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a-simple-imagine · 10 days ago

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Hiii! I was wondering if you could make a Van x f!reader, r is a basketball player and at a game they get hurt so Van helps. Maybe…🤭

in your corner | v.p

a/n: just to prefice this story, i know nothing about basketball so please do not judge me for my lack of ball knowlege 🙏 pairing: van palmer x reader summary: you, the star basketball player, get injured in the middle of your big game. luckily, your girlfriend is watching and comforts you through it all. word count: 1.6k

it starts with the crowd.

that low, buzzing static of anticipation, bleachers groaning under the weight of restless legs and half-shouted conversations. it buzzes beneath your shoes, curls up your spine, crackles along your skin like static—this is your space. your stage. your pulse is already up and the ball hasn't even been thrown yet.

you pull your jersey down—number 5, always—and crack your neck once, twice.

focused. ready.

out of the corner of your eye, just past the bench and the giant paper banner the cheerleaders finished taping five minutes ago, she's there.

van palmer.

front and center in the bleachers, leaning forward like she's part of the team, like if the game needed her, she'd be on the floor in her converse and jeans, swiping the ball right out from under the other team's point gaurd. she doesn't cheer, not really, but her eyes haven't left you since warm-ups. not even once.

she catches you looking and lifts her eyebrows like, well? you gonna win or what?

you give her the smallest smirk, barely a flicker. nothing anyone else would notice. but she does. of course she does.

once the game starts, you come in hot.

the ball’s barely out of the ref’s hand before you’ve tipped it toward your team’s side. two passes, a quick screen, and you’re off—left-hand drive, shift to the right, cross back, straight to the rim.

and one.

the gym erupts. van bites down on a laugh that no one else hears.

you jog back with that look you only wear on the court—chin high, eyes sharp, chest rising and falling just fast enough to feel alive. you don’t look at her again, not yet, but you know exactly where she is. you know she’s watching. always watching.

it’s not official. not public.

but it’s real.

and she’s here. that’s all that matters.

midway through the second quarter, your team is up by five. you’ve got fourteen points on the board, three assists, two steals, and zero fouls.

you’re in control.

you take a corner three with two defenders in your face and drain it. you glance to the bleachers—just a glance—and van’s jaw drops before she covers it with her hand, shaking her head like she can’t believe you just did that. like you’re a walking highlight reel and she gets the front-row pass to every game.

she mouths something again.

“show-off.”

you wink this time. just barely.

and then it happens.

you see a lane open. just a sliver. the kind you have to take—because you’ve made it a habit of turning those into gold. you plant your foot hard and drive—

something gives.

not the defense. not the play.

your ankle.

your whole body folds around it, the pain slicing up your leg like a serrated knife. you hit the floor with a force that rattles the gym. you hear the gasps, the shift of noise, and then the sudden hush that only comes with real injuries—the kind people don’t bounce back from with a few stretches and some gatorade.

you try to get up. can’t.

the gym blurs. your breath hiccups.

you think, no no no not now—

and somewhere in that chaos, past the coach, the trainer, the yelling, you see a streak of red hair. a familiar denim jacket.

van.

she’s already standing. one hand gripping the railing in front of her like she might leap over it. her face is pale, jaw tight, lips pressed together so hard they’ve gone white. but she doesn’t come down. doesn’t call out.

she knows better.

you can see it in the way she catches herself—like she almost ran straight onto the court but stopped herself at the last second. like her whole body is tensed, like it’s killing her not to move.

someone helps you sit up. your ankle is ballooning fast, pain radiating outward in pulsing waves.

you finally look toward the bleachers again, and van’s eyes meet yours.

she doesn’t smile.

she nods. once. steady. i’m here. you’ve got this.

you blink hard. nod back.

you don’t need her to come down yet.

just knowing she’s there keeps you from unraveling.

they help you off the court, one arm slung around the assistant coach’s shoulder. your jaw is clenched so tight your molars ache, and when you pass the student section, you swear it goes quiet. not completely, but just enough for you to feel the absence of your presence.

they sit you down on the sideline. ice pack. elevated. everyone’s already turned back to the game.

except her.

van’s still watching. still locked on you.

you try to look fine. you throw her a thumbs-up, half-hearted and clearly fake, but she mirrors it, her expression flickering into something soft, something worried.

she holds up her hands and mimics a dramatic air-quote: "tough guy.”

it makes you laugh. a little. or maybe you’re grimacing. you’re not sure.

you shift in the chair, eyes back on the game. your team is unraveling.

without you calling the plays, they’re floundering. passes too slow, spacing too wide, no one taking command. you grip your knees, white-knuckled. your ankle pulses harder with every missed shot.

you steal one last glance at van. she’s leaned back now, chewing the inside of her cheek. still watching you, not the game.

and it’s not fair.

because all you want—all you want—is to walk up those bleachers, curl into her side, let her wrap that stupid jacket around your shoulders, and hide.

but you can’t.

not here. not yet.

so you breathe. you watch. you swallow the burn in your throat and blink until the tears don’t fall.

and you sit.

still.

alone.

waiting.

you try to stay focused—try to cheer and clap and be that girl who’s still part of the team even from the sidelines—but every time the other team scores, it hits you in the ribs like a punch.

you were up five when you went down.

now you’re down nine.

the other point guard is scrambling. the girls are flustered. coach keeps yelling directions you’d normally call out without thinking. it’s like watching a version of your body out there that doesn’t know what to do without your hands steering it.

you’re failing them. that’s what it feels like. like this whole thing is your fault, and your chest is getting tighter by the second because there’s no one else to blame.

so you stand up.

or try to.

your wrapped ankle screams, and you nearly sit back down—but no. you grip the edge of the chair, teeth clenched, and limp your way across the court edge, pushing through the curtain leading to the locker room without saying a word.

the door shuts behind you with a hollow thunk. it’s quiet here.

too quiet.

you sit on the bench, alone, elbows on your knees, and finally let your head fall into your hands.

no audience. no teammates. just you, your throbbing ankle, and the hollow ache of helplessness lodged somewhere behind your sternum.

you're not a crier. never have been.

but right now, your eyes sting.

you dig your fingers into your scalp like pressure might stop the thoughts spiraling—you should’ve landed better, should’ve called for backup, should’ve kept playing, should’ve—

the door creaks open behind you.

your body stiffens. you don’t look up. “coach, i’m fine.”

“wow,” van’s voice says, low and dry. “that’s wild, because from here it looks like you’re falling apart.”

you exhale through your nose, still not looking at her. “go back out there. they’re probably wondering where you went.”

“let ’em wonder,” she says.

she walks in anyway. her steps echo against the tile, then go quiet when she sits beside you. not too close. but close enough that you can feel her.

you glance at her sideways. her brows are drawn, lips pressed into a tight line, like she’s been fighting something back the whole time.

“y’know,” she says finally, “i’ve seen you play through bruised ribs and a fever once so bad you couldn’t see straight.”

you let out a breathy laugh. “don’t remind me.”

“but i’ve never seen you like this.”

you go quiet.

van leans forward, mirroring your posture. her voice softens. “you feel like you let them down.”

you nod. barely.

“they were killing it tonight,” you murmur. “and then i go down, and it’s like everything just—”

her hand touches your back. gentle pressure, grounding. “you didn’t let anyone down. one girl doesn’t carry a whole team.”

you pull away slightly. “no? ’cause it sure felt like it.”

van turns toward you fully now, one leg pulled up onto the bench, eyes locked on yours. “okay. you wanna wallow, i’ll sit here and wallow with you. but you don’t get to rewrite the game in your head like you’re the villain in it. you got hurt. that’s not a failure. that’s being human.”

your throat tightens. “i hate this.”

“i know.” her voice is like a balm. “i hated watching you go down. i hated not being able to fix it.”

you glance at her, heart in your mouth. “then why’d you come back here?”

van’s smile is small. ��because i knew you’d come here to punish yourself.”

she shifts closer, lets her fingers lace through yours on the bench. “and i can’t fix your ankle. but i can be here.”

you squeeze her hand.

it’s quiet for a moment.

then, barely above a whisper, you say, “i wanted to kiss you on the court.”

van smiles, soft and crooked. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

she leans in, nose brushing yours. “then kiss me now.”

so you do.

there, in the quiet hum of the locker room, sweat still drying on your skin and tears you won’t name still burning behind your eyes—you kiss her. like it’s a promise. like it’s a win all on its own.

💌 taglist: @callsignwidow, @freakyjorker, @imlike-so-gaydude, @yellowjacketsslvt69, @moonwateraura, @gracynparsons, @casualclamturkey

#van palmer #other writers #this was real sweet

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a-simple-imagine · 17 days ago

Text

Just A Taste

Requested by anonymous: "i was wondering if you could do adult van palmer x reader who is a really good cook/baker and always makes food for van? you can obviously add more i just like the idea of van being a terrible cook and relying on reader for amazing food"

Pairing: adult!van palmer x fem!reader

Words: 3.8k+

A/N - watched a van palmer hc tiktok that suggested van makes a mean grilled cheese, and you know what? I agree

WARNING- swearing and suggestive themes. teeny tiny reference to a teeny tiny age difference

'While You Were Streaming'. A cute retro video store popularised by the local kids and nerdy adults that inhabit the small college town. It was a safe haven seeped in nineties nostalgia. renting out VHS tapes and players, but also selling collectibles and toys. It was akin to a comic book store but with a focus on movies. And while you were never one for frequent trips down memory lane, you found yourself here often. Today was no different. The bell rings out as you step inside on your regularly scheduled hour-long lunch break. Although today it was looking more like a hard thirty minutes, with twenty of those minutes being spent on the journey there and back to work. However, the amount of time would never stop you when you weigh up the benefits. You pretend to peruse the shelves as you make your way towards the counter; glancing over classic movies like 'The Godfather' and 'Stand By Me' in pursuit of something much more entertaining. The owner was already deep in conversation as you reached your destination. Ever the passionate cinephile, as she debates something with a young woman. It almost felt cruel to interrupt, and so you don't. You wait patiently listening to the tail end of a discussion until she notices you. You can't help but catch the way her lips curl up into a grin as she politely bids the customer farewell.

Gentle blue eyes take you in. Filling your stomach with the familiar fluttering, much like a childhood crush, but you just can't get enough. "Hey,"

"Hello," She responds. "Is there anything I can help you with today, Miss?"

"There is actually," You nod a little, playing along despite your limited time. You can't help but give in to her whimsy. "I'm looking for someone. They're usually around these parts, so maybe you've seen them?"

"Oh? Maybe I have, what are they like?"

"Hmm," You hum thoughtfully. "She's like exactly your height, long red hair and these scars on her face that she'll never tell you about," You explain, eyes drifting over the other woman. "Frankly, just the most beautiful woman you've ever seen. She's also like mad funny, kinda lame but makes up for it in other ways."

"Lame?" She asks, a curious raise of her scarred brow.

"Yeah she's just really into old movies and tech and shit," You shrug. "probably why shes always in here,"

"Hey," Stated sharply. "Insult me all you want, but my store is off limits."

You chuckle lightly to yourself, running your hand over the smooth surface of the countertop. "My bad. I'm so sorry, 'While You Were Streaming', whatever would the local youths do without your old toys and VHS tapes?"

She swats your hand lightly. "You're just Jealous that all the kids love me because I'm fucking rad." Her eyes narrowed, hands came to lean against the counter like she was ready to pounce. Protecting her baby. You shuffle closer, dropping your bag and copying her pose. Issuing a challenge.

"Not sure the cool kids would say 'rad'," You contest quietly. A playful edge to your tone. You both stand in stalemate for a few seconds before she slowly leans in to connect your lips in the briefest of embraces.

"Hi," Whispered against your skin, the tingle of her touch lingering as she pulls back. Her eyes searching yours, a cheeky grin. Van fucking Palmer. You're suddenly back in your surroundings, grabbing the bag you brought along.

"I brought you lunch."

"What's on the menu today?"

"Nothing fancy, I didn't have a lot of time," You shrug. "A Cuban sandwich. Cubano if you're feeling fancy."

"You're too good to me."

"I know," You smile, placing the sandwich down before her. It's neatly wrapped up in its entirety in lilac lining paper. Arguably, the hardest part of making the whole thing. "I gotta get back,"

"Okay," She nods a little. "Thanks for the food."

"You're quite welcome," You insist. "Enjoy the best sandwich you will ever have in your entire life."

"I'm sure I will," She offers half a smile. "Call you later."

"You better," Declared sharply, you twist on your heel and head for the door, only to abruptly turn back. "You should come by the restaurant tonight- if you're free. doing this food tasting thing. real lowkey."

"Oh, uh yeah, maybe." You try and give her the benefit of the doubt. That wasn't a no. You try not to let the idea of rejection you've made up in your head go to your heart.

"Well, the offers there," You shrug, "And if you're lucky, maybe I'll let you bring me back to your place." You toss her a wink paired with a playful smile. Even with the distance, you can see the colour pink dusting her cheeks. Van always took as good as she gave, but she was never very good at hiding her emotions on her face. "Who knows?"

"Go," She states while smiling.

"Think about it," You let the double meaning hang for a moment, actually heading for the door now. "I'll send pics if I have to."

"Please do," She calls back.

"You'd never get any work done if I did," You taunt, "Bye." The bell rings again, signalling your departure. As the door clicks shut behind you, you take a deep breath before heading off back towards your work.

The restaurant you work at is small in size but mighty in demand. It provides an almost exclusive experience without the ridiculous price tag. It hadn't really meant to be that way, but having limited table space and an increased demand made it seem that way. You're not the head chef, but you try really hard. You practice a lot and like coming up with new recipes. Today was stressful. A non-stop barrage of people being extra demanding. Your only moment of peace was visiting Van during your break. Even as you close for the night, the work doesn't stop for you. After many hours of overtime and begging, you had finally been allowed to use the restaurant to curate some new recipes. Your own special dishes. It was just for some of your coworkers. The ones you actually liked.

"Chef," Yelled through the kitchen.

"Yeah?" You ask, too focused on the task at hand to even look at who was calling you.

"There's a woman out here asking for you." That does bring you out of your workflow. A shiver of hope as you glance up.

"A redhead?" But you've already been left alone. You hesitate for a moment before whipping off your apron and heading out of the kitchen. Your friends all sit at a table chatting amongst themselves, and by the host podium stands said redhead. Dressed in smart-fitted trousers and a shirt, you don't think you have ever seen her wear before. She offers half a smile and a small wave. God, she was beautiful. It makes your mouth run dry. "You came," Said fondly as you approached. A rich, smoky cologne tickling your senses. "I wasn't sure you would."

"You act like I never leave the house." You'd make a joke if you weren't just so happy to see her. Stealing a kiss you just can't wait for.

"You look so handsome."

"Thanks," She smooths down her shirt as if she didn't already look exquisite. You take her hand. It's warm and a little sweaty, but you giddily lead the way towards the table of friends.

"Guys, this is Van, she'll be joining us for the night," You announce; feeling her squeeze your hand slightly. Nerves perhaps? "Be nice," There is a chorus of polite hellos, as you let go to pull out the chair. "For you." A degree of reluctance as she takes a seat. "I'm just gonna finish plating up, then'll bring out something for you guys to try." As you head back to the kitchen, you spare her a glance. A little out of place amongst the others. You know she's probably feeling it too.

Tonight was a two-course dining experience. Just two small dishes paired with good wine and friendly conversation. You had been working on creating these recipes all week. Practising in whatever spare time you have. It had taken a level of courage to invite Van. You didn't want her to feel uncomfortable, but she seemed to be getting along with the others quite well. You only really see her briefly between courses. But as you serve up the second plate, you finally get a chance. Watching other people eat your food was actually incredibly humbling; it made your stomach churn. You pushed that aside to remain at the table beside Van. A hand resting on her thigh to keep you in the moment. She didn't seem to mind.

"So how do you two know each other?" A classic question with a pretty ordinary answer. You walked into her store one day, and the rest was history.

"Uh, so Van owns the retro video store not too far from here,"

"While You Were Streaming?" Your coworker pipes up. "My buddy swears by that place."

"That's the one," You confirm.

"She only ever shows up to get me to taste her food." Van's hand comes to rest upon yours. Drawing your attention for a moment to see her teasing smile.

"I do not?"

"So all those lunchtime food deliveries?"

You can't help but laugh. It wasn't like you always went to visit Van, but if you were making food for her, you'd tell everyone you have a delivery to make. It was never a lie. "Guilty but if I don't she'll just eat crap so i occasionally drop of a little lunch for her because I'm so nice and amazing."

"Nice and amazing? We must be talking about different people,"

"fuck you," Playfully spat at your colleague. "I am a delight."

"You're lucky you can cook,"

"You think I'm a delight, right?" A glance back at the other woman. Bottom lip pushes out in a bit of a pout. You watch her eyes flicker down to your lips before her shoulders rise and fall.

"You're certainly... something that's for sure."

"I have just slaved away in that kitchen to so lovingly prepare a meal for all of you," Over enunciated words and a hand over your heart. "And this is how you treat me? Why don't you just take me out back and shoot me?"

Thankfully, the evening went a lot better than you had expected. It had been a long, stressful day, but you'd managed not to feel it for too long. And everyone seemed to like the food. Giving you long evaluations on everything from the flavours to the presentation. Next time would be even better. But as the clock ticks on, the room soon settles to just you and Van. You had promised to lock up tonight. Another condition that came with borrowing the space. But you linger a while longer. A rich chocolate sponge spared for this exact moment. It was diminutive but rich. You had only made one. In hopes that Van would show up and you could share it together.

"So... what did you really think?" You wonder.

"About?"

"My food obviously." You talk a good game. Make jokes about how talented you are, but taste is subjective. And while your co-workers all had opinions to share, all you really wanted to know was what Van thought? She wasn't like the others. Didn't work in the industry. No fancy words to disguise her true meaning.

"It was good," You wait for her to elaborate. To give you something more than good. You deserved something more than good. But she doesn't. Your brow knitted together in a frown.

"That's it? Just good?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know- give me more? How good? How did it make you feel? What did you like exactly? anything really." You would be lying if you said her answer wasn't a little disappointing, but you suppose it's to be expected. You didn't expect her to just blindly praise you, especially if she didn't like it, but you just wanted an honest opinion. Just saying 'good' makes you feel like she didn't actually like it. The woman holds your gaze as she puts a small bite of cake into her mouth. A look of contemplation as she chews. Taking her time with it.

"It's..." Her mouth scrunches up to one side. "Good."

You push her shoulder. You don't know why you thought she might honestly give a serious answer. Van is nothing if not consistent.

"Okay okay, seriously... I don't know," Van responds. "I like it, but I would like anything you brought out because you made it." You stare at her for a long moment. Trying to gauge if she meant it or was just messing with you still. Sincerity in those soft blue eyes with a perfectly matched smile. You can feel yourself getting hot, so you swallow hard and shove her again.

"Fuck you." The chocolate cake sits pretty and half-eaten. A welcome distraction from your burning cheeks.

"The hell?" Her hands shoot up in faux surrender.

"I want a proper answer."

"That was," Picking up the fork from the far side of the plate, you stick it into the sponge and pull a piece away. Popping it into your mouth.

"No, you were flirting. You're always flirting." Van chuckles. Loud and hearty: so delightfully warm. A siren's song that you could listen to for eternity. Heat tingling in your chest.

"I can't help it," She insists. "You're just so... captivating."

"Stop," You insist, scrunching up your face. The rush of heat surpassing your cheeks and taking over your entire face. You feel so embarrassed despite being the only one to hear her compliments. Her laughter tickling your ears.

"Your food is good," Van insists. "It tastes good and looks... Impressive. That's just not my scene, you know? I prefer the stuff you bring me for lunch. You're really talented but that sandwich you brought me earlier was fucking delicious." You look to her once more. Ignoring the way your face burns or the fluttering in your stomach to offer a small appreciative smile. That was what you were looking for from her. Honesty.

"Thank you," You reply quietly.

"Any time,"

"We should head out before you declare your undying love for me over my incredible chocolate cake." You taunt.

"Sure,"

"I just need to finish up in the kitchen and lock the back," You explain, rising out of your seat. "Wait for me by the door like a good boy." A scoff, you just ignore as you collect the plate and fork, heading towards the kitchen with a grin. You toss the plate in the pot wash, grateful that you did most of the washing as you went along. You do a final sweep of the place before heading out to meet Van, who's leaning against the wall right by the door. They immediately brighten when they notice you. Setting the alarm, you pull open the door and usher them out into the cool night air. Making sure it's locked up behind them. With a smile, you head off down the street. It's a few minutes of comfortable silence before you decide to break it. "Thanks for coming tonight. I really didn't think you would,"

"You think so little of me."

"No, I just know you," You state, "and you can be a bit of a homebody." You know Van can't argue with that because it was very much true, and there was nothing wrong with that. You weren't exactly a party animal yourself. "Also this shirt looks so fucking good on you. It took everything in me not to jump your bones."

"Oh really?"

"You should get dressed up for me more often."

"You think it looks good now, it'll look even better on the bedroom floor,"

"Just couldn't help yourself, huh?"

"You set it up."

"You're such a child." A roll of your eyes. Van lived in the space above her store, so your walk home wasn't very long. Standing outside her front door like two school kids about to part ways. There was something so uniquely beautiful about the way Van Palmer made you feel. Like you were seventeen again and this was your first real relationship. That childhood sense of wonder is so apparent. The swarms of butterflies that appear whenever you see her. Laughing at all her jokes. Just wanting to be around her all the time. Sharing your lunch breaks. It was crappy mix tapes and sneaking into R - rated movies. Photobooths and rollerskates. Summer night sleepovers where you steal the occasional glance when nobody else is looking. You really like her. You're not ashamed of the fact. You would tell anyone who would listen. "So you gonna invite me in for a nightcap or what?"

"A nightcap?"

"Isn't that what you old people say?" You tease. Van just takes your hand and heads for the door, leading you into her place, but not without lacing your fingers together.

The next morning comes too soon. Buried in the thick covers, shielding yourself from the bright sunlight streaming in through her open window. Why did it have to be so bright? A groan sounds in your throat, muffled by the plush fabric of the pillow. You reach out, hoping to find another still sleeping next to you, however, you're met with the soft bounce of the mattress. A low grumble as you look over at the empty space. You had been hoping for a lazy morning. You'd spend all day in this bed if you could, but apparently Van had other plans. You are not quite awake enough to go searching, so you lie there a little longer. relishing in the softness. the warmth. drifting between various levels of consciousness. Eventually, you decide you want Van, so you get up, find the biggest t-shirt she owns and exit the bedroom. The other woman is found lounging on the couch. You walk over, dragging your feet the entire way. "Hi sleepy head."

"You got up without me," A pout as you rub the sleep from tired eyes. The redhead reaches for your hand, using it to draw you ever so slowly closer. As your knees bump into the cushions, you collapse on top of her. Wrapping your arms around her and nuzzling against her chest, your eyes fluttering closed.

"Good morning to you too- or should I say afternoon?" Van lays a delicate kiss upon your head. You whine peacefully. Appreciating the feeling of being against her. The rise and fall of her chest lulling you back to sleep. You wish you could stay like this forever.

"Do you wanna get breakfast?" Uttered quietly after a moment.

"More like lunch," Van jokes. "You don't have work?"

"Not today," You mumble into her t-shirt. "And if you don't open the store we can have lunch somewhere cute."

"I could make us something," A huff of a laugh leaves your lips. You look up to her, resting on your chin.

"Oh, you're serious,"

"Yeah," You've always been the one to cook. Mostly because you love to do it, but also because Van wasn't a big cook, and whenever she's tried, it's been a disaster. That's why you started making her lunches, so at least she was getting one decent meal a day.

"Do you remember what happened last time?" Van could burn water if you let her.

"Just trust me. You're always cooking for me, I wanna make you something."

You hum thoughtfully, tightening your grip around her. "Fine but not right now, I wanna cuddle some more." Your fingers play with the hem of her shirt before slipping underneath. Her skin was warm and soft to the touch. She lets out a satisfied hum.

"God, you're so obsessed with me,"

"Damn right Palmer," You tease. "Got a problem with that?"

"Not even a little," A silence settles. You lay together a little longer. Delighting in her company. Taking notice of her heartbeat. God, Van was so quickly becoming everything to you and that was so exciting and so so scary.

Sitting impatiently at the table, your eyes follow her as she works. You'd been banished from standing next to her because apparently you ask too many questions. You were just curious. Wanted to know every step of the process in case of overwhelming success or complete disaster. Your legs swing in rapid succession; so much excitement. The smell that filled the space was making your mouth water and stomach growl. That was a very good sign. Van places a plate down before you. A single sandwich sliced perfectly in two. Fresh, golden brown and oozing with cheese. You grab your knife and run it over the surface, listening to the way it scrapes across the bread. "Just eat it," Van orders. "It's best really hot." The woman reaches over the table to steal the other half of the sandwich, taking a big bite. Your mouth parting at the way the cheese strings between the bread and her lips. When her lips curl, your eyes flicker upwards to see her staring at you. Caught in the act, your attention diverts to the sandwich. Picking up the other half, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply. "Baby,"

"Leave me alone, I'm appreciating the artistry."

"Best way to do that is to try it, or do you need me to feed you?" You roll your eyes, holding her gaze as you finally take a bite. Crunching into beautifully toasted bread; it's buttery and crisp, just a hint of salt. Molten cheese seeps into your mouth, stringing between the sandwich and your lips as you pull it away. There was definitely more than one kind of cheese in here, and it's absolutely mouthwatering. It's so delicious you can't help the groan that slips past your lips. A result of your morning appetite and also just how satisfactory the sandwich turned out to be. You take another bite and then another. Quick. Desperate.

"So?"

"Fuck me, Van," mumbled through a mouth full of cheese. "This is incredible."

"I told you,"

"Yeah, but this is like- wow." Even if you ignored your doubts and her proven track record, at best, you expected a decent sandwich. But this grilled cheese blew those expectations sky-high. "Fuck."

"I know it's good, but you can calm down." Van chuckles, taking another mouthful. You definitely could not. You had so many questions.

"i could quite literally not be hornier for you right now," you jest, pulling the pieces of bread apart to inspect the cheese between. "this might be the best grilled cheese i've ever had."

"Probably should have guessed a good sandwich would get you going." The other woman teases, tossing her piece back down on the plate.

"You make fun but given half the chance-"

"Don't threaten me with a good time." Van interrupts

You shove the last of the bread in your mouth and pick up the other half. "Let me finish this, and I'll definitely keep my word."

#van palmer #van palmer x reader #van palmer x you #yellowjackets #yellowjackets fanfic #lauren ambrose

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