packed with intensity, which only means one time. I once again cried during the entire edit 🧡

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Jack taps on his thigh impatiently as he waits, the jet steadily sinking towards the ground. He had decided to come to the airstrip to collect you, especially since there had been no text from you beyond that simple text last night before you had gone out with the girls. He hadn’t expected you to stay on your phone but he had anticipated a text Goodnight. When it hadn’t come, he stayed awake, only falling asleep when he had checked your location to find you back in the hotel. There’s a feeling he gets when something’s not right, he had it the morning you disappeared. That sinking, curdling feeling in his stomach. The threat of bile in the back of his throat. That same feeling has saved his skin more times than he can count and he wonders why he has it now as the Statesman jet touches down.

The decision to cut the trip short and come back after one day had been easy, thankfully. Sophia was being called in to start a case and you weren’t feeling too jolly anyway, so the three of you had packed it in on the afternoon of the second day and come home. The last thing you expected to find when you stepped out of the plane was Jack waiting on the tarmac in the Bronco, but he’s there in all his glory making the guilt and worry churn inside you with every step you take closer to him.

You don’t look happy to see him, but Jack keeps the easy smile on his face as climbs out of the Bronco and waves to all three of you, his eyes firmly landed on you though.

“Hey.” Swallowing the bile and fear welling up in your throat, you step onto solid ground with a quick farewell to your girls and acknowledge that your plan of heading straight to Ginger’s lab is now sunk.

“Hey.” Jack watches the way that your eyes shift over towards Gabi and Sophia. “I’m not spoilin’ plans am I? The tower called and said the plane was comin’ back tonight so I wanted to make sure you got home.” The unspoken question of why you didn’t tell him you were coming home lingers in the air.

“Of course not. Nothing to spoil.” Lying to him makes you feel like you’re going to choke on each word, but how could you do anything else? How can you tell him what you’re afraid of? It’s impossible - it would ruin everything. So you force a smile and lead the way back to the Bronco on wobbly legs. “I was going to come and surprise you, but you beat me to it.”

“Hopefully it’s a good idea.” Something is wrong. There’s a nervous tremor to your voice and he doesn’t know what would put it there. “Tired from a wild trip?”

“A little.” Mostly you’re tired from your own frayed nerves, but you let him take your suitcase and get into the truck when he holds your door open a moment later. “We were out late and then up early again this morning.”

“So what you really want is a soak in the tub and the bed?” He asks, shooting you a small smirk. It’s been nearly a week since he’s touched you and he wants to desperately.

“Actually? That sounds pretty amazing.” If he thinks you’re tired - which you are, but emotionally - he might not push tonight. And you don’t want to have to deny him because Jack is still Jack and you want that intimacy with him; but you’re terrified of what might be going on with you and you won’t have an answer until you can go see Astrid.

“I’m more than willin’ to throw in a massage.” Jack climbs in beside you and the second his hand hits your thigh, you tense. Making him pause for a moment in shock. You’ve never tensed around him, not even when you were freshly recovering from your injuries.

“I think I’m still a little hungover.” Lying again makes you feel like you could burst out crying on the spot, but you know he felt the way you froze at his touch and you’re about twenty seconds away from just confessing everything. At least you’re honestly queasy - that would come with the hangover but instead it’s fear. Or the baby…who knows.

“Okay.” Jack slowly slides his hand away from your thigh, making it seem as if it’s a part of starting the Bronco and turning around, but he’s perfectly capable of doing that one handed.

The drive home is quiet – silent except for the sound of the engine and the quiet classic rock playing through the radio like usual. They’re the sounds of home, and you should be chattering away at him about your trip or deciding what to have for dinner tonight but you just feel like a lump of anxieties in that front seat with him. It’s not until the house is in view that you open your mouth again. “Sophia got called up. I—I didn’t know if you knew or not.”

“Yeah– uh,” Jack drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’m going with her.”

“Wha—” You look over at him in confusion and see the set look of worry on his face. “I didn’t know you’d passed your tests. That’s—that’s great, honey. You’ve been dying to get back in the field.”

“Yeah, I finished them up yesterday.” Jack tells you awkwardly. “Didn’t seem the type of thing to text and we didn’t talk.”

“Right.” That’s your fault, and you swallow the guilt harshly. “Well…congratulations.”

“Figured I’d go out and do a field assessment on Sophia and give her a little back up.” Jack hums, wondering why you are being so stiff. “Promised Tex I’d look after her.”

“She applied for Statesman status.” Talking about friends is good. It doesn’t fuel the fire of fear in your belly the same way. “Champ probably wants your assessment before he signs the final paperwork.”

“Yeah. That’s the plan.” Jack chuckles, “the kid is worryin’ me to death about it.” He tells you. “Talkin’ about how he doesn’t want to be away from his soulmate. ‘Specially since they are talkin’ about trying for a little one. Says he’s eager to father his soulmate’s babies.” If you weren’t acting strange, it could be a segue way in to a conversation about kids for you and him. But he decides to leave it.

“O—oh, I…Soph hasn’t mentioned it.” All the attention during the trip had been on the dresses and on getting you to feel better, which was an impossible task. “Good for them,” you manage to say the words without being sick, which is better than you thought.

“Might be Tex projectin’ a little. Man wants to be a daddy.” He chuckles again and the silence falls between the two of you again as he parks the Bronco in front of the house.

That feeling of dread pulls at your now perpetually upset stomach, tearing you out of your seat and making you run in the front door as fast as humanly possible to make it to the bathroom before you’re sick all over the front walk or living room. You have no doubt that Tex does want to be a father. You had even talked about it with him at different points, from the point of view of an excited friend. Knowing that you might be the one to make it happen instead of Sophia - instead of his soulmate - has you clinging to the toilet bowl as you hear Jack’s boots rumble across the ground floor of the house.

“Sugar?” Jack frowns, hearing the obvious signs of sickness and the dread that threatens to overtake him nearly has him stuck in place. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” The tears in your eyes are easily dismissible with being sick, even as you’re choking back sobs. “Hangover.” Is your weak excuse, hoping he buys it.

Jack is a lot of things but slow ain’t one of them. He distinctly remembers the night your breasts were sore and you’ve been tired and feelin’ poorly. He’s also pretty damn good at math. Stumbling back from the downstairs bathroom, he swallows down the urge to break something or someone. “I– I’ll go run you that bath then.”

“Thanks…” The fact that he didn’t come in is a blessing, but you’re still pretty sure that you heard hurt in his voice. Some piece of shit soulmate you are…

He feels kind of sick himself, turning around and racing upstairs as he tries to rationalize the information he has. It’s hard to, though. You’re pregnant. You’re pregnant and it’s not his. He closes his eyes after he turns on the water to the tub and sighs.

You stay downstairs a while, getting yourself back under control and rinsing out your mouth before you slog up to the master bathroom with the big claw footed bathtub where Jack is sitting looking gray in the face. “Absinthe…” you shrug like it explains everything, even though you didn’t drink at all after the play. “I took the girls to a 30s bar last night…”

“Yeah.” Jack huffs a flat laugh. “I–I gotta go pack. So I’ll leave you to rest.” He pushes off the small little seat that you had told him was for a makeup area and swallows.

“When are you leaving?” Despite not exactly being ready to have a heart-to-heart with him, you so desperately want to just launch yourself into his arms and beg forgiveness. Beg that he not call off the wedding. Promise him that you have a solution. But you’re too frozen.

“I– we were going to leave tomorrow morning, but I’m going to go early.” Jack offers. “Scout the situation.”

“So you’re leaving tonight?” It’s a punch in your already roiling gut, but you nod.

He isn’t. He’s going to go sit in his office and try not to drive himself crazy. But he can’t stay near you and not ask questions. “Yeah.”

“Do you know how long you’ll be gone?” You can’t ask him where he’s going, or why, or anything about the mission, but a general time frame could be helpful. It would let you know how long you have to recover.

“Not sure. Week, maybe more.” Jack shrugs, not looking directly at you. “Sorry, sugar, but I know you won’t even notice I’m gone. You got the restaurant to baby and –” he chokes on his choice of words and coughs to cover it up. “You’ll be so busy you won’t have time to miss me.”

“That’s not true.” As riddled with fear and anxiety and guilt and everything else as you are, you’re all of those things because you love him. And because you really don’t go a single minute of any day without thinking about him. “Of course I’ll miss you.”

“It’s– it’ll be okay.” It’s more towards himself than you but he manages a small smile. “I promise.”

“Do you at least want me to make dinner?” There’s a scrambling in your thoughts that you can’t account for. He’s slipping away, you can feel it, but you have a plan to fix it. You just need to put it in motion.

“Nah, sugar.” Jack shakes his head, knowing he can’t eat right now. “You aren’t feelin’ good. You relax. I’ll be packed up and out of your hair in a jiffy.”

“Okay.” Something about him is off but you can’t put your finger on it. He just seems jittery. Hopefully it’s just you projecting or your imagination. Jack is already out in the hall by the time you murmur, “I love you,” and you sigh heavily before you start to undress.

In the closet, Jack closes his eyes and tries to remind himself to breathe. He had caused this. He had pushed you away and caused you to date. Because of his unwillingness to admit your connection. It was his fault you are pregnant with a child that isn’t his.

Once you’re in the tub you can hear him moving around in the adjoining closet, packing things and presumably going about his business as normal. The jasmine-scented bath he drew for you is as cozy as it could possibly get, and any other time you would have begged him to join you. There would have been candles and music and glasses of something smooth and heady to drink while you lazily rode him right here in this tub. And the fact that you’re not doing that right now has you staring silently at your silver-painted toenails when you finally hear him in the hallway again.

“Sugar, I’m all packed.” For some reason, he can’t go into the bathroom. Not when you’re vulnerable. He calls out through the closed door. “I’m gunna head out.”

“O–okay.” You know that any other time, you would just pop out of the bath and run into the hallway, but you can’t. You’re rooted to porcelain and fresh tears start falling immediately. “I love you,” you manage, this time loud enough for him to hear.

Jack closes his eyes, leaning against the door frame with his arm braced above his head as his forehead is against the jam. “I love you too, sugar.” He murmurs, the affirmation coming through low but clear. It’s almost ominous, a goodbye. “Be good.” He sighs and pushes away from the door, the bag hooked over his shoulder as he turns and walks away.

The fall of boot steps and the closing of the front door make your volatile stomach drop all over again, and you reach for your phone after wiping your hands on a towel. You need this over with. To Astrid, you type out as vague a message as you can just in case she shows it to Gabi or asks her if anything happened on the trip: “Hey honey! I don’t want to interrupt your night, but would you be able to put aside time for me to stop by the lab in the morning? I’d like to ask your opinion on something. Thanks!”

The text comes back only seconds later. "I've always got time for you. Drop by anytime in the morning and we can have some coffee together."

******

You have to force yourself to wait, the next morning. It was impossible to sleep through the worry and without Jack there, and you blew through an entire novel overnight before showering, putting on clean clothes, and getting yourself out the door to the lab. The door swishes open dramatically but you still knock on the frame, holding two cups from the Statesman cafeteria when you cautiously step inside. Yours is chamomile tea for the seemingly endless nausea, but hers is that quad shot almond milk mocha latte that she loves so much. “Morning,” you murmur quietly when she looks up.

"Hi." Gabi had said that you had been acting strangely, and the slightly wane, waxy set to your face shows that you have been dealing with things. "How are you feeling?" She accepts the cup and takes a sip as she watches you closely.

“Not great.” That’s a fucking understatement, but at least it’s honest. “I need to ask you for a favor, Astrid. Two favors, really. But I need to ask you to keep this entirely between us. Not even Gabi or Jack can ever know.”

Frowning, she pushes her glasses up further on her face, taking this as a more 'business than pleasure' visit. "You have my word and discretion." She promises. "Are you hurt? Did you have a flashback from your visit to New York?"

“No.” Sitting down on the other side of her desk, your hands cradle your cup of tea until they get too jittery and you have to set it down in front of you. Astrid is your friend. She’s Jack’s friend. And now you’re asking her to put the longer-running of the two relationships aside. It’s enough to bring fresh tears, which you breathe away steadily. “I think…” Another shaky exhale has you look down at your hands when you can’t look her in the eyes. “I think I might be…pregnant.” You tell her quietly.

"Oh!" At first the sound is happy, until she reads the moment and slumps back in her chair when the wave of melancholy hits. "Ooohhh." She bites her lip, understanding that with the timing of this, you are not happy. How could you be? The probability of knowing you were pregnant with Jack's child are statistically very low. She sets her coffee down and reaches out to touch your hand. "First thing’s first." She murmurs quietly. "If you are, it will be okay." She assures you quietly.

“No. It won’t.” It should be so comforting to have her reach out, but instead you feel like the act of familiarity is a burn. You jerk away awkwardly before slumping forward again. “The last time I had my period was the week before I slept with Tex. That was months ago. There’s…there’s no way it could be Jack’s and I—I—” If you could get through even a sentence without crying it would be a miracle, but even when you practiced it at home it was impossible. “I know there’s a tiny chance. I just…if I am…is there a way to find out whose it is?”

"Yes there is." Astrid nods, her heart breaking for you, with you, over this. "Would you–" she pauses. "It would take only a few hours in the chamber." She tells you quietly. "If you didn't want to–"

“If it’s not Jack’s, I can’t.” Grateful that you’re not the one who had to say it, you still shudder at the reality of the situation. “What are the alternatives, really? Have Tex’s baby? Have your brother’s baby? I—I don’t— I don’t even think I could live with myself, and Jack sure as fuck would not still marry me, soulmate or otherwise.” It all comes tumbling out, the fears and anxieties, and you find yourself scratching viciously at your arms again as your breathing goes shallow – another panic attack bubbling out of your throat at the thought of losing Jack for any reason.

“I don’t think he would go that far.” Astrid tells you quietly. Would Jack be devastated? Oh yes he would. But he’s also a man who accepts mistakes because he’s made plenty of his own. Especially where you are concerned.

“I need to know, Astrid.” As quiet as your voice is, at least it’s determined. “Because I can’t do that to Jack.”

“We can find that out quick enough.” She promises, patting your hand and standing up. “Why don’t you go get undressed and put on a gown.” She offers, motioning towards the table in the corner.

“Thank you.” It feels like walking to your own death sentence as you disappear to change and sit down on the exam table on the far side of the lab. The thing is…you have to know. You have to. And that’s enough to make you sick all over again.

Astrid keeps her emotions in check and moves efficiently as she prepares for the exam. The machine will do most of it. She moves over and touches your shoulder. “Lay back, okay?”

“Okay.” The best you can do is to remind yourself to breathe, but even that is hard right now.

As soon as you lay back, Astrid presses a button on her table and a line of laser light starts scanning over your body. “Hold still.” She urges when you twitch. “It won’t hurt.”

Presumably the laser doesn’t care if you continue to shed a few anxious tears, but you keep the rest of your body still as it travels. Whatever comes next, you just have to promise yourself that you’ll handle it before Jack comes home. That everything will be done by the time Jack comes home.

Ginger’s face doesn’t give anything away as she studies the tablet, punching the screen with her fingers and she looks up. “There’s going to be a needle for a quick blood draw.” She tells you, not wanting you to be upset if you aren’t expecting it.

“Okay.” Whatever she needs to do, that’s what is going to happen. Right now it just matters that you keep breathing.

The needle is small and the amount of blood taken even smaller. Just enough to run the labs and confirm what she can already see. You wince but you don’t say anything and when the machine moves away, she gravitates towards you. “Let’s get you redressed and then we can talk.” She murmurs softly.

“Okay.” The word passes your lips one more time and you lift yourself up from the table to shaky legs. Frankly it’s a miracle you’re as functional as you are, and you step back behind the partition to put your clothes on silently.

She triple checks the test and when you come back around the small partition, there is a small cup of pills waiting for you. “Here.” She offers.

“What are these?” It doesn’t really matter. You’ll take them no matter what. But if she’s giving you pills to end an unwanted pregnancy, you at least want to observe the moment with some seriousness.

“Some vitamins. Your vitamin B and C levels are low. A Valium to help you relax and sleep.”

“H-how long will the blood work take?” Everything at Statesman - and everything in this lab - is state of the art, but that doesn’t mean knowledge is magical or instant. You take the pills that Astrid is holding out to you and brace yourself for however long she might say you have to wait.

“I’ve got the results back.” She assures you softly, smiling at you. “The blood work and the ultrasound tell me that you are not pregnant.”

For a second you just stare at her. You were convinced. You were sure that you had ruined the very best thing in your life. And now that it isn’t true, the relief you feel punches through you like some kind of Eldritch horror. “You’re—” The tears are different this time, still hot and angry when they come down your face in sheets, but now you’re only angry at yourself for ruining the last few days with the people you love. “You’re sure?” You ask, hiccuping between great, bulbous tears.

“Your womb is clear, there’s no evidence of an ectopic pregnancy. Your hCG levels are low, no chance of pregnancy. I ran the test three times to confirm. You are not pregnant.” She promises, turning the screen around so you can see the ultrasound of your stomach and the test results.

“So I was just…sick?” The screen she shows you is like a perversely high tech version of the ultrasound information you remember from going to the doctor with your sister years ago, so you have some vague notion of what you would see if the test was positive. This, though? This is perfectly normal. Like your body has never even heard of the concept of a baby in the first place. The hand that instinctively moves to cover your stomach goes there out of disbelief, and you lay back on the table with a tight sigh.

“You’ve been under a lot of stress and –” Astrid shakes her head and sighs softly, berating herself. “Sometimes with the healing of traumatic injuries, the side effects of the hyperbaric chamber can be….odd.” She explains. “I thought Jack told you.”

“He did.” He had been very careful to warn you, in fact. “But we just thought my side effect was how tired I was that week.”

“Your body is vastly different from Jack's, especially considering his injury was brain trauma.” Ginger rationalizes. “Yours was more physically manifested and it makes sense that your reproductive cycle has been thrown off.”

“Stress and healing.” All you can do is accept it, especially when the alternative is…alarming. After spending 48 hours panicking about the possibilities, are you really…upset that the answer wasn’t a little month-old fetus genetically encoded with Jack’s soft, coffee-colored eyes and adorable single dimple? Honestly? You really might be…

Ginger’s eyes are quizzical, tilting her head at the riot of emotions crossing your face. “Are you– disappointed?”

“I—don’t know,” you admit softly, staring up at the ceiling so that you don’t have to see the concern on her face.

“It has to be confusing.” She pats your shoulder again. “I know that you have been stressed. I don’t want you going in today. Take the day and relax.”

“Doctor’s orders.” Right now you just want to go home and get back in that bath that Jack had drawn for you yesterday. Pretend like last night had never happened and crawl into his arms in bed. But he’s back out in the field and you’re…you’ve never felt more alone than you do right now, which is not how you expected to feel at all. But that isn’t the fault of the woman next to you. “I…thank you, Astrid. I just need to get my head on straight. But…thank you for helping me.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” She doesn’t hesitate to pull you in for what she thinks is a much needed hug. Knowing that you must have felt so scared and alone. No wonder why you had suddenly withdrawn if you had thought you were pregnant. “Anytime.”

“Hopefully not for this reason.” You sigh out, hugging her back fiercely. “Not until it’s happy anticipation and Jack is back here with me.”

“Did Jack know?” She asks curiously. “Is that why he slept in his office last night?”

“He—?” The panic is back without hesitation, choking you and making you feel dizzy. “He told me he was leaving early to—” Oh god. You’ve ruined it. You’ve ruined it anyway. “No one knew.”

She winces, cursing herself for sticking her nose in where it doesn’t belong. “I’m sure– they left really early.” She supplies hastily. “Maybe he didn’t want to bother you. Since you weren’t feeling good.”

“Maybe.” That isn’t it, and both of you know it. There isn’t a chance in hell that Jack wouldn’t have just slipped silently out of bed early this morning if things had been normal. This is your fault. You must have been acting stranger than you thought, and he’s an especially perceptive man to begin with.

“They should be back in just a day or so.” Ginger reasons quietly, wondering if it wouldn’t be better to talk to Jack herself before he gets back. “It’s a quick op.”

“But—” You catch yourself and nod. Astrid doesn’t need to know that Jack said it would be a week. That your relationship with your soulmate is crumbling before it ever gets off the ground. Instead you stand up from the table and accept another hug. “Thanks,” you murmur quietly. “Again. For everything.”

“Of course.” She tightens her grip on you and pulls back to give you an encouraging smile. “Go get some rest and everything will be normal when you wake up.”

******

It’s after dark when you wake up again, disheveled in one of Jack’s t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants that should probably have been replaced years ago. You’re hungry, which is usually a good sign, so you throw on a cardigan and trudge downstairs in search of food — only to come face-to-face with Diana walking in the front door as quietly as a church mouse. “Di?” Maybe she was coming to check on you? That is perfectly in keeping with her personality, after all. Universal mom friend.

“Hey.” She tries for a smile but it falters, the worry shining through her face is way too obvious to hide. “I need you to sit down, sweetheart.” The slight tremble in her voice makes her words waver.

“What’s wrong?” When your stomach flips this time, you at least know it isn’t from an act of your own stupidity, but it unnerves you all the same. Diana looks pale and you take the last two steps quickly to reach her side. “Di, what happened?”

She guides you over to the couch, aware that you might collapse if you are standing up. Especially since Ginger had indicated you weren’t feeling the best. “Jack is– he’s been hurt.” She tries to break the news gently but there is never a good way to say this. “He’s – they have him stable but it’s serious.”

The first reaction you have, before anything else, is to insist that she’s wrong. Jack is a good agent and he’s with Sophia and there’s no way that could happen. But her face is so serious, lined with anxiety and uncertainty. “Where?” You ask, when you can finally swallow past the fear forming in your gut. “Where is he?”

"He's on a chopper, about an hour out." Diana swallows harshly, trying to tamp down her own fear in order to be here for you.

“How serious is serious?” You’re already up again and walking to the door to slip into a pair of shoes, ready to go wherever you need to be. If the last thing you ever say to Jack was a weak declaration of love through a closed door, you’ll never fucking forgive yourself.

"They've almost lost him twice on the way here." Diana stands and quickly rushes over towards you. "But as soon as Ginger gets him into the chamber, he will be alright."

“What the hell happened?” Your purse is sitting by the door like always, and you grab it without even a second thought. Heart racing, blood pounding, and stomach threatening to revolt is how you went to the lab this morning, and it’s how you’re going again tonight.

"I'm not exactly sure. He was shot. It ruptured his spleen and he had fallen when he was hit so there is internal bleeding." Diana doesn't have much information, but she's willing to tell you what she knows.

“But Ginger can help him.” It’s not a question, as the two of you bolt outside and into Diana’s car. Your mind is racing, but instead of devolving into desperate sadness you feel like you’ve hit some kind of problem-solving mode.

“She’s going to do everything she can.” Diana promises, cranking the engine and throwing the car into reverse. “You know Ginger.”

“He…left early last night, Di.” There’s nothing for you to do while she drives but sit there, and you fidget in your seat. “I was distant when I came home from New York and he slept in his office last night before they shipped out.”

“Did you have a fight?” She could have sworn everything was good between you.

“Not exactly.” It was all just so uncomfortable, and now you’re facing the reality of Jack coming back hurt and you can’t stand it. “Things have been off lately and it’s my fault, but I—I can’t let that be the last time we see each other.”

“Is it because you’re pregnant and the baby isn’t Jack’s?” Diana asks quietly.

“How did—” You stare at her from the passenger seat, jaw almost unhinged, and sigh. Did Jack put your symptoms together just like you did and assume just like you did? “I’m not…just…for the record…I went to Astrid this morning…”

“Jack came by the house last night.” Diana admits quietly, looking over at you. “He wanted to talk to Champ.”

“I haven’t been myself lately, and I was feeling sick,” you begin, feeling like you need to explain yourself. “I added it all up while I was in New York and thought I might be pregnant. He—he must have done the same math. But Astrid said I’m absolutely not, and it must have been the healing from my incident that threw my body out of whack.”

“You don’t need to explain to me, sweetheart.” Diana assures you, giving you a soft smile. “Jack asked Champ – well, he asked him how quickly he accepted Bobby as his own, if it was hard on him.” She bites her lip. “Bobby isn’t Champ’s biological son. He adopted him at birth. I was pregnant when we met.”

“What?” This is definitely new information to you, especially since you had always thought that Bobby looked like the perfect mix of his parents. “I—I mean—I had no idea.”

“It’s not something that many people know.” Diana admits. “Roger admittedly looked similar to Champ. So thankfully there’s never been any questions from strangers. He unfortunately never knew that he was going to be a father before Bobby’s biological dad died. Car accident.”

“I’m so sorry.” It’s a lot of information to take in, but you do your best to wrap your head around it as Diana parks in her designated space outside the main Statesman building and the two of you jump out to go up to the lab. “So…I don’t…Jack wanted to talk to him? About—about accepting Bobby?” It’s such a gut punch on top of all the things you’ve already dealt with over the last few days, to think that Jack was trying to figure out how to support you when you had feared he would call everything off instead.

“Jack admitted that he thought you might be pregnant and that it would be way too soon in your relationship for it to be his child.” Diana had excused herself to make some tea and let the men have their talk, but Jack hadn’t been trying to hide the conversation. “And he didn’t want to lose you over it. Said it was his own damn fault if it was the case and it damn sure wouldn’t be the kid’s fault.”

“I was so sure he’d hate me.” You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve cried today, and it doesn’t matter anymore. Crying over this makes sense. “That Sophia would hate me, or Tex, or even everyone, for making their lives more complicated…”

“It would be complicated.” She won’t deny that. “But if you had been pregnant, that baby would have just had two sets of parents.”

“But now he’s hurt.” That familiar feeling of panic is right under the surface, but you swallow it down as the elevator shuts to bring you both upstairs. “And the last thing that happened between us was awkwardness. I—he—I didn’t even kiss him goodbye, Di.”

“You’ll kiss him hello.” Diana tells you with a certainty she doesn’t exactly feel but she needs you to believe. “And kiss him every time he leaves the room from now on.”

There’s a fear there that’s too great to acknowledge, but you nod and follow her out of the elevator when it reaches the floor that the lab is on. You can’t bring yourself to ask out loud what the machine might do to him this time. He’d come out of it an admittedly different man last time, and when you were healed by it, it had turned your body around on itself. Who knows what effect it might have on Jack tonight, and that is terrifying to think about.

Diana keeps a tight hold on your hand as the lab doors open and Ginger, along with several of her assistants, rush around to get things ready. The screen overhead is on, displaying the camera from the helicopter medic’s helmet. Jack is laying on a gurney, his shirt and jacket cut from his body and his normally golden skin gray, blood covering his torso.

“Oh god…” Instinctively clutching Diana’s hand tighter, you stay out of the way of the bustling medics but keep your eyes glued to the screen. He looks like he’s been ripped open from the side and you have the heaviest instinct of violence you’ve ever felt in your life. Whoever did this to your soulmate had better hope you never find them. You may not be a trained Statesman agent, but you’re certain in this moment that it wouldn’t matter. You’d tear them limb from limb and turn them into dinner.

“BP dropping!” The medic’s staticky voice comes over the speakers. “There’s another fucking bleed somewhere!”

“Diana…” The grip you have on her hand is unforgiving while you watch the monitor, but she squeezes yours back. “Please tell me that they got the guy that did this to him.”

“Sophia got them.” The camera twists as the medic reaches for something from the bag and you get a view of the other agent, sitting along the wall and looking worried, covered in blood. Jack’s blood.

“Fuck…” Sophia looks terrified as she sits on the other side of the stretcher, and you can’t stop yourself from instinctively reaching out even knowing they can’t see you and it won’t make any difference. That’s your friend and your soulmate in that chopper, and the only thing you can do is stand here. “There has to be something I can do,” you murmur, not knowing if anyone even hears. Not knowing if it’s even true.

“Nothing right now.” She knows how helpless you feel. “Just pray right now. Even if you don’t believe, pray.”

The two of you stay sitting in a corner, watching the feed from the camera on board the helicopter. They manage to stabilize Jack again but don’t seem confident about it, and it’s a full half hour before that camera shows the team landing on the Statesman helipad on the roof of the building so they can bring him inside.

When the team bursts through the doors with Jack, Sophia is hot on their heels. Immediately rushing over to you when she sees you spring to your feet. “I’m so sorry!” She cries. “I– I don’t know what the hell happened. He was perfectly fine one moment and then he was–” she gestures towards the gurney.

“You got the guy, right?” Whatever happened, you can’t rewind and undo it now, so when you look Sophia in the eyes that is the one thing you want to know. “The person who hurt Jack is dead?”

“Yes.” Her jaw clenches and she nods seriously. “He’s dead.”

“Good.” The team of medics is swarming Jack right now and you will not get in their way, so you hug Sophia close for just a few comforting seconds. The tears are mighty at this point - seeing him in person feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest. “Thank you for getting him home.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything less.” Sophia had probably saved his life, if it were told completely. If he had been alone, Jack would have bled to death before the team could have gotten there.

“Thank you.” It’s too much to think about what might have happened if Sophia hadn’t been with him. That’s not something you can swallow right now. You just hug her again instead. “I’m sure you have work to do. I’m going to stay with him.”

She nods reluctantly. “I have to clean up and report to Champ.” She squeezes you tight. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I’ll be right here.” Under no circumstances would you go anywhere else. Not while Jack was fighting for his life.

Sophia can understand that. If it were Tex, she would be right there in your shoes. “Tex is headed in to sit with you.”

“Thank you.” There isn’t a whole lot else you can say without tumbling into anxiety, and frankly you’re terrified enough as it is. The comfort of friends sounds like a miracle. She squeezes your hand and turns around to quickly walk through the doors to go up to Champ’s office.

It isn't until Jack is fitted into the biometric pod and Ginger has his vitals stabilized that she lets you come closer, putting two chairs beside him for you and Tex. He had come in with water and snacks, warning you that worry is draining and that he was promising to sit up with you as long as it takes.

Diana stays off to the side with Ginger but she walks over to you and touches your shoulder after the first hour. "I am going back to the restaurant. Don't worry about anything. I'll take care of it all."

"Thanks, Di." Honestly you hadn't even looked at a clock since waking up and had no clue what time it was, so it seems a little shocking that the restaurant is even open. All you knew was it was after dark and you had been asleep. It could have been 3 a.m. and you wouldn't have known the difference. "I'm not–I can't leave him."

"Of course you can't." Diana huffs as if the mere idea is offensive. "If anyone has an issue with that, they can deal with me." She knows that none of your staff will argue, they will worry about Jack if they know. However, the civilian staff is normally kept in the dark concerning these matters. "I'll bring some dinner back later." She promises, leaning down and dropping a kiss on your head before leaving.

At a certain point, there isn't a lot you can do besides sit. You're wide awake beside Jack, sitting in silence with Tex as you both watch the monitors around your wounded warrior buzz and beep and flash every few seconds. It's a noisy room for the heavy weight of what's going on, busy despite the fact that no one is scurrying around any longer.

"It's different this time." Tex offers quietly, shuffling in his chair beside you and stretching his long legs in front of him. "He's got somethin' to live for. He fought death the last time and he didn't even have you. He'll pull through."

You huff softly, watching Jack's face as he sleeps in the biometrically-induced coma that is healing his body. "I don't know," you admit, feeling the way your jaw wobbles at the admission. "He's...we...last night was tense before he left."

"Hell, everyone, every relationship has tense days." Tex doesn't know the details, but it can't be that bad. "He knows you love him, he loves you."

"He, um..." The fact is, this concerns the man beside you as much as it concerns anyone else. This is Jack's emotional little brother. Your best friend's soulmate. Your friend. You swallow the guilt and the nerves, and you glance at Tex beside you with trepidation. There was a time barely twelve hours ago that you were resolved for him never to know. Now it feels dishonest to leave anything unsaid. "He thinks I'm pregnant," you murmur, knowing that the only person who could overhear you is Ginger and she's the one who ran the tests. "I'm not. But he thinks I could be..."

"Then he's got everything to live for." Tex lit up for a moment, happy for his friend even if he relaxed slightly when you told him that you're not pregnant. He knows Jack would be disappointed, but he would probably make a joke about being happy to practice some more. He's never seen Jack wanting kids, but it's got to be interesting.

"Not...not really." You glance back at him briefly before refocusing on Jack, deciding that this will be infinitely easier if you're not actually looking at Tex when you say it. "The thing is...because of the timing...he thinks...and even I thought...that it could be...well, yours."

He's silent for a minute. More than a minute, actually. Stunned into silence before he opens his mouth. "But....you're not." He says slowly, clarifying.

"No." The worry in his voice tells you everything it needs to. That if that baby had been real, it would have torn apart the fabric of your friendships just like you thought. "Ginger did the test this morning."

"I'm sorry that you've been going through this." Tex starts and then he hums. "I– did you start thinking you were when you were in New York? Sophia texted me and said she was worried about you."

"Yeah." There's just no way to hide how embarrassed you are, so you just sit there and watch Jack, not letting your eyes waver again. That's your whole life right there on that bed, and you don't know what the hell you'll do if he doesn't wake up. "Yeah, I...I did. Ginger says the pod must have thrown off my system after the kidnapping. It was just a fluke. The symptoms lined up but it was just a coincidence."

He sighs and reaches over to take your hand. It's not meant to be a romantic gesture. Rather, one of comfort. "I want you to know that no matter what, you have people who care about you. We are all a big, dysfunctional family." He jokes quietly. "If you had been, we would have...made it work."

"I wasn't going to keep it," you blurt out, clutching his hand for just the speck of comfort it provides. "I asked Ginger if she could find out. I didn't–" It's so much to hold on to, and you had isolated yourself so much that when it comes out of you it sort of just explodes everywhere. "I couldn't do that to all of you. I couldn't destroy our family and I just kind of panicked and shut down at the dress shop and I could barely even look at Jack when I came home. I couldn't look at him, or kiss him, or barely even talk to him and now he's this and if he doesn't wake up I don't think I could ever forgive myself."

"He's going to wake up." Tex promises you, a slightly desperate undercurrent to his voice. "He has to." His thoughts about you not keeping a baby, he keeps to himself. There's no way he could say what he would do under those circumstances, so he can't judge you.

"He has to." If he doesn't – if you lose the best thing in your life – then anything else around you is just noise. None of it matters.

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle

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My Masterlist!

#Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Jack Daniels #Jack Daniels x reader #Jack Daniels x you #Jack Daniels x female reader #Jack Daniels x f!reader #Jack 'Whiskey' Daniels #Agent Whiskey #Kingsman Golden Circle #soulmate au #Agent Tequila #Agent Tequila x OC #Agent Tequila x female OC #Agent Ginger Ale

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i9messi · 1 year

Text

Cupcakes — Mason Mount

You were baking in the kitchen when Mason Mount, your brother's teammate, came in. While you were distracted, he was so stunned with you.

Word count — 545

mason's masterlist

You were baking something in the kitchen, so distracted you didn’t hear people coming into the house you shared with your brother. Your brother played at Chelsea and had a lot of football friends who spent time at your house, however, you tried not to be at home when they came, so you left them alone. But last night you had a bad date with a person who had treated you badly. And your way of taking it out and channeling all those emotions was through the kitchen.

You loved cooking, it was the only thing that brought you peace. So you stayed at home, wearing old pajamas that consisted of an old Disney T-shirt and pants that were a little big for you. The music was heard through your airpods and you took care of moving around the kitchen to continue with the recipe, so much that you hadn't noticed a new presence. Mason had just gone to get a glass of water, he knew his teammate’s house because he’d been there a few times and he offered himself to look for it. He hadn’t expected to find a person there. You.

He saw you moving around the kitchen, humming the song and taking the cupcakes out of the oven. You started decorating them on the top and put some cream on them, all while Mason Mount was looking at you from a distance. You were beautiful, that was the first thing he thought. Mason wanted to know your name, he wanted to know more about you, even if you were his teammate's sister and things could go terribly wrong for him.

"Hello?" He tried to catch your attention, not noticing you were wearing your airpods.

You obviously didn’t hear his voice, you went about your business as if nobody was there. Mason tried to get your attention again and the result was the same. Nothing. His third attempt was to reach out and touch your arm gently. You jumped and screamed, taking your hand to your chest and finally turning to see him.

"Oh, Lord. You almost scared me to death."

Mason apologized instantly while you took off your airpods.

"I'm so sorry, please forgive me."

"It's fine, really."

You smiled at him, taking your time to look at him. He was so handsome. You obviously knew him. Mason Mount. Number nineteen of the Chelsea team, it was actually the first time you met him in person but you’d seen him during the matches and he’d caught your eye.

"Still, I'm sorry. I was looking for a glass of water but I got a little bit distracted by you and I couldn’t help the urge to want to get your attention."

"Oh."

You weren’t in your best to meet that man, you still had some flour on your hands and on your shirt. Anyways, you smiled at him and you honestly liked his comment. Mason's gaze was on you as if you were interesting, as if those moments when you had been distracted cooking had made a good impression.

"My name is Mason, nice to meet you."

You introduced yourself, saying your name. By late afternoon, Mason was eating your cupcakes and asking for your number while his other teammates distracted your brother.

#mason mount one shot #mason mount fluff #mason mount x reader #mason mount #football imagines #football player fanfic #football players #chelsea #christian pulisic x reader

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valmare · 1 year

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AHHH CONGRATS BABE!

Fluff! "Oh my god you never told me you could cook!” is so Maverick coded I NEED it!!!

This was tons of fun. Enjoy your Maverick snack, Cassie darling!

Tastes Like Cheesecake

There were a lot of things about Pete Mitchell that people didn’t quite get. Like, sometimes his facial expression didn’t exactly match the sentiments that fly half-cocked out of his mouth. That at his age, the inexplicable need to go faster than any said human being should on a motorcycle is non-negotiable. Flying is a way of life, or death, depending on how you look at it.

Or the fact that, despite a career in the Navy, which does in no certain terms promise a life with any kind of domesticity, Maverick Mitchell is one hell of a good cook.

It was a surprise perk to your ever-evolving de-layering of who is perhaps the Navy’s greatest aviator of the modern world, but a perk nonetheless.

Of course this was misunderstood about Maverick—most everything, it seems, is.

And by “good,” you mean “this is the best chicken parmesan this tongue has ever had the pleasure of tasting!” levels of “good.” You’re fairly certain the man can cook anything, be it Mexican entrees, grilled meats, or fancy desserts. He’s particularly skilled when it comes to marinades–to this day, you’ve never tasted a better-seasoned and marinated tenderloin in your life.

And Pete wasn’t just a good cook. He loves cooking.

It had borderline crossed your mind, the first time he’d insisted you come home with him, that he’d missed his calling in the culinary arts—he was an ace in the kitchen, nearly as smooth with recipes as he was with fighters. Which surprised you.

Your last boyfriend didn’t even know how to boil water, much less cook actual food.

He’d plunked you on the couch with a beer, making light conversation as he’d managed a delicious lasagna that would feed not only the two of you, but his bachelor ass, for the rest of the week. You’d tried to volunteer, to make yourself useful, but he’d just laughed and shook his head.

Insisting you take a load off after the drive out to his place, he just…cooked.

First bites of the cheese-stringed, steaming serving of noodles he’d plunked in front of you had nearly sent you into an orgasmic euphoria. That, paired with perfectly-crisp bread and salad had you promising to never leave.

“Oh my gawed, Pete— you never told me you could cook!”

The look on his face, to this day, was still one of your favorites. You still marveled at his talents, nearly a year later.

All that wasted time of going out to dinner on dates and outings when you could’ve stayed in, watching him lazily move about the kitchenette he’s built inside his amazing hangarminium, as you’ve affectionately deemed it. Such a shame.

It was no stretch of the imagination that you were an absolute slut for Maverick's cooking skills. And, you bore no shame in it.

There’s no more beautiful sight than a mature man, rock hard and not even beginning to look a fraction of his age, padding around in socks, too-tight Wranglers and no shirt, whipping up the fluffiest scrambled eggs probably known to mankind.

Maverick’s learned a trick or two in the kitchen. It isn’t up for debate—the cheesecake he has painstakingly been babying all afternoon, is now forking into your mouth while you’re laying against his chest, is by far one of the greatest things to emerge from a single man’s kitchen.

Or, formerly single—you’ve been together now for a hot minute, almost a year. Graduating from the on-and-off-again status that’s been following you around like a bad habit, Pete had asked you in no short terms to “go steady" last year, which had made you nearly die of admiration of him.

He was a lot older than you—but it hadn’t really mattered. His stuck-in-the-80s mindset was not only endearing, it was sorely lacking in the general male populace to begin with.

Of course you had said yes, he was the perfect man.

You giggle like a complete moron, trying to push his hand away, which is making him laugh that sexy-as-hell laugh that lights his face up and creates little laugh lines at the corner of his eyes.

God, he’s entirely too attractive. Entirely too sexy. Entirely too delicious.

“Mav, c’mon—stop. I can’t. I’ve already consumed enough calories for the week, much less for the rest of the day,” you playfully whine, trying not to eyeball the plate of cheesecake practically chanting at you from his hand, “I’m getting up. You should too.”

Pressing a kiss to either of his pecks, you push off of him to sit up in bed. Arms stretching over your head, you try and peer at the clock on the stove across the massive floorspace, but it’s nothing but blurred, green neon.

Leaning across the King mattress, your hand slaps the nightstand, looking for your glasses that have been discarded since this morning.

“It’s only noon,” Pete checks the watch on his wrist, the one that never leaves, “we still have a few minutes before we actually have to be serious about leaving. Rooster isn’t going to miss me that much,” He sits forward, discarding the plate of cheesecake after popping the bite from the fork into the pocket of his cheek.

Flipping open the covers, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor of the hangar spiking up delightfully between your toes. Pulling your hair over your shoulder, you move to the foot of the bed to grab your robe, which has tangoed with the duvet and sheets all morning.

Wrapping it around yourself, you reach across the bed and smack at his feet, urging him to get up.

“Yeah, well, the last thing I need is Rooster speculating about what makes us late for engagements. I already get enough of that from Seresin and his sexist-as-hell comments,” grabbing the post of the footboard, you bend to pluck your discarded jeans and bra from the floor, tossing them across the foot of the bed.

“They’re just guys, sweetheart. Speculating is what we do.”

“Yeah, when you’re 12,” you quip, the corner of your mouth lifting. “I catch you even thinking about giving them any details of our sex life and I’ll ram that fork down your throat, Captain Mitchell.”

Maverick’s laugh is genuine, amused. He’s already out of bed, half clothed in jeans from his morning outing to the store to fetch oranges for fresh orange juice, your favorite.

Moving smoothly to you, he meets you at the foot of the bed, taking you lightly by the shoulders to shuffle you a few steps forward, against his chest.

“So, councelor–you’re saying our sex life is definitively off the roster for topics of discussion at Rooster’s after party?” His brow pops up curiously, his face making that little expression that’s supposed to be argumentative, but instead just looks plain adorable. He does it often, knowing it kills you a little every time.

Your head tips back and you laugh, “Definitely. Entirely. No evidence whatsoever. That goes for tonight, and every other event that is outside these four walls.” Your finger makes a circle in the air, signaling the room as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

His eyes lid to half-mast, enjoying the little cat-and-mouse verbal sparring match you’ve engaged in. “Just here?” He uses his hand to point to the floor, between you. “Right here, in this room?” He sounds disbelieving, before his brow drops in a mock pout. “That isn’t very fair, counselor.”

You rise up on your bare toes to press a soft kiss to the end of his nose, and level a lusty look at him, feeling your heart tick up just a beat. Sneaking an arm around the back of his neck, your hand lifts to run through his ebony hair, still amazed he’s barely managed any grays at all.

“Jury’s out about anywhere else you decide to make love to me, Captain.” Your hand swipes out of his hair and down his jaw, fingers brushing over his lips. “I just prefer the gory details of our marital affairs kept between us and top secret, if you don’t mind.”

He chuckles. Hair is messed, unshaven, but he smells delightfully like that aftershave you love. Cheesecake is on his breath as he angles his head to kiss the corner of your mouth, before you turn your head to kiss him soundly.

Maverick is a divine kisser—he’s got two decades on you in this department, and he has not disappointed yet.

His tongue skips along the inside of your lower lip, and he’s Frenching you when his hand searches for yours at your side. Leaning into him, your arm tightens around his neck as he hugs you closer, eliciting a little investigative moan as his fingers trace down the length of your spine. Your knee gently knocks against the inward muscle of his thigh, probing a response.

His reaction is delicious. He rocks back on his heels, but catches himself on the bedpost. Breaking from you, he chortles out a pleased laugh, touching his forehead with yours as he laces his fingers through yours.

He lifts your joined hands up between the two of you, eyes casting down to them. He turns yours over, head canted as he studies the ring on your left finger, sparkling even in the poorly-lit plane hangar.

It’s the exact ring you wanted, the very one you’d drooled over that day in Mission Beach when you’d been meandering through the mall back to his motorcycle.

Rose gold, emerald cut and set deep, it's a four-thousand dollar engagement ring. You and your ridiculously overpaid salary as an attorney could afford it yourself, you’d told Pete to let you pay for at least half of it.

But, no.

He’d refused to take it back, even after you’d agreed to marry him. One of the many things you loved about Maverick was his stubborn determination, even if it meant going against you. He stuck to his guns, and him in your corner only meant good things.

Giving your hand an affectionate squeeze, he presses a chaste kiss over the top of the diamond, the corner of his mouth lifting with a pleased smirk.

For some reason, the look he’s giving you stirs color on your cheeks, heat racing through your blood at nearly G-inducing speeds.

“Still a fabulous ring,”

You chuckle, nodding. “Still an expensive ring.”

His nose wrinkled up dismissively as he waves off the idea. “Nothing is too expensive when it comes to my kickass attorney of a wife,” his attention tracks to the stove, the timer blaring offensively across the hangar, signaling that his slow-cooking-all-morning ribs are ready to be checked. “Shit. The ribs.”

You’re laughing as he sprints for the stove, shaking your head as you follow him across the hangar, to the kitchenette. Slipping onto a barstool at the island, you reach for the glass carafe of orange juice that’s been pressed, just for you, by the very man currently tasting barbecue sauce on his finger.

Pouring two glasses, you eyeball the pan of cheesecake not three feet from your hand. It does look delicious, and Maverick did slave over it all morning. Shame to let it sit here all afternoon while you're gone....

Biting your lower lip, you lean across the island, finger tracking for the edge of the pan—right at the exact moment Mitchell about-faces to catch you in the act.

His face explodes with amused delight as he leans against the counter, arms crossed over the six pack a man of his age has no business sporting. Coyly you smile at him, winking as you edge the pan of dessert closer to you, it scraping across the marble crudely.

Plopping it in front of you and sitting back on the stool, you manage to bite into the succulent dessert as seductively as possible, Maverick’s face losing all trace of amusement as you groan hungrily into the sweet.

It’s finished in two little bites, and you’re licking your fingers in the most attractive way possible. He’s pushing off the counter, crossing to you, looking hungry for something else entirely.

“I still can’t believe you know how to cook, Mitchell,”

He’s reaching for you when he shrugs a shoulder, eyes flashing with that familiar, lusty darkness you’ve come to admire.

“Let me show you what else I can whip up, counselor.”

#100 followers celebration #100 followers #blurb requests #top gun fanfic #top gun maverick fanfic #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun fanfiction #controlled chaos squad #call sign meerkat #answered asks #i love chickens #pete maverick mitchell #pete mitchell #pete mitchell x reader #maverick x reader

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