#like yeah he's friendly and nice to me but I know there's no chance. NONE. that it means anything at all. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

waddingham · 2 months

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oH Ted as the 'someone coming every week to cook and stock her fridge with meals'!! your brain does so much good work and I am so thankful we get to reap the benefits <33

yeah!!!!!! and i couldn't think straight until I got rid of it!!! here take this it's killing me!!

She begs Phillip to keep her on. She begs him, tries to double his fee even, to keep him from total retirement, but he's steadfast in his decision.

The thought of hunting down another chef is horrific. But he gives her no choice.

She blows through them like tissues for three months, suffering over-complicated meals, over-powering flavors, chefs clearly trying to impress as if she wants a Michelin star meal every night. She doesn't – if that was what she wanted she knows exactly where to get it.

When she's at home she just wants good food, that's easy to reheat and easy to eat. Which is how she ends up finally succumbing to Leslie's repeated insistence that she give his man a chance.

“He comes over once a month,” he tells her, more than once. “Puts together some things we can freeze and just pop in the oven. Simple enough for the boys to do it, so Julie and I can have at least a couple evenings where they can feed themselves.”

He brightens when she gives and asks for his info, and when she gives him a call, she's struck dumb hearing his American accent.

She's running out of options, so she takes a chance on him.

She taps her fingers on the counter, waiting for the doorbell, checking her watch when she finally hears it. He's perfectly on time, but she feels like she's already searching for a reason to be disappointed with him.

He has a pleasant smile for her, though, and a friendly demeanor and a firm handshake and a handsome face – none of which she can immediately find fault in as they introduce themselves.

“I'm sure you're busy,” he says as she leads him to the kitchen. “So I appreciate you taking the time to let me peek at the kitchen and ask you a couple questions.”

“Of course,” she says, used to the procedure by now. Most of them have some kind of sheet they have her fill out, usually via email, but she doesn't mind taking a moment to meet the person who's going to be cooking her food.

“Oh, this is nice,” he compliments, looking around the kitchen, as he sets down the backpack hooked on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” she says, gesturing for him to claim a stool. “Though you can probably infer from your presence that it gets little use.”

“That's okay, I'll go easy on it,” he chuckles, pulling a binder from his bag and opening it up on the counter. “First, though, I wanna make sure I know what I'm cooking.”

He doesn't have a questionnaire or the like, it seems. The lined paper in front of him is blank before he scrawls her name at the top.

“How many people am I cooking for, first of all?” he says without looking up.

She licks her lips, her gaze shifting.

“Just me.” She keeps her tone matter-of-fact. She hopes.

The way he glances up makes her doubt whether she managed it.

“Makin’ it easy on me already,” he says with a soft smile, adding a 1 to the corner of his sheet. “You have any allergies or dietary restrictions?”

“No,” she says, then adds, “Though, I do have the tendency to drop meat for a while every so often.”

“A part-time vegetarian?”

She cracks half a smile. “Sure.”

“Okay,” he chuckles. “What kinda meals are you after? Breakfast, lunch, dinner?”

“Dinner, mostly, though I won't say no to the occasional breakfast. Mostly out of curiosity.”

She doesn't think any of the chefs she's hired have offered to make breakfasts.

“I make a mean frittata,” he grins. “What do you like, then? What are some of your favorites, so I can get a feel for what you want?”

“When I eat at home, I want quick and easy,” she says. “The less steps for me, the better. I don't want extravagant, elaborate meals. Shepherd's pie, any kind of pasta, soups, salads. Fish, chicken, red meat on occasion, not every week preferably. Anything veg heavy will probably be a hit with me.”

He nods, taking rapid notes in what must be a very familiar format to him. He fires off a few more questions for her, elaborating a bit further on what she likes before switching gears.

“Anything you absolutely don't want?”

“Not especially,” she says. “I don't like to limit a new chef too soon. I'd rather you make me your best and I'll let you know.”

“Uh oh,” he smiles.

He does that a lot.

“Am I on trial?”

She opens her hands up, giving him a small smile and he chuckles.

“I've had six chefs in ten weeks,” she tells him. “So yes, maybe a little bit.”

“Why didn't they fit the bill?” he asks curiously. “So I can avoid a similar fate.”

“I don't think they quite believed me when I told them how simple I wanted things,” she says. “Too many sauces and sides and heat this up separately and put this on this. If I want a five course meal, I know where to get one. When I get home from work, I want to throw something in the oven or dump it on a plate and microwave it, not anything glamorous.”

He looks pleased to hear it – he seems to actually relax slightly, as if he'd been uncertain he could deliver on what she wanted.

“Well, I can guarantee you that going too fancy will not be a problem with me,” he says, writing a few more things down. “I'm used to basic.”

“Good.”

“I've got Tuesday afternoons free, if we're doing every week.”

She nods.

“Between noon and four, if that works for you.”

“I'll be at work, so you'll have free reign,” she says, opening a drawer on the island and pulling a house key from it. “Make yourself at home.”

“Alrighty,” he says, taking it from her. She watches him pull a roll of masking tape and a ring of maybe half a dozen keys from his bag. He rips off a piece of tape and labels it with an RW before adding it to the keyring.

“If you ever have any requests, that number you have is my cell. Shoot me a text before Tuesday if you want it that week, or you can leave me a note.”

“Okay.”

“And let me know if you think of anything else you want me to know,” he says, starting to pack everything away again. “If you hate olives or can't stand Bleu cheese.”

“I love olives,” she says emphatically. “And there's no kind of cheese I will refuse.”

“Cheese is the best, right?” he remarks. “They're all good. Yellow, white, hard, soft. Even stinky, moldy…still good.”

She snorts a bit, but fully agrees.

“I'm pretty much always stocked with fresh mozzarella to nibble on so feel free to help yourself.”

“Oh, don't tell me that,” he says, shaking his head. “I'll clean you out every week.”

She chuckles as he throws his backpack over his shoulder.

She sees him out, intrigued now to see what he cooks up for her.

When she gets home on Tuesday, there's a delicate cacophony of smells hanging in the air and she remembers for the first time today – after a long, trying weekend – that Ted was meant to come.

And apparently did.

The kitchen is spotless (thank God – chef number two had a tendency to slack on the cleaning up bit) and she eagerly makes her way to the fridge.

Each covered pan has a strip or two of tape on top – 35 minutes @ 175° the small square one requests. Thank God. One singular step.

If it tastes like shit, she's going to cry.

It reveals itself to be a lasagna and she flips the oven on, lets it get hot while she peeks at the rest of what he's made, then pops it in the oven while she goes upstairs and gets comfortable.

She notices the extra pan by the kettle when she comes back down, this one without a lid, left on a trivet.

Three neat rows of shortbread lie within it, a note flat on the counter in front of it.

A little extra treat – maybe a bribe so I don't end up being Disappointing Chef Number 7 – and a thanks for giving me a shot. I'm told these are a winner with a cup of tea.

He's signed it with a mustached smiley face that makes her chuckle.

They smell divine. She can't resist prying one up and taking a bite.

“Oh, fuck me,” she mutters to herself, looking at the biscuit with a bit of wonder as it melts on her tongue, perfectly sweet and salty.

Oh, wow. She glances at the oven, then the pan in front of her.

She might have struck gold.

Everything is delicious. He's clearly not a professional five star chef, but every bite has her in disbelief.

It's just so good. She was skeptical, but he even nails a shepherd's pie for her, dumping cheese on top without her even requesting it. Nothing is unpleasant or poorly made, nothing has her thinking to text him and tell him she didn't love it. His portions are more than enough for her and she frequently takes what's left to the office with her. She has never taken lunch with her to work. Ever.

His cooking tastes like dining at a friend's house, like family made it, like he loves cooking for people and puts it in every bite.

And the biscuits. She finished the pan before the week was even out, unable to help herself.

She's a little bit devastated when there are none on the following Tuesday.

She leaves a note the next time she expects him.

Any chance for biscuits again?

She's ecstatic to find a fresh pan when she gets home.

She's nursing her last three by the weekend, determined to make them last long enough to request more.

I hope no notes is a good thing?

She's been meaning to text him, tell him how pleased she is with everything he's made, but it continued to slip her mind.

How am I doing?

No notes is a very good thing, she sends back. Everything has been absolutely delicious.

Oh good :)

I love to hear it

The biscuits have become a problem though

No biscuits next week then?

God no

I'm hooked on them

Don't do that to me

You got it boss

She almost laughs at herself when she gets home.

She's turning down dinner dates and good-looking men in favor of a date with the container labeled prosciutto stuffed chicken breast in her fridge that she's been thinking about all day.

He'd probably get a kick out of the fact that his food is so good it's ruining her dating prospects, but that's most definitely not something she'll be telling him.

She gets herself a little bit of this week's salad while she waits on the oven – romaine with candied walnuts, dried cranberries, gorgonzola, sliced green apple with a deliciously sharp vinaigrette. She peruses the fridge in her typical Wednesday fashion – on Tuesday evenings she's made a habit of grabbing the first thing she sees and letting him surprise her – looking for the small container of sauce that the lid of the chicken makes mention of.

She chuckles when she sees it. Some of his notes on things have gotten more elaborate, sometimes teasing, sometimes with a wine pairing suggestion, sometimes just with a little smiley face. The lid for the sauce only says creamy pesto, but there's masking tape wrapped in a spiral over its sides, covered with writing.

I know, I'm gonna get in trouble for making a separate sauce for something but all you gotta do is dump it on when it's done! It's worth the extra step I promise!

She snickers around her salad, setting it on the counter.

It's well, well worth the extra step.

When she gets home on Tuesday, she's unexpectedly greeted by a strong, delicious smell and noise from the kitchen. She leaves her heels and her coat before turning into the kitchen.

Ted's at the stove, looking almost mortified as he immediately starts apologizing.

“I'm sorry, Rebecca, I'm so behind today, but this is my last one and then I'll clean up and get out of here–” he rambles, but she's taking him in more than listening. Namely, she's taking in his tired bloodshot eyes and his disheveled hair and the way his hands shake as he gestures to the mess of the kitchen.

“I'm sorry–”

“No, Ted, it's alright,” she insists. “It's not a problem.”

“I'm almost done.”

“Are you okay?” she asks gently.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, I just need to finish this…”

She frowns and rounds the island, unconvinced and unsettled – he's almost frantic with energy.

“Come here.”

He frowns as she pulls him away from the stove.

“No, it'll burn–”

“In which case I'll survive with one less meal,” she says firmly, pushing him to the dining table. “Sit.”

He does – reluctantly – and she gets him a glass of water.

“Take a deep breath. Relax,” she insists before stepping to the stove. The pan there has a sauce in the making, a plate of meatballs next to it, as well as a pot of water getting hot.

“What needs done here?” she asks.

“I can–”

“Stop,” she commands, lifting a brow at him before he can rise. “Sit. Just tell me.”

“The, the cream needs to go in,” he says. “Give it a second, then the other two little bowls there, the Dijon and the Worcestershire and then the spices.”

“Okay,” she says, keeping her voice steady, hoping it'll relax him, show him she's far from upset that he's still here.

She follows his instructions, pouring the measuring cup of cream in and mixing it with the little whisk that's already there. She lets it get hot, then adds the rest, stirring it in.

“What am I making?” she asks with a small smile.

“Swedish meatballs,” he supplies, sounding distracted. “One of my favorites.”

“Swedish, hmm?”

“Well, I can't speak to them being authentic,” he says. “Recipe was my mom's. And she's definitely not Swedish.”

It smells delicious – whatever spices she just added were warm and aromatic and it makes her mouth water.

“What next?”

“Uh, turn the heat down and let it simmer,” he says. “Needs to thicken.”

She dutifully turns the stove down and then joins him, taking a seat next to him.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he deflects, “I'm fine. Just…didn't sleep so good and then this morning was…I'm fine.”

She doesn't push, seeing how much effort he's putting into forcing a smile and changes course.

“Do you have anywhere else to be today?” she asks.

“No, no, you're my last client on Tuesdays.”

“Then stay,” she insists, gesturing to the stove. “Looks like enough for two.”

“I shouldn't,” he tries, shaking his head. “I should get out of your hair.”

“You're not in my hair,” she asserts. “I would enjoy the company and I'm most certainly not complaining about getting a meal fresh off the stove.”

He looks her over for a moment, presumably looking for any hint of falsehood before he nods a bit haltingly.

She smiles.

“Should, uh, should put the meatballs back in to finish ‘em,” he murmurs. “And get the noodles on.”

“Yes, chef,” she says, giving him a wink when he finally smiles.

“I'll do it,” he says, and she lets him this time for how much calmer he seems. She occupies herself by offering him a drink and pouring herself a glass of wine. He accepts a couple fingers of a scotch he's apparently had his eye on for the last few weeks and she watches with interest as he takes a sip.

“Oh, that's nice,” he mutters.

“The only one I buy anymore.”

“You have excellent taste, I have to say,” he remarks. “Thank you.”

She helps him get the rest of the dinner together and is glad to see him relax more and more, until he's smiling easy as they both sit at the island with bowls of noodles and meatballs.

“Well, it smells fantastic,” she says, eagerly stabbing a forkful of noodles and half a meatball.

It's delicious. Creamy and warm and truly everything about it screams comfort food.

“Oh, Christ,” she mumbles around it.

“Yeah? That one a winner?”

She nods emphatically, eyeing him as she chews.

“Nothing you make is bad,” she mumbles, watching him take his own bite.

“That's ‘cause I only make what I know I can make good for you,” he chuckles.

“Why's that?” she asks. He can take a chance on her – he's built up plenty of faith in him already. One bad meal isn't going to have her canning him.

“Oh, to impress of course,” he says with a crooked smile that she returns.

“You've already done so,” she says. “I haven't had a single thing I didn't like.”

“I'm very happy to hear it,” he says, sounding very genuine about it.

They eat slowly because conversation comes very easily. Whether it's the drink or the distraction of her company, he's light-years away from the frazzled ball of anxiety she was met with.

“Safe to assume you don't enjoy cooking much, huh?” he asks her as they both scrape their bowls.

“I don't think I would mind it if I had ever learned,” she muses. “But I've had a cook for most of my life and learning how now just to feed myself seems more trouble than it's worth.”

“You've had a cook most of your life?”

“My parents kept one when I was a kid, and then when I was married, my ex-husband insisted on a cook,” she says, half rolling her eyes. “Thank you, by the way, for not inundating me with pork pies and sausage rolls and roasts and dousing everything in gravy.”

“I enjoy a good gravy, but, oof, that's heavy eatin’ right there.”

“Too heavy,” she agrees. “Though my tastes were rarely taken into account.”

He hums as he wipes his mouth and she finds understanding in his eyes.

“How long were you married?” he inquires.

“Twelve years,” she says slowly.

“That's a lot of gravy,” he says more seriously than the words might call for. She hears his meaning plain enough.

“Yes. It was.”

“Well,” his tone brightens a bit, “now you got me to make whatever you please.”

“Too right,” she chuckles, sipping her wine. “And it's always spectacular. I don't know how you do it, what you're lacing everything with…”

“Oh, I just make sure I put a little love in everything, that's all,” he grins.

She takes in the sight of him, smiling and content, his creased eyes warm, and she likes this. She's enjoying this. She likes him.

It's so hard to know though, even as his eyes move over her face, the quiet stretching long, if she likes him or if she's simply missed enjoying a comfortable meal at home without having to do it alone.

Her eyes drop, aware of how intensely she’s looking at him. She's not sure when it happened but they're both turned completely towards each other on their stools, leaning on the counter, and his fingertips are right there at the edge of hers – the mere straightening of her fingers would bring them into contact.

“I appreciate you letting me stay and have some of your dinner,” he says softly.

“You made it,” she offers with a grin.

“You paid for it,” he returns.

“It's not a problem at all,” she says, meaning it wholeheartedly. “It's nice to have some company.”

“I'm gonna be honest with you, Rebecca, you don't seem like a woman who would have any problem finding company.”

Her brows lift alongside the corners of her mouth, a little internally delighted by his boldness.

“I think I'll take that as a compliment,” she grins.

“As it was meant,” he assures.

“In which case…I'll amend to say it's nice to have such comfortable and easy company.”

His cheeks round, his gaze dropping in something akin to bashfulness and she thinks it really might just be him that's growing on her.

“I’m glad you stayed,” she says, her smile slanting crookedly. “Even if I pretty much made you.”

“I didn't wanna impose. You were very kind to give me a second to…calm down.”

She's not sure if it's embarrassment, exactly, or shame that has him toying with his glass instead of looking at her.

“Felt like I was trying to catch up to myself all day,” he admits.

“I know the feeling,” she sympathizes.

He's quiet for a moment before he responds.

“My ex-wife was supposed to come out with our son in the next couple weeks here, but she called and they pushed it back until the summer.”

His frown is back and his gaze is faraway, but she doesn't speak.

“Been here for almost a year now and they still seem to be getting on just fine without me.” He sounds like he wishes he could say it with detachment, but it comes out rather devastated.

“They're in the States?” she asks gently, pulling him back to here and now as he shakes himself a bit.

“Yes.”

“Why don't you go see them?” she tries, though she's very aware she's got the bare minimum of facts.

“‘Cause I'm still stinging from her snapping that she just needs some goddamn space,” he says, giving her a twisted, wry little grin.

She frowns but he shrugs, lifting his drink to his lips.

“S’pose it's about time to just get over it,” he mumbles.

“That's not easy to get over,” she says kindly. “Especially from someone you love.”

“No, it's not,” he agrees. “Ain't much love to lose these days, though. You're probably right, should just take matters into my own hands, hop over the pond.”

“Don't go too long,” she says, only half teasing. “I shouldn't be left to feed myself for a prolonged period of time.”

He smiles again and the sight has warm satisfaction melting in her.

“Oh, if I go anywhere I'll set you up, don't you worry,” he assures her.

“Thank goodness.”

It's odd how difficult she finds it when she rises and steps away. A part of her wants her to stay put, keep the space between them minimal, but she writes it off as a result of just how long it's been since she had sex.

“Now, I don't see any biscuits,” she says. “But I suppose I'll give you a pass this week.”

He rises with a soft chuckle, following her with his own dish to the sink.

“No, no, I'll do it,” he says as he starts to clean up from dinner. “Unless you need your kitchen back.”

She starts gathering dishes – he must clean as he goes, because it's not nearly the mess she'd imagine would come from cooking four whole dinners.

“Oh, for what? You think I have a chef on the side coming over tonight?”

He turns, expression scandalized, a hand landing on his chest as if he's been shot.

“Tell me you'd never.”

She chuckles, joining him at the sink, hands full.

They clean up together and then she pours them both another drink before she claims a stool, content to watch as he puts together a batch of biscuits. She watches him move comfortably around the kitchen, chatting easily with her, and it's making an impression, one she's blatantly ignoring.

She half expects him to try to leave her once they're in the oven and has her excuses for him to stay at the ready, but he sits again, waiting the half hour they need to bake at the island with her. He asks her about her job, how she came to own the club, and conversation wanders to and fro.

“I'm intrigued to see what you've cooked up for me this week, chef,” she remarks at one point.

“You know I ain't really a professional chef, right?” he chuckles. “I dropped out of culinary school actually.”

“Really? Why?”

He lifts a shoulder. “I wasn't having fun. I love cooking, I love making food and feeding people, but I didn't wanna do it the way they train you to, you know, cooking in a restaurant or joining the race to be the next big something. I like doing it this way. Getting to know people and cooking what they like. Feels like I'm paying the bills by cooking for friends and that's…” He clicks his tongue with a nod. “That's just perfect for me.”

“Well,” she says, smiling at how clearly he loves what he does. “You're still a chef. Definitely to me at least.”

He rises when the oven chimes, giving her a smile.

“That's enough for me.”

The biscuits have filled the kitchen with the warm scent of vanilla – the same scent that's usually still barely lingering when she gets home.

He stays long enough to let them cool slightly and cut them and she watches as he arranges them on the trivet by the kettle, just as he always does. He packs his things up then and she sees him out, exchanging smiles and goodbyes.

She's still smiling when she finally goes upstairs to change for the evening and it takes her a while to identify the feeling.

She feels like she just got home from a really, really good date.

It wasn't a date, so she doesn't know why she's disappointed when she doesn't hear from him again over the week. She doesn't contact him either, trying to recategorize the evening in her mind.

She's very pleasantly surprised, in that case, when she comes home the following Tuesday and he's still there. She knows by the smell of something sweet and nutty filling the air before she even gets to the kitchen.

It's spotless this time. He's not all anxious energy this time either – he smiles when she peeks in, looking rather uncertain about his welcome, but it still makes something deep in her chest ache.

It's rather nice. To come home to a smile from someone.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello.” She lets her smile ease his uncertainty and her tone ask her questions for her.

“I, uh, wanted to say thank you,” he explains. “For last week, when I was…when I wasn't feeling so great, for being so kind, letting me hang out for a while.”

She starts to wave it off again, but he continues.

“I made a little something special for ya. Something I can't really leave for you to reheat later,” he says, gesturing to the ovens. “If you want a little snack?”

She nods eagerly, kicking her heels off toward the stairs before she joins him.

He pulls a dish from the oven and sets it on the counter. He fiddles with something there, but she doesn't see what until her turns, sliding a round plate to the center of the island between them.

Whatever it is is perfectly golden brown, looks delicious and smells heavenly.

“Honey baked brie,” he informs her. “With some walnuts and some fig jam, tiny bit of rosemary.”

“Oh my god,” she almost moans. “And it's what, wrapped in pastry?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he smiles. “Thought it might be something you like.”

“I can tell you already you're correct,” she says, rounding the island to find them some forks. “I can't wait to taste it.”

“Let me know how you like it.” She frowns, but he's got a small smile when she looks up. “I'll let you…”

“You think I'm going to eat that entire thing myself?” she asks, lifting her brows as she pulls two forks from the drawer.

“Well, I know how much you like cheese,” he chuckles.

“I'll share,” she says, handing him a fork. “With you.”

She doesn't even have the patience to sit down – she slices her fork through the pastry and creamy brie begins to ooze out. She scoops it up with some pastry, catching a nut and a bit of fig and shoves it in her mouth.

“Careful, it's hot–”

“Fuck me,” she mutters without thought.

It's delicious. Creamy and sweet and savory, the pastry flaky and buttery. It's rich and indulgent but not sickeningly so and she’s in love.

She's bringing another bite to her mouth when she realizes he's just smiling at her, pleased as punch.

“Please eat some,” she begs around her bite. “Because I can not eat all of this and I will if you leave me alone with it.”

“Alright, alright,” he chuckles, cutting off a bite for himself.

He hums, pleased with his handiwork. “Mm. Not to toot my own horn, but that's good.”

“Mm!” she hums, getting an idea. She steps away to the wine cooler, squatting down to look for one of her less frequent whites. She comes back with a pair of glasses and an off-dry Riesling.

“This was a bit too bright and citrus-y for me, but it might be gorgeous with this.”

“Okay. You’re the sommelier here, not me,” he says as she pours, then slides a glass to him.

“Oh, please, your pairings are always spot on.”

It does go nicely, complimenting every bite.

“God, this is lovely,” she tells him.

“I'm glad you like it,” he mumbles around his own bite.

“Did you make the pastry?”

He shakes his head. “No. Normally I would, but I didn't decide on this until I was shopping today and that takes some time.”

“How long did this take?”

She listens with interest as he explains how he made it, amazed at how straightforward it sounds.

“Christ, it sounds like I could make it.”

“Uh oh,” he says, eyes widening. “Am I talking myself out of a job?”

“Oh, hardly. Even if I figured out how to make everything you cook for me, I'd still keep you around,” she admits. “You’re good company.”

“Well, that's nice to know,” he smiles, eyes soft.

“Also, knowing how to definitely doesn't mean I actually have any desire to cook any of it myself,” she chuckles. “So you still have plenty of use.”

She winks with her teasing as his warm laugh has him tucking his chin, his crows feet deepening.

“I see how it is.”

She can't help but take him in, delighted by how carefree he is today. God help her, she really does like him – she wants to know him better. He's so genuine, so unselfish and generous, and she wants to keep him smiling.

“Thank you,” she says when she finally really can't eat any more, maybe a quarter of the round of brie left on the plate. “That was very kind of you.”

“No, thank you,” he echoes. “It was nice last week, to sit and eat with someone and I needed it.”

She nods get agreement, leaning her hip against the counter.

“I won't, uh, make a habit of just hanging out here, though,” he says, presumably to reassure her.

Her brows tip, eyes on his as she lets out a disappointed, “No?”

His lips part, but he doesn't manage to form a response. It hardly matters – they're communicating plenty in their gazes, trading glances at each other's lips. The moment stretches, and stretches, her breath changing to suit the surplus beats of her heart at the intensity in his warm eyes.

He leans closer, tipping his head, and something jolts through the center of her when he kisses her. She returns the gentle pressure, daring to part her lips to close them against his. Her fingers curl into her hand at her hip with restraint, fighting the urge to sink into his hair or pull him closer.

It's too delicate, this lovely feeling, and draws a tenderness up through her she hasn't been able to find for months.

He eases back slowly and she catches the breath he stole. Her eyes open, finding his still closed and she watches his parted lips begin to tighten as he fights a smile. The sight inspires one of her own, pulling at her cheeks as he opens his eyes, the smile winning and straightening his mustache out.

“I, um…”

She rolls her lips into her mouth, not even trying for words. She has none.

He can't find any either.

She drives forward again, prepared this time with a little extra breath in her lungs, a little more confidence. He kisses her back with a little more something too and she can't restrain her hands anymore from rising to hold his face. She tries to imbue the motion of her lips with plenty of invitation, but it's not until she pulls back and he follows, wavering toward her, that he steadies himself with a hand on her hip. Her attention goes straight to the heat of it through her dress as it slides to a more respectable height on her waist.

“You are very welcome to linger here as much as you like actually,” she exhales.

“Oh, I feel welcome,” he says, voice low.

She grins, pulling him in again. “Do you?”

“I sure do.”

He barely gets the words out before they're kissing again. She opens to him, tastes the brie and honey and the dry sweetness of the wine and finds it appropriate that he should be so indulgent. His hands finally make their way around her, narrowing the space between them even more. She's not sure when her arms found their way around his neck but they tighten there in response.

He doesn't let her go far when they part again, dropping a kiss on the corner of her mouth, her cheek. Her eyes close with the sensation, the scratch of his mustache and his warm lips.

“I really like cooking for you,” he murmurs.

The way he says it makes it sound like a deep confession and she feels silly for how fluttery it makes her to hear. She smiles against his lips and discovers this isn't new information to her. It's in every bite.

“I know you do,” she says low in his ear. “I can taste it.”

“Can you?” He sounds surprised and pleased.

“Yes.” She guides him back to her lips. “I can.”

#i don't know how you accidentally write five thousand words of fanfiction but it happened to me...#a gift for you anon. just cause 💌#also sorry the formatting sucks here but i don't feel like titling and tagging and summarizing and posting on ao3 rn #anon #tl drabbles

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ghostofthesoul · 5 months

Note

Heard you're looking for an idea for Graves, so perhaps Graves fell for one of the Shadows' sibling? Y/N visiting work one day to drop something off for their brother and Graves was there so he ended up pestering the Shadow for a chance to get to know them

Thank you so much for the inbox and very sorry for the wait. Hope i did you justice and i really hope you will enjoy reading this. :3

Below: Philip Graves x F.Reader, Y/N used and reader has a set family name. Fluff and funny content anyone can read it.

***********************************************************

Siren Beaty

It was a bright sunny morning at the base Philip was just about to call a meeting with the Shadows when a young pretty thing walked in the door. Looking around like a wandering baby deer when it realized it’s mom was nowhere to be found.

The beautiful woman was a mystery, Graves would have remembered a face like that, a face that looked like a siren waiting for a man to fall for her game. Graves felt his breath hitch when the girl made eye contact with him. Looking across the room, looking across all the men there but only making eye contact with him, not giving anyone else a second look but still looking at him.

You could only imagine Philips face when the beauty took a step in his direction.

He didn’t want it to be obvious that he was looking at her before so he turned his head to look at his men like he was just there to make sure everything was good and dandy.

“Sorry Sir? Could you help me?” asked the girl with the sweetest voice, it felt like crackling wood in a winter day, warm and homey. Philip could already see there future together even before he looked at the little lady before him.

He turned in the direction of the honey voice.

“Pretty sure I’ll know the answer” was the response, to Graves’ defense he didn’t want to sound cocky, it’s just the way he talks. He wanted to smack himself for sounding like any other prick would. His only reasonable option was to smile and hope it takes her mind off of his not so friendly first impression. That southern smile would make anyone drop their panties faster than lighting, but our mystery girl had self-control as it seemed. She smiled back so in Philips eyes it was a win.

“I’m looking for someone, maybe you could help me find him Mr.Graves?”

The gears turned in the Commanders head. How could she know his name if he was seeing her for the first time?

“Do I know you sweetheart?” he asked confusion clearly written on his features.

“No Sir, I’m looking for Sergeant Miller, he told me your name.”

“Ah the Sergeant.. I can call in for him if you want? What should i say who’s looking for him?” Graves was desperate for a name or some sort of information about the lady …looking for another man…

“Y/N Miller” Graves’ hearth could be heard as it cracked a little. So that means she is taken, by none other than one of his men.

“Wife I assume.” Philip smiled but it did not reach his eyes, it was only for formalities, to not look rude in her eyes.

She laughed, her eyes crinkled.

“Oh god no, no he is my brother.” She said after she calmed down. For some reason this piece of information took a lot of weight off Graves’ shoulders. Philip smiled gently and placed his hand on the small of her back.

“Good to know,” he muttered “good to know..” as he lead her to her brother. When they made their way back to the sleeping quarters Y/N fled as soon as she saw her brother.

“Hey big bro!” She yelled to get the Sergeants attention, Miller turned around and already opened his arms to give her a hug.

“Hi there sis,” he said as he held her “did you get here easy?”

“Yeah, actually Mr.Graves here was nice enough to lead me to you.”

Miller looked up to see Philip standing just at the doorway and nodded “Appreciate it Sir.”

Graves just nodded back in a way to gesture it was no big deal, then looked at Y/N and smiled “It was nice to meet you Ms.Miller.” then he left not waiting for an answer, he didn’t want to disturb the siblings any longer.

Y/N looked at the door and smiled for a few seconds until she was pulled out of her gaze by her brother.

“Don’t even think about it Y/N.” he said and smacked her shoulder.

Y/N turned around to face the Sergeant and showed the tupperware she was holding in his chest “You left this at home dumbass” she smiled as Miller made a face like it was the most physically hurtful thing anyone has done to him.

Two days later:

Graves was on a mission, not on a real one, but this was as important to him as a real mission would be. He couldn’t keep the beauty out of his head. He made his way to the sleeping quarters looking for Sergeant Miller specifically, when he spotted him across the room laughing with te other he took advantage of who he was.

“Everyone out, Miller you stay here!” Graves shouted as everyone scrambled onto their feet and out of the door with a “Yep-Yep” being heard by all of them.

Miller stood with his hand raised to his forehead waiting for anything to come as Graves’ voice didn’t sound quite pleasant.

“Relax Sergeant i only have a question.” this made Miller visibly relax as he knew he did nothing wrong this time.

“What can i help you with sir?” still being careful.

Graves cleared his throat “.. Is your.. khmm.. sister single by any chance?”

***********************************************************

If anyone got inspired by this my inbox is open and you can send me any of your ideas.

Have a lovely day!

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i-magines · 1 year

Text

Wildest Dreams: Chapter 3

Pedro Pascal x fem!Reader

synopsis: You’re an assistant director in an indie movie set and fate makes sure you keep crossing paths with a certain Chilean actor.

disclaimer: This is my first Pedro Pascal’s fictional work + the first fanfic I write in English, as it isn’t my first language. Unfortunately, I do not own Pedro and this is all a product of my imagination.

rating: M (keep scrolling if your under 18 please)

warnings: age gap, mature content, fem!reader, eventual drinking and drugs, a little smut but nothing crazy (yet), a bit slow burn but not really.

word count: 1,509

Over the first month, your friendship with Pedro only grew stronger. You were afraid once the production set was moved to the country, he was going to just disappear, as you were no longer roommates. You’d be lying to yourself if you said he didn’t make you feel anything, especially with how charming and flirting he was. You both had shared a lot of personal stuff over smoking joints and you were already used to hanging out together after a day of filming. But today things were going to be different, because the producers had organized a little happy hour for the crew.

Speaking of them, you had asked Pedro to keep your friendship on the low, at least during the job. You knew what everyone would say and think, mostly about you alone, so you were looking after yourself. He understood that and apparently didn’t care to be sneaking out like a teenager to spend some time with you.

“There you are”, Pedro happily greeted you on the corner of the happy hour room, about two hours into the event. “I almost didn’t get the chance to see you today. How’s everything going?”

At this point, you were certain the director hated you, but thank God he was the only one. Everyone else seemed to really like you and your work, which helped a lot with your anxiety.

“He spent the day trying to drive me crazy… Again”, you told Pedro. “You?”

“I would definitely rather be directed by you, if I’m being honest” he said in sympathy. “But yeah, it won’t take long for me to tell him to fuck off. Super nicely, of course.”

You both laughed. You could see he had been drinking and so did everybody in the room. Somebody turned up the music and Pedro dragged you to the improvised dance floor. You danced for about half an hour, until you saw him going to talk to Donna, one of the producers. They seemed friendly— too friendly, if somebody asked your opinion. You noticed it before, how close they acted sometimes, but at the end of the day, it was none of your business. Flo, the make-up artist that got you the job, got your attention and you walked to her.

“What’s up with that face?” She shot you the question. Flo was in her mid 40s and you got to know her in your first gig, since then she was always trying to connect you with people. You really liked her and, most importantly, trusted her. “You looked like you were about to commit murder on the dance floor. I know Dave is giving you a hard time, but honestly he is doing this to every single soul.”

“I was just wondering, is Donna taken?”, you asked as if you had no intention behind it.

“Yeah, I think so”, she told you. “Why? You gay too?”

“Someti— wait, what?” You stared at each other for a few seconds. “Is she?”

“As far as I know”, she said simply. “And by that I mean I’ve known her for about 10 years now. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“No, you didn’t. I mean, good for her, right.”

You decided you need to put your shit together now on. You excused yourself and went to get another drink — you can be a new woman tomorrow. You took some shots and got a drink to hold while you watched everyone dancing and having a good time. You tried to force yourself to stop thinking about your crush on Pedro.

“I need professional help”, you whispered to yourself.

“And why is that?”

“Shit, Pedro!” You jumped, realizing he was right by your side. “You scared the shit out of me, you shithead.”

“Wow, language, sweetheart”, he laughed at your reaction, putting his arm over your shoulder. “What are you up to?”

“Not much, just enjoying the free drinks”, you replied, also enjoying the proximity of his body. “I can see you’re enjoying them yourself.”

“Nah, I’m thinking about getting out of here, people are starting to get too drunk and God forbid I witness anything I can’t unsee”, he was being playful and seemed happy when he got a smile out of you. “Care to join me? Or you already have plans for tonight?”

“Yeah, you know me, Miss Popularity herself”, you both laughed. “Seriously, though. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Is it okay if we leave together? Considering your privacy policy”, he whispered in your ear. Only if he knew how weak that makes you. You just nodded. “After you, mi princesa.”

Fuck you, Pedro Pascal, you thought as you made the effort to move your shaking legs. Two options: first, he had no idea of his effects on you, or second, he did know that and he just liked to torture you. However it is, you were not willing to make a move to figure it out.

The location of the shooting was a huge farm, so you walked together through the open field, towards his cabin. You got inside and took your shoes off.

“Hey, mister ‘I’m just a common worker as everybody else’, tell me again why exactly you are the only one with a private hot tube”, you teased him. He laughed. “Is it because you’re such good friends with Donna?”.

“So that’s what it was about back in the happy hour?” Pedro looked deeply into your eyes. “Such a jealous little girl, uh?”

You looked away, embarrassed. You can’t deny your brain formulated that sentence, but the alcohol spilled it out your mouth.

“Answering your question, I’m not really friends with Donna, but her partner is one of my closest colleagues in the industry”, he said in a patient tone. “And you’re welcome to use the hot tube whenever you feel like it.”

You could feel your cheeks burning. Fuck.

“I didn’t mean to— to be honest, I don’t even know what I meant, so don’t mind drunk Y/N”, you breathed out strongly.

“Why don’t we forget about it and instead go chill in the hot tube?” He offered you a smile. Pedro was so easy to deal with, always trying to make you comfortable. “I have more of that nice whisky you like.”

You quickly put on your bikini in your room and head back to Pedro’s cabin. You could hear the happy hour turning into a party on the back, as you joined him inside the tub. You did your best to not stare at his toned, tanned body. He was smoking a cigar and handed you a glass.

“You know what’s funny”, he started, you already knew you wouldn’t find it funny at all. “This is the second time I see you in a tub.”

“Well, fuck you very much sir”, you held a serious face before letting a smile scape. “That was traumatic.”

“Why is that? I would say you made quite an impression”, he laughed, something different sparkling in his eyes. “Would it bother you if I said I still think about it?”

You felt your body hot, as if the water was on boiling point.

“God”, you whispered. He never took his eyes off yours. “I don’t know what to say, Pedro.”

“It’s a simple question, sweetheart”, he replied, coming a little closer. You got chills all over your body. “Honestly, I don’t know if you only see me as this friendly, older, disgusting man—”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” you cut him before he could finish. “Feel free to think about whatever you like.”

“Good”, he said quietly, his body even closer, but still not touching yours. “Tell me what you were doing on the tub that day, sweetheart.”

“I-I was, uh,” you felt like you were about to explode, your brain trying to process if this was really happening. “I was touching myself.”

“Finally, princesa”, he let out a deep breath against your neck. “You don’t know how many times I wanted to hear you say this, to be sure my memory wasn’t fucking with me.”

He touched your waist with his hand, putting the cigar away with the other one. You felt delirious.

“What are you going to do now that you know?” The question popped out of your mouth.

He grabbed your arm to move your body, making you sit on his lap. Face to face. He was hard as fuck.

“I will take you back to your cabin, give you a goodnight kiss…” He made a pause. His stare was deep down your soul. “Come back to mine and think ‘bout you while I mind my own business.”

He was dead serious.

“I’m too horny to go to sleep”, you cried to him, all your blood concentrated between your legs. You moved on his lap, rubbing against his cook.

“Trust me”, he said as his hands firmly held your hips down, making you stop and yet feel him ever harder. “I feel the same way.”

He gave you a little forehead kiss.

“C’mon, let’s get you to bed.”

CHAPTER 4 AVALIABLE NOW

TAGLIST: @kyuupidwrites @omg-its-typical-aesthetics-fan @vivibabiez @ivyohmy @sebastianstansimp @tubble-wubble @28cnn @3zae-zae3 @technicallysassyfox @bellatrixyoass @mandolover86 (edit: i’m not sure why i wasn’t able to tag everybody i’m trying my best here)

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #pedro x reader #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

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so-mordor-itis · 11 months

Text

Just When You Thought You Knew Everything

@comatosebunny09 ;) I'm really proud of this one, and honestly, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. (I was the anon that suggested the loneliness of Leon.)

zero

There were days when he wasn’t plagued by the terrors of Raccoon City. Days–moreso nights–where his brain cracked open the deeper ends of his consciousness and forced him to remember further back. When he was 8, watching flames bite against the wooden walls of the building he once called home. When his 8-year-old brain thought it was possible to dwindle the fire just by staring at it long enough. Leon remembered then how someone in his family, not sure who, used to comment on his eyes. That they were so blue they could swallow sparks and then proceed to remark they were definitely inherited by his father. (So kind, he thought bitterly, to be told something that belonged to you was really something that actually was someone else’s and now you’re just borrowing it.) Leon’s 8-year-old self held on to that comment, hoping desperately that it was true; that he wasn’t being fed another lie for dinner even if somehow at that age, he knew it was.

Leon realized his life was unique by the time he was 7. Stuck with another mediocre tv-dinner (though he liked those at the time), he remembered watching his father, drenched from abdomen to ankle in red, trip over himself, heaving. His father looked up, ocean blue piercing ocean blue, before walking back outside to probably continue whatever charade he found himself in. At 7, he wondered if other kids his age also had fathers who would do mysterious things. Fathers who barely spoke to them, only fussing at whatever their mother cooked, grumbling about newspaper articles, and yelling at the phone. Fathers who would look at them, just stare for what felt like hours, only to sigh and protest they never clean their room. Leon wondered if their dads also looked exactly like them but older.

He hated the dreams that slapped him in the face with unwanted nostalgia almost as much as the ones that groaned in his ears, smelled of iron and rot, and stung his eyes with the memory of smoke from cars on the verge of exploding.

At least the unwanted nostalgia never left him feeling as if he was a cadaver on the side of the road, organs made of jelly, bones crushed.

Though, Leon had to ask himself, which was worse: being reminded that he was human or having the bits of the soul he once had sucked out, leaving an empty socket.

one

You were a new, riveting surprise.

Ingrid Hunnigan, a fellow agent and communications specialist, had been transferred to a new office building temporarily, allowing someone new to slip into her role and provide him with information and, if needed, support. (“Going on vacation this early, Hunnigan?” Leon had thought to himself in a jest.) You were her replacement, according to Simmons. However, that word didn’t sit right on Leon’s tongue. Replacement indicated Ingrid was now gone and had completely vanished from sight. As far as Leon was concerned, she was none of those.

He greeted you with neutral respect, holding back the urge to create a snippy comment. He wasn’t aware of how greatly you’d treat his quips or if you’d appreciate them at all. It surprised him when you shook his hand, eyebrow raised as if he had already said something stupid.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Kennedy. I’ve heard a lot about you.” You said in a friendly manner. He couldn’t help the curiosity that was bubbling in him. People talked about him around the office?

“Oh yeah?” He crossed his arms, offering you a chance to tell him more. “Enlighten me.”

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. “Mm, I don’t know if Ingrid would be too happy with me if I told you.” His expression was so amusing: he was attempting to act smug as if he knew people were chatting behind his back about his achievements or failures. However, as you regarded his form, you knew that wasn’t the case. Perhaps in the very back of his mind, he glazed over the idea, but once the information was relayed to him, he froze.

“Before you ask,” you watched his mouth open only to snap shut. “Ingrid and I are friends.”

Leon sighed. “So this is how it’s going to be.”

You sat in Ingrid’s chair, giving it a feel. “Oh come on now, don’t say that as if you already can’t stand me.”

It was the opposite, actually. He was already starting to like your attitude, but naturally, he couldn’t let you find that out just yet. Leon needed to grasp that feeling of satisfaction before you welcomed its embrace.

“I could already hate you, and you wouldn’t even know it.” He remarked, lifting his hand lightly to mitigate his point.

“Well, damn, shoot me now.”

two

It honestly startled him how fast you adapted to his behavior. Maybe Hunnigan had given you a lecture on him, Leon S. Kennedy 101: How To Deal With His Bullshit. Your first-ever assignment as partners went smoothly. He was to retrieve data on illegal B.O.W transports, observing for any kind of suspicious activity in the vicinity of Manhattan. You made a joke about New York and how the food wasn’t even that good for those prices. He snorted, giving you some credit for your originality, half tempted to ask how you knew before he spotted something. He gave you a short, to-the-point comment on what his next actions were.

You replied. “Don’t die when it’s my first day on the job, alright?”

Leon rolled his eyes. “Already thinking about the paycheck? That’s kinda fast.”

“How else am I gonna pay rent this month?”

“Side job?”

“Don’t start.”

The next few months, he allowed himself to grow more amused with your antics, with your banter. You were funny. He had to admit it. Chatty, even. It impressed him how often you knew how to reply, firing comments of your own as if you were always loaded with something.

You grew to be familiar. A calm voice that he didn’t know he could’ve used at that moment in time.

Then you grew to be more than just a voice. A person who he missed when your shift ended, and he was alone at his desk, messy papers the only thing giving him company. A person he gravitated towards when he immediately saw your figure. Be it a gathering, a meeting, or simply seeing you during lunch, he found himself by your side.

Leon liked it. He liked having this. He knew the word for it was friendship. You two acted as if you had been friends for years even though it was the complete opposite. You clicked so easily.

That's what scared him the most. It petrified him down to his very core that this wasn't even the closest you could get to him. There were still more forks in the road, more paths you could take. A part of him froze at the idea of you pausing in front of the box of horrors he's encountered, opening it, only to be drowned by him, by his essence. As if he was Pandora's Box, and you would perish.

Those burdens were almost impossible for him to carry. How would you react to what he saw in Raccoon?

Leon glared into his bottle of whiskey as his thoughts rolled around like boulders in his head. He took a sip, allowing the alcohol to sting his throat.

Had it really taken him this long to realize you were this precious to him?

two and a half

He dreamt about his mother and father that night, and it made him wonder if fate truly had it out for him.

three

Leon's worst fears came to light when his fingers accidentally brushed against yours, igniting an inner feeling he recognized immediately. While you hadn't really reacted–maybe bashfully glanced down–it hit him fast and hard like a brick falling from the sky. He wouldn't mind holding your hand. He wouldn't mind doing a lot of things with you. Because it was you and you made him experience joy. Genuine joy. Something he thought would be nearly impossible for him to feel again.

Maybe that’s why he’s scared. He truly can’t imagine doing anything without the ghost of you being there. How funny, what a human can do to another, how easily one could slip into his life, creating an asteroid-sized crater in his chest.

However, despite that never-ending pit of fear, he remained the same on the outside. A contrast to what happened in his head. At least, he thought he continued to keep up the tough, stoic expression he managed to have all the time.

You two were having a normal exchange. Talked about each other’s days, about upcoming missions packed into your schedules, and what you were having for dinner later (he almost asked you if he could join but stopped himself). But then, the atmosphere changed and suddenly you held a look of uneasiness. Now he was concerned.

“Everything okay?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that.”

Leon crossed his arms, his usual stance. “Nothing’s up besides the files we’ve been reading. Nasty shit, though I guess I can say I’ve seen worse.” He had.

“No, not that.” You mimicked him, now crossing your own arms. He half wondered if you were doing it partly to mock him, but with how serious your tone was, that probably wasn’t the case. “You’ve been uneasy. As if you want to tell me something but you can’t.”

Come on. You can’t possibly read him that easily. “Nah.” He brushed your concern off, but he hated himself for it. For the way your face dropped. Of course, there were more things he could tell you, to plop in your lap, hoping you understood where he was coming from. “You’re cute for being concerned though.” Maybe that will turn your curious nose away for now.

“I’m cute?” You look baffled. “That’s a new one.” He could tell from the way you scoffed, turning your head to look anywhere else but at him, that got you.

“I’m full of surprises.”

“More like full of shit.”

“Ouch.”

“Still, back to what I was saying, I’m here to listen. I think you know that by now. I mean, I got wine at my place with your name on it.”

Leon wrinkled his nose. He was never a wine guy, scotch was ragged and spiky when it went down his throat and he preferred that. “Inviting me over?”

“If you need it.”

He almost took it. Almost.

“Maybe some other time.”

four

He caved when you asked again a few weeks later when he severely needed some form of alcohol after what he had been dragged into.

You poured him a glass of wine, and he watched as red covered the glossy inside to almost full. “Thanks.”

You smiled, and something burned within him, it glowed red, overflowing like how lava does when it’s spewed from a volcano. This was more than just friendship now, your every action caused him to feel something, whether it was burning or just warm. You were warm.

The wine made him feel sluggish, and vulnerable. He was only on his third glass before his brain was less rigid, slowly turning into mush.

“You okay?” You laughed a little. “You look like you’re about to be sick.” You glanced at the wine bottle with knitted brows, scanning over the label. “I hope this hasn’t expired.”

Leon waved his hand at you. “No, wine just hits me a little harder than scotch does.”

“Is that why you never drink it? Or do you just like scotch so much?”

“I just like scotch, probably an unhealthy amount.” He smiled a little, cheeks pink from the alcohol. “Never been a wine guy, but today’s special.”

“Our government is running you ragged, Lee.”

“Tell me about it. The main guy at the white house seems to really favor me now.”

“Have you ever gone on vacation?”

“Nope.”

“You should. I highly recommend it.”

He chuckled. “I got on vacation, and then what? I’m called on the second day. Perks of being the golden boy.”

Leon realized that under the influence, he was better at small talk. The fog around his brain prevented him from overthinking, allowing him to share his thoughts and his ideas. For once, he felt no burdens weighing on his shoulders. The world seemed less dark.

Until he slipped a comment about Raccoon.

“I was there.” He accidentally said, shutting his mouth immediately as you raised your eyebrows. You blinked, licking your lips in thought.

“You never told me that.”

Well, now he could no longer avoid it. His trauma, his old wounds that were constantly reopened, were now somewhat spilled on the floor. The probability of you simply letting this go was zero. Leon sighed heavily, placing his wine glass on your kitchen counter. “It wasn’t really brought up. Well, maybe it was, but…I guess I was nervous about scaring you off.”

“Scaring me off?” You held a hand to your hip, looking at him as if he was stupid, and suddenly he was whisked back to when you two first met, and you had given him that exact same look. “You know what we do for a living? The wine didn’t make you forget right?”

“Not in that sense,” Leon felt weird telling you this. Oddly confident. It was the wine–did he really only have three glasses?

“Oh.” You got the hint almost immediately. He knew you would. He was searching your expression now, but he couldn’t read it. You were thinking, your forehead wrinkling. It was cute, downright adorable.

He didn’t want to scare you off, because this was more than just friendship to him.

“Didn’t think you were interested in me in that way.” You huffed. You bit the inside of your cheek, still thinking. You approached him, placing yourself in the seat next to him, the air now so warm it was hard to breathe. “Well, you can tell me about Raccoon City. You can tell me anything. Show me your scars, and I’ll show you mine.” You said it so sincerely, he had to be inclined to believe you.

It was silly, how scared he was about his. He told you everything, and somehow later that night it led to you holding him close to your chest, fingers in his hair, heartbeat in his ear.

A night so beautiful he actually cried.

He thought back to the night when his childhood home burned. The night he willed the fire to diminish into smoke with just his eyes.

You aren't alone anymore, kid. He thought, still feeling your fingers threading through his hair, through the darker roots. Not anymore.

Tags:

@uhlunaro , @seraphiism , @izuniias , @honeyfict , @konigbabe , @mandalhoerian , @leonskillshot , @airanke , @tosuckmyweenis , @madeholyy , @toseetheworldinaworkofart , @unhealthy-leon-brainrot , @universal-imagines , @some-insomniac-writes , @i-can-sabotage-me-bi-myself , @muffimtv , @justonemore-fic

#leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy imagines #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #resident evil 4 #resident evil imagines #resident evil #leon x you #leon x y/n #leon x reader #my writing

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gunilslaugh · 4 months

Text

Write Next Door

Goo Gunil

Summary: Little did you know the guy you were exchanging notes with and your next door neighbor were the same person. (non-idol au)

WC:~1.2k

Warning: none

AN: The title is supposed to be a pun since you're writing notes to your next door neighbor in case it didn’t make sense.

photo not mine credits to owner.

“Hi whoever else sits at this desk :)” It was a silly little note, but it made you smile. Truthfully you weren’t having the best day. You had a test this morning that you don’t think you did particularly well on. Then your project partner in another class decided that they weren’t gonna do their part of the work or show up to class. Even though the note was a small thing it still managed to bring some light to your dreary day. So much so that you found yourself picking up your pencil to write “Hi :)” where there was a blank space on the little paper before folding the note back up. You placed it back where you found it on the underside of the desk where there was a slight gap between the wood of the desk and a metal bar.

The next morning you were leaving your house feeling exhausted due to staying up late to finish your project.

“Are you feeling ok?” You heard a voice beside you. You turned your head to see your neighbor Gunil. You didn’t know Gunil all that well, but talk from time to time. Enough for you to deem him as a nice guy. Who also has a workout addiction.

“Yeah I’m ok thanks. I just stayed up last night doing a project. That I have to present today,” you sighed.

“I’m sure you’ll do well,” Gunil encouraged you. Giving you a supportive smile.

“Thanks,” you tell him.

When you later arrived at class your hand subconsciously went to feel to see if there was another piece of paper under the desk. To your surprise there was. You grabbed it and unfolded it. “I didn’t think anyone would actually respond, but I’m glad you did!” Just like the last note this one also made you smile. You flipped the note over to the backside to write your response. “I was having a bad day, but your note made me happy :)” You folded the paper and put it back under the desk. Feeling a bit excited to check for another note tomorrow.

On your way back home you happened to run into Gunil again.

“You look happier. I take it your presentation went well,” he said.

“It did, but that’s not-nevermind,” you dismissed. Deciding that telling Gunil you're happy about receiving silly little notes might seem a bit weird.

“No, tell me. Don’t leave me hanging,” he says.

“Ok fine. In one of my classes there’s this person who’s been leaving notes under the desk. I know that probably sounds silly, but I don't know they make me happy for some reason,” you tell him. Gunil stays silent at your words because he has been leaving notes under the desk in one of his classes. He left the first one more as a joke. Just something that was meant to be as good fun. He can’t lie though reading the little “Hi :)” someone, who he now thinks is you, responded with made him happy too.

“What did the notes say?” Gunil finally speaks after realizing he hasn’t said anything.

“The first one said ‘Hi whoever else sits at this desk’ with a smiley face and the second one said that they didn’t expect anyone to respond, but they were glad I did,” you answered. Gunil got his confirmation you were indeed the one who responded to his goofy note. It makes his heart flutter. Honestly Gunil always had a bit of a crush on you ever since you first spoke to him. Now you turn out to be the one he’s exchanging notes with. What are the chances of that?

“That’s cute. They seem like a friendly person.” Yes, Gunil was putting in a good word for himself. He thinks that he’s going to use these notes as a way to confess to you.

“Yeah they do,” you agreed. Gunil was excited to read your response tomorrow.

Gunil couldn’t make his way to his desk fast enough. Handing racing to grab the paper lying underneath.

“Are you that excited about your note thing?” Seungmin teased him. Gunil doesn’t even bother to respond as he eagerly unfolds the note and reads your response. It felt sad to hear that you were having a bad day, but he was glad that he made you feel better. Gunil smiles like an idiot as he rips a piece of paper to write you another note. “Seriously, why are you being weird?” Seungmin pressed.

“The person responding to my notes is y/n.” Gunil happily tucks the note under the desk

“Y/n? Oh you mean your crush y/n?” Seungmin questions.

“That’s the one,” Gunil says.

Later when you arrive at class your hands find their way under your desk. It’s quickly becoming a habit. You smile when you feel the piece of paper under your fingers. There’s a feeling of excitement as you unfold the paper. “I hope I can bring happiness to all your days y/n :)” Your eyes widen as you read your name on the little paper, rereading it again to make sure you read it right. How did the person know who you were? Should you be scared? You feel a bit hesitant this time as you write your response, “How do you know who I am?”

The next day you were a bit worried as you held the folded paper in your hand. That worriedness faded away as you read the response though. “Cause I am your secret admirer <3” The person who you were exchanging notes with had a crush on you? “Can I know who you are then?” you wrote back.

The following day you were met with a note that said “You’ll find out soon!” However, that was also the last note they left you. It’s been three days and the underneath of your desk remained note free. You began to think this was all a joke. Maybe one of your friends was just messing with you this whole time.

You arrived home and found an envelope sitting on your doorstep. You stared at it curiously before picking it up. It had your name written across your front. You ripped the envelope open to reveal a note inside. “Your secret admirer is…” you read out loud.

“Me,” you heard a voice behind you. It’s a voice you recognize. You turn around to see Gunil standing there with flowers and a note. He hands you both. You smile as you smell the flowers and read the note. “I like you <3 Do you like me too? Check [ ] Yes or [ ] No” You laugh grabbing a pen from your bag. You teased Gunil a little bit, acting like you were thinking about it before checking the yes box and handed the note back to him. Gunil’s face lights up as he sees your response.

“Yes!” He pumped his fist excitedly, making you laugh. You think Gunil being the one who was sending you notes all this time was the best possible outcome.

#xdinary heroes #xdh #xdh imagines #xdh x reader #xdinary heroes imagines #xdinary heroes x reader #xh gunil #xdh gunil #gunil x reader #gunil fluff #xdinary heroes fluff #xdh fluff #gunil #goo gunil #koo gunil #goo gunil x reader

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justsomewritingblog · 1 year

Text

Unrequited Love (Part 2)

Request: None

Requested By: Nobody

Pairing: Adrian/Cat Noir x reader (unreciprocated)

Summary: Y/n gets to know people.

Warnings: None? Jealousy?

A/N: Repost!

Word Count: 1K+

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was lunch period, and everyone had taken their seats. Y/n was sitting in the corner, with her empty lunch tray sitting on the table before her. She was sketching some more. Y/n let out a huff, drawing (wink wink) a blank.

She stared down at the page before her, hoping it held answers. She heard a throat clear.

“Mind if I sit here?”

She didn’t look up, figuring the voice was talking to someone else. The voice tried again.

“Y/n? Right?”

Her head shot up and her e/c orbs stared into green ones. She placed a hand on her chest in question. “You’re talking to me?”

The boy laughed. “Of course.”

Her face burned as she moved her things, making room for the friendly man. He took a seat, and began to eat as she stared at him in shock. His eyes darted to hers.

“I-I’m sorry.” She apologized. “It’s just that…..nobody wants to talk to me usually.”

The boy gave her a sad smile.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t look very inviting….I guess.” She added with a shrug. The boy smiled.

“They’ll never know if they don’t give it a chance.” He advised. She smiled at his kind words. He stuck out his hand.

“I’m Adrien.”

Y/n smiled, taking his hand in hers.

“Yes, I know. I’m Y/n.”

Adrien smiled back as well. “I know.”

“Well, I know that you know. I was introduced in class.” She countered. Adrien smiled.

“Nice ring, by the way.” She complimented. His eyes widened a little bit.

“Thank you. Are you new around here?” He asked, trying to change the conversation.

“Kind of. I’ve been here a month or so, trying different schools.”

“That must suck.”

“It does. But it’s alright. Seeing as I don’t talk to people, I don’t get attached, so it doesn’t bother me.”

Adrien frowned, resisting the urge to say something. Y/n became nervous, and started fiddling with her pencil. Adrien’s eyes glanced down, seeing movement, and noticed the sketch she was working on. He smiled, seeing a conversation.

“You like to draw?”

Y/n looked up. “Yeah. There’s something bugging me about this piece, though.” She turned the sketchpad towards him, and he observed it.

There was a building, with a few in the backdrop. There was an open window with music notes floating into the air. A small tree sat in the small yard, enclosed with a gate.

“Okay, what’s bothering you?” He asked.

“Well, I can’t figure out what instrument I want being played, and by whom.” She clarified. Adrien nodded, understanding.

“What instruments do you like?” He inquired, trying to be helpful.

“I like the piano. It’s one of the nicest sounding ones.” She paused. “That’s how I feel, anyway.”

Adrien smiled. “I get it. I play the piano.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Do you play any instruments?”

Y/n shook her head. “No. I tried the piano for like, a month before quitting.”

“You quit?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

“To be perfectly honest, I can’t recall.” She confessed, pinching her eyebrows together. Adrien smiled.

“Well, I think you’re a very good artist.”

Y/n felt her cheeks burn as she bowed her head, hiding behind her curtain of hair.

“Thank you.” She mumbled. Adrien smiled at the shyness.

“If you want……I could try to teach you how to play the piano….if you’ll teach me how to draw.” He offered. Y/n’s head shot up, eyes wide, and a surprised expression on her face.

“Really? You’d do that? For me?”

He nodded.

“But why? You don’t know me.” She defended.

“I want to.” He countered, sticking out his hand.

“What do ya say, friend?”

Y/n had never smiled so wide in her entire life. She took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

“Friend.” She repeated.

~Meanwhile~

Marinette groaned.

“Marinette, chill out. He’s being friendly to the new girl. Isn’t that partly why you admire him so much?” Alya asked. Marinette groaned again.

“I hate it when you’re right.” She mumbled into her arms, folded onto the table. Alya smiled, shaking her head.

“But what if he falls in love with her? That means he won’t fall in love with me, which means I’ll be heartbroken. I’ll grow up all alone, with no three kids, no hamster, and probably become a crazy-cat-lady, or a hermit. I’ll die old, and alone, with no one there for me. I think I may faint!” Marinette managed to get out in a single breath.

“Girl, you have to relax. You remember that Miss Bustier told us to try to get to know her, right?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Soo. When Adrien leaves, go talk to her. Try to get some information, if you’re that worried. Although, frankly I don’t see the point.”

“Easy for you to say. At least you have Nino.” She looked back over at Adrien and Y/n. They were smiling, and chatting. Marinette buried her head in her arms.

“It’s over. I’m through.” She muttered, hopelessly. Alya rolled her eyes and shoved Marinette over. Marinette stumbled forward, nearly reaching the table. She would have made it, if not for the seating design. She tripped over a chair, falling to the ground in an uncomfortable position. Y/n and Adrien turned, upon hearing the ruckus. They quickly stood to their feet, rushing toward the clumsy girl. They both extended a hand, ready to help her stand. The girl looked up. Her eyes widened as they locked onto Adrien’s. Her eyes spaced out slightly, making her look like she was in a daze. Y/n noticed this and frowned, retracting her hand slightly.

“Marinette?” Adrien asked, trying to get her attention. Oh, he had it alright.

“Y-y-yes?” She answered.

“You okay?” He inquired. She nodded hastily, taking his hand and helping herself up. Y/n looked at her own ignored hand and retracted it, resting it down by her side. Marinette and Adrien looked at each other for a moment. Though to Y/n, it felt like an eternity. She quirked an eyebrow, sick of this already. Suddenly a girl jogged over. She wore glasses, and had dark brown hair, that turned red farther down.

“You alright, girl?” She asked Marinette. The girl in question made a noise that Y/n wasn’t even sure was English. The boy that sat next to Adrien this morning ran over as well.

“Dude, you alright?” He asked. Marinette seemed to have found her voice.

“Yes. Thanks, Nino.” She responded. Noticing that everything was under control, Y/n backed up a couple steps, stuffed her things into her bag, returned her empty tray, and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/n: Repost!

#MLB #ML #Miraculous Ladybug #OC #Adrien Agreste #Chat Noir #Cat Noir #My works #Mara's works #My Imagines #Mara's imagines

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otomotoelzhinee · 7 days

Note

I love your comics shreebs very much. Well here my question.

Who was the first to confess his love for each other? shrike or beebs?

Thank you so much!! Gosh, this one I left pending for a while, very sorry about that.

This one has been hard to figure out for me, as I think both characters have a likely chance to confess their feelings for the other:

None.

For as friendly as they are with one another, I find it difficult Shrike would ever tell Beebs about his feelings towards him, which seems obvious as he avoids being vulnerable with others. He's the one most likely to withhold info from Beebs or even lie if necessary. (Not out of maliciousness necessarily, but out of a selfish desire to preserve himself, or even just avoid being made a fool out of.)

But so could Beebs, as there's many things he hasn't told Shrike about his past. I feel that, in Beebs' case, although he trusts Shrike for many things, he also can't quite trust him for others. He still tries to give him the chance to prove himself, but there's a certain fear of that trust being broken over Shrike's inability to control his own impulses and being... Well, not really emotionally intelligent.

There's also the awkwardness of falling in love with someone who's not just a friend, but a business partner. "What if things become strange if I tell the truth, but he doesn't feel the same? Will we be able to go back to normal? Will he think differently of me?"

Change is a scary thing, even in small ways!

Of course, ideally, they both like eachother. But they don't actually know what the other feels.

If Shrike were to confess, the only possible scenario I can imagine is him being drunk out of his mind. Yeah, it's that old trope~

I feel that Beebs probably doesn't think highly of himself, so in a random conversation with a couple of drinks, they start to open up just a bit with eachother. Beebs would feel embarrassed saying he doesn't think he's that attractive, that he can't see himself being liked by someone else.

To which Shrike beings a long, almost nonsensical ramble, not really thinking about his words or how to articulate them.

"Nonono, no Beebs, listen. Listen-- HIC! Bee... You are, SO beautiful, amigo...Ur like, REALLY handsom' an'-- an' tall... An' real nice! And..."

He makes random gestures with his hands before pointing out Beebs in his entirely. "Well y-your such a good guy too, damn it!"

Beebs laughs at this, but Shrike only grows more frustrated, crawling his way over Beebs and getting closer has his rant continues.

"Look, look. When I see u. I see this guy... This nice guy doing his damn best! ...To do da right thing... You are annoyingly nice about it!! You're too kind! And so--" Another hiccup. "S-strong! Th-There's so much about you to love!!"

He grabs Beebs face, with Beebs continuing to laugh at Shrike seemingly so angry over the subject.

"Fine, fine!" Beebs goes. "I get it!"

"No! No quiero escuchar esa mierda...Salir de tu boca otra vez. Okay?"

Beebs nods.

"I love you a lot, man. Donchu know?"

"D'aw, yeah." Beebs replied. "I love you too, man."

"No, no, no..." Shrike's head falls on Beebs shoulder.

Beebs chuckles and pats Shrike's back, reassuring him again that he means it. But he stays there for a little bit, and Beebs just let's him be.

Until Shrike pulls away with a weak grasp, and looks at Beebs in the eyes again.

"I don't..." He mumbles.

"...Say that..." Something, something.

"...Cuz I..."

Beebs calls for him, confused as he realizes Shrike's trembling arms over him.

But before he can put together what's going on, Shrike puts his hands to squeeze his face again, and Beebs heart starts to race with Shrike only getting closer by the second.

"...What's going on."

And just as that thought crosses his mind, Shrike falls on his other shoulder, a long and strenuous snore coming out.

But Beebs stays there, his legs, his arms, his heart, all numb. He can't even tell if he's breathing anymore.

It takes him a couple of minutes, until he looks down at Shrike, completely gone.

He'd take him back to his bedroom, clean after their mess, walk around the place. But nothing is gonna help him release these thoughts, all these questions of what just happened. And more importantly, what will he choose to do about them.

I don't think Shrike would remember anything the next morning, but here it depends on Beebs if he will bring up the situation to Shrike. Or if he will let it pass as another one of Shrike's antics because of the alcohol.

If Beebs can trust Shrike enough to discuss something like this with him, then I'd like to think they would have an honest conversation.

One where Shrike might try to deny everything at first, but Beebs would push him to stop running away from it. And with no other choice, Shrike faces his friend and comes clean.

And with that, so would Beebs.

I also think there's other situations where Beebs could be driven to confess to Shrike, but I think part of me finds it more satisfying having Shrike facing Beebs and being vulnerable.

Probably a first for him, but it gives him an opportunity to trust Beebs, that he can trust someone, despite what his fears tell him. And by extention, so can Beebs. Finding someone to believe in again, to love, even.

#asks #idanart #monkey wrench #Monkey Business #sorry this is quite long but I hope its a fun read!! ;v;#I like trying to figure out characters and their motivations to do or say things and what would drive them to make cetain choices #it's likely these are ooc or that others might disagree #but I tried!!

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sandwichfordinner · 1 year

Text

Norton Campbell request 🔔 ᶻ 𝘇 𐰁 !

Tumblr does the same thing as it did back in summer, doubles the scenarios at the beginning and idk what’s their problem, so this is the 5th time editing this , and I had to remove the post because it was so awkward a for me to keep with those double and removed scenarios. Anyways enjoy

ꕤ*.ﾟ type: fluff , warnings: none! , gn! Reader

Before you started dating him

I wonder how did you pull this guy. He is so confused about it too.. What did you find attractive in him?? Are you using him for something?? What if its a joke-

A lot of overthinking during the relationship with you. He has been dating a woman before but things didn’t work as he thought about her. And because of this he has trust issues now.

He does like you! But he is unsure about his feelings , please give him some time to think about it because these questions roaming in his head just makes him really closed person towards you. He’s not even good with showing his emotions, of course he has them but it’s quite difficult for him to show them. He’s mostly with his blank stare or the tired one. But when it comes for him liking.. no.. loving someone he will be blushing a little and tries his best to not show it.

If you’re a kind person you will be getting more chance of getting close to him. At first he doesn’t avoid you he just doesn’t seem interested in you to start a conversation, well there can be times where he can try to start a little talk but he ends it quickly. I swear he is very friendly when you get to know him better.

He just loves receiving gifts , so you can keep that in mind.

Gift him, greet him with a warm smile (gets shocked when you are acting really nicely towards him, because barely people like you show him kindness and he is used to being treated badly) and more positive things.

Dating you

Now when he started dating you he was quite nervous, but he knew that you were kind enough to be trusted. It was too complicated for him to explain. Just give him lots of affection and he will be red in the face, especially if you had lipstick on while showering his face with kisses.

Please PLEASE hold this man he is so touch starved but doesn’t want to show it. It just makes him weak even if you hold his hand. But that was at the beginning of the relationship, later on when he got more comfortable he was the opposite of being the nervous person. Well he was a little nervous from time to time but not like before as I said.

You will often see him smile when he sees you because you’re just so perfect and he is so lucky to be with a person like you. He is a small spoon and a little bit big spoon , BUT he prefers being the small one.

His love languages are Physical touch , Quality time and receiving gifts. He just loves spending every second with you and he doesn’t regret it. One hug and he is happy and already melting in your touch. Remember how I said that he loves receiving any gifts? He especially loves receiving from you. And he loves gifting you too, maybe like little crystals he found , or just something he has found around the manor or in match. Makes sure it’s good quality and stuff. And yes he tries his best so your gift to be perfect. Isn’t really a big fan of handmade things , he just doesn’t want to gift you poor presents, he wants really good looking for his perfect lover!! But if you gifted him handmade things he would still keep it. (All of them are put around his room)

Not a big fan of pda but doesn’t mind it. He still needs at least a kiss doesn’t matter if it’s publicly before he starts a match.

Just imagine this guy singing a Spanish songs to you while holding the most beautiful bouquet of flowers and dressed fancy and looking at you lovingly. It’s like that scene when a guy sings a song in front of his girlfriend’s house and she happily listens to him while she’s on the balcony. Yeah but that’s you and Norton. Listen he can get very silly.

Also loves you so much because you’re not afraid of his scars. He was so scared to show them because he thought you will refer him as a monster. But when you saw them you actually didn’t mind his scars?? You would kiss his scars (pls why does this sounded so weird) and tell him how handsome he is, please he is about to cry.

Tall asf, he would be that type of boyfriend that surprises you with piggybacks. I mean he is really strong too so you’re like a feather when he picks you up.

Norton our babygirl 🔥

#identity v x reader #idv x reader #norton campbell x reader #identity v norton #norton campbell #identity v prospector #idv prospector #identity v scenarios #identity v headcanons #identity v oneshots

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anamoon63 · 5 months

Text

Lauri: You think they'll break up after this? Sarah: Oh, no, not a chance. Cho looked terribly sorry, and Kelly forgave him instantly, in spite of everything. They're still crazy about each other. Why you ask? Lauri: No reason, just asking.

Sarah: You aren't 'just asking'. You like Cho, a lot, I can tell. You want to know if you have a chance with him, I'll answer you straight up: none. Those two are too codependent, they'd never survive one without the other. Lauri: You don't know that. Sarah: Oh, believe me, I know.

Lauri: They aren't a match. He's friendly and nice; she's rude and arrogant, a true diva. Sarah: Cho, friendly and nice? Yeah, right that's why he almost broke that poor guy's face. Lauri: Cause Kelly provoked him; she was flirting, she pissed him off! Sarah: You want them to break up so bad that you're getting it wrong. Kel may be a lot of things, except a cheater; Cho, on the other hand… Ah, whatever, there's no way in hell they're breaking up.

Sarah: So you better forget about Dale, he’s not for you, girl. Plus, he and his brothers are bad news. Lauri: Really, why? Sarah: Well, the Cho brothers aren’t exactly known for their good manners. I highly recommend you stay away from them. Lauri: *Shrugs*

#the sims 3 #sims 3 gameplay #ts3 gameplay #sims 3 simblr #the sims 3 university life #the cho brothers #sarah parker #lauri hayword #los sims de ana #anamoon63 sims #sims stories #stories

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lucy-sky · 2 years

Text

Just Another Friday Night (Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x f!Reader)

Alright folks, I keep experimenting with writing for different fandoms because why not shitty writing is not a crime after all xD

Words: 3515; Warnings: mentions of casual sex and alcohol consumption. No explicit smut though, sorry :’D

Also in this fic: Slight enemies to lovers trope; slight insecurities from the reader’s part; Hangman is a huge show-off; guest appearances of Coyote and Bob (and Rooster playing the piano in the background :D)

AO3 link if you prefer reading there

Tagging @munsonownsmyass because idk anyone else who would be interested in this :D

On a Friday night The Hard Deck is always pretty crowded, but the atmosphere is lovely. All the steady customers and pilots are here, chatting, laughing, drinking and enjoying the evening. Rooster took a place at the old piano and is playing some vaguely familiar tunes - sometimes you joke that Penny should probably pay him a salary for live music. At times like this you actually feel lucky to work at such a nice and friendly place.

There’s only one thing that’s making your mood a bit darker tonight. Jake Seresin, callsign Hangman is here too. Well, of course he is, as well as the other pilots. Where else would they go on a Friday night? He seems relaxed and unbothered, as always, and you hate the way his presence makes you feel. It’s over. O V E R. Period. You’re hundred percent sure it was the right decision, the best one for probably the both of you. So why the hell it’s so hard to just… feel normal about it? Damn, you really miss the good old days… Well, not that old, actually. It’s crazy how only like… a month ago everything was so simple. Why does sex make everything so goddamn complicated? Or is it just you…

“You really think it’s gonna work?..” Bob asked quietly, looking at you with those enormous puppy eyes of his. “I mean… What if she… uh…”

“Are you kidding me? Of course it’s gonna work! She literally talks about you all the time, Bob!” you assured.

“Really?..” he looked genuinely surprised, “Sh-she talks about me?..”

“Well, not with everyone, but I’m her friend, so yeah… We discuss you boys from time to time,” you giggle softly. “Trust me, you have nothing to worry about.”

“I know…” he sighs deeply, blush creeping over his cheeks. “But she’s just so beautiful, I-”

“That’s true, she’s pretty. But she’s humble too. And Bob… Lily really really likes you, a lot. So just go for it!” you winked at him, and Bob smiled back sheepishly. Then he turned to search your colleague with his eyes. Lily just finished wiping one of the tables in the corner and was about to return to the counter.

“It’s your chance, c’mon!” you whispered, gently pushing him on the shoulder.

“Okay… Okay, I'm going.”

You couldn’t help grinning as you watched Bob approaching Lily. He looked so cute and bashful, and she smiled at him so brightly and happily. For sure they would make an adorable couple. You were even a tiny bit jealous. Not because you liked Bob or something - your feelings for him were purely platonic. It’s just the way he looked at her… To be fair, you could hardly imagine someone looking at you like that. You could keep scrunching your nose and saying the romance was overrated, but you had to admit it at least to yourself - a part of you was curious to know what it feels like. Nevertheless, you sincerely felt happy for your friend. You loved Lily a lot, and thought she absolutely deserved all the happiness in the world.

“‘Scuse me…”

Damn, with all this romantic novel worthy stuff you almost forgot you were actually at work.

“Yeah?” you turned to see Coyote at the counter.

“One beer for this asshole, please,” he muttered, pointing at Hangman who stood next to him, a smug grin on his handsome face.

“Ah, shit… Not again!..” You sighed, giving him a compassionate look. “I’m sorry, Javy.”

Hangman plays darts very well, and everybody knows it. But still from time to time his fellow pilots make desperate attempts to beat him. So far, none of them was successful.

“What can I say, sunshine? I always win,” he shrugged with a content smile.

“Oh, is that you, Hangman? Sorry, your ego is so huge I barely noticed you behind it,” you said sarcastically as you handed him the beer.

“Sassy as always,” he chuckled.

“Hey, what’s Bob doing?” Coyote suddenly asked, nodding in the direction of Bob and Lily. They were talking about something quietly, you could see Lily smiling at him as he gently touched her hand. Both looked a bit shy and completely smitten with each other. “Did he finally ask her out?”

“Yes! Well, um… I hope so. He was about to do it. I encouraged him.”

“As you should!” Coyote nodded in agreement. “I mean… Look at them! Literally a couple of lovebirds!”

“Right?? So glad Bob finally dared to approach her…”

“You know what, I don’t get what’s all the fuss about,” Hangman said lazily, sipping on his drink. “I mean… He really didn’t have to be that antsy - all the girls love pilots after all.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, darling, but I’m afraid that’s not entirely true,” you retorted.

“Really? Okay. Name one girl you know who wouldn’t date a pilot then.” Hangman wiggled his eyebrows.

“How about me?”

“You?” He looked surprised, and so did Coyote. “Mind telling me why’s that?” He leaned against the counter so that his face was inches from yours. You could even smell his cologne like this. God, this man’s so full of himself it makes you sick sometimes… And yet, there’s something dangerously attractive about him.

“Alright, I’ll tell you,�� you lowered your voice as if you were revealing a big secret. “Most of you guys are way too cocky for my taste. And way, way too full of yourselves. And, you know... guys like that... In reality they’re not nearly as good as they think of themselves,” you winced. “All they can do is showing off.”

“Ouch! Girl!” Coyote laughed as Hangman’s grin faded. “What’s that I just heard? Is it someone’s ego crackin’?”

“Shut up, man,” Jake grumbled, but it took him seconds to get back to his usual attitude. “It’s not cocky, it’s called charisma, baby.”

“Oh, okay… You can think so if it makes you feel better,” you shrugged, giving him an innocent smile as Coyote snorted another laugh.

That’s how it used to be. You and Hangman kept poking each other like this all the time, sometimes rather flirty, but nothing more than this. It was fun, and everything was great until that Friday night.

That night, for once you weren’t in the bar for work. It was Penny’s birthday, and everyone was invited, including you. And yes, Hangman was there too, along with the other pilots.

You were having a great time. It’s been a while since you felt so relaxed, so happy and careless - just drinking, laughing and dancing. Even Jake Seresin didn’t seem all that annoying that night…

You vaguely remember walking out of the bar to get some air, and him holding you probably a little too close than you would normally allow. And you can’t tell who made the first move for a kiss, but what happened happened - in the end of the night you found yourselves in bed together.

It was a bit weird and clumsy, but still, as ridiculous as it sounds, probably the best sex you’ve ever had. The cocky bastard made you come twice, left a couple of hickies on your neck, and you could swear he also got a few marks from your nails digging into his broad shoulders and back.

The morning after was awkward as hell, but your head was aching so bad you simply weren't able to think much about what happened between the two of you. Thankfully the next day in the bar Jake acted as if nothing happened, and you breathed out a sigh of relief. Just a drunken one night stand which was most certainly not gonna happen again. And honestly you thought it’s for the best.

It happened again a couple of weeks later. That time you had a really bad day. To your surprise, Hangman noticed that something was off and suggested to drive you home after work. You couldn’t really explain why you said yes. Probably because you felt really shitty and it was just good to have someone around, it gave you some sort of comfort. You were also not in the mood to talk much about your problems, but thankfully he seemed to be satisfied with your vague answers and didn’t insist on you getting into details. It was also nice, and you were thankful, so you leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. He kissed you on the lips in return.

That night wasn’t as messy as the first one. In fact, he was pretty gentle, as if he really felt something for you. You didn’t allow yourself to fall into this trap though. Clearly you’re not the kind of a girl golden boy Jake Seresin would seriously be into. But at least it was a good distraction - in his arms you simply lost your ability to think for a while.

He left early, while you were still asleep, saving the both of you from another embarrassment.

And then there was that time when not you, but he had a bad day. You still don’t know what exactly happened. It was late, and you almost fell asleep in front of the TV when he knocked on your door.

“Hey, what’s wrong with you?” you frowned as you tried to read his expression - he was frustrated for sure, and angry too. “Someone beat your ass in darts?..”

He didn’t answer your sassy remark. Instead, he stepped in and you instantly found yourself pinned against the wall, his lips kissing you furiously, hands almost ripping down your sweatpants. His hot breath against your skin, and he smelled like alcohol and sweat mixed with some expensive cologne; that musky scent somehow made your head spin as if you were drunk as well. Or maybe it was his kisses? Feverish, deep and merciless. It’s like a hurricane that swept you away, not giving you any chance to resist.

It was just sex. Nothing wrong with that. After all, you're two adult people. You may hate his cockiness, he may hate your sarcasm, but who cares when he makes you literally see stars with his tongue, or his cock, or those big hands and those long, thick fingers of his? Makes you moan out his name as you grip onto the sheets? Who cares when the warmth of his bare skin against yours feels both spine-tingling yet so comforting when he wraps his arms around you? Who cares that when the morning comes, the magic fades, and you get back to your usual roles: you’re a random waitress, he's a self-centered yet charming pilot, just one of the many customers you see every evening?

And relationships? Pff. Relationships are simply overrated.

For a while you were really good at convincing yourself you were fine and what’s happening between you and Hangman was just purely physical. It’s when you saw him one day shamelessly flirting with another girl, you realized you weren’t fine at all. It hurt as if someone punched you in the chest. Yes, he slept with you from time to time, but he wasn’t yours, never been and never could be. And actually you knew that all this time, just refused to pay attention.

The girl Jake flirted with was new in town. She got the men’s attention from the very first night she entered The Hard Deck. Perfect body, perfect makeup, sexy dress and high heels. She looked like a top model or a movie star and she definitely knew it. And well, of course she had to choose the most handsome guy. He’s a Prince Charming, and she’s a beauty queen. They looked great together, you couldn’t deny. Way better than you would look next to him - a clumsy nerdy girl, neither very slim, nor tall, and almost always wearing old baggy jeans and a pair of chucks. Maybe in a way you’re cute too, maybe you also have your own charm. Maybe. But you and Jake are simply from different leagues, and it’s stupid to think you could be something more than just… fuck buddies? Or whatever the hell you were.

You couldn’t tell if he noticed you distancing yourself from him. You wanted to think so, but maybe he’s been too busy with himself and his new girlfriend to pay attention. Probably you needed to talk to him, but you simply couldn’t bring yourself to do it. What were you even gonna start with? “Jake, I’m breaking up with you”? But you weren’t dating anyways.

Soon, you got the opportunity to explain yourself though.

Just another Friday, just another crowded night. You walked between the tables after bringing an order, when someone grabbed you by the wrist.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” the man at the table looked at with drunk eyes, predatory grin on his face. Right, of course. This asshole had been eyeing both you and Lily the entire night - something simply had to happen.

“How ‘bout giving me your number? We could… ya know… have fun together,” he continued, licking his lips.

“I doubt that,” you winced, trying to pull away from his grip, surprisingly tight for someone that drunk. “Let go.”

“That’s pretty fucking rude to talk to customers like that,” the man’s voice started to sound threatening, although you weren’t scared.

“I said, let go of me right now,” you hissed. “Let me work.”

“Hey bud. Haven’t you heard what the lady just said?”

You didn’t even need to turn your head to recognize Hangman’s voice.

“You got problems here, flyboy?” the drunkard asked boldly, finally letting go of your wrist and standing up to look Jake in the eye.

“I don’t,” Hangman shrugged with his signature smirk. “You do.”

“Oh, really?”

The next moment the drunk man tried to make a strike at Hangman, but his condition betrayed him, and Jake easily caught his arm and twisted it behind his back.

“Guess you have to leave, buddy. We respect the girls here,” he said, pushing the man towards the exit to throw him out of the bar. The crowd cheered, and Jake smiled triumphantly.

“So… Hangman saved the day again, huh?” he winked, coming closer to you.

“Oh fuck off,” you rolled your eyes as you turned away from him and headed back to the counter.

“You could at least say thank you, you know.”

Apparently he expected you to be grateful, but all you felt was annoyance.

“I didn’t ask you for help. I’m pretty much able to stand up for myself,” you snapped.

“Whoa,” Jake frowned in confusion. “What's got into you, sunshine? Can’t let someone care for you?”

“Oh please,” you snorted. “You care for me? We both know it’s not about me. It’s about you - you just always have to be a fucking hero of the day and a center of attention, isn’t that right?”

For once Hangman seemed to be lost for words and it felt strangely satisfying.

Hours later, when you got home from your shift, he knocked on your door.

“Wanna talk about what the hell’s happening?” he asked, hazel eyes scanning your expression.

“Thought I already told you everything tonight,” you muttered.

“Yeah, well… It’s not just about tonight, it’s been a few days already.”

“Oh wow. You actually noticed.”

“Hey, would you stop that with your sarcasm for once? What did I do?”

“Nothing,” you sighed deeply. “You were just being you, that’s all. And I… I’m just tired.”

“Tired?..” he blinked in slight confusion.

“Yeah, uh… You know, casual sex was fun and all, but I can’t do that any more, okay? It’s over. So why don’t you go hang out with that new girl of yours and leave me alone?”

“Wait, I don’t… Oh, I get it! You’re just jealous, aren’t you?” he cocked his eyebrow. Damn, this man was absolutely insufferable. The smug look on his face made you want to punch him.

“No, Jake, I’m not jealous. I just feel like I’m kinda… being used. You know, when you sleep with me, and then flirt with someone else like it’s nothing… I guess this kind of a relationship - just sex and nothing else - is not for me after all.”

“Didn’t you say I’m not the kind of a guy you’d date?”

“Yes, I did,” you admitted. “But that’s how I feel. I wish I didn’t, but I can’t help it. I shouldn’t have let this happen, but now that it happened… All I can do is just finish it, before I fall for you more than I already did and get hurt even more.”

There, you said it. You didn’t plan to admit having feelings for him out loud, but it just just tumbled from your mouth like that. Jake's smile faded at your words, and you gulped nervously, cheeks burning.

“Anyway, let’s just… You do what’s better for you, and I’ll do what’s better for me, okay?” you mumbled.

“Okay…” he nodded, and for the second time today you had a feeling he didn’t know what to say, all his cockiness suddenly disappearing. You knew it’s not for long though, so you forced yourself not to let this new, oddly vulnerable expression of his melt your heart.

“Bye, Hangman,” you said simply, closing the door.

“Hey there.”

There he is. As if he sensed you thinking of him, Hangman makes his way to the counter.

“Hey,” you reply, as dryly as you possibly can. “Another beer?”

“Yes please.”

There’s something unusual in the way he sounds today, but you can’t quite catch what exactly.

“Here you are,” you say, as you place a glass in front of him. “Anything else,” you add, as he seems somewhat hesitant, still standing there leaning against the counter instead of grabbing the beer and returning to his pals.

“Yeah, uh… there is something else, actually,” he says, clearing his throat and slamming his hand against the counter loudly enough to make the people around turn their glances at you. “Lily told me you’ve got a day-off tomorrow, is that right?”

Wait, what? He talked to Lily?

“Jake…” you let out a deep frustrated sigh. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Trying to ask you out. Kinda seems pretty obvious, no?” there's a soft mischievous chuckle on his lips - you hate how charming it looks.

What the fuck.

“I told you, it’s over,” you lower your voice to almost a whisper, but you still sound so incredibly loud, because goddamn Rooster stopped playing, and is watching the “show” with the rest of the bar. You have to fight the urge to throw something at him. “Whatever it was between us, it's-”

“Exactly,” Jake cuts you off, “Whatever it was between us is over, and now I’m asking you out on a date. Officially. That’s it, I mean it,” his face suddenly turns serious. “No more hiding or shit like that. How ‘bout that?”

“I…but…” you blink, lost for words. He surely can’t be serious about this… Or can he?.. You’re still from different leagues, guys like him don’t date girls like you. Impossible. And yet, these hazel eyes tell you a different story.

You can still feel all the eyes on you, the “audience” nearly holding a breath as if he’s proposing to you, and they’re waiting for your decision.

“What about the new girl?” you blurt.

“Well… Had to tell her it’s not gonna work,” Hangman shrugs, “Sadly, she’s just not sassy enough for my taste.”

He grins at you widely, the same signature Hangman’s grin, and yet… There's something different in the way he looks at you, his eyes so warm and filled with sudden tenderness you could never expect from him. And you simply can’t help it - you smile back.

“So… Is that a yes?” he asks. “C’mon, sunshine… I know you think I’m a cocky ass, but ain’t I worth a chance?”

You know he already knows the answer, but well… People are waiting.

“Okay… Yes, I’m officially going out with you,” you declare, and his smile gets even bigger.

“Yeah, man!” someone cheers in the back, probably Coyote, “You go, Hangman!”

Ugh. This bastard always manages to be a hero, doesn’t he?

“Please don’t make me regret it, Seresin,” you whisper, leaning closer to him.

“Will do my best,” he smirks, and before you know it, he closes the distance between the two of you, his lips catching yours in a kiss, that’s somehow so much sweeter than usual. You giggle against his mouth as you hear a round of applause.

“And now, ladies and gents,” you say loudly as you pull back and reach for the bell above the counter, “Mr. Hangman’s buying a round for everyone! Yay!”

“Hey, what was that for??” Hangman clamors dramatically.

“For being the biggest fucking show-off around here,” you grin. He laughs and shakes his head.

“Rude. But fine, I take it. Get over here.”

He cups your face and kisses you again, the crowd cheers and applause even louder. The room instantly fills with laughter, clinking of glasses, and Rooster finally gets back to playing - another Friday night goes on, as it should.

Thanks for reading! Idk if I’m gonna write for this or any other Top Gun character again, but it was fun :)

#hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #lucy tries to write

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jennay · 10 months

Text

Jimmy Kimmel

Request:

plssss fem!reader who’s an actress as well as rory being interviewed as a couple for the first time and the aftermath 🙏🙏 love ur work <3

Words: 1200ish

Warnings: None

AN: I like this one. 😍

Master List

Arriving at the studio, you already felt quite indifferent. You and Rory had never been interviewed as a couple before; it was all new to you. You had been dating for a few months but kept your relationship private until now. You would be live and uncut on Jimmy Kimmel Live, one of the country's most popular late-night talk shows. Everything you would say would be permanent at that moment on live TV, and you were terrified. What if you said something wrong or embarrassing? What if the audience didn't like you or your chemistry with Rory? Rory told you it wouldn't be a big deal. He said Jimmy Kimmel was a nice guy who would make you feel comfortable and have fun. He said you just had to be yourself and enjoy the experience.

"Ready? It’ll be OK; you've done this so many times, babe." Rory rests his hand on the small of your back, doing his best to comfort you.

You take a deep breath, "Yeah, but never for a relationship. I don't know; what if I say something stupid? Are you sure we have-" Before you can finish your sentence, you're cut off by your name being called, and you can hear loud cheers from the audience.

Rory's eyes soften at the sight of you smoothing out your dress. He takes your hand, reassuringly squeezing you, and leads you to the stage.

With his free hand, he waves at the audience, and you smile brightly at everyone. As soon as you step foot in front of everyone, your nerves seem to settle, and you treat it like it's your job, maintaining professionalism.

Rory guided you to the small couch, where he sat and pulled you beside him. He rests his hand on your leg and gives a gentle squeeze letting you know it's okay.

"Welcome to the show, Rory and Y/N!" Jimmy says enthusiastically as he shakes your hands. "It's great to have you here."

"Thanks for having us," Rory says politely.

Jimmy's eyes are soft and friendly, putting you at ease. "So, I'm going to ask the obvious, how did this happen?" He asks, waving his finger in between the two of you. "This seems like a perfect match. Did you have a mutual friend or work on a project together?"

You bite your lip, trying to hold in your laughter, knowing that your story wasn't exactly a cute one, well, at first, anyways. "It was love at first sight." You joke.

Rory smile's when his eyes land on you. "Is that what you call it?" He briefly pauses, "We met at a chairity event. She thought I was weird and avoided me the whole time." He laughs remembering the moment very clearly.

You shamefully grin, "You were staring at me and not saying anything. Not to mention it was from across the room!"

"What were you thinking, Rory?" Jimmy probes. "I'm invested I need to know what happened." He leans back in his chair smacking his hands on his desk.

"I liked her, isn't that what your supposed to do when you like someone? Stare at them until their uncomfotable and come over to comfront you?" Rory teases, a slight red tint forming on his face, "I never claimed to be a ladies man. I don't know what I'm doing half the time!"

You lean forward with your hands on your face, finding it hard to contain your laughter. Your eyes are sparkling with amusement as you recall Rory’s awkward stare. “You looked like a serial killer!” You exclaim, making the audience roar with laughter. “How was I supposed to react!?” You fling your head back, attempting to keep the tears from laughing at bay. You feel a warm hand rubbing your back, soothing you. You look at Rory and see his smile, full of love and humor. “Look, we’re doing fine. Your plan worked and I’m still alive.” You say, leaning your head on his shoulder and wrapping your arm around the front of his waist.

You feel him squeeze you gently, and you hear him whisper, “I’m glad you gave me a chance.”

You smile, kissing his cheek and making the audience say. “Aww”.

"Me too."

After the laughter dies down, Jimmy asks you another question, “What’s your future plans? What’s the goal here?” He looks at you with genuine curiosity, as if he really wants to know what makes you happy.

You hadn’t thought about how to answer that question. You just knew you wanted Rory and whatever the future may bring for the two of you. You had been so focused on living in the present, enjoying every moment with him, that you hadn’t given much thought to the long term.

You glance at Rory, wondering what he would say. “I mean eventually if she’ll let me I’m going to marry her and then rub it in every dude’s face that I have the hottest wife.” He says confidently, making you blush and the audience cheer. He takes your hand and kisses it softly, looking into your eyes with a playful smirk. “She’s the best thing that ever happened to me, and I’m not letting her go.”

His response makes you melt and you can’t help but smile at the thought of being Rory’s wife someday. You feel love and gratitude for him, for being so sweet and supportive. “I look forward to it.” You say sincerely, leaning closer to him and resting your head in the crook of his neck.

“Well, please invite me.” Jimmy says. “I’d like to make a toast about how this plan came together on my show.” He smiles warmly at you, happy for your happiness. “You two are adorable, and I wish you all the best.” “Thank you.” You say, looking up at him. “You’ve been very kind to us.” “Thank you for being here.” Jimmy says. “It’s been a pleasure talking to you.” He turns to the camera and says, “We’ll be right back after this break with more Jimmy Kimmel Live!” He claps his hands and the music starts playing.

You stand up with Rory and hug Jimmy, thanking him again for having you on his show. He tells you how much he enjoyed it and hopes to see you again soon. You walk off the stage with Rory, feeling happy and excited about your future together and you know you'll never stop smiling after Rory confessing he wants to marry you.

#rory culkin x reader #rory culkin x you #rory culkin fanfic #rory culkin character x reader #rory culkin

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nnajiro · 2 years

Text

sano manjiro x reader♡▪︎~`×-'

warnings?none

feeling for him?toomany;-;

a/n: the very first meeting of you, and sano manjiro. [this happens around the time emma came into their family, so mikey would be 5 years old since emma is 4 y.o.]

your parents have left japan for business in korea, leaving you alone with your grandma. she loved the fact that you showed interest in art, so she always took you to beautiful places you could try to paint by! lovingly watching you from a bench not too far away but far enough to have your intimacy as an artist

you really loved whenever you got the chance to paint new landscapes, especially beautiful temples as the one you get to paint today.

the musashi shrine, it has such nice cold but still warming colors making your eyes flutter at how you think the paint will come out.

but still since you dont have that many years of experience, heck since you are 5 years old the paintings do come out childishly cute but still good enough for that age.

you sat down nicely not infront of it to get into someone's feet but at its left side, with a nice white canvas sketching its lines.

"yeah and I always told you that I can run faster than a dog, so just bet your money on me i will win that"

someone who seemed proud of himself claimed loudly, walking behind you with heavy steps. you looked back to see who would be so proud to win against a dog and saw a small boy with blonde hair, walking alongside a taller one with black hair

you laughed at their conversations but stopped when you noticed that they dropped money on the ground, you picked them up and jogged to catch up to them

"oh, excuse me. you dropped your money"

they both looked behind at you simultaneously and noticed the resemblance of color between their eyes

"oh man, thanks"

the blonde boy said as he took his money from your hands nicely, you couldn't help but stare at him, such black eyes matched up with blonde hair? he must be a lucky one with girls

"uh? do i know you?"

but oblivious as you are, you couldn't notice the stare he kept on you aswell. moments of silence layed between you two, like a staring contest someone blinked in the end

"oh, um no i dont think so"

you could hear the dark haired boy chuckle at the blonde one, catching a glare from him to stop with that laughter, the idea of brothers popped into your head seeing their friendship

"whats your name?"

your heart made a flip, you waited a second before recollecting your thoughts. you said briefly but a bit louder your name, to let him know how to corectly pronounce it since it is a foreign name

"oh you are a foreigner? your smile makes your eyes so little i though you were asian!"

he said laughing, becoming friendlier faster than you'd expect. you just laughed what he said off and just watched as the dark haired one patted him on the back

"im manjiro! wait, what elementary school are you from?"

you began wondering why is the conversation still going, noticing how friendly he is you just accepted it and kept going too, since you love someone who cannot make you awkward with the silence

"i am from the seventh!"

his face went in awe and the dark haired one couldnt help but look surprised, which just made you curious about why those faces?

"im from the seventh school too! how come i havent seen you before?"

the conversation went on until his brother like you learned said that they should go

"See ya later!"

you waved at him as he left your gaze. you couldnt help but smile, making a friend that easy? thought it was only in movies this way.

[we all know a see ya later from mikey means we are friends forever now]

#mikey imagines #mikey x reader #sano manjirou #tokrev mikey #tokyo manji revengers #tokyo revengers mikey #tokyo revengers x reader #toman #toman mikey

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savvythepirate · 2 years

Text

Mistaken Identity

Pairing: Jack Sparrow x reader

Warnings: None

Requested by: @lazuli-leenabride

A/N: Thank you for requesting! I hope this is what you’re looking for, I had to do a little research for nymphs for this story. Enjoy, my fellow readers!

***

Jack Sparrow made the declare not long after meeting you that he thought you were the most unique being he had ever met.

To you, that was a huge compliment that had been directed towards you in a long while, in the start of it all, Jack had mistaken you to be a mermaid rather then a nymph.

You see, nymph’s powers depend on what aspect of nature they were born to control, they have the ability to transform and manipulate the part of nature they control. They have powers depending on the species nymphs are known to be healers or nurses, they help gods, mortals, and animals by healing or nursing. For you, you were a salt water nymph, living in the waters of the deep seas, protecting others in close encounters with danger. The story of meeting Jack Sparrow starts in the waters, the waters to which you called home. Despite your good deeds in helping the unfortunate, you still took the steps in the safety precautions required before giving your full trust to a complete stranger.

You were bumming around in the waters when you notice what looked to be a missing captain’s hat resting on the seabed below you. Out of instinct, your eyes move to the waters above you, finding a shadow of a ship. Assuming the owner of this missing hat lived above you, you retrieve the hat and made your way up. Once your head was above the waters, you could hear distant arguing voices and almost immediately caught on that it was about the missing hat. As you got closer, you could hear a little better and couldn’t help feeling amused by the exchange of words as you were trying to figure out how you were going to return the hat back to them.

“Damn it, Gibbs! I hope you can swim because you’re going to be the one to go down and get it back!”

“You told me I could throw it!”

“Yeah well, if I knew that you throw like a girl, I wouldn’t have allowed it!”

“Come on, Jack! Let’s be reasonable here!”

Once you were able to get a clear view of the two pirates, that was an opportunity you took to have them notice you and notice what you have for them.

“Hey boys! I believe this belongs to you!”

Holding up the now drenched hat in their view, Jack Sparrow takes a step closer while examining what you had.

“That would be mine, mermaid.” He says, sticking his hand out to you to put it back in his possessions.

“Oh, I’m no mermaid, you see. I’m actually what you would call a nymph.”

Now as you return the hay, Jack studies you even closer as he realizes his mistake in your identity.

“Sorry, miss. Thank you for finding this, I can never set sail without it.”

“It was no problem, my pleasure. It’s nice to meet you, my name is (Y/n).” You offer your hand out for him to shake.

Which he does, before asking questions as you get to know each other a little better.

That was the start of your friendship with Jack Sparrow. What you find funny about your new friendship was if your identity was mistaken by someone else after being seen together, Jack would be the one to correct them. When he offered to give you a ride on the Black Pearl, you couldn’t turn down the invitation, as you’ve never really been on a ship before. Jack Sparrow was truly something to the world as well as to the world of nymphs. However, you were the only nymph to ever have befriend a pirate. Most of your kind would normally avoid encounters for someone like him, but you were too fearless and friendly to follow that kind of path.

Everyone deserves a chance, no matter who they are. Jack was the first friend you had made in a long time, and you were going to protect this friendship at all costs, even if you had to go through any war for it, you would pursue it. Knowing he meant a great deal to you, he stepped in alongside you and helped to defend it. One particular day, you were both exchanging a meaningful conversation with each other and it was heartwarming.

“You know, I’ve never met a nymph before, (Y/n).”

“Really?”

“Aye, can you tell me more about your kind? I’d love to know, you’re the most unique being I have ever met.”

“Aw, I’d love to tell you more. What would you like to know?”

“Anything you can tell me.”

As said before, Jack Sparrow was truly something of a character.

A character that you’ve come to love.

***

@savvythepirate

Requests: OPEN

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winksasleeplesseye · 1 year

Text

File #007 - Paradigm

Pairing: Leon Kennedy x OC

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: None

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Amara went over and over every interaction in her mind that she had with Wesker, trying to figure out what his play was…is. There was not a chance in hell that she could actually believe that he’d die that easily, though she’d seen the rubble in the pictures. That mansion was reduced to ashes.

But what about her? Knowing now that he was working alongside Umbrella, he’d clearly favored her for reasons beyond just doing her job. There was a certainty for Amara that it was more than what meets the eye, except the only person who’d know that now is who knows where.

Amara knew what it was like to drown when she was about 13, she had her first and last experience that day. On a dare from Monet and one of her friends to jump into a local lake in Pennsylvania, none of them were aware of the tangles of branches from trees that fell in the past underneath the surface. Upon submerging, her foot got caught and she fought with everything to swim up but just…couldn’t.

The scrapes from the branches, the murkiness of the lake, and the tearing burning sensation in her chest as the water went down into her airway. All of it sent her into a panic. It was only by pure luck that an older gentleman and his grandson that she was pulled out, every cough as she breathed oxygen again like a stab in her lungs. Both she nor Monet ever told their parents what happened that day. Simply another thing to chalk up to their chaotic childhood.

While this situation certainly wasn’t on the same level, something about it likened it to drowning to her. The surface of the lake had been so pretty, so serene but underneath it held more horrors than anyone really knew. She certainly didn’t want to be the one taken under this time, or ever again.

“So, you know me? What about you?” Claire asked, they’d been searching for the chess pieces. They only needed one more to get the doors open, only on one side though. The facility had two sides to it and somehow Sherry ended up on one side while Ada was on the other.

So, they needed to be strategic for right now. Sherry is the priority. Another part of Amara also knew that Sherry held the key to getting to Annette, it didn’t take much to put two and two together that they were related.

“What about me?”

“Chris clearly talks about me all the time but he never really tells me about his co-workers. Plus, it kind of helps to know your allies.”

Amara puffs out a breath, “Well, shit. What’s to tell about me? I literally am the most uninteresting person alive.”

She never actually knew what best to tell anyone even upon first meetings. It always seemed so…daunting. At least when people asked others outright to tell them about themselves, if she eased into it, it came to her more naturally. And this is coming from Amara, who considered herself reasonably confident.

“Everybody is interesting in their own way,” Claire points out. “Well, at least the ones I’ve met this evening.”

Amara couldn’t really disagree. Though, she could only count on one hand how many people she met this evening. One more on her mind than others. God, I hope Leon is doing alright.

“For right now, all you need to know is that we both probably want the same thing.”

“Fair enough.” Claire takes the answer she gives, but there’s a momentary pause before Amara caves. She would hate it if Claire assumed she didn’t want to be friendly.

“Okay, I’ll tell you some things. I like old musicals. My mom is Haitian, dad is Jewish, not that you were asking but I thought let’s get it out the way now-“

“Musicals?” Somehow, that makes Amara happy that that is what Claire chose to focus on.

Everywhere she went, the question was right on the tip of everyone’s tongue, “What are you?” except here but that didn’t mean she was hiding her heritage, more so that people didn’t care what she was, they cared for who she was.

“Yeah, they’re nice, whimsical, all that fun stuff. Just don’t tell Chris about that. He already has jokes on me because I listen to the Spice Girls.” The musicals also drowned out her parents arguing in the other room, but that wasn’t something to tell her about. Still, she’d hold the good memories of them close to her heart.

“Chris has plenty of embarrassing things he does, I’m pretty sure I have plenty of stories so no judgment here.”

“We get out of here, you’re telling me every single one.”

“Deal.”

—-

Leon’s return to the land of the living is quiet, save the quiet humming of machinery.

There’s a heaviness in his muscles he can’t seem to shake and there’s a definite chill to his skin, arms now exposed. He looked down at his shoulder, lightly touching the slightly soiled gauze, bright red slightly brown blood staining it.

Oh, yeah, I got shot.

Shit, I got shot.

He vaguely recalls the brief bouts of consciousness after, though he’s not exactly sure what was real and what was imagined. The only distinct thing he could think of was…Amara. Ada.

Amara.

He certainly remembers everything leading up to him being shot, something in him screamed as the shots ricocheted just barely missing Amara and he practically lunged at her, with no regard for the consequences.

Except now he’s definitely feeling the consequences.

How long had he been out? He stood slowly, checking to make sure he still had his wits about him. One thing he knew for sure was that Amara promised to come back but it seemed now he’d be the one to get back to her instead, wherever she was.

Damn it. I hope she’s alright.

——

“Claire? And you again?” Annette’s voice boomed over the intercom system within the room. Amara and Claire finally, finally got inside the room where Sherry lay suffering from…something.

Her heart ached as the girl let out whimpers and labored breaths as she curled up in a ball, her eye marked with an offensively red gash and similar colored veins lined across her cheeks.

She didn’t know Sherry very well but she felt an obligation to protect her, keep her safe, that is—was her job after all.

“The you you’re referring to is named Amara. We’re here to help,” Amara spoke towards the intercom, “so whatever shit you’ve got with me doesn’t take importance over Sherry.”

Claire tends to the little girl, “Sherry, are you alright?”

The girl doesn’t answer, whatever is ravaging her body sapping all her energy.

Annette speaks once again, but her tone has shifted. “It’s too late. She’s been implanted…she can’t be saved.”

Implanted?

Amara isn’t quite sure what that means but one would think knowing your own daughter is suffering the effects of something she hadn’t asked for would send any mother into a panic to get it out. Not like she’d ever had a mother that fully cared.

But Annette sounds resigned to it, more than okay to let her daughter suffer amidst the chaos. It made Amara’s stomach turn.

Both Amara and Claire seem to share the same disbelief and anger all at once. Claire beats her to voice her thoughts first.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You’re her mother. Get in here!”

“You don’t understand.” Annette began to sound more frantic. “William is still out there, and if I don’t stop him—“

Claire cuts her off. “This conversation is over!”

Amara lifts Sherry up into her arms, Claire trailing close by as they prepare to walk out of the room. But Annette’s voice came through the intercom one more time, all pretense of frantic gone into full-on desperation.

Her eyes find the camera, the red blinking of light the only indication someone is on the other side of it.

“Wait! Wait…I…I can treat her…in my lab. It’s not far away.”

Amara rolls her eyes, “Now you want to do the right thing?”

“Please just bring her here and I swear I will treat her.”

Claire and Amara share a brief look between them. A quiet debate going on, but for Sherry, time was of the essence, and standing here wouldn’t make her better.

Amara looks down at the girl in her arms, mind made up. “Sherry, my name’s Amara…me and Claire are going to make sure you get everything you need, okay?”

Sherry coughs a bit, “Why are you doing this?”

Amara doesn’t even hesitate, doesn’t think about her answer. “Because I care, we both care.”

—-

“A cable car? Down here?” Amara stopped in her tracks, surveying the said cable car.

Huh, so Ben was right. She had to thank whoever was above that there were people like Ben, curious to know the truth, and continued to dig for it. Living in blissful ignorance now was no longer an option.

They near the door of the cable car, something on Sherry’s wrist triggering it to open. An automated voice rings out, “This tram is bound for NEST. Do not exit until the final destination.”

Amara gently places Sherry on one of the benches within the cable car, having already relinquished her jacket to cover the girl with some warmth. “We’re gonna get you fixed up, alright?”

The girl briefly nods and Amara raises herself back to standing level, walking back up to the cable car’s entrance.

“You coming?” Claire asks, noticing that Amara stood on the precipice between the door and back towards the sewer facility.

She knows what she said. Sherry is the priority, but what about Leon, hell, even Ada? She made a promise and she needs to keep her word.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Why were there so many things going on at once?

“You two go ahead, I’ll catch up, alright?” This cable car clearly transported Umbrella employees both ways, it’d come back around…hopefully. That was about the only thing that convinced Amara that they’d all meet back up at some point.

Without even a glance, Amara sets off into a jog back towards the facility.

“Amara…wait!” Claire shouts for her.

She quickly turns on her heels, already knowing that Claire probably wants to tell her not to go back, “I know, I know–just take care of Sherry, we’re going to get out of this together…trust me!”

She rushes back up towards the room they just came from. Claire would just have to understand, Amara had made a promise and she fully intends on keeping it.

Amara is not exactly thrilled to be back surrounded by the almost faint-inducing smells of rotten eggs, ammonia, and strangely…garlic (alongside some other rather fun ones she’d like to not recount).

But, out of all the things she expects to see when she returns back for the chess pieces–Leon in the process of taking said pieces out of their sockets is not one of them.

“Still kicking and breathing? I thought for sure you’d be a goner,” Amara comments, briefly startling Leon from his concentration.

Leon turns around fully, a half smile on his face, “I’m too stubborn to die just yet.”

Earlier, it’d been Amara that was quick to embrace Leon after dealing with that big monster, too afraid to lose her new companion in what has been certainly a shitty night. Now it’s Leon that clings to Amara tightly this time. “Had to make sure you kept your promise, didn’t you?”

She’s careful to reciprocate the hug, not wanting to mess with his bandages. A small chuckle escaped her lips, “I sucked at that, clearly, but you didn’t stay put and rest.”

“We’re on a mission, remember?” Leon pulls away, a soft smile on his face. In what Amara thinks is a forward move on his part, he takes her fingers between his. He presses her knuckles to his lips, and it all but sends a jolt through her. “You’re stuck with me ‘till the end.”

“Ah, how nice. My own personal leech!” Amara jokes, fighting extremely hard to not let her face heat up.

Leon scoffs in amusement, “Let’s get going, comedian.”

“Yes, sir,” she salutes. She tries hard to fight to take the smile off her face. The last time she’d ever smiled so hard for anyone like this wasn’t recent in her memory in her adult life, maybe in elementary school, with a boy named Alex. This definitely wasn’t elementary school but she certainly didn’t have a particular word to describe her current emotions toward Leon yet.

Ten minutes later, as Leon and Amara worked their way around to hopefully now unlock Ada’s side of the facility, they work to switch on the power from the main breaker room. Well, they wouldn’t be correct. Amara and Leon had been switching duties between the both of them and now it was her turn to redirect power through the system.

It had been almost too easy.

Nothing had been that easy all night. Or day. Time was running together down here.

As if someone is listening, just as Leon walks toward the exit to the room with her trailing behind him, something bursts from above the frame of the door. It all but throws Leon off balance, right back into Amara as she steadies him.

“Jesus Christ!”

What the fuck, can this night get any worse?

Fire began spreading around the room at a lightning speed, whatever that thing is doesn’t want them to get out of the room. Amara looks around, trying to find anything to get out or even douse the flames, but there’s nothing that isn’t already getting burned up by the flames.

Smoke practically assaults her nostrils, making her cover her mouth but luck continued to be on their side as whatever burst through the ceiling, ripped the metal grate on the other side of the room off the wall, making for an easy escape to a corridor.

“It’s still alive?” Leon questions, briefly looking back as they both broke out into a sprint through the narrow pathway that opened to an open shipyard of containers.

“You must be a magnet for this shit, Leon, what the fuck?” Amara’s heart twisted like a knot as she caught a glimpse of the–shit, shit, shit, the most grotesque thing she’d seen all night.

It moved towards them, hot on their trail. Its flesh had mutated into a twisted mass of pulsating, mutated tissue. Its limbs were elongated and twisted at unnatural angles, ending in grotesque claws that dripped with ooze. Its eyes were vacant, devoid of any humanity–if it ever was a person, replaced with glowing yellow orbs that seemed to radiate malice.

It had to have been a man at some point because Amara could just barely see what was left of…a skull and blonde hair lodged within the crevices of the pulsating, disgusting flesh.

The man’s mutated form was a nightmarish sight, an abomination born from whatever the hell Umbrella had cooking down here. The pumping and squelching of his flesh, the oozing sores, and the twisted contortions of his body sent shivers down Amara's spine.

The sight of this thing was a stark reminder of the dangers of Umbrella and the disastrous consequences of unchecked experimentation.

Her eyes scanned quickly over the shipyard for something to stop this thing in its tracks. That’s when her eyes happen upon a mechanism used to move the shipping containers. This should stop the fucker.

Without hesitation, Amara jumped onto the controls and started maneuvering the containers, using them to try and hit the monster and knock him off balance.

“Leon!” She shouts, pressing the button to move a container. “Let’s keep him occupied!”

Leon nods his head in understanding, unloading all the bullets he can into the monster.

Amara was dodging attacks as best she could while both she and Leon switched off duties once again to keep this thing within hitting range of the containers, but she was caught off guard by a mutated arm as it swiped at her, leaving a deep gash in her side. Despite the pain, Amara continued to fight alongside Leon, her determination unwavering.

Leon gritted his teeth and continued his assault on it, narrowly avoiding his deadly swipes as he used the containers as makeshift weapons. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the monster was defeated, falling to the depths of the facility.

Amara comments, looking over the edge as it disappeared into the darkness, “Hope that we never see that asshole again.”

An almost stabbing pain rises up from the side again where she was slashed which sends her to her knees. Leon rushes over to her, his face pale as he notices her.

“Mind if I take a look?” Leon kneels next to her, already pulling out something from one of his uniform’s pouches.

“It’s just a flesh wound, I’ll live,” Amara waves him off. She usually isn’t that careless but she’s pretty sure it’s more than a flesh wound but maybe it’s in Leon’s best interest to not worry about her, so she doesn’t tell him.

Leon’s face dons a look of genuine concern. “At least let me bandage it up, put antibiotics on it..something?”

Amara can already tell he wasn’t convinced. She would’ve loved to tell him that yeah, getting swiped by a mutated monster like that hurts like hell and yeah, some ointment or even those herbs he’d been using on himself would be nice right now. Instead, she swallowed the pain and moved on.

Wound or not, they had to keep moving.

Standing once again, Leon catches her by the arm, turning her towards him.

“You absolutely sure you’re alright?” Leon had a slight edge to his words. Of course, he’s not stupid, Amara would never believe otherwise.

“Like a million bucks, Leon. You trust me?”

She can see a number of emotions flicker through Leon’s eyes. But they all culminate in what only she can assume is a resolve. For now.

He sighs, “Okay, but if you even start to hurt even a bit…we’re getting you treatment.”

“Only if you carry me wherever you take me, Prince Charming,” Amara smirks, walking along the path created by the broken pieces of scaffolding. “What a duo, gunshot and a slash, the grave might see us soon enough.”

Leon shakes his head briefly, probably not believing Amara could still be flirty at a time like this. To be fair, Amara didn't consider herself someone who is going to miss an opportunity throughout this whole ordeal to hit on Leon. Even with all the grime and shit on him.

“Seems both of us aren’t giving up the ghost that easily.”

“Let’s not push our luck. I’d very much like to see the next sunrise.”

#leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x black oc #leon kennedy x oc #resident evil oc #re2 remake #re2 remake fic #city of the dead fic #original character #black oc #mixed oc #resident evil 2 remake

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jumblejen · 2 years

Text

We Were Always Going to End Up Together - Ch 5

Suptober 22, Day 5: A Perfect Disaster

On AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42237885/chapters/106611369

(Or read from the beginning: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42237885/chapters/106051008)

Dean couldn’t believe he wasn’t anxious. He was plenty nervous, but it felt like champagne bubbles rising through his system instead of soul-strangling doubt. He’d taken care to pay more attention to how he dressed to go to the Roadhouse than he’d ever done before, inspecting himself in the mirror long enough that he laughed at himself before heading out. He’d picked the soft green Henley to bring out his eyes a little, over a white tshirt that just poked out. Slim fit (but not too tight!) jeans with his favorite still-looked-nice-enough boots and he knew he looked good. He wished he’d replaced his old leather coat, but made do with his everyday canvas one. It would be warm inside anyway, so it wouldn’t be on long.

‘If Dean played his cards right, maybe none of his clothes would stay on that long,’ a little voice snickered in the back of his head at the thought. A guy could dream.

He got to the Roadhouse early, mostly to avoid a chance that his happy nerves could turn into an anxiety spiral while waiting for the time to pass. Jo was working tonight, which was nice because he appreciated a friendly face, but also annoying as she would immediately clock that he was there for a date and she would be merciless. A little sister type, she was a blessing and a curse all rolled into a perky but violent blonde package.

“Hey Dean, who’s the lucky one tonight? Or are you just hoping it’ll be you?”

“I’m always lucky to be eating Ellen’s food,” Dean teased back.

“Well Mom will be happy you still know how to kiss up to her.”

“Do you want to drag her out here to say hi?”

“Nah, she’ll come around later maybe. Besides, you don’t want your date to get the wrong idea.” Jo grabbed a couple of menus and started leading Dean back towards the nicer booths. “After all, they might think you’re likable or something.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just remember that I pay your tip.”

“Oh please. Either your date pays, and tips me well or you tip me well. No way you want to risk looking like a cheapskate on a first date.” Dean frowned at her back as she sashayed away. He hated when she got the last word. His expression changed to a grin as he saw Castiel walk through the doorway.

Apparently Dean wasn’t the only one who was early for things. He stood up and caught Castiel’s eye.

“Hey Cas,” started Dean, suddenly a little shy.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“What are you…”

Dean felt his face flush pink as his happy nervous bubbles curdled in his belly. “Didn’t we have a date?” Dean managed to force out.

Cas sighed deeply and looked at the floor.

Dean wondered if he could just melt through the floor. Worse, this might even be bad enough that Jo would be nice to him. “I mean, your text…”

“Sorry, Dean. I…I didn’t know I was meeting you here.”

Dean’s flush deepened and he thought his whole head might actually catch on fire. “It’s fine, man. No harm, no foul.” Dean thought he might be sick all over his favorite boots.

“Dean, wait.”

Dean met earnest blue eyes and wished even harder he could disappear.

“This was Gabe’s doing. He thinks I don’t have a life and he must have taken my phone and asked you out. I’m so sorry for the misunderstanding.”

“It’s cool, Cas,” said Dean, desperately shutting down his disappointment and putting on his impersonal, charming face.

“No. I might kill my cousin, and he should never have done this without my knowledge.”

“Yeah, definitely a dick move. But really, it’s okay. I’m sorry you came out and all for a joke.” Dean was trying to figure out how to get out of this conversation so he could drown his sorrows a little and then go home and lick his wounds.

“But you wanted to go out with me?”

Dean blinked in surprise. “Wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t.”

“I mean. Are you sure you knew it was dinner with me?”

Dean smiled a little at that. “Of course with you. Not every day that a gorgeous scarecrow asks me out.”

It was Castiel’s turn to blush as he rubbed the back of his neck. In a voice so low and quiet Dean almost couldn’t make out the words Cas mumbled, “Do you want to stay and have dinner with me?”

Dean’s smile was softer, “Yeah man. We’re both here and I’m definitely interested if you are.” Dean gave him what he hoped came across as an encouraging look.

Castiel’s smile was small but bright.

They took seats on either side of the booth, both a little shy and not sure what to say. Dean met Castiel’s eyes and huffed a small laugh. “So Gabe’s your cousin?”

“Yes. And he’s very irritating.”

“Is it so bad having dinner with me?”

“No, I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

“Having dinner?”

“Talking to good-looking men.”

Dean drew a breath in at the sincerity in Cas’ gaze. “Seems like you’re doing ok.”

“What can I get you two?”

Dean tried not to glare at Jo’s interruption.

“Your usual, Dean?”

“Sure, Jo.”

“And for you?”

“I’ll have whatever he’s having.”

“Alright. Be back in a minute.”

“What if I ordered a shitty IPA?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to suffer through the experience.”

Dean laughed, enjoying the adorable mix of awkward and deadpan funny.

They chatted about how Dean knew Jo until Jo dropped off their beers and took their orders and left them alone with a wink to Dean.

“So what do you do when you aren’t hanging around corn mazes?”

“Not much, really.”

“Does scarecrow really pay that well?”

“No, I just am in between jobs right now. I own the farm that the maze is on.”

“So you decided to go all in on that?”

“It was Gabe’s idea. He talked me into performing there too.”

“So what you’re saying is that we only met because your cousin is a busybody who tries to micromanage your life?”

“He thinks I’m lonely.”

Dean paused. “Are you?”

“I find people to be difficult in a social setting.”

“People are just people man. Most of us don’t bite.” Dean smiled wolfishly, hoping a little bit of his own desire shone through.

“I understand people better when we have a mutual purpose.”

“Such as…”

“At the maze, I’m trying to scare them. At a job, I am trying to get my work done and so are they, so that helps facilitate the relationship. When I am a customer, interacting with the cashier has a practical structure. It’s easier when I know what both sides of the equation are expecting.”

“And when there’s a cute boy you are suddenly having dinner with?”

“I hope I don’t scare him off because I’m not sure what to say. There’s no script for this.”

Dean’s heart melted a little at the wistful vulnerability he could read in the other man’s face. “Well, we’re talking just fine here. And I know everyone has always told me I have more words than most so you can always just get me started and I’ll carry the conversation for awhile.”

“I think I’m doing okay.”

“So far so good. In fact, I think that you have avoided any possible disaster tonight.”

“There’s still time. I could still manage to knock and entire plate of food onto your lap or accidentally insult your life’s work.”

“Well, let’s try to avoid all that, but even if those things happened I think we’d be fine. Once we got the awkward part out of the way, I’d say it’s been perfect.”

Cas smiled shyly at Dean, raising his beer slightly, blue eyes shining. “Then here’s to our perfect disaster.”

Dean felt his smile stretch wide as he gently clinked his bottle against Cas’.

#suptober22 #destiel #fanfic #a perfect disaster #jo harvelle #first date #i love writing these idiots

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