T4EJAZRNYF THE ACTUAL PROMPT THING: āYouāre a terrible cook.ā (BUT PLZ GIVE ME PUCKABRINA FROM BOOK 5 OLDER AU!!!I BELIEVE IN U!!)
this took forever becaues i am the worst apologies and shame
āYouāre a terrible cook,ā Puck says casually, much the way he would say āthe prisoners need new sheetsā or āIām sleeping in today.ā
āScrew you too,ā Sabrina answers.
Theyāre seated at the kitchen table in their part of the fortress, which is currently a tent pitched on the outside of Granny Reldaās cabin.
āNo, I donāt mean it like that,ā Puck says. Still easy, still smiling at her.
She loves this, this easy banter, these insults without sting, the comfortable way they can exist around each other these days. She wouldnāt give it up for anything.
And can anyone blame her? This is most of what sheās got: an air mattress on hard dirt, canvas walls on three sides and rough logs on the fourth, a pop-up kitchenette that only works because Daphne has piled so many spells on it it makes Sabrina dizzy to come near it.
Which is probably part of the reason sheās such a bad cook. Not that sheāll say that. It sounds too much like making excuses, but the pull of magic hasnāt gotten easier despite fifteen years around the stuff. It still sings in her bones when it comes close, twisting itself around her, cajoling her to use it like so much would be fixed if she would just twistā
But sheās avoided it, for the most part. There was that one moment, after Uncle Jake diedā
Which she doesnāt think about.
Because sheās here in her āhouseā with her husband, and they woke up to the warm glow of sunshine through their tent walls, and the sound of people training outside, and he loves her even if he hates her cooking. And Uncle Jake and the decade and a half of furious war and her parents asleep still across the rough wall? The seventeen-year-old boy who should have been her brother? All of that is pennies against the brilliance that is standing back to back with Puck and knowing, down to the core of herself, that heāll keep her as safe as sheāll keep him.
āHow about I take it over,ā Puck offers. āThe cooking, I mean.ā
Sabrina shrugs, easy, and takes a bite of her rubbery omelette. Heās not wrong. Itās not good. āKnock yourself out.ā
āOh thank god,ā Puck says.
Sabrina considers being offended at the sheer relief in his voice.
āYou know,ā Sabrina says, keeping her voice mild, āitās not like I had much of a chance to learn.ā
āKeep telling yourself that, Grimm,ā Puck says breezily. āBut it takes skill to screw up with Marshmallowās stove.ā
Sabrina takes another bite of her omelette. She looks at her plate, making a face, then pushes it away. āDonāt let her hear you call her that.ā
āI refuse to stop,ā Puck says. He stands, and heads for the stove. He starts bustling around it, moving with purpose.
And she knows that part of that refusal is for her sake. Puck keeps trying to get Daphne to remember what she was like before because that girl? Sabrina gave up so much to let Daphne stay happy, and thenā
Well. Sabrina could only protect Daphne so far, it seems.
Maybe someday Puck will get her to smile again.
Maybe.
Sabrina doesnāt think so.
Sheās being maudlin again, and sheās trying to stop that. Trying to make the best of things. Doing pretty well at it, usually. She should go swing her sword at something. That usually helps her feel better, lets her switch from sadness to anger again. And she depends on anger a lot less than she used to, but itās still useful. Anger is movement, anger is changing things. Sadness is useless.
She collects the remains of the atrocity she tried to call breakfast, and dumps them in the garbage bag, another of Daphneās bespelled necessities. On the way back to the table, she kisses Puck on the cheek.
He leans into it without looking away from the onions heās dicing. Theyāre rougher than Sabrinaās onions, which she cut into neat little squares, but they probably wonāt be burnt by the time they make it to the table, so it doesnāt matter.
āIām going to sharpen my swords,ā she says. āCall me when breakfast is ready?ā
Puck hums in affirmation.Ā
Heās beautiful, concentrating on something, in the diffuse yellow light of their tent, tall and almost clean, and she does love him, so much. Would do anything to keep him safe. Would burn down the world, would fall back into that desperate music of magic if it meant Puck would stay in the world, safe and hers and smiling despite everything.
Sheād learn how to cook, even.
