#now if i can get around to making the Luxurious Brownies again i could write down that recipe too... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fightevilandthengetblownup · 4 years ago

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FIC: Something Borrowed, Something Blue ii

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PART ONE

Wednesday morning started dark and early for her. Sleepy kisses as she bid good morning to the other in the bed, not due to get up for another three hours, and checked in on the youngest of the household to ensure he was still fast asleep before showering and preparing for the day.

Usually Jo would sleep for another thirty minutes, but given today was due to be a long one filled with photos as she baked and decorated the demonstration trial cake from scratch, she figured an extra thirty minutes to ensure her hair and make up looked nice for the day (though inevitably she’d be flour covered by the end of the day and tendrils would fall out of the nice high pony tail before lunch). Usually she would get to wake up and luxuriate in bed for a while before getting up, showering and then waking Billy to get prepared for pre-school. Today, Jack would get the pleasure of preparing the boy for the day, making him breakfast and hearing him babble about whatever strange dream he had the night before.

Dressing for the day in a pair of denim shorts and one of the oversized shirts that still remained in her wardrobe after five years, Jo smacked her lips together and blotted the excess from her red lips as she gathered her recipe-slash-sketch book and headed out to the bakery as the sun barely made it’s creeping way into the sky. Overhead the clouds were still the dark inky blue of night time, just slightly tinged golden to the edge and purples slowly building their way through the rolling masses. The perfect inspiration for her work that day, quickly snapped a few times as she walked on her way to the bakery.

As she reached the front door, she could see the exhausted looking journalist outside already, hands clutching as if to a lifeline to the Starbucks cup. At least she knew she looked more prepared for the day than him even if it was only just past five in the morning.

“Good morning Chuck.”

The grumbled sound she got in response made Jo laugh as she unlocked the front door of the bakery. Moving inside and flicking the lights on, she noticed the man slip in behind her before sinking into one of the closest chairs as she got the space prepared for the morning. The smell of baking bread was already filling the air, her favourite part of having automatically timed ovens that she could avoid the two am starts that other places had to endure. Flicking the coffee machine on, refilling the front displays with prepared trays of cookies, cakes, slices, pastries and other goodies, Jo hummed to herself practically forgetting the other was there aside from the odd groan.

There were breads to be pulled from the ovens, trays of prepared cupcakes and brownies to go back in, a pot of caramel to be placed on the stove while the shortbread bases baked; there were muffins to be loaded into the cake displays and covered with their glass dome, glass cookie jars to be refilled and brownies to be stacked high on plates within the display case. There was milk to be checked on, fruit tarts to be glazed and mixers to be started up with bases for the rest of the days work. And finally there was a section of the kitchen to be set up in preparation for making the wedding cake base later in the morning, butter to be set out to come up to room temperature and ingredients to be laid out in decorative bowls and artfully positioned.

As the clock approached six am, the first few customers began appearing - mostly other cafes for their daily pick ups that Jo moved through easily with a laugh and a smile, and the exchange of a bunch of mint with one of the herbal stores a few blocks away that always ordered raisin and oat cookies, an entire crate full of lemons and beetroots from Mrs. Mills who ran a tea shop just out of the city who grew her own produce but was a failure baking them into anything herself but would trade ingredients for discounted trays of pastries to go along with the tea and best homemade lemonade and hard cider in the area, and the constant flirting that even now Jo never could stop partaking in when Andy came by blushing and stammering for his special brownies for the medicinal store he ran across town. Others breezed in and out smoothly, and Jo had already poured Chuck his third coffee before the hour was out by the time her long-haired barista-lawyer arrived to start up the morning as the first of the commuters would begin to arrive.

“C’mon Chuck, lets get this shoot set up for today, huh?”

There was an almost awake nod before Jo lead the way back into the kitchen where she began to lend a hand setting up a selection of cameras to capture time-lapse as well as real time footage of her working through the preparations for a demonstration cake with all the elements she’d discussed. The cupcakes had been selling well and she thought that the blueberry icing was the way to go underneath the fondant for today’s trial in preparation of Friday’s mock-up. Usually Jo mocked up cake after cake once every few weeks for a wedding, but with the amount she’d be making these flavors this week she felt comforted that she’d be fine until a few weeks before the wedding itself this time around.

“Alrighty, fondant time.” Jo chirped to herself quietly two hours later, an ongoing stream of conversation from her having filled the morning where mostly she talked to herself or sang along with the radio while Chuck seemed to either work on typing up his notes from the last two days or try to wake up still. The fondant work was always her favorite thing when she got the chance to do it, for one important reason. Slapping the large white block of fondant down and cutting it into pieces with a dough scraper, Jo let out a laugh as she started working a quarter out with her rolling pin. “Who needs a gym when you can bake instead?”

“Who indeed?” Chuck’s answer was just as vacant and distracted as her own question had been, and Jo felt a laugh pop right back up at how relaxed and unobtrusive the other was to her work. He’d barely looked up from his laptop as she’d made the batter for each tier of the much downsized trial cake for the development today; and Jo liked it that way.

Working the white fondant out until it was a thin enough sheet to go through her larger scaled roller, she called him over to move a camera to catch the process as she fed the fondant through one end over and over until it was paper thin. Slicing out little shapes of various sizes and laying them out on a baking sheet dusted with potato starch and layer separated by a tea towel, Jo spent the next hour slowly making those white petals and then various petals of lilac and deep aubergine as well in smaller amounts. As she did that, there were cakes and brownies removed from ovens, loaves of bread traded out and cupcakes and pastries a plenty made and prepared all over again like her Monday in anticipation of the day off tomorrow to keep the bakery ticking over.

By lunch time, Jo had three full trays, six layers deep of petal and leaf shapes, and long flouncy ruffles to do an ombred ruffled layer, as well as the white fondant ready to be marbleised with the different purple shades after a lunch break.

“So,” The journalist’s voice caught her as Jo finally sat down for the first time in some seven hours as the clock hit just after one in the afternoon as she cut herself a slice of salmon quiche after dishing up the same for the other man. Perched on her stool and pulled up close to the central island, Jo raised a brow across at the finally awake voice and her eyes spotted the running silver dictaphone in the middle of the bench as they started her lunch break. Sam had been in the hour before for a quick bite while Jo’d worked the coffee machine for the quick lunch rush, and the amount of cocoa on her cheeks was less than normal considering. “I got my rough draft from a lot of stuff yesterday-”

“Was that helpful for you? Thinking about getting into INKED and leaving Rolling Stone?”

“Eye opening, yes, but I’m stuck here until this sham of a wedding is complete.” Chuck grumbled the words out quietly, eyes focused on the trashy magazine pile he’d brought with him that day that held stories that Jo suspected were about the bride and her ‘whirlwind’ romance - the fake stories that didn’t have a lick of truth to them.

Her back when rigid and Jo found herself snarling sharply at the accusation against her friend, lips curled into a sneer. “Now listen here, buddy. Absolutely nothing about this wedding is a sham.” Jo’s brown eyes flashed dangerously for a second as she caught his eye finally, and found herself shaking her head and holding up a hand as the other’s mouth opened to speak. “No no. No talking until I’m done. I get that you might have an image of what Shada is like, what she does for a living, how she presents herself to the world, and the way the show she’s on has given her whole... storyline. But absolutely none of that is accurate to the woman I know. Nor to the man that loves her, and the depth of their romance.”

“Oh?” Chuck’s brow raised in return before he set his magazines back down and picked up his notepad and pen instead even though his laptop was open beside him. An analog guy it seemed. “Well, I’ve got to say - I’d love to be able to write the most genuine series of articles I can about this wedding compared to this-”

“Trash.” Jo supplied the word at the gesture of his pen towards the stack of magazines, and the bemused smile she got for it made her hackles drop from how they had been risen.

“Exactly.” The other nodded for a moment before gesturing his hand at her. “Well, tell me the real story again then - I know we covered some yesterday but that’s just broad strokes. Give me fine details, huh?”

Jo found herself sighing, and then launching into the many, many positive and wonderfully genuine parts to her friend throughout the rest of the afternoon. For the next four hours as she layered the small cakes together with buttercream, crumb coated and then fondant wrapped one in the ombre ruffles, one into the beautiful purple marble coated and then sparkling with carefully placed gold-leaf, and the lilac purple buttercream cake which was then covered in the delicate roses made out of the petals - each with tiny edging of silver-leaf and shimmering with a light layer of lustre dust. And as she assembled the small practice cakes, she talked of her friend.

Shada’s genuine smiles, her love of her brother, how she’d always be kind to anyone and everyone she met. The way the dark haired woman never once ordered anyone directly to do something, unless it was followed by an apology for being pushy. How the girl had grown so much in the two years Jo had known her, and the maturity and wisdom that she spoke with on a regular basis. How Shada was so kind to her son, and the way the girl truly wanted to get married and have a family. That Shada had been unsure about the wedding being a part of the show and covered as much as it was, even if she’d daydreamed as a teenager of being rich and famous and a star-studded wedding to one of the Jonas Brothers - that now she was marrying the love of her life, that the brunette would be truly happy marrying in a potato sack (”one that she would obviously make purple and look beautiful in though!”) and still be happy. How the starlet had planned originally to have a quiet, intimate wedding at Ian’s family manor in France during the break in filming, before the couple had talked about the opportunity and agreed after being approached that they could do this for Shada’s career and have the smaller, intimate celebration for their anniversary the following year.

It was as Jo continued to place tiny edible pearls around the roses, that she found herself being guided into reminiscing about her own wedding in comparison. The quick court house event that she’d worn a lacey, white shift dress she’d bought for $2.50 at a secondhand store while her Marine wore his dress uniform. The posey of baby’s breath in her hand and the way the ceremony was completed in no time in front of her mom, Bobby the other couples getting married right before and after them. How the only photograph was taken by Ellen on the courthouse steps as she’d been lifted in her husband’s arms and one of her shoes had fallen off as she’d laughed. That her wedding dinner was pizza in bed as they watched some old black and white movie that he loved, and Jo’d fallen asleep in no time. That he’d been shipped out two months later, and dead within four from then.

And she spoke softly, as she wrapped the fourth option in a layer of plain white fondant before collecting her airbrush kit and the array of purples, blacks and golds to start covering the blank canvas in her own form of art, of how much she wished the couple far more than half a year of happiness. The gentle whistle of the airbrush as she delicately mottled the colors together and as she smiled thinking to herself that she was absolutely certain the pair would have that.

The noise from the front of the bakery was quieting down as Jo finished the last flourish and grinned across at the journalist as he continued to look up and down between her and his notepad. It was closing time, and she had four examples to show her friend on Friday when her and her fiance arrived originally for the final design choices, and she’d have enough cake prepared to do a full size mock up of the design they chose that day as the journalist would talk to the couple and snap photos beside her and her work. But for today, she was done and began putting away the demonstrations and the baked goods and doughs she’d prepared for Sam to utilise tomorrow while she was out with the bride and her entourage.

“Jojo, mamacita, your boyfriend is bothering me again!” The called voice that bounced through the door to the front as Ash pushed it open and followed in the grinning professor with his own laugh. “He was bothering me about someone’s photoshoot and when those photos would be coming in.”

“I wasn’t-” Jack’s blushed furiously as he moved towards her at the fridge, his hands reaching out to go around her waist before stopping short noticing the scruffy journalist packing away his laptop and notepad though the dictaphone stayed out in the middle of the bench. In an instant, his arms dropped to his side and Jo found herself frowning to see the smile drop just as quickly from his face and whatever he’d been saying disappear along with it. “... Jo.”

“Hunny.”

“How was your day?”

Arching a blonde brow, Jo let out a bit of a laugh to herself as she noticed the focus of Jack’s eyes on the silver recording device until Chuck’s hand wrapped about it and tucked it away in his messenger bag.

“It was fine,” Jack’s voice was still tight and quiet, brushing against the curve of her ear as she moved in closer, before he spoke a little louder and clearer. “Have a good evening, Mr Shurley. Big day tomorrow, right?”

“Oh, absolutely. Seven beautiful women and an array of gowns?” Chuck grinned widely as he moved about the kitchen towards the door and Ash’s equally appreciative grin. Raising a hand in a wave, he pressed it against his chest, mocking a wound. “How did I get this job, huh? Luckiest bastard-”

“Your week just keeps gettin’ better and better!” Ash laughed along with him and he followed the reporter out of the bakery with a wave behind him at the couple, closing the swinging door behind him. “See ya later, lovebirds.”

“Tell Sam I’ll close up!” Jo called out loudly to the others back as the door swung back and forth and finally closed, before she found two hands wrapped around her waist and then let out a squeal as she was lifted up onto her still floury work surface. “Hun!”

“Yes?” Jack’s lips spread into a wicked smile as he leaned in to catch her own for a moment before pulling back. Jo could feel her cheeks heating up as his fingers brushed over her flour and sugar covered hair to tuck a few strands back before he kissed her again, thoroughly and hard, fingers tangled in her messy hair. There were a long, heated moment before he pulled back again leaving her breathless as he let out his own sigh. “What a day.”

“Yeah? What happened?” Jo ran her own fingers through his hair gently in return as the slightly stressed look she’d remembered from the last years exam time started up again. He always ran himself ragged during them, and if nothing else, she could ease some of his stress with her kisses and touch. “Tell me all about it over dinner?”

“I’d much rather hear about your day.” He replied gently, leaning into her touch for a moment before they both smiled at one another.

Jo recalled the discussion of the day as they packed up the kitchen and closed up the front of the bakery too, with Jack’s hands carefully wiping the flour from her jeans and then helping her to pack each thing away as needed. They took no time at all to close up and walked hand in hand on their way back to Jack’s house. As he’d wrapped his fingers around hers, Jo couldn’t help but think as she talked about how happy she was for his little sister finding the love of her life, that perhaps she’d been lucky enough to find another one.

Dinner was quieter that night - Bobby and Ellen taking care of Billy for the next two nights as a fun sleep over as well as to keep him from getting Jo to run late the next morning - than usual with just the two of them, but at the same time it meant that Jo could relax on the sofa with her feet up and a glass of wine while she could hear the quiet humming of a song and the sizzle of bacon and the bubbling of pasta from the kitchen without lifting a finger.

“Carbonara?” Jo sniffed the coated pasta happily as the bowl was offered out to her and she swung her legs around to sit upright as the dark haired man took the seat beside her. “You spoil me.”

“Not nearly enough for what you’re going to be dealing with tomorrow for me.” Jack’s voice was gentle and teasing in equal measure as he slumped beside her and kicked his own feet up on the coffee table. The baker curled up beside him and tucked her feet under his legs as they both dug into their dinner together.

Jo shook her head, smiling. “Nah, I’m doing it for your sister, you idjit.”

“How am I an ...idjit?!”

“Because, hun,” She giggled quietly, slurping up one of the noodles with a loud noise before smiling widely. “Not everything is about you. And I love your sister all on her own.”

“You do, do you?” His voice was softer than before then, the teasing tone bleeding out and replaced with something gentler and that made her stomach flip a little as he chewed on his own mouthful thoughtfully before swallowing. Jack turned his head to catch her eyes with those piercing blue ones of his, staring straight at her and if Jo could she would have melted right then under his look as he quirked one side of his lips up. “And why’s that?”

Jo’s tongue felt ten times too big while her mouth felt parched of any kind of moisture before she blinked a few times out of that look. Her cheeks a bright red, she smiled back simply. “Because, she’s more like family now.”

“Aunty Shayday and all?”

“Exactly.”

If she was red before, it was nothing on the flaming feeling of her whole face and neck as Jack’s eyes had searched hers for something she wasn’t sure of as they spoke, before he finally seemed to reach a conclusion and turn back towards the television with a small, secretive smile. “Well, that’s good that you’re not going to be tortured for me.” There was a beat as Jo recovered herself and the other chewed another mouthful of pasta, before he added cheekily, “Now I don’t need to spoil you tomorrow night too.”

“Hey! No fair!” Jo laughed and giggled then, cuddling into his side as they settled in to watch a movie and then head up to bed later. It would be a relaxing night before the inevitable stresses of the next day, and she was going to savour every moment of calm she could fit in before the morning came.

But come it did.

Rolling over onto her back as she climbed off of her love with a quiet, happy moan as his hands followed her path to continue running across the bright colors of her sides, Jo wished she didn’t have to get out of the bed at all. Her skin was marked all over between her tattoos and the signs of their lovemaking, but if she had it her way they’d both stay there until there wasn’t a piece of skin without the ghost of his lips on it. Stretching her back and letting out a giggle at the slight tickle to her side, she finally sat up after the other rolled out his side of the bed to grab a shower and rush out to work. She’d made him late for his 8am class, but as Jack threw a glance in the mirror from the ensuite over his shoulder back at her with his toothbrush dangling from his lips and sudsy teeth flashing a grin at her, Jo knew she wasn’t in trouble for keeping him in bed.

Rolling her hips back and forth and tossing about languidly like a cat waking from a long nap, boneless and pleased, she finally pushed herself upright before going to wrap an arm around the dark haired man’s shoulder to press a kiss on his back before heading to the shower.

She used to argue about staying the night here in his lavish townhouse - about his giving her a drawer in the ensuite and another in the wardrobe, and then more wardrobe space, and then how he got a cot-attachment added to the spare bed so that Billy could stay sleeping when he’d go down after dinner. And then it seemed pointless when her yearly lease came up and instead of renewing she found herself moving every bit of her life into a new house. Even the box of the clothes and books she’d still not thrown away, though she’d forgotten she still had it before the move. The spare, spare, spare room was reconfigured into Billy’s room, and Jack had even added another desk to the study and cleared shelves for Jo to add her cook books to the lounge and dining room spaces. Her cupcake cushions replaced his modernist blue ones, and there was a toy box brought in and added to each and every room in the house. Her tattoo designs went up on the wall beside a large oil painting of some beautiful woman with her face hidden behind shadow that held a dripping book out - Jo had not been surprised to learn that was one of the last of Jack’s work before he quit, the sheer mania, depression and confusion in the brush strokes hit her hard every time she stopped to stare up into the dark void where the woman’s eyes should be but weren’t yet felt like she was screaming out from. And in the kitchen her trinkets and gadgets and utensils had filled the drawers that before had the spartan one knife-fork-spoon combination.

The rainfall shower head was a luxury, and Jo waved goodbye through the fogged up glass as Jack left, leaving her to spend a good amount of time lathering and rinsing her hair. The whole room smelled like the bakery as she stepped out from the mists and set about doing her hair and make up nicely, but not too nicely as to upstage the stars of what was going on today. A little wave, a messy bun and just enough concealer to cover the darkest spots that littered her neck and her under eyes for different reasons was all that she needed to do to look suitable - if she needed anything more, Jo figured since it was actually being filmed but not scripted, she’d have access to an actually talented make up artist. Besides, she was known as the bubbly, cute baker girl so it made sense she looked a little rougher around the edges. At least this time she’d not have flour in her hair or cocoa on her nose.

Jeans and a black knit sweater, followed by a green hoodie borrowed from Jack’s wardrobe was her choice for the day. What she wore on the outside mattered less than wearing the nude colored strapless bra and nude toned underwear, but she drew the line at wearing heels for the whole day. Tossing her keys, phone and a few paper bags of snacks into her bag and her travel mug of coffee in hand before dashing out the door, the blonde flagged down the first taxi she saw and spent the trip chewing on her nails.

She hadn’t had to deal with bridesmaids for her own wedding - there hadn’t been time, and besides she hadn’t had female friends back when she was twenty-one and flunking out of her history major - and the few bridal parties that had come through the bakery had scared her immensely that a group of women with one goal in mind was a terrifying thing. To be part of said group felt entirely alien for her, and Jo half wished she could be on the grooms side of the aisle in a suit and without any drama instead.

Far quicker than she had wished, the taxi pulled up out front of the nondescript building with the small black sign and Jo handed over a twenty to cover the trip and tip as she clambered out ungracefully onto the pavement before steeling her nerves. She could spot that one camera guy she always spotted winking at everyone and who she had enjoyed flirting shamelessly and harmlessly with every time they filmed at the bakery leaning against the brickwork by the building’s door.

“Hey Gabey, what’s cracking?”

“Well now, gorgeous, that’d be spoiling the surprise wouldn’t it?”

“Like you care about spoilers!”

Gabriel, the previous camera man turned B-director, shook his head with a laugh and a smirk as she needled him for answers. “Come now, you know I need to get genuine reactions from you all.”

The blonde laughed in return, quirking a brow up at him. “Are you suggesting that I, Jo Harvelle, might not give a genuine reaction?”

“I plead the fifth.” The dark haired director laughed back, shouldering his camera bag on his shoulder with a sigh as a trio of black cars arrived and began unpacking with the rest of the small camera and other crew members poured out and then quickly into the building. “Ugh, I know Shada wished this could have been skipped-”

“But that would miss out so much potential drama, right?” Jo smiled back at him for a moment, before digging about in her bag to pull out one of the paper bags. Waving it at him, she raised a brow. “I’ll trade you these for confirmation that there isn’t any scripted drama today and that I don’t have to fake anything other than that I don’t think Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee are vicious conniving bitches.”

The bag was exchanged in a flash, and the wide, toothy grin she got back in response when the other saw the selection of chocolate chip cookies that were also made using her burnt butter base and shards of salted toffee inside made her smile back at the cheeky salute before Gabe moved off with a shout for some hair stylist ‘Balthy’ to get his ass inside quickly.

Jo found herself leaning up against the wall herself instead, the warmth from the other’s back still in the brick, as she pulled her phone out to start getting ahead on orders and emails while she had the time. She dipped a hand into her bag to fetch out the bannana bread, oat muffin with peanut butter she’d packed for her breakfast that she started nibbling at between coffee sips as she waited. It was just before nine, but the girls were known to be late.

Over the next thirty minutes others slowly trickled into arriving - first was the taller blonde girl with a big, wide smile and the cutest habit of always covering her hair in little lace bows that was Ian’s little sister; followed by the brunette Bela who’s sunglasses hid almost all of her face except for her pout, and then the newly black haired Ruby with a snappy greeting for everyone before disappearing off at the wave of greeting from the director of the day. Jo was talking at length with Ombre about the different cake designs she had been working on and was showing her the photos of the trials from the day before when the next two women arrived.

“Oh lookie, the baker is here too.” The clipped tone pulled Jo out of explaining to the excited Ombre just how to make the ruffled cake that matched her name, and looking over her shoulder at the new arrivals, the blonde didn’t even bother to keep the sneer off her lips as she looked at the redhead. Anna smirked back, smugly, raising a brow at her. “I suppose you’re here to make our dear Shada seem more grounded right?”

“No, no, Anna, it’s cause she’s trying to fuck her way into society the same way Shada did.” Lilith’s snide comment rolled out from her with an equally vicious grin on her lips at getting to throw a few comments in before she would need to play nice-r to the cameras. “Tell me, Jojo, did you give her pointers for how to do that with your step-daddy or-”

“Lilith, you better shut your goddamn fucking mouth before I shut it for you.” There wasn’t even a beat before Jo had the other blonde pushed back against the brickwork with a hand around her neck, pressure tight but not dangerous as she glared up at the other woman. She held the position for a count of five in her head, before stepping back and leaning down to pick her coffee up from where she’d left it earlier. “Today is about Shada, and I will not have a single person say a negative thing about her, her life, her choices or anything to do with her and this wedding or anything else, okay?”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself!” The deeper than usual tone cut through the small crowd of women as Ruby arrived back with their director in tow right then. Gabriel’s eyes caught Jo’s for a split second longer than the others as he stared each woman down - and all she could think was that this poor man had to herd this crowd of women day in and day out without anyone unconnected enough to lay down the law, and how much harder that must be dealing with five grown women than one almost-five year old. “Anyway, ladies, if you could head inside for the last touch ups and then Shada should be here and we’ll reconvene outside for the outside shots, right?”

Jo wasn’t at all surprised by the warm clasp of the dark haired Ruby’s arm around her shoulders leading her and Ombre inside into the ridiculous process of last minute checks and confirmations from the miniature hair and make up team preparing for the day. The younger blonde almost cried when the hair stylist Balthazar suggested taking out some of her bows, and then the fact both Anna and Bela were made to change their dresses to something different due to ‘looking too alike’ in the camera was insane. Jo watched on in a mixture of shock, awe and disdain as the make up, hair and wardrobe stylists did their work, and was only a little relieved when she was left alone as ‘good enough’ since she doubted she’d be filmed much that day. If she was, she’d have to bring out her back up bribery too. Ruby likewise was left alone, and the make up artist glared daggers at Jo when Lilith complained her neck looked ‘a little too red’. But everyone was touched up and finalised within half an hour, and Shada too had arrived and was barely containing her nerves.

She wasn’t sure when he arrived, but Jo noticed Chuck walking about behind other cameras and ducking under wardrobe racks at one point with his camera out and dictaphone hanging from a cord on his neck. Jo smiled when she caught his eye, but thankfully today wasn’t actually about her. Today was his content for the month after her cake special - all about the bridesmaids - and she would barely be spoken to today. This was his first chance to interview and speak with the other five bridesmaids, so really Jo would get to spend most of the day talking to Shada and keeping her company instead.

As the group were guided out to the black trio of cars again and slid into various seats to represent the way they would arrive to the studio, Jo laughed when Gabe grabbed her arm and had her lean up against the building instead.

“Really?”

“What can I say? The lighting looks great on you like that. Besides,” Gabe grinned conspiratorially at her as they waited for Shada and Ombre to climb into the third car, with Ruby and Lilith into the second and Anna and Bela in the first, “It means you didn’t have to go into one of the cars with those conniving bitches.”

“My hero.” Jo replied with a flourish of eyelash batting and laughter alike as she picked up her coffee mug, refilled by Shada’s PA Kevin, and began checking her phone as instructed and felt natural to her as she waited for this intro shooting to finish.

Soon enough the group were ushered back into the salon - now looking like a proper boutique rather than the explosion of wardrobe and styling that it had looked before - and Shada was greeted enthusiastically by the extremely smug fashion designer Meg Masters from Mastersara Bridal.

“Welcome, ladies, to my boutique.” The brown waves around the woman’s face were so well quaffed, like the other starlets that surrounded Jo as they moved into the space and were guided by the designer towards the luxurious white sofas with the golden accents. The whole group looked mostly put together, and Jo could tell as she made sure not to look directly down the lens of the camera walking backwards before them as they moved that there was a clear line between the reality stars, and herself and Ombre. If she hadn’t already been sure, then the look of distaste that swept the designers face as Jo slumped down on one end of the couch beside the perky blonde was enough to confirm it. “Our sophisticated designs are here for your review, and I am certain that you will find the perfect design for your vision in our collection.” The glance towards Shada and the rest of the stars as the B-camera came to pan across each womans’ reactions was enough to make Jo fight not to snort. “Mastersara Bridal is for not only the modern bride, but the modern bridal party - and we are so touched-” Jo found herself frowning at the tone as the dark haired woman said that word, the tiny curl to her lip and slight sardonic element to it as Meg’s eyes forcefully stayed staring straight, “-that you are here to select your gowns.”

Glancing to her right at the bride herself, Jo could see the glimmer of excitement and the wet sheen in the brunette’s eyes as she smiled that beautiful way that lit up the whole room. The family trait that Jo knew so well, and found herself smiling in return about it as Shada clapped her hands excitedly.

“I love shopping!” The excited giggle that came from the bride was perfectly timed, and the laughter that rippled out was almost entirely genuine from the group that were there, before Shada bounced back up to her feet. “I’m so excited!”

“I’m sure you are,” Meg smiled back, a tiny slice of danger behind white teeth, but waved a hand towards one side of the room. “Let’s see what we can find, shall we ladies?”

Jo actually flinched at the loud squealed exclamations from all the other women, before the group dispersed quickly in a rush in all different directions. Blinking in surprise, she caught the bemused look on their director’s face for the day as he bit into one of his cookies with a wink as he waved a hand for the three other camera men to start following the rest of the group.

Taking a deep breath as the noise slowly quieted down and instead each small group of women began talking amongst themselves, the blonde leaned over her knees as she breathed in and out. This was a lot. She was used to having this level of excitement and such around her, but as she finally got to her feet and approached where Shada was talking animatedly about only wanting purple shades regardless of if certain people’s hair would clash horribly and wash them out, Jo was surprised to realise that it was overwhelming for her in a way she’d never experienced before.

“Oh Bela, I know you’re not a fan, but green just is so not my color wheel.” Shada giggled loudly at the seductive green silk dress the other brunette was holding up to her frame. “Besides, you’re a bridesmaid - you’re not there to be sexy.”

“Says you.” Bela tossed her head back with a smile, eyes flashing and Jo was sure that the camera was eating every second of that wicked look. “You know weddings are the perfect place to meet men, and I know that Ian has some equally rich and handsome cousins-”

“No!” The chirp came from the blonde that stuck her head with a very exaggerated scowl through the nearest clothing rack. Ombre eyed the actress with a frown for a moment before adding sharply, “My cousins are all gay. Or married. Or-”

“Or you’re lying to disuade me.”

“Maybe.”

“Girls, lets not fight - we’ve got to find dresses.” Jo found herself speaking up as the bickering back and forth began and all she could envision was how frustrating it was to deal with Billy’s squabbling with his friends and put her foot in before it could get going. “Shada, how about you get everyone to grab a dress or two - so long as they can be made in a purple tone - and we can get started?”

There was a second before her friend’s arms went around her waist and Jo found herself laughing along with Shada as she grinned back at her. “See? This is why we need a mom around here! Someone who knows what they’re doing!” Looking over Jo’s shoulder, Shada flapped her hand at those around the room. “Let’s get trying!”

The god awful squeal happened again, and biting down on a wince, Jo let Shada link their arms together and herself be towed about the room as the brunette reviewed dress after dress with the designer pointing out features left and right. It took forever, but perhaps that was just how it felt to Jo, before the six bridesmaids were each sent off to their own dressing rooms with a large array of dresses in each to match one another - guided to start from the left to the right.

Letting out a sigh, Jo stripped off and quickly pulled on the first dress with little struggle. At least this one, compared to some of the others, looked a lot less intimidating. Tugging the chiffon straps carefully, Jo frowned when they wouldn’t stay up and instead hung off her shoulder. It must have been intentional, she thought as she readjusted her bra and settled everything where it should be before there was a called out direction by the directing man for the bridesmaids to emerge on the count of three.

Sighing to herself, Jo followed instructions and moved out of her changing room towards the central space in line with the other bridesmaids to scrutiny.

Looking down the line, the blonde found herself smiling to see Ombre swishing the skirt of the soft lilac dress happily, while both Anna was trying not to scowl on camera while trying to pull her dress down enough to show more cleavage than should be necessary or was acceptable in such a simple and classic dress. The color looked beautiful on a few of the other women’s skin tones, but washed out others like Bela and Ombre.

Jo jerked at the sound of a laugh near her, and looked over to see Chuck with his camera pointed directly at her while Gabe was directing his own the cameras away from her. Frowning, she raised a brow at the men in confusion.

“Have a good night, Jo?” Chuck asked, tone full of implication, as Shada and Lilith bickered about whether the color of the dress was dramatic enough or not. Jo frowned further in confusion until the reporter gestured at her neck. “Should have remembered you were doing things today.”

Turning her head towards the mirror, Jo let out a loud laugh noticing the dark patch under her ear that was visible now she’d switched her borrowed hoodie out for a dress. Giggling, she looked about for an option before a tall, lanky blond came over with a compact and whispered at her in an accent that would have once upon a time been dreamy about “got mauled by an octopus did you, dearie?”

Thankfully the rest of the women were busy squabbling or enjoying their dresses that by the time all turned towards Jo she was covered sufficiently and could simply say she thought the dress was ‘nice’ and ‘a good start’ without any further questions other than to turn the topic back to the bride.

“I agree, Jo, it’s a good start. I love the color - its so lovely and reminds me of spring! It would match the wisteria arches perfectly...” Shada frowned slightly in the sweetest looking frown Jo had seen in a while, tapping at her lip with a finger as her brows furrowed and a camera came in for a close up. “But something about the strap bothers me. Onto the next!”

The clap that followed that was order enough for the bridesmaids and director alike for them all to return to the dressing rooms for the next dress.

Jo emerged before being called this time - half to check that she didn’t have anything extra to be hidden and half to check on the bride herself - and found herself blushing at the loud exclamations of how beautiful she looked from her friend.

“Oh Jo, you have to get a dress like this some day. My brother would eat you up!” Shada leaped off of the sofa to run up to her, all smiles and grins as the camera crew focused on taking b-roll of the store itself while the other women struggled to get dressed. The brunette took her hands in a second before tugging for Jo to spin so the soft, tulle swirled about in a beautiful arch while Jo could hear in the background the shutter of the reporter’s ever observant camera going off. “Look at your figure, wow. Wow. You’d totally steal the show from me!”

Jo laughed along with the other at that, aware that the warm tone and the way the other pulled her in for a hug that that would in no way be true but the sentiment felt so strongly. She did look nice, she supposed, catching a glimpse in the mirror. She was just lucky her breasts had shrunk back to almost the same level after having weaned Billy onto a bottle all those years ago, because with much more cleavage and she’d look very different in this dress.

The rest of the bridesmaids slowly emerged, and Jo bit down on a smirk at the decreasingly excited or pleased reaction each woman got as more appeared in the beautiful design. The deep-v that looked lovely on Jo, Lilith and Ombre, looked borderline tacky on the two dark haired women when Bela and Ruby emerged even if the dark purple color of the bodice looked beautiful on their complexions. And on the redhead when Anna eventually emerged, it looked downright tawdry.

“Oh no.” Shada shook her head, eyes fixed on the ample curve of bossom visible in the deep-v of the redhead’s dress before she swept a glance over the rest of them with a wistful look. “No, no, this one won’t do. You all look far too sultry and amazing. Though perhaps I should buy one of these for my hen’s night?”

The round of laughter and eye rolls that came from that, as well as the extreme pout from the redhead were amusing, and Jo made her way over in a swish of fabric as the rest moved back to the dressing room to catch the bride’s arm.

“Hey, Shada sweetheart, it’s absolutely okay if we don’t find something today, okay?”

“But-”

“No,” Jo shook her head at the somewhat deflated look on the other’s face as Jo guided her to sit down. “I know all those girls have their own expectations of what they want to look like, but you should know that this is about what you want and what will make you happiest.”

The glance the dark haired woman gave to the cameras that were now focused on the pair was concerning, though Jo reached out to grip her chin firmly but gently and caught her eye again. “No. This is about you Shada, not any of that. This is all about you, and your love and your happiness - not the dresses, not the cameras or the opinions or the whims of everyone else. You tell me which dress you want, when you see it, and I will make sure you get exactly what you want.” Jo could feel the prickle of tears at the corner of her eyes as she said it - remembering the voice that was becoming less clear growling to her that 'whatever makes you happy’ when she’d said she just wanted her own wedding over with - before smiling widely. “You are the bride, Shada, and this is about your big day. Not everything else happening around it.”

There was a beat before the younger girl nodded her head a few times and Jo wrapped her up in a tight, bone-crushing hug for a moment regardless of the cameras on them and the shutter sound of the smaller ones. After a moment, she pulled back and knocked her fist gently against the other’s chin before rushing back to her dressing room to get into the next dress.

Jo barely refrained from jerking away when she noticed the next dress, scowling to herself as she pulled it on and tugged at the turtleneck of it as it scratched at her skin. Turning in the mirror, she pulled a face all over again at the figure hugging nature of the dress and just how much of a Mom-ass she looked to have already in that dress.

Heading to her spot in the line up, Jo found herself biting back a laugh at the vehement fight breaking out between Shada and Lilith over the dress itself.

“No way! They’re too sparkly-”

“I happen to think these are better than those trashy, boring dresses from before.”

“You all look trashy now!”

“You would know!”

“Get the Hell out of those things!” Shada shrieked, gesturing along the line of women as the smirking blonde continued to tug her dress to show of every single curve of her body in the dress in a way Jo was trying to conceal for herself. “My wedding is not in Las Vegas! No way, no how, get out of them now!”

Jo was glad to turn tail without even being out in that one for even a minute, before catching sight of the next dress with a sense of dread. Sparkles and sequins weren’t exactly Jo’s dream idea, but as she struggled to work out the straps to the open sides and back of the next dress and had to call a store girl in to help, she couldn’t help but find her breaths rushing realising that perhaps if this dress was chosen she’d definitely stand out.

Emerging to the floor to see Shada, Ombre and Bela gushing about the dresses in the centre of the room and how pretty the color was on each woman, Jo tugged a little at the side of her dress. Glancing towards the large mirrors before them, she could see three quarters of each of her ribcage tattoos on display under the straps - dark lines and bright colors standing out against her skin and the deep eggplant color. Frowning to herself, she moved up towards the other women and blushed brightly when all three turned to look at her with matching frowns at the distracting ink from the design of the dresses.

“What do you think? Too much?” Ruby’s voice cut over them as she moved up as well, and Jo’s eyes went straight to her chest and the limited coverage in this dress compared to the other deep-v. “Not enough?” The additional comment seemed to be addressed over the women’s heads towards the camera crew, and Jo bit down a smile at the smirk and thumbs up sent back to the dark haired beauty from the directing chair. “Shada, me thinks this might not work-” There was a pause as Ruby glanced behind her to see Lilith and Anna emerging too with their own problems of either not filling out or over filling the dresses respectively, before looking around and at the tattoos visible on Jo’s sides. “For multiple reasons.”

Shada’s own face slowly shifted from a smile about how lovely Ombre and Bela had looked in the gowns to taking in the rest with a growing frown before nodding. “Yeah, I love the color though-”

“It’s definitely lovely!” Ombre chirped up from beside Shada with a wide smile, and Jo couldn’t help but feel glad that at least there were two of them on Shada’s side.

“But perhaps the design isn’t quite... accommodating enough?”

“We can expand the cups.” There was a sniffing sound as Meg moved forward to gesture towards the redhead’s chest with a sneer. “For those who need a little more coverage.”

Shada’s eyes darted about between the dresses and the designers frowning disapproval uncertainly, and as she blushed brightly, Jo could tell where this was going. She was such a people pleaser and so lovely a person, but that just meant sometimes she could be trampled too much. Not on Jo’s watch though.

“Oh, but you’d have to change the whole bodice of the dress to cover my tattoos though.” She quickly snapped out, tugging surreptitiously on the dress in the middle to show even more of her ink as she turned to the side, drawing everyone’s eyes over to her and away from Shada. Jo locked eyes with the designer fiercely, lips twitching to go into a smirk at the way the other woman’s own curled up into a sneer. “And then it’s jut a whole different dress. We might as well keep looking.”

“Exactly right, Jo. Thank you.” Shada spoke up then, stepping up to point and tap disapprovingly at the side of her dress as she looked back at the designer and then made a flapping, shoo-hand towards the rest of the bridesmaids. “Next dress, ladies!” As the group dispersed back to their own dressing rooms, the bride reached to hold Jo’s wrist with a smile. “Thank you,” She whispered quietly then, the intent and gratitude clearly pouring out that Jo could do little but smile back before shuffling back to the next dresses.

The fifth dresses resulted in a shouting match about just why was no one in the color purple and why would Shada want to look at silver dresses when none of those designs came in her chosen color; and the sixth was in another pale lavendar color but looked a little too sweet and girly on everyone except Ombre. Jo half thought that girl should be treated as a junior bridesmaid, given she wasn’t even nineteen yet, and could wear the flowy, laced halter dress to be different from the rest - but that idea brought tears to the other blonde at being treated differently and was quickly shut down. The brown bag of elephant ear cookies was quickly brought out and the younger woman calmed down with sugar before they moved onto the next dress. The seventh dress was widely agreed to be Nice But Wrong in a way that nobody could put a finger on and was after about five minutes of dissection to get to the bottom of it called off with a shout of “NEXT!” from the bride that sent them all scurrying away.

Jo had noticed between dresses that Chuck had been making the rounds talking to each of the other bridesmaids for a few minutes before they changed to discuss the wedding, Shada, their involvement and connection, and whatever else he seemed to want to draw out of these women thrown together by a job or through the groom in Ombre’s case. Jo was just glad to avoid talking today until she noticed him hovering by her dressing room as she emerged in the eighth dress.

“So, how is this compared to shopping for your own dress?” Chuck’s voice was quiet, thankfully, in the space as he held the dictaphone between them with a warm smile. “You said it was at an op shop, but did you have much to choose from?”

“Not really. There’s only so many white dresses about the place that aren’t stained, if you feel me.”

“That makes sense. Did you get that feeling though?” Jo found herself raising a brow at the question, which brought out a chuckle from the reporter. “Oh I know, odd for me to ask. But all the other ladies keep talking about some magical feeling or experience, figured you’d be the one to know the truth maybe.”

Jo laughed a little at that, shrugging a bare shoulder as she tilted her head to the side considering. “Hmmm... I don’t think I did. I just picked the dress that fit and looked the nicest.”

“If you were to get married again, what do you think you’d be after this time around? That magical feeling?”

She shook her head as she moved out towards the group, smiling sadly to herself as she glanced back over her shoulder at the man. “Sorry Chuck, I’m a bit too much of a realist these days about marriage and weddings,” Jo felt that prickle again and blinked rapidly for a moment before sighing gently. “Once you’ve experienced that young love feeling, you know that fades. Real love is about the real world, and facing that together. I don’t think you need a magical feeling - just to feel like you’re home and safe together.”

The reporter nodded repeatedly and Jo watched as he pulled out his notepad to make a few more notes as he moved off distractedly out of shot from the other cameras as Jo stepped up on the podium beside the other bridesmaids in this dress.

She had felt a little self concious of her hips and butt in the dress in the dressing room, but standing in line with the other women she couldn’t help but think they’d stumbled upon something that flattered each woman individually without drawing too much attention. Sure, she definitely looked curvy in the dress beside the others, but Anna and Ruby’s chests looked equally full, while Lilith and Ombre’s hair color and svelte figures looked statuesque and beautiful. And Bela just looked gorgeous in any and every dress she’d worn that she blended in with the rest just as lovely in the deep plum dress beside the rest of them.

“Oh. Oh these...” The bride’s eyes had lit up as soon as the six of them has assembled along beside one another, taking in the elegant drop sleeves and gentle curve of the silhouette that flattered each of them together. “I think, maybe...”

As each woman took turns to speak how much they liked the dress - with the sole exclusion of Anna who pouted repeatedly and played up to camera that it was too form fitting while clearly meaning the complete opposite as she continued to perk her chest up higher and twist to make her butt stick out more as she glanced between her own behind and Jo’s own - or at least appreciated the design for various reason, followed by the designer to talk incessantly about how lovely and flattering it was, Jo kept her eyes on Shada’s own wide, glossy ones.

“Well, we still have two more to try!” Ombre interjected when no one seemed to be making a move either way, and watching Shada shake herself out of her thoughts, Jo smiled that perhaps they’d found the one that would make the other happy already.

Stripping out of the dress, Jo let out a yelp at the sound of her curtain being pulled open before scowling in the small mirror in the room back towards the blonde and redhead that were in her doorway, delayed in changing from their interviews with the reporter.

“Excuse fucking you?” Jo snarled the words out, turning to sneer back at them as she lifted the dress back up from the floor to cover her front as she raised a brow at their own nasty looks. “Your rooms are further down.”

“Oh, are they?” Anna’s question sounded innocent, but the way her eyes raked over her disapprovingly made Jo question just how good an actress she thought the other actually was. “Our mistake. Hmm, Jo, what on earth happened to you?”

“What?”

“Those marks. You’re absolutely riddled in such horrible stretchmarks!”

“You’re right, Anna!” Lilith jumped right onto the line of picking as her own eyes ran across Jo’s skin in a way that made her want to throw punches - bra and panties be damned. “Were you a fat little kid? Or is that all from that little bastard you’ve whelped?”

Everything seemed to flash red in that moment, and if it hadn’t been the slight movement of something silver out the corner of her eye, Jo would have grabbed the other blonde by the hair and shut her up one way or another. Instead she glared hatefully at the recorder that stopped her from breaking the sneering bitch’s nose then and there and instead snarled back harshly. “Lilith, grow the fuck up.”

“What?”

“And you too Anna,” Jo hissed the words out, holding the dress tighter against herself as she tried not to let her rage boil over as she glared hatefully between the two of them. “I get you’re pissed that your boob job last year was fucking lopsided, and that you, Lilith, only got released last month for that little coke habit of yours - but I won’t have either of you talking shit about my son or trying to ruin this for Shada. So shut the fuck up, grow the fuck up, and don’t make me force the issue after we’re done here.”

There was a pause as the other two women exchanged a look, and Jo felt a small amount of pleasure as the redhead hiked up her dress on one side self-consciously in a way that Jo had felt before her mind got flooded with anger, before they turned about on their heels to go back to their change rooms. As she slid the curtain back in place she could hear them continue to whispering viciously about her ‘dumptruck ass’ and stretch marks, and one comment that as Jo turned back to the mirror, dropping the dress to the floor, stuck harder. ‘What makes her think she’s so special to be included here? Just cause she tricked Shada’s rich older brother into thinking she’s someone worth anything.’

Staring back into the mirror for a moment, Jo struggled to keep her face straight even to herself as she ran an eye over each of the imperfections they’d named as well as every other problem she saw in herself - each cut and mark and the less taunt skin around her stomach that had never gone back as tight as it used to be and the way her arms were too muscular from all the kneading and her hair was getting the odd silver strand amongst the blonde between running a business with such early hours, having a child and trying to restart her romantic life - before she spotted the dark bruising starting in the tops of her thighs and the curve of her breasts and the spots covered faintly still by make up on her neck. The proof that all those little bits, those little flaws and problem areas, and pieces that showed the history of her life in them, weren’t anything to be ashamed of.

Shaking her head, Jo quickly pulled on the next dress with a scowl of disgust at how washed out the color was compared to the deep jewel tone of the previous one, and the flacid ruffle along one side that made her want to tear it off. Some how this was almost as bad as the sparkly one.

When Jo got out onto the platform with the rest of the bridesmaids, she was not surprised to see both Anna and Lilith refusing to meet her eye before the redhead said loudly to the other, “Oh it’s such a shame some people look like old mothers rather than young bridesmaids.”

“It’s a shame some of us look like an episode of Botched,” Snapped Ruby with a smirk as she lifted her nails pretending to inspect them as a few of the other women frowned uncertainly. “But as I believe Jo said earlier, it’s about the bride right? So if someone’s tits are pointing in opposite directions then it’s probably very helpful for us all that we’re supposed to blend into the background, right?”

Jo bit down on a snort of laughter at that as she could spot a few of the crew trying to hold in their own noises. The fact there was no script today meant absolutely nothing to the ability for Gabe and his crew to get enough soundbites and drama for an episode. Glancing towards the reporter who was fiddling with his voice recorder, she could see the bemused look on his own face as well.

“Shada?” The uncertain question cut through the tension, and Ombre blinked sweetly a few times at her future sister-in-law before everyone turned back towards the dark haired bride. “What do you think?”

“Get rid of the tapeworm dresses, please, immediately!”

Jo found herself laughing hard at that description, and louder still when she shimmied the excess frill towards the bride and got a horrified squeal in return.

This time she wasn’t disturbed as she changed into the last dress. The sequined monstrosity that it was.

Shada didn’t even let half the women emerge from the change rooms before the call was made for everyone to put back on the deep purple mermaid dress with the off the shoulder cut. The one dress that made everyone look gorgeous and equally beautiful, though the way Jo could see the dark haired woman’s eyes cutting towards the redhead she could tell she wished it looked worse on her.

As they stood in line as they would on the day, Shada let out a loud and excited squeal - clapping her hands and bouncing happily on the sofa as she looked at the line of bridesmaids with joy. “We found it you guys!” The woman practically buzzed with excitement as they looked them all over and then got swamped by a giant hug from the youngest blonde who launched herself over for a hug. “We did it! Oh I have such pretty bridesmaids!”

“She using the right term? For you I mean.” Jo startled at the question from beside her as the other women milled about to try on accessories, looking out the corner of her eye at the reporter. His dictaphone was away at this point, as was his notepad, and Jo felt her cheeks heating up at the implication of the words before she got called away by Bela to try a necklace.

The rest of the day was a quick blur, and as soon as she was back in her normal clothes and wrapped up in the faint smell of aftershave, Jo felt much more comfortable as she got talked through how to do a brief interview for the show itself rather than the reporter, and then got to take Shada and Ombre for a late lunch at the sushi restaurant that the brunette never got to go to often any more. It was a relaxing time, with all three talking happily and confirming that Shada had chosen a beautiful dress that would compliment her own wedding dress when it was finally chosen too.

After lunch, Jo stopped by the bakery but was shooed straight out by Sam with the end of his broomstick and a lot of laughter. Instead of heading home, she swung past the college instead to check on Jack. That led to her sitting in on his last two lectures, staring moonily at him as she watched the passion with which he talked about his work and whipped his classes up into a frenzy of enthusiasm and appreciation for whatever topic he talked about. Then it was dinner, a movie on the couch and kisses in bed before sleep caught up with her.

The next day was equally calm in the morning, with the opening of the bakery as standard and her morning breezing by as if it was any regular day. It felt kind of strange to be back to her regular routine without her reporter shadow or anything out of the ordinary planned like shopping or photo shoots. It was quiet even as she bopped around to her tunes and worked on her usual catalogue of treats and baked goods. It felt good to be back to normal.

That changed as the clock hit one, and Jack arrived alongside his sister and Shada’s fiance Ian. Just after Jo had served up lunch of pithiviers, the door swung open to let in Chuck as well as Ash for their own lunches and bringing in a tray of coffees for the others. Jack’s attitude dipped slightly at the reporter’s arrival, but as the questions bounced about simply interviewing Ian and Shada about their feelings about Jo’s baking and why they had chosen to have Jo make their cake, he calmed some and slowly relaxed next to her as Jo rubbed her thigh against his under the bench.

As soon as lunch was finished, Jo fetched out the four different cake styles as well as the base crumb coated tiers to make a three tier mock-up of the cake itself based upon whichever design the couple chose.

It was a quick blur discussing what elements they each liked of all the cakes, and what they didn’t, but the silver dictaphone was out and Jo found herself talking more professionally than she usually would between friends but taking the time to really discuss at length the different elements. That Ian really liked the demonstrated fondant flowers but they both would be so intruiged to see some pulled sugar demonstrations as well. That Shada loved the understated, modern elegance of the airbrushed cake. That neither liked the ruffle effect of the ombre cake, even though Ian softened at hearing the name of the style and both thought it was a sweet connection to Ian’s sister but not quite their style. That they trusted Jack’s opinion on every single element.

As they finally settled on wanting to see a three tiered airbrushed cake, Jo set the fondant rolling for each cake and after wrapping and stacking the bottom two tiers - she held her airbrush out to the dark haired artist with a smile.

“You want to do the first spray?” She asked with a smile as she started wrapping the last of the cakes. “Or do you have any suggestions for the patterning?”

“Jo, I’d never suggest I could paint a cake near as good as you could.” Jack’s smile was blinding as he turned back to her as she started putting the last tier to the top with a steadying hand from him to help her when it was above her head. There was a pause before a sudden gust of air and edible dye splattered onto her cheek as Jack sprayed at her lightly on accident with a laugh. “See? I’m all thumbs!”

“That you are!” Giggling herself, she set about starting to do the same mottled effect of blacks, greys, golds and definite purples across the side of the cake - spinning it carefully left and right on the cake stand so she could create a gentle gradation that worked on both sides of the cake at once. So that no matter where you stood, you could see a gentle flow of color spreading along the while surface and swirling together. “Whatcha think, hun?”

There was a pause before Jo felt the other’s hand wrap around her fingers and lift the gun to point at one last spot. “A tiny bit there, and I think it’s good.” Jack’s lips were brushing against the shell of her ear as he talked, and she almost forgot hot to breathe when his finger pressed down on top of hers to pull the trigger for a moment before releasing again as the final, perfect brush stroke finished off the cake. The noise of the whole room had dropped away as she took a minute step back into his arms, her back to his chest and his other hand spreading across her waist, before a loud squeal broke the spell wrapped around her like her love’s arms.

“Oh my gosh, Jo! It’s absolutely perfect!”

The happy exclamation from the dark haired girl felt so good after the week of worry and stress trying to perfect the design and flavors and options for the other, and as Jo turned to look across the bench top from between the beautiful mocked up cake and the warmth of her lover’s embrace, she found herself grinning widely to see the same amount of love and excitement that she felt on the young couple’s faces as they looked between her cake and each other. Tilting her head back to catch Jack’s eye, she couldn’t help but think Shada had it utterly right.

Letting out a laugh, Jo smiled back and after a loud cough from the reporter, quickly moved to pose with both the bride and groom and the cake alone, before Chuck announced he had more than enough content for his cake article.

“I’ll see you all in a few weeks for - what was it, florals and bridal showers?” Chuck looked equally as confused as the other men in the room, shrugging his messenger bag with all his gadgets up onto his shoulder. “This article should be out by then, I think, depending on what date exactly you’re doing those parts Shada.”

“Not until after, I don’t think.” The brunette smiled gently from her perch on one of the stools, holding hands with her fiance and barely glancing away from him even as Ian was answering some email on his phone. “I loved the first article!”

“Oh yeah, that one was good.” The reporter nodded a few times, and shook hands with the distracted groom before extending a hand towards Jack as well. It took a second before the men shook hands, and Jo quickly jumped to her feet as Chuck went to leave.

“Wait! Take one of these with you, won’t you? I’ve got more cake than I’ll need for ages!” Jo flapped a hand and quickly fetched out a large cake box to slide the cake covered in the edible flowers into it for him. The ombre ruffled cake was boxed up already to be dropped off by Ian to his sister as a surprise, and Jo knew she’d use the other two as cake specials for the rest of the weekend. “I hope you like lemon.”

“You better believe it.” He looked surprised and a little uncertain to be receiving the full cake, and Jo was confused by the almost guilty look that crossed his face as Chuck took it from her with a sigh. There was a pause before he smiled again and waved goodbye with his free hand and headed back out to the main part of the bakery.

Frowning to herself, Jo moved back over to the three tier cake and grabbed a knife, holding it out to Shada and Ian. Looking between them and her own love, the blonde grinned with a wicked smile before asking cheekily, “You two need to get some practice in before the big night?”

---

#jopov #au stories #bakery AU

4 notes · View notes

speckofglitter · 6 years ago

Text

by your side - n.k

word count: 1.5k

genre: fluff | slight angst?

pairings: blogger! noa x reader | side!mashikyu

He was typing furiously, only stopping to drink his strawberry milkshake. His legs were shaky with excitement as the story progressed from the tips of his fingers. Noa had always loved writing, which is why he was your college blog’s main writer. He was naturally intimidating, never shying away from a topic no matter how controversial it seemed. He looked like the type of person who would tell kids that Santa doesn’t exist. He seemed like a misanthrope to everyone except for you and Junkyu. Yet, despite his cold demeanor, his absence left a scar on everyone. He was beautifully unreachable, much like the moon.

You and Junkyu were basically his only friends. Your friendships with the two boys were considerably different. Junkyu is a childish and innocent friendship. It’s getting drunk together, baking together, shopping together, falling asleep in classes together, dying your hair matching colors, laughing until you’re out of breath, inside jokes and finishing each other’s sentences. Meanwhile, Noa is a healing type of friendship. It’s deep talks at 3am, writing together, reading together, stargazing together, making playlists together, going on long drives together.

You fell in love with Noa before you even realized it. He was so different from all the boys you had loved before. You would always be beaming on the inside when strangers would ask if you were dating, rushing to deny it to keep your crush a secret. You were stuck on him.

Sometimes love isn’t all about romance and attraction. Sometimes it’s someone who’s constantly there for you, who understands you. That’s what you saw in Noa. There was no ‘searching for potential’. No mind games, no manipulations. He already had everything you needed. If only you knew how he stared at you every time you looked away.

As always, you and Junkyu accompany Noa to the coffee shop, either helping him get ideas for new articles or just chatting away while he writes. Junkyu is stuffing himself with a chocolate brownie while you sip on your matcha latte, trying to drown out his yelling about how ‘whoever invented chocolate I said your moms a goddess’. When Noa got tired of writing he would steal glances at you two, wondering how he ended up being friends with two absolute crackheads.

Sometimes his eyes would glaze over you. He’s been feeling it for a while, this gentle sense of longing whenever he was around you. He thought he would be over it by now. Sometimes he wished he could press ‘reset’ on his heart. Unfortunately, the universe doesn’t work like that. After all this time, he was still into you.

‘Yo are you decent??’ Junkyu asks, opening the door as soon as you say yes.

He walks past you, plopping down on your couch as he turns your tv on.

‘What’s the program for tonight?’ he says, munching on the strawberry pocky you had set out as your study snack.

‘Junkyu I’m not sure if you can see, but I have my Chem notes laying out in front of me so… that’s the plan??’ you respond.

‘Can you like… not be boring for 2 seconds? Noa wants to go out tonight and that never happens so you’re coming.’

'Noa. You're telling me Noa wants to go out? Did you drug him?' you chuckle.

You suddenly hear a knock on the door. As you open the door, a very dressed up Noa is standing there with a bottle of tequila in his hand.

'Pre-game?' he asks.

You look him up and down and you're literally stunned. he's wearing a silky navy blue shirt with ripped jeans. He even has tiny gold hoops hanging from his ears and his hair is parted in the middle, revealing his forehead. You feel your heart pound and your breath quicken.

'Uh... Ok..' you nod after a while, letting him in.

Noa and Junkyu take several shots of tequila as you get ready. You tug on your black crop top and skirt down a little as you finally finish your makeup. Noa smiles at you as you come out of the bathroom and you almost shed a tear when you see how his dark eyes sparkle. He mouths the word ‘beautiful’, winking at you.

‘Can you guys at least save me some tequila?’ you cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at the two boys.

You had been at the party for exactly 24 minutes when things started getting wild. Old school r&b was bumping through the speakers at Raesung’s house. You were sitting in a corner of the living room, stirring soda with your straw. You had actually planned on drinking until you realized someone had to take care of Junkyu’s drunk ass and it probably wouldn’t be Noa, unless he managed to escape from his fangirls. The place was already trashed. You even saw a pair of Gucci slides floating in the punch bowl. You spot Noa across the room, dancing with a stranger in a tight dress. You were prepared, but it still hurt. Your arms were tired of constantly reaching for something that would never happen.

You looked around, not wanting to be alone. You needed to get him off your mind. Junkyu was already dancing with his bio lab partner Mashiho, swaying his hips with a huge glass of red wine in his hand. Hyunsuk, Raesung and Seunghun were playing a huge game of kahoot so you decided to join them. A few minutes into the game, you feel a hand pressing against your right shoulder and you know exactly who it is.

‘Oh so now you acknowledge my existence?’ you roll your eyes, removing Noa’s hand.

‘Come on y/n, I’m sorry I left you alone.. Let’s go chill on the couch!’ he says a little too enthusiastically, pulling you towards the couch.

He pulls you down next to him, your right leg over his left leg as he stares at you. No words are exchanged for a while and it’s almost like you’re having a staring contest. You take the time to bask in the luxury of seeing his brownish-black eyes and long eyelashes up close. It’s like looking at precious stones.

‘I missed you.’ he whispered.

‘What do you mean? We’ve been apart for less than 20 minutes?’ you retorted.

‘I know. I just always miss you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately.’ he muttered.

You took a large gulp of your soda, trying to ignore his stare. You couldn’t tell if he was playing with you but from the stern expression on his face, he seemed honest. Your words freeze within your throat as you fall into his eyes once again.

‘I need to go to the bathroom’ you choke out, rushing upstairs.

Noa’s eyes flutter close, hands raking through his hair in frustration. He’s a writer but communication isn’t really his strong point.

An hour later Junkyu is considerably drunk while Noa is considerably sad. You ended up escaping him to go take care of Junkyu.

‘I-Is this room spinning? Ohhh it’s a disco partayyy whoah Raesung really snapped!’ he rambled on enthusiastically as you clutched his arms.

‘I can guarantee you, your head is the only thing spinning in this room.’ you sigh, dragging him next to Noa’s spot on the couch.

‘Noa looks sad…’ Junkyu hums, leaning onto to the former.

‘I’m fine.’ Noa muttered, leaving to get a drink.

It’s only 3 hours later that you finally get to talk to Noa. You drove Junkyu back to his dorm so it was only you and Noa in the car. You parked the car in front of Noa’s dorm a few minutes ago and he still hasn’t gotten out.

‘What do you want from me?’ he whispers.

‘What do you mean?’ you reply, breathing heavy.

‘You know exactly what I mean. What do I have to do to prove that I really want to be with you?’

‘Noa this is ridiculous we’re just friends.’ you shake your head.

‘We think about each other a little too often to be just friends.’ he replies, eyes burning into you.

‘Look, I know that I’m forgetful, I’m a know-it-all, I’m cold and sometimes indecisive but if there’s one thing I’m sure about it’s you.’

‘Is that so? You didn’t look too sure about me when you were practically making out with that girl on the dancefloor.’ you retort.

He sighed, exhausted at the fact that he still had to explain himself.

‘Me dancing with one girl because you were avoiding me like the plague doesn’t mean I don’t mean what I just said. I’m in love with you. I’m in love with the way you care for everyone around you, the way your nails glitter, the way your hair falls, the way you constantly bite on your coffee straw… It’s everything about you y/n.’

You sink into your seat, slightly overwhelmed.

‘I feel the same way…’ you slowly whisper, glancing at him.

‘Then can we please make this work?’

‘Yes. As long as you stay by my side.’ you say, flashing him a bright smile as you hug him.

A soft look settled in his eyes as he kissed you gently. As he played with your hair he felt a warm and fuzzy feeling in his stomach and he just knew. No matter how much he had read or written about love, nothing could compare to actually feeling it.

masterlist

#yg silver boys #yg silver boys scenarios #yg silver boys reactions #noa kazama #kpop fluff #kpop angst #yg trainee #YG Entertainment

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stylesgalaxy · 6 years ago

Text

mastermind; chapter 4

"So basically he says that if I keep my marks up he'll buy me a car," Julia summarizes her dinner with her father, the next morning.

"Does he... not know you have a 4.0 GPA?" I ask, bringing a mug of coffee to my lips.

"No, I haven't talked to him in a long time, and I don't think I've ever told him my marks," she explains, placing banana slices on the peanut buttered toast. "And I told him I had a 3.6 right now so that next time I can say I have a 4.0. He'll be prouder and thus my gift will be bigger."

I shake my head. A sudden thought appears in my mind.

"Did you tell Harry you were seeing your father last night?" I ask.

"No," she frowns. "I told you."

I roll my eyes at her. "You're supposed to tell Harry too, Julia."

"Why? We didn't have anything planned."

"Yeah, but your mending your relationship with your father. That's something you're meant to tell your boyfriend about."

She's pondering over this when the door to our apartment unlocks and I know it has to be Harry, because no one else has a key.

"'Ello, love!" he greets Julia, who stands to wrap her arms around him. He kisses her cheek, then pulls a chair to sit at the table with us in the small kitchen. "Alright, Aria?" he nods at me. He doesn't look at me like he's worried I'll burst into tears and weep over my failures, instead he looks at me like a friend wanting to make sure I'm okay.

I nod, and he doesn't ask anything else. I know immediately he's not going to talk about last night in front of Julia which makes me happy because I'd rather no one knows about my breakdown. Not even Julia.

"You didn't tell me you were seeing your father last night," he tells Julia, picking up a banana from the fruit bowl.

"It was kind of last minute. I checked my emails and it turned out he sent me one a week ago, so I responded right away and next thing I know, Liam is at the door," she says.

"Your own father doesn't have your phone number," Harry says slowly.

"I forgot to give it to him since I changed it! Don't make me feel worse, I already feel bad."

"You should. He doesn't even have your number and you want a car from him," I snicker at Julia and get ready to leave. "Anyway, I have to leave for work now."

"Are you gonna go to the art shop after?" Julia asks, wiggling her eyebrows behind Harry. I roll my eyes, knowing she wants me to see Zayn again.

"Too far, not today."

"Where is it?" Harry asks suddenly.

"On Lancaster and Mill Road," I answer.

"That's on the other side of town!" he states. I nod. "It takes ages to get there."

"Which is why I'm not going today," I conclude, putting my shoes on.

"Let me know next time you go, I'll drive you," he offers. I'm taken aback for a moment at his generosity.

"It's alright, you don't have to do that—"

"No, Aria it's probably a good idea. It's not very safe on that side of town," Julia adds. Harry nods in agreement.

"O-okay, thanks."

---

Harry, Niall and Louis have a small house just a few minutes off campus. It's a short walk there after my class on Monday. I knock at the front door with a plate of fresh cookies I whipped up at home before coming here. Harry actually loved my brownies more but he didn't know they were mine, he was under they impression that they were Julia's brownies.

Louis swings the door open and greets me with a hug.

"Aria! I haven't seen you in so long, where've you been?" he exclaims.

"School and work," I mutter, stepping inside. They have a small, quaint house. It's surprisingly tidy most of the time for a boys' house. I was told years ago that Harry and Niall are very clean neat freaks while Louis makes a mess worth three people's doing. But every year he makes less and less of a mess; living with Harry and Niall is changing him for the better. It's quiet inside, aside from the noises coming from the TV. Immediately, I know Niall isn't home because when he is he doesn't shut up, and he's loud enough for the whole block to hear.

"Oh, yeah, how's the movie theatre job working out for you?"

"Boring as shit. I hate it," I admit.

"I told you, you would hate it, didn't I?" he says smugly. "Are these cookies for me?"

He grabs the plate without waiting for me to answer and pulls the plastic wrap back to eat one.

"Sure... um, is Harry home?" I ask casually.

"Harry?" Louis raises an eyebrow. "No, he's doing a group project. Why?"

Shit. I knew I should have set a date and time with him before coming over to his house. But that's what the cookies were for, I hoped I could bribe him to take me to the art shop today.

"Oh, nothing, he offered to drive me to this art shop, but I can just go myself."

"Where is it?" Louis asked through a mouth full of cookie.

"Lancaster and Mill Road."

"Shit, Aria that's far. Come, I'll drive you, I'm not busy."

No matter how much I assured him that I was okay going on my own, he wouldn't listen. I told him I went alone many times but then he got mad that I would go to such a sketchy area by myself.

Louis' car was not as neat and clean as Harry's but that was Louis for you. We chatter the whole way to the shop. He tells me about how his organic chemistry class was a "pain in the ass" and the lovely brunette that he always sat behind wasn't helping him focus. I told him to stop sitting behind her but he said he liked her perfume too much.

Louis parks at the side of the road where I tell him and we hop out of the car. Once inside the shop, Zayn looks at Louis curiously. The few times that I came here, I came alone.

"Zayn, meet my friend Louis," I introduce. "Louis, this is Zayn, he's in my program."

Louis smiles at Zayn who raises his arm to wave. The action instantly causes Louis' eyes to zero in on Zayn's tattoos and I inwardly groan. Louis had been talking about nothing but getting a tattoo for about a year now. He never goes to get it, he just loves to make us go crazy with his constant ramblings.

"Sick tattoos, mate," Louis says in wonder. "D'you mind if I have a look at 'em?"

Zayn shakes his head and pulls his sleeves up to show them to Louis. Quite curious, I lean forward to get a glimpse, too. Zayn is quiet about most of them, but the ones he deems "stupid" he tells us the story behind.

"I really like the crossed fingers and the zap one," I chime in. My comment brings on the discussion of comic books and the two boys start talking about superheroes and their favourite comics. Rolling my eyes at them, I start my shopping.

The modelling clay I need for my sculpture is easy to find. The Tombow brush pens are still not on sale, maybe I can bribe Zayn to use his discount on me. I grab a few more Windsor & Newton bottles, since I almost have all the colours and a complete set would be nice. I want to draw more since I've been doing nothing but calligraphy for weeks now. I ponder over a pack of pencils, and decide against getting it. If I look deep enough through my things, I'll find the ones I already have. But I do grab charcoal pencils. I need a new sketchbook but I also don't have enough to buy one yet. I guess I can get it with my next paycheck. I look down at the inks I've chosen and make the hard decision to put them back. I have to remind myself I don't have a father like Julia's to have the luxury of buying everything I always want.

Making my way over to the cash where Zayn and Louis are now talking about video games, I set my items on the counter. Zayn rings me up and I pay for my items.

"Mate, we should hang out sometime," Louis says suddenly. "You can come over to mine and we'll play video games or something."

"Alright," Zayn beams. I try not to think about how I've been visiting the art shop for a few weeks now, hoping to at least get Zayn's number, but I bring Louis one time and he's already gotten a date.

My receipt was in his hand, but Zayn sets that aside and rips out a new one to write his number and slide it to Louis.

"Awesome, see you soon, I guess," Louis says. I give Zayn a curt wave and walk out, following Louis.

"So... you two got along well," I say slowly, once we start driving back.

"Yeah, he's really cool. Told him I wanted a tattoo and he said he'll draw me a few designs," he says excitedly.

I frown, "I could draw you a tattoo."

"I know," Louis says quickly. "But he's so cool, I want him to do it."

I roll my eyes, not really taking any offence to his words. Zayn is cool.

"He does want to be a tattoo artist," I share, glad that I still know Zayn a bit more than Louis does.

"Yeah, he told me." Ugh. "It's amazing. I also really hope he shows me his studio one day, I'd love to see his spray painting."

He spray paints?

I huff, angry that I didn't know that or that he had a studio, but Louis did.

"Well, I hope I wasn't a cockblock," I scowl. Louis laughs.

"Sorry, love? Are you jealous because you wanted his number?"

"Shut up or I'm gonna go date that pretty brunette from your organic chemistry class."

---

"Why don't you work at the art shop?" Louis asks me when pulls up in front of my building. I don't respond because I've never really thought about it. "It'd be way more fun than the stupid theatre. And you'll have Zayn."

I can't argue with him because he is right.

"I don't know..." I hesitate, "it does sound good, and I could get a discount on the items." Now that's something I wouldn't mind. "It's really far, though."

"I could drive you," Louis says. I don't know what it is about people and being generous enough to offer driving me places, but I have a feeling that with Louis it has more to do with seeing Zayn again rather then my safety. Nonetheless, a fond smile grows on my face.

"If I do work there, you can drive me on weekends. I don't want you wasting your time going all the way there and back when you should be studying."

"Ahahaha... studying, yeah..." Louis chuckles. I get out of his car and thank him for driving me. "No problem, love, say hi to Julia for me!"

I watch him drive away before making my way inside. The main reason I wanted to go to the art shop was so I could talk to Zayn about my sculpture and see if he has any ideas, but with Louis there, I wasn't able to. I didn't want to interrupt their conversation to talk about an art piece I'm making, that's something I'd rather talk to Zayn alone about.

Maybe next time.

---

On Mondays Harry was usually at ours with Julia when I got home. They persuaded me to come out and watch whatever show they were watching at the time, and I only agreed if I could do my work at the same time, On Tuesdays, I would take pictures for my photography class. Harry watched intently when I did a photo shoot with Julia, but the weeks after when I was to take pictures of random household items, he liked to get in my way and be annoying. Wednesday mornings, Harry and I both had early morning classes that resulted in us often seeing each other at Starbucks. When he wasn't being annoying, I'd let him cut in line in front of me. On Thursdays, we found out we both finished at four when I bumped into him on way out of the building I was in. Julia still had class until six, so we sat at our Starbucks (which was conveniently in front of the building Julia was in) and did some homework while we waited for her. On Fridays, Harry and Julia had a lecture in the morning, then a four hour break, then a class in the evening. Harry usually went home after their last class so I wouldn't see him until the next day.

For some reason after I agreed to be friends with Harry, the universe seemed to always throw us together. It was like now that we were friends, I was suddenly realizing how close our classes were around campus. This struck me as weird because I always knew when Harry was in the room before because I was so intent on avoiding him. I wonder if Harry had seen me around all this time, but was avoiding me because he thought I wouldn't want to see him. This realization made me feel like a bitch.

It's now two weeks before the end of the semester and the start of exam week. Julia's dad wanted to meet with her again and make sure she's doing well and isn't stressed out.

"I'm going to dinner with my father again today," Julia's announces on Thursday. "So you and Harry don't have to wait up for me at Starbucks, Liam is going to pick me up after my class ends."

Liam was Mr. Tate's personal assistant. I finally had the pleasure of putting a face to the name when he came up in my Instagram recommendations because he was mutual friends with Julia. And he was really hot.

"Okay," I answer. "Do you want to ask your dad for one of those fancy Nespresso coffee machines? We still need a machine and I'm running out of coffee money."

"Oh yes, I will. It would be so nice to be able to make coffee at home again."

I still bump into Harry when I leave my class at four.

"Oh, hey," he says when he sees me. "Starbucks?" he asks, not even waiting as he starts walking that way.

"Well, actually, we don't really have to," I answer. "Julia is having dinner with her father after class ends."

"Oh," he frowns shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. He's probably wondering why Julia didn't tell him, but he doesn't know this is why Julia is bad at relationships. He walks back towards me and a waft of his cologne hits my nose. Tom Ford's Tobacco Vanille, if I'm not mistaken.

"Nice cologne," I comment and instantly regret it. Why am I talking about his cologne?!

"Thanks, I love it. Julia got it for me," he says proudly. My heart beats a little faster.

"Oh, did she?" I wonder, even though I know the answer. I don't know even know why I brought it up. Harry gives me a nod.

"So what should we do?" he questions, a beautiful smile still on his beautiful face.

My heart flutters at the "we".

"Um, well if you don't mind... I wanted to go to the art stop again."

The last time I went was with Louis, and I desperately needed a new sketchbook. I was tired of pulling paper from the printer when I needed to sketch something. And I had enough money now to buy it and still be able to feed myself.

"Sure, lets go!" he says enthusiastically and we begin walking side by side to his house so we can get his car. It's not that far of a walk, only about ten minutes, but I wonder why he doesn't bring his car when he goes to classes since it would be even quicker.

"Why don't you drive your car to the campus?" I ask.

He laughs. "I'm not trying to kill the planet."

I pull my scarf up closer to my face.

"No? Then why do you waste so many coffee cups from Starbucks?" I tease.

"Oh shit, I do use a lot of coffee cups... Hey! So do you!" he says suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger at me.

"Actually, I'll have you know, I told Julia to ask her father for an espresso machine so I can make my own coffee."

"Wow, that is a huge contribution to the saving the planet."

"Thank you!" I chirp.

"Does this mean I won't be seeing you at our Starbucks on Wednesday mornings anymore?"

I gaze at him curiously.

"No you'll still see me, I can't be bothered to make my own coffee that early in the morning. Last time I rushed to make coffee, I broke our machine."

"Then what about the planet? Who's going to save it?" he waves his arms wildly. I roll my eyes at him affectionately.

"Trust me, if I fail to make coffee, I'm a bigger hazard to the planet that early in the morning. And besides, heroes need to take a break from the saving the world too."

He stops abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk to look at a tree. I'm a little startled because this isn't something I anticipated and I'm growing concerned every second he stays staring at the tree.

"Harry, are you okay?"

"Look at that branch," he points to a random branch on the tree. Then he reaches up and carefully breaks the one with several smaller branches sticking out of it. He presents to me with a smile and I look at him in confusion, and definitely worried now.

"Wow..." I say slowly and take it from him, "thanks..."

It's his turn to affectionately roll his eyes.

"Look at it."

I look down and try to see what Harry is seeing. When I hold it up a certain way, it almost reminds me of an—

"Antler. Doesn't it look like a deer's antler?"

"It does..." I agree, shocked that I didn't notice it earlier.

I eagerly look up at the tree for another one but none of them look similar to this one, or have enough smaller branches on them to resemble antlers. We move to the next tree and begin searching for the second branch to complete my pair. Harry moved to a third tree when I finally spot one.

"I found one! Look!" I point at the branch that's a little too far up. Harry comes around and tries to reach up to break it but its too high up even for his height. "The tree looks sturdy, I can climb it," I suggest.

"You'll fall!" Harry argues.

"No I won't," I respond, already setting my first antler down along with my bag. The tree has a wide split in the middle but no matter what I do, I can't lift myself up to it.

"Let me try," Harry offers, but we both know he'll be too heavy and might split one of the branches.

"I got this," I assure him. I hate to say it but I need a boost to place my leg in the crack, but I'm too shy to ask Harry. As if he read my mind, he places his warm hands on my hips and pushes me up. Instantly I'm able to shove my foot in the crack and hoist myself up. "Told you I could do it," I tease, to eradicate any awkwardness. Harry chuckles.

I curse my short arms for being centimetres too short that I can't reach the branch I need. I look down the next closest big branch to me.

"Don't even think about it, you'll surely fall—" Harry begins but I'm already stepping on it and pulling myself up. I feel less steady on this one but now I just need to bend down a little bit and—aha!

I wave the branch victoriously at Harry.

"Okay, get down now," he says quickly. Tossing the branch to the ground, I step back in between the split and prepare to jump down. Harry holds his arms out to me, I shoo him away but he ignores it and keeps them close just to be safe as I jump.

Harry picks up both antlers and hands them to me. "These can represent how environmentally friendly you are," he grins.

---

Harry doesn't like it at the art shop.

Well it's not the art shop he doesn't like, its area we're in. Four times he asked me if I seriously came down here on my own, six times he told me to never come back here without him, especially not at night, and about eleven times he peaked out the window to ensure his Range Rover is still out there.

"Harry," I sigh in frustration at the twelfth time he checks his car, "no one is going to steal your car! Louis' car was just fine and we were in here for longer than forty minutes."

"You came with Louis?" he asks. "Good, don't come here unless Louis or I are with you." I roll my eyes at him. "And Louis' car is a dump, you probably can't even sell it for parts."

"Don't say that," I swat his arm with a sketchbook. "That's mean."

"Sorry," he grins widely. "I don't actually mean that."

I'm glad Zayn isn't in today because he would not have liked Harry at all judging by how he's acting. He would be making snarky comments left and right and a judgemental Zayn would make Harry defensive. I'm not sure what Harry is like when he's defensive but if his attitude is anything like other rich kids, then it would be catastrophic to have him and Zayn in a room. Instead Gloria was at the counter today. I met her once before and she is really sweet. But she talks too much.

"Can I help you choose a sketchbook? You know this one here is—" she says, but I interrupt her.

"Thanks Gloria, but for the third time: I'm okay. If I have a question, I'll ask you," I respond. She nods and sullenly walks back to the counter.

Harry feels bad and starts asking her pointless questions. Eventually, (which was just six minutes later) even he gets sick of her and comes back to me. I was flipping through the sketchbooks. They have a wide variety, ranging from cheap ones with the thin covers, to fancy leather-bound ones. I was looking at the cheaper ones (obviously), choosing between one that had more sheets and another one that had a sturdier cover. I tend to be very rough with my sketchbooks, just because I always like to have it on me, so I was leaning towards the one with the better cover when Harry picked one out.

"Aria, look! This one is perfect for you," he picks one with a leather cover off the shelf. It has an overdone—but still beautiful—stag design on it. I saw that one and liked it, but it was too expensive.

"I saw that one, it's really pretty," I comment, trying to not let my eyes linger on it. I looked back at the two in my hands.

"Why don't you get it?"

"I think I'm gonna go with this one," I say holding up the one in my left hand, and ignoring his question, "it has a stronger cover."

"This one has a leather cover."

"It's probably too heavy," I murmur.

"It's not."

I try not to sigh in frustration.

"It's too expensive," I say sheepishly. Harry frowns and flips the book to look at the price, as if it just occurred to him to check it. I see him blinking at it in a way thats obvious that to him $64 is not a lot of money. Saving us from anymore awkwardness, I spin around and proceed to the cash to purchase my reasonably priced sketchbook.

I take my wallet out when Harry speaks from beside me, "Let me buy this for you."

"What?" I sputter, "No way."

"Please," he pleads. I shake my head not even looking at him and reach to hand my card over to Gloria. Harry stops my hand. "Aria, this one is obviously the nicer one and I know you want it. Just let me buy it for you."

"I'm not a charity case for you to feel bad and buy things for!" I retaliate.

"You know that is not what I think of you," Harry says back just as fiercely. "I just want to get you a gift."

"I never got you any gifts," I lie with a parched throat.

"You can for my birthday. Hey, this could be my birthday present for you!" he exclaims.

"My birthday is in May," I inform him.

"A late birthday present," he shrugs, placing the book in front of Gloria. "We won't take the other one."

I want to fight him more, I want to argue with him and tell him he shouldn't spend his money on me. But for some reason I am unable to. I keep quiet and accept the generous gift he hands me with a charming smile. It's bright enough to coax a small smile of my own. I'm going to get him something really special for Christmas, I decide.

"Thank you," I say to Harry sincerely, when he starts driving (after he triple checked every corner of his car for any goons).

"It's no problem," he answers, rewarding me with another one of his gorgeous smiles.

***

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#harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles #mastermind

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personalityisnice · 6 years ago

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I want over sized sweaters with sleeves whose ends cascade over my fingers so that I can flail them around for my amusement.

I want windows facing the east, so that the liquid gold of the sunrise washes over every contour of my living room as the sun rises.

I want thick carpet I can curl my bare toes into.

I want to have the space configuration to decorate.

I want an actual kitchen counter. An actual counter that isn't intermittently host to my current hundreds of unwanted roommates who just. Won’t. Die.

I want to look up interesting sounding recipes on the internet again and try making them to see if I’d like them and would want to make them staples. As I do, filling my living space with the rich, flavorful smell of whatever might be bubbling or sizzling on the stove or slowly roasting or baking in the oven. I want to listen to podcasts and let’s plays and web series as I stir a big bowl of brownie batter, or flip over a pair of eggs, or check on a chicken breast’s progress in the oven.

I want to learn how to use herbs.

I want to invent drinks.

I want smooth jazz and a drink. A glass of sweet and bubbly for a special occasion or a moment I want to savor. Or a mug of melted chocolate, warm and frothy, that cracks apart the ice built up inside of me after I've spent my whole day out in the cold. Or a hot and soothing tea that unwinds my muscles from their tight bunching over my bones.

I want heat.

I want a fireplace that crackles and snaps at the wood in its belly while I watch, curled up on the couch under a cable knit blanket. I want a dark living room lit with the natural light of that fire like a black dress with a yellow petticoat.

I want paintings.

I want to like my neighborhood, and stay inside because I want to and not because I’m hiding away from what’s outside.

I want a place to which I would want to invite people.

I want to invite people over and play card games and watch internet things with them. I want them to have sleep overs with me and eat breakfast with me the next day before they go home.

I want silly mugs.

I want to make smoothies and experiment with various flavors and ingredients.

I want fruit in general. And juices of varying flavors.

I want to order pizza with extra cheese and mozzarella sticks and eat it on a raggedy old blanket I don’t care about anymore to keep stains from getting on the carpet as I catch up on shows I've been meaning to watch. I want cheese fries and Chinese and early morning coffee and donut runs.

I want to slow dance with an imaginary partner to jazz in the firelight.

I want to be able to see the moon and the stars from my window.

I want to feel like I could dip my finger into the contents of the universe’s inkwell and paint bucket and with them write and paint my life however I desire.

I want to experiment with clothes and make-up.

I want to dye my hair unnatural colors and see which ones suit me.

I want pastels and warm, earthy, comforting browns and reds and whites and golds and rainbow paint splatters. I want crystals and stained glass ornaments in the windows that paint the walls when the sun shines through them.

I want a dishwasher.

I want a washer and dryer.

I want a cat when I can take care of myself and have become capable of taking care of another living creature.

I want books I always checked out of the library but never bought.

I want to find poets that I like.

I want to try different teas and see what I like. I want to see if tea made with tea leaves really does taste better than tea made with tea bags.

I want to try different wines and beers just to see what the difference is between “good” wines and beers, purely out of curiosity. (It all tastes like yuck to me, honestly.)

I want to draw things and write quotes and messages on my walls with various colors of chalk. I want to put on various shades of lipstick and leave kisses all along my walls.

I want to do yoga again.

I want to be able to buy art supplies, go to classes and learn how to draw.

I want someone to touch me again.

I want to go back to school.

I want choice.

I want to try making internet things.

I want to make up for lost time.

I want the luxury of grieving.

...............I want a lot of things.

...I want all of you to get what you need. And that you’ll be happy some day, if you can’t be now.

Happy holidays, guys.

#PIN's random thoughts #holiday musings #paint #decorating #atmosphere #lifestyle #food #drink #and cheese #which is a kind of food #make-up #clothes #style #aspirations #goals

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emetoandotherthings · 7 years ago

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I don't believe you've done this before, so... how about Damian goes on a date with Jenna, and his order accidentally gets contaminated with gluten, so he gets super bloated and burpy, and as they're on the way home, he can't hold back his belches and he feels awful. Now Jenna is a total prude, so I wonder what her reaction would be to this? Is she gonna be caring and understanding, or a total bitch about it?

A/N: I was going to just answer this as a question, but I ended up writing a kind of drabble about it... so I hope it’s okay! Also this is the beginning of an arc for Damian and Jenna really, so look out for more soon!

Damian should have known. He’d never ever managed to find chocolate brownie so rich and chocolately since having to switch to gluten free food. But the temptation had proved all too much when he saw the small ‘GF’ printed next to it on the dessert menu, and he’d succumbed. Now, half an hour later, he was almost positive that a mistake had been made. The uncomfortable bubbling feeling had begun in his gut as he was paying for Jenna and his meals, but he’d ignored it, assuming that he’d eaten too much. It wasn’t often that they found a restaurant that could cater for both his gluten intolerance and Jenna’s allergies, but they’d both heard separately about this new one on the other side of town so they’d purposefully made the effort to go. With the luxury to choose anything from the menu, Damian had felt like a kid in a candy shop. Jenna was still raring about it as they stood at the tram stop waiting for the tram that would take them the twenty five minute journey towards home. “I don’t think I’ve ever had Carbonara before!” She exclaimed, beaming as she gave Damian’s hand a quick squeeze. “Have you not?” He asked, he was trying to adjust his belt as it was digging painfully into his skin. “No,” she shook her head, “I wonder what they use in place of the egg… I should have asked them!” She damned loudly. “Ah well, next time!” She shrugged, and Damian felt his belly give a bubbly glug. “Yeah,” Damian forced, although his eyes watered slightly. Trying to be as surreptitious as he could, he slid his hand under his shirt, and was instantly confronted by the source of his discomfort. The skin of his belly was bloated out, stretched taut, as he gently touched across it. He was almost convinced now that the brownie had, indeed, contained gluten. “Maybe we should make it a monthly trip,” Jenna suggested enthusiastically; Damian was trying his hardest to keep a smile on his face despite feeling like if his stomach bloated any further it might explode. “I mean, we don’t go out and spend money on food like most other couples do, so this would be our treat!” “Yeah, I’m sure that could work – brrraaap!” The shift in pressure of Damian’s hand on his stomach dislodged a bubble of air, and he covered his mouth with his hand as he burped. “Oh, excuse me,” he pardoned himself a little sheepishly; it seemed as though he’d been louder than he’d thought as Jenna looked at him askanced. “I would think so,” she wrinkled her nose slightly and Damian felt his cheeks burn. “Sorry, I – brruuup!” Damian burped again, still covering his mouth. “Ah, oh dear…” “What?” Jenna asked; she’d withdrawn her hand from his as he burped again, looking a little put out. “Ah, I think – huurp! – something’s not agreeing with me,” he replied, trying to reposition his belt again, but no matter where he moved it, it kept digging in to the painfully distended flesh of his stomach. “What’d you mean?” She said as Damian folded over slightly, trying to reduce the pressure in his abdomen, which was beginning to cramp. “I think… oh, something I’ve eaten has had gluten in it,” Damian answered, muffling another belch behind his hand. “Well can you not just hold it in?” She asked, and Damian looked at her in surprise. “That’s like me asking you to hold in an allergic reaction…” Damian replied. “Not really,” she refuted, “I can’t stop my throat from swelling, you can hold in a burp.” “I’ll do my best… okay?” He said, giving his cramping belly a tender rub. “Good,” she nodded. The tram pulled up at the stop, it was very busy, and both of them ended up standing in the vestibule. Damian clutched onto the metal pole rather harder than was necessary as he fought to retain control of the roiling in his gut. The number of people around was making him feel more self-conscious, as sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He knew Jenna was watching him, so whenever he felt the bubbling urge to burp; he took a deep breath and swallowed. It might satisfy Jenna, but Damian was becoming more uncomfortable by the second – his stomach cramping like someone was running over him. His eyes were beginning to sting from the effort of holding it together; he was watching the small screen hanging down from the roof of the tram – three stops to go… two stops… only one more stop. “BaaaahhhhuuuUUURRRP!” As soon as they were out of the tram, the rumbling belch escaped from Damian, bringing a sliver of relief. “Damian!” Jenna excused, sounding disgusted; she glanced around. “Urgh… I couldn’t hold it in any longer…” He explained, rubbing a hand across his chest. No one else seemed to have noticed anything. “Maybe you’d be best just going home if you’re going to be like that,” Jenna muttered. “I really can’t – oh – help it,” Damian winced, his hand going to his abdomen; he was meant to be spending the night at Jenna’s. “Yeah, but maybe you’ll be better after a sleep,” she suggested. “I suppose so,” Damian agreed, he really wasn’t feeling up to an argument and he swallowed back another burp. “I’ll walk you home, I’m sorry.” “It’s not your fault,” she replied, but she didn’t sound sincere. “You should probably let that restaurant know, so they don’t do it again.” “Yeah, I might,” he nodded; he tried to reach out and take her hand, but he found her hand irresolutely in her pocket. He walked along beside her, the cramping pain getting progressively worse. They stopped outside Jenna’s flat, and Damian felt awful for ditching on her. “Hopefully next time won’t be like this…” “Hopefully,” she said, then pecked him on the cheek, “night Damian.” “Night…” He stood as she went inside, unable to tell how he felt about leaving her because of the sheer aching pain in his belly. “BrraaahhhuuuuUUUUUURRRRRP!” The longest belch yet burst out of him as he turned to continue walking home; he just wanted to get there and lie down. By the time he was at the end of his street sweat was pouring off him like a fountain; he staggered slightly, clutching at his belly, to climb the stairs up to his flat and let himself in. “Damian?” Cain asked in surprise, in the hallway as Damian entered, “I thought you were staying at Jenna’s tonight?” “Was meant to be – rrruuuaaaarrrppp!” The burp took over and Damian covered his mouth apologetically. “Ah,” Cain nodded, understanding instantly. “Have you eaten something with wheat?” “Buuurrhhhpp! I think so…” Damian confirmed, cradling his midriff with his arm. “Jenna asked me – bruuaarp! – to hold it in cause it’s not nice…” “What?” Cain said, wide eyed and surprised, but Damian just nodded. “Jesse, could you fill your hot water bottle?” “Course,” Jesse appeared, looking worried. “Sorry…” Damian mumbled, aware that he might be interrupting their own couple time. “Come on in,” Cain instructed, beckoning him into their living room, “sit down.” Damian did so, leaning back in the sofa to allow space for his expanded belly. “Now just relax…” Damian closed his eyes, then felt Cain’s cold fingers give gentle ministrations across his stomach. “I – huuuuaaarrrp!” The belch dislodged with Cain’s rubbing, “sorry…” “You can burp all you need to here, if it’ll make you feel better,” Cain assured. “BuuuhuuuUUUUUURRRRPPPP! Oooohh…” The expulsion of air made Damian feel fractionally better. “Brrraaap!” “There you go,” Cain told him, “that’s the stuff.” “I – oh – brrruuurrrppp!” Damian couldn’t stop them now, they were rolling one after the other up his throat, and he started to relax as the cramp in his gut ebbed away. “Oh – thanks…” “I think this is a case of ‘better out than in,’” Cain chuckled slightly. “Tell Jenna that,” Damian mumbled. “I will if you want me to,” Cain offered. “No actually, don’t…” He retracted. “Thanks for this though.” “It’s no problem,” Cain said, still rubbing circles into Damian’s belly. “BaahhhuuuUUUUURRRPP! Oooh yes… thank you.”

#emeto (ish)#burping #belching #bloating #gluten intolerance #original character fiction #ocs #Damian #Jenna #Cain #Jesse #tomato-sickfics

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sterekchub · 7 years ago

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Chubby Derek Prompt: Stiles works at an ice cream shop, and Derek comes in every day to flirt with him but can't quite work up the nerve. Meanwhile, Stiles can't exactly flirt in front of his manager but he keeps sneaking Derek extra ice cream or toppings in his sundaes. Cue Derek getting chubby from their courting.

So I turned this into a chubby!lawyer Derek story. Not a cohesive story…more like snippets into their relationship. I tried this new style…don’t think I like it so probably won’t be doing it again. But chubby derek is always my fav :) This one is more plot and my others are so far ending up as nothing but chubby banter. :)

I have more amazing prompts I’m working on, but feel free to submit more!

“Hi! Welcome to Freezer Treats.”

The guy ignores Stiles and starts looking at the menu like he had never ordered ice cream before. Judging by his physique he probably hadn’t. His dress shirt was tight, not obscenely so, but enough that Stiles was sure there was a six pack of abs under there and not the slightest hint of any pudge around his waist. The man and his suit looked like they came out of Armani catalogue. He had to be a porn star or a model; otherwise he was simply wasting a perfect opportunity to flaunt his good looks.

“If you don’t know what you want, I could make suggestions?”

“A small chocolate.”

“Umm, sure big guy. You like peanut butter?”

He gets a nonverbal nod in response. Oookay then. Cute, but not a talker. Stiles can work with that.

The credit card he gets handed is a company card from Wolfram Law and, if possible, Stiles swoons just a little bit more. Wolfram Law was one of the top law firms in New York, known for taking on some groundbreaking cases most attorneys would never touch.

So drop-dead gorgeous and intelligent enough to be in the most prestigious law office around. That makes Stiles more willing to forgive this mystery guy for the sour look on his face. Seriously, who frowns at ice cream?

Especially the triple scoop, chocolate peanut butter sundae, with extra peanut butter cups added.

Small nothing. The guy can clearly use the extra sugar.

***

“Hey, Sourwolf!”

The guy glares at him. “Stop calling me that.”

“I don’t know what else to call you. Your credit card just says Wolfram Law and I’m not calling you that.”

“Do you always read people’s credit cards?”

Stiles shrugs. “We’re supposed to check the names and the signatures. You don’t know how many people with stolen cards come in here. Who steals a card and gets ice cream? Seriously like, why not buy a plane ticket or jewelry or something.”

“How do you know I haven’t stolen this card?”

“You look like a lawyer,” Stiles grins. “The broody face, expensive suit…plus who would steal a card, use it at the same place for a week, and use it a block down from where they stole it? If you’re going to get arrested, go out in luxury on some private island, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

***

“Is that a joke? Stiles?”

“Seriously? You just noticed the name tag?”

“Yes.”

“Why would I write a fake name? I’m not trying to get fired. Stiles Stilinski is my full name.”

“That’s not a real name.”

“Trust me, my real first name is awful. Stiles is way better.”

“If you say so.”

“I’ll have you know the manager let me create the Stiles Surprise and it is a legendary dessert on campus.”

By legendary, he means a sugar overload of marshmallows, gummy bears, hot fudge, and a mix of four ice cream flavors that change depending on his mood. He hands it over and the lawyer raises an eyebrow – which Stiles has decided is the key to deciphering all his moods – but he takes it without complaint.

“Bye, Sourwolf!”

***

After two weeks, Stiles finally gets his name.

“You can just call me Derek, you know,” the man- Derek, apparently – says gruffly.

“What?”

“Derek Hale. That’s – I figured you knew.”

“How would I know that? You haven’t once introduced yourself.”

“Everyone around here knows the firm. I figured…” Derek shrugs, looking embarrassed. “Never mind.”

Stiles might – might- possibly brush his fingers against Derek’s while he hands over the waffle cone surprise – a waffle cone coated with two layers of chocolate and caramel.

“See you tomorrow, Derek.”

Stiles gets a smile that shows a bit too much teeth to be considered truly friendly, but it’s a start.

***

“It’s sinful,” Stiles moans to Scott, flopping down on the bottom bunk. “No one has a right to lick ice cream cones like that.”

“How have you not been fired?”

“I don’t talk about how he ‘floats when he walks’ or has a ‘smile like sunshine’ or is ‘the one true love of my life’ constantly.”

Scott smiles broadly. “Well she is. And at least I wasn’t giving her free food every day.”

“Hey he pays. For some of it. He needs to indulge his sweet tooth more often; I’m just helping him relax more.”

Scotts rolls his eyes and coughs. “Sure. That’s why.”

***

Stiles really hates the store’s policy. There was a strict no dating or flirting with the customers rule that came into place when Scott was fired. Allison smiled at him once and the entire soft serve mix he was holding had spilled over the floor – which was still sticky no matter how many times Stiles mops it. It wasn’t fair. Scott got fired, started dating Allison, and got a great job at her father’s company; Stiles is stuck with sticky floors and student loans that mean he really needs this job, no matter how hot Derek Hale is.

He can’t figure Derek out. He stops into the store on a regular basis, always at the same time, exchanges some snarky banter of increasingly long duration with Stiles, then leaves. It has to be Derek’s way of flirting. Why else stop in so often? Stiles loves ice cream more than anyone, but even he can’t eat it every single day.

Not that he’s complaining. It was slowly becoming noticeable that some extra weight was creeping unto Derek the last few months. Nothing too obvious, unless you were invested in memorizing his features like Stiles was, but Derek’s cheeks were starting to fill out slightly and there was a definite tightness where his pants had started digging into the small accumulation of fat around his waist.

Stiles feels only slightly guilty for hoping Derek decides to keep stopping in, his barely rounded belly growing to be a proper gut, while the rest of his body expands to match.

He definitely does not start giving Derek extra whipped cream on everything he orders.

***

The next time he comes in, Derek again orders a small ice cream and looks exasperated when Stiles hands him a large.

“I ordered a small. I always order a small.”

“The upgrade is on me. For my favorite customer.”

“You’re the reason my pants don’t fit.”

“You look fine to me. More than fine, actually. Like unacceptably hot.”

“These are a bigger pair,” Derek mutters.

Stiles does not check out his rounded ass on the way out and confirm his suspicious not all the weight is going to his stomach. Nor does he get a write up from his manager, who overheard him ‘inappropriately complimenting customers.’ Whatever.

***

When Derek next comes into the shop, a strikingly attractive blonde woman wearing a top far too revealing to be appropriate, is standing behind the counter, looking extremely bored.

“Is Stiles here?”

“Obviously not.” She studies him intently, then smirks at him. “You must be Derek. Stiles mentions you a lot.”

“I don’t want to know,” Derek sighs. “I’m sure it’s nothing good.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “You’re as oblivious as he is.”

Derek orders a small milkshake. He gets a large one, piled with whipped cream and sprinkles.

“Stiles’ order.”

***

Derek actually orders a large sundae. Not to be outdone, Stiles gives him two extra brownies, topping it off with five scoops of cake batter ice cream and an ungodly amount of whipped cream.

“You should definitely order that every day.”

“I’ve gained twenty ponds since I started coming here, Stiles.” Derek teases, pinching at his love handles starting to spill over the waistband of his pants.

“So what’s twenty or thirty more?”

“Jesus, Stiles. You’re going to make me fucking fat.”

“Yep. Too late to stop now, buddy. You’ve been coming in every day for months, admit you’re totally addicted. And not that you weren’t amazingly good looking before but, chubby is a good look for you.”

***

Stiles stares for a solid twenty seconds at Derek when he walks in and hopes the arousal he feels isn’t terrible obvious. Derek’s shirt is stretched so tightly against his plump belly that Stiles can see skin between the buttons. He’s dying to just touch him, undo the buttons and squeeze and kiss and grab, now that there is so much more to Derek then when he had first come into the shop.

“Wow – hi, Derek. How was your Christmas?”

He pats his stomach and Stiles is extremely grateful he his standing behind the counter. “I definitely overdid it a few times.”

Derek orders a milkshake in addition to a sundae. Stiles isn’t sure his legs are going to support him for much longer.

“I don’t know, looks like you could fit more in there, big guy.”

“Guess I could handle two sundaes.”

Derek leaves with two less buttons on his dress shirt and a swollen stomach that Stiles wants to bury his face in.

***

“Stiles, this is my older sister Laura.”

Stiles waves cheerfully. “Anyone tell you that you have the same terrifying brooding face that Derek does?”

Laura laughs. “I like this one, Derek.”

She goes to order something and Derek shakes his head. “Don’t bother. Stiles has yet to listen to what someone actually orders.”

“Guilty as charged.” He gives them both his salted caramel toffee sundae.

Laura only eats half hers, then pushes the other half to Derek.

“Now I know why you’re getting chubby, Der,” she teases, putting a hand on Derek’s stomach. “I’d be huge if I ate like this every day.”“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” Stiles grins. “Derek is keeping us in business.

“You know, Stiles, we have an opening in our research division, if you wanted. Free donuts every morning in the breakroom…the chocolate ones have always been Derek’s favorites.”

Stiles waits until his manager is looking before surging forward and kissing Derek. (Stiles may also take one of the huge ice cream vats with him later that day. But hey, he’s quitting anyway. And chocolate is Derek’s favorite flavor).

***

#sterek #chubby!Derek #chubby derek #Derek makes a great lawyer #my attempts at writing with plot

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the-letter-e · 8 years ago

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Some Gifts Come Unwrapped

YOURS: AN ETHAN DOLAN ONE SHOT SERIES

Warning: smut

A/N: sorry this took so long, and i’m not even sure it’s any good. but the best way to get past writer’s block is to write, which is weird, but here ya go lmao

You couldn’t keep your eyes off it, scared that if you’d blink it would disappear. It was beautiful and luxurious and everything you’d dreamed it would be. After pinning an endless supply of pictures of the seemingly unobtainable automobile in your “future car” folder on Pinterest, it was completely and utterly surreal that it was now perched in front of you in all its glory, tied up in a satin red bow.

“It’s white.” It was hard to breathe. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered.”

Ethan smiled so big his cheeks hurt. Looking at you in that little birthday dress and high heels, and damn, that surprised look on your face when he’d rang the doorbell with a handful of flowers, a bag of gummy worms, and your very own car keys.

He had been beginning to regret ignoring your calls and texts, making you believe he was nonchalantly going about his day in California and forgot all about your birthday. You weren’t angry with him, you were more so worried. That made him feel even worse about his devious plan to fly to you and surprise you. After witnessing the breath catch in your throat and your eyes light up like they were being sparked to life, it was all worth it in the end.

He’d effortlessly caught you in his arms when you’d opened the door, the two of you squeezing each other tightly, as if your lives depended on it. And to you, maybe it did. You’d squealed his name when you’d leaped from the porch steps, oblivious to your mother standing behind you with a video camera between her palms. She’d admitted that she was in contact with Ethan all day long, letting him know when you were at school, taking the dog for a walk, and even when you’d sauntered into the kitchen while she was baking your traditional birthday brownies and shed a couple tears that your person wouldn’t be with you on your 18th birthday.

She’d asked you curiously and patiently, “Why are you crying, sweetie?”

You’d hesitated, swiping under your eye. Your voice was soft and shaky. “I haven’t heard from him. I’m scared something’s wrong.”

You didn’t know it at the time, but your mother’s heart plummeted to her stomach, feeling horrible for lying to you about Ethan’s whereabouts. But in a sense, she was proud of you. You could have sobbed or threw a fit over your boyfriend forgetting your birthday, but that wasn’t what you were upset over. It made her smile to witness pure love at its finest.

You wiped another tear, frowning. “What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing, nothing.” She shook her head to push away the thought. “It’s your birthday, my love. Smile, okay? No more tears. There’s still a few hours left in the day.”

Ethan had been worrying his lip with his two front teeth on the ride over to your house. He scanned everything with his eyes incessantly to make sure it was adjusted and just the way he’d hoped you’d want it to be. The leather seats, the mats near the pedals, the side and rearview mirrors, the radio, and he even bought and situated those fragranced fake flowers you liked to stick in the air vents of his car while he pumped gas.

He’d done his best and it was perfect. It had to be, because someone as perfect as you couldn’t be driving that old beat up buick for one second longer, he thought. It was rusted, smelled like cigarettes from the owner before you, and left you stranded more times than either of you could count, but it was your first car and it meant a lot to you, so it freaked him out that maybe you wouldn’t want to part ways with it.

Ethan hugged your mom before she snuck away into the foyer to put your bouquet in a vase of water. Then it was only the two of you standing side by side on the pavement in your front yard where he was able to gauge your reaction more carefully.

“Do you like it?” He asked once you’d gone silent for too long. He studied your expression, the way your eyes glowed under the streetlight and lips puckered, unable to hold in a small giggle.

You stepped closer to the Range Rover -your Range Rover -one hand slithering up to cover your mouth while the other hovered over your chest, trying to simmer down the beating of your heart, because if you’d let it, it would probably explode.

“E,” you breathed out. You didn’t know what to say. Words did absolutely no justice.

He quickly stepped off the curb and positioned himself between you and your four-wheeled present. He noticed you trying to speak, but the words fumbled off your tongue. “Before you say it’s too much or that I shouldn’t have. Just don’t.” Ethan spoke, pleading with you. “Don’t worry about the cost or any of that bullshit. I needed to do this for you. I want you to have your dream car.”

You blushed when that familiar burn stung at the apples of your cheeks. The way you always did when the whiskey eye’d boy in the grey Vans hoodie spoke words that lifted your feet off the ground, making you feel as if you were floating.

“Are you sure?” You asked for good measure.

He draped an arm around you before pecking your temple. His lips felt soft against your skin. “Positive.”

“I must say, you’ve outdone yourself this time, Ethan.” You were grinning from ear to ear, but you couldn’t avoid the few tears that drizzled from each of your irises. As long as you could remember, he’d always gone above and beyond for your birthdays. Amusement parks, picnics, breakfast in bed, but this? This was the level of kindness and selflessness that had you falling in love with him all over again.

How did you ever get so lucky? This man was a gem. God was showing off when he made Ethan.

“Wanna take her for a spin?” Ethan questioned with a raised eyebrow, already dangling the keys in front of your face for you to take. He plopped down in the passenger seat when you turned the ignition, strapping each of your seat belts on. She purred like a kitten.

It was massive. In fact, you weren’t even sure if it was going to fit in your garage, but hell if it wasn’t the most pleasurable ride of your life. Neither of you knew where you were headed, but every so often you’d approach a stop sign and Ethan would yell out which direction to turn down. You passed rows of houses and yards and Ethan’s hand found it’s way to your inner thigh when you drove past an elderly couple strolling near the park, fingers interlocked.

“Pull over here,” Ethan’s voice cut over the commercial playing on the radio, pointing out the window. Obeying him, slowly you rolled to a stop, gravel crinkling under the tires. Somehow you’d found your way to the edge of the county park. Eerie street lights burned down the road, moths flocking to every halo of light.

“It looks different here at night,” you mentioned, turning off the ignition. “It’s weird.” You squinted your eyes, looking out at the depths of trees and bushes scattered outside the windshield. A stream was down below, illuminated by moonlight.

“What is?” Ethan asked, taking off his seatbelt while propping his feet on the dash.

You took your seat belt off as well, following his lead. “How a place usually filled with people and joy could be so… I don’t know, dead, I guess.”

He nodded, rubbing his thumb back and forth on your leg without even realizing. “Hey if you want, we can go play some sand volleyball like the good ol days.” He motioned a hand out your window and you chuckled, memories replaying in your mind.

“Only if you want to lose, Dolan,” you tempted him, smirking and curling your hand around his. The hairs on his knuckles tickled the pads of your finger tips.

He laughed, throwing his head back. “Good thing we don’t have a ball. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

You giggled, rubbing a hand over the steering wheel. You’d never felt so good in the driver’s seat before. Gently Ethan pulled your hand to his lips and peppered it with a few tender kisses. You looked at him through your lashes, butterflies in your stomach. He grinned, placing your hands in between you on the center console.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” You expressed and he shook his head, sliding his feet back down and sitting up straighter. “No, Ethan, I mean it. I can’t believe you did all this for me. The car, surprising me, getting my mom in on it… I can’t thank you enough.”

He looked over at you again, goosebumps crawling over his skin. You gave him the chills and you didn’t even have to try. “You deserve the world, giggles, but for now this is the best I can do.”

You took a second to take him all in. Your boy with the most giving heart and beaming smile. So consumed in one another’s eyes, neither of you realized the radio had gone silent.

Placing your elbow on the console, you pinched the arm of his hoodie and pulled him closer. When his face was only inches from yours, you could smell his familiar cologne and your heart raced in time with his breathing that had now gone unsteady. He licked his lips before staring down at your red lipstick stained lips. “I love you,” you whispered.

“Fuck, I love you,” he sighed out before anxiously locking his hand behind your head to pull you into a wet, open mouthed kiss. You molded into one another, hungry for the taste of each other.

You clawed at his neck, the other hand bunching up the fabric of his sweatshirt. You couldn’t pull him close enough no matter how hard you tried. Coming up for air, you pulled apart and you took the second to push at his chest so he sat back against the seat. He smiled a lopsided grin before slightly raising up both arms to make room for you to swing a leg over him.

You fumbled to get yourself positioned on top of him, but when you did, the soft gush of air from Ethan’s lungs shifted onto your face.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you scolded him.

He smiled brightly, curling an arm around your waist. “I’m not, I’m not,” he continued to chuckle, but it simmered down when he connected your lips against his own, sighing into you.

Ethan thought you were a work of art, no matter how often he laughed and teased you. Your hair was now dangling around the sides of his cheeks. It didn’t take much to get him going these days that he’d now been apart from you for long periods at a time, so he’s hard simply from catching a whiff of the fruity scent of your shampoo. When you lightly drug his bottom lip between your teeth, it took everything in him not to tear you right out of your dress.

You gripped at his wrist and led it behind you, signaling to pull down the zipper. “Get me out of this,” you insisted. He was quick to comply, skating the zipper down your spine. A trail of goosebumps followed in his wake.

You sighed out when he pulled the fabric over your head -tossing it to the backseat -and you could feel yourself getting wetter between your legs with every kiss and love bite he placed on your chest, your collarbone, your neck, everywhere and anywhere he could reach.

You anxiously directed his wrists behind you, lower this time. “Touch me,” you whispered. He went light headed when he heard you, but he easily clutched your bottom in his fingers, squeezing and rocking you forward. A tingle shot up from his toes to his head as the feeling of you teased him between the thighs. He let go for only a second to lift his arms while you pulled off his shirt.

Your fingers fell to his pants, undoing the button and yanking down the zipper. It felt like a dream. The one’s where you tell yourself to run but somehow you can’t move fast enough. Like moving in slow motion. Finally, your fingers slipped under the hem of his boxers and there he was, warm and thick and pushing up towards his stomach.

Ethan lulled back against the headrest while you stroked the length of him and leaned forward, close enough to kiss him, but instead just to stare into those eyes you could so easily get lost in. They were lustfully dropping closed, but he didn’t want to shut them. He wanted more than anything to simply watch you, examining your naked body before him.

“I like these.” His voice was low and gravelly as he hooked a finger through your thong. “They’re sexy.”

“And way too expensive to be ripped off.” You had lost too many pairs to your boyfriend who got a bit too handsy and a bit too aggressive when you were intimate together.

He raised a brow. “Who said anything about taking them off?” he asked and pulled the lace fabric to the side before running the tip of him down your center until you sighed his name.

You knew what he was doing and you both loved and hated him for teasing you when you were more than ready to take him fully inside of you, but you found yourself placing your hands on each of his shoulders, lifting upwards and helping him slide against you. Just the tip.

“E.”

Neither of you knew when and how it happened, but the two of you clung to each other tighter when he slipped inside of you, your folds lapping around his length. You ran a hand through his hair and he pushed yours back, catching your lips into a chaste kiss.

It had been so long and it was so deep and he felt so good. The fire was burning in your belly quicker than you thought it would, and the feeling of him helping you grind closer and closer only made the feeling that much more intense.

“So. Fucking. Tight,” he spoke between clenched teeth, trying to lift himself off the seat a little to thrust up into you. He brought a finger to your clit, swirling it around in a quick, circular motion. He didn’t think he was going to last very long, so he’d need to get you off quickly.

There was no denying the foggy windows and the musty scent of your sex mixed with the new, interior leather. Something about it turned you on more and you began bouncing on him harder, creating more space between your waists before forcefully pushing back down on him. It was pure ecstasy every time he was buried in you again. Right where he belonged.

A wave of heat rolled against his length from you and the feeling had Ethan’s lips parting and head spinning. “Holy shit.”

Your hand slapped against the steamy window and suddenly it was hard to breathe. Ethan could feel your body start to tremble and go limp, so he fastened his grip by your ribs to hold you steady, and adjusted his hips to get a better angle. He was pumping upwards when your toes began to curl and your hand slid down the window to smooth over his chest. He took one look at you and he knew.

“Ethan, I’m coming.”

He smiled. “Yes you are, baby. C’mon.”

You bore down on him, grinding fast and hard until there’s a layer of sweat glazed over your body. He plucked a nipple into his mouth and you couldn’t stop yourself from twitching, the tingling sensation almost too much to bear.

“Oh my God,” you squealed, your orgasm lasting longer than expected.

The high pitch of your voice mixed with your hazy eyes, bare breasts right in front of his face, and the sticky ripple of your orgasm clenching around him had him coming undone after you.

You rode out your highs, lingering tingles keeping you from untangling from the other. You were slumped against his chest while he played with your hair, his member still snuggled between your folds.

“Thank you,” you spoke softly.

“You’re welcome,” he grinned. “It was my pleasure.”

“No,” you giggled, smacking him in the arm. “Thank you for making this a birthday to remember. I was scared it wasn’t going to be, ya know… with you ignoring me all day.”

“Oh, shut up-”

You silenced him with a kiss. “Just thank you. For being you. I don't say it enough.”

Ethan smiled and brushed a strand of hair from your forehead. “I love you. Happy birthday.”

You’d decided right then and there that you’d been wrong before. Ethan was most definitely the most pleasurable ride of your life.

#ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagine #dolan twins #the dolan twins #ethan dolan smut #ethan dolan fanfiction #ethan dolan one shot #ethan dolan fanfic #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins fanfiction #dolan twins smut

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allfandomxreader · 8 years ago

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Pairings: Dean x Reader + (kind of) Chuck Bass Words: 1,897 Part: 2/? Warnings: Some swearing but I think that’s it. Summary: It’s Deans second day in the Upper East Side and needs a friendly face to show him around town and maybe even escort him to dinner. A/N: This is such a late update to this series, I’ve been super busy lately and had a bunch of writers block so I apologize to anyone who has been waiting for the second part, but here it is! This one is mostly dialogue, I’ve already started the 3rd part and I’m super excited for you to read that one as well. Feedback is always much appreciated. Enjoy! Tags: @nachoaveragejoe

MASTERLIST

You sat beside Dean in his father’s Impala watching the twinkling stars above. Dean’s hand was wrapped around yours, his thumb stroked circles on your delicate knuckles. He had something on his mind, you knew by his inability to look at you. “Y/N?” is voice creaks in a meek whisper.

“Dean?” you lock eyes with his own. Dean was never a boy to get nervous, not ever. His hand shook as he pulled away from your touch and reached for his pocket.

“I’d like to give you something,” he pulled out a tiny, silver band; the ring glistens in the moonlight. “I know it’s not the prettiest thing in the world, but that ring will come later,” he paused trying to gather his thoughts, “Y/N, I love you. You’re my first love and I want you to be my last, my forever and always.” it was a rare occasion that Dean would open up to you, usually he never spoke about his feelings. Of course, you always knew how he felt towards you, he didn’t need to say them aloud for you to know that he was madly in love with you. “Y/N, I promise that one day, I’ll give you the life you deserve. We’ll get out of this crap town and never look back. You’ll finish college and all of your dreams will come true,” He paused while slipping the ring onto your middle finger. “Any dream of mine will always be true as long as you’re by my side. I love you, I promise that I always will.” His shaking hands bring your fingers to his lips, he presses a single kiss to your ring finger and you knew that it was his promise to marry you someday.

It’s been five years since that night in John’s car, you’ve never had the heart to throw it out. You stand peering into your sock drawer at the box, you tried to gather your things for the flight and for your vacation but procrastination was getting the best of you. You pluck random garments off hangers and fold them neatly into your suitcase. You don’t want to take much, living on the Upper East Side has spoiled you with expensive clothes you didn’t need. You forgot long ago what it felt like to dress in simple jeans and a hoodie.

From across the room your phone buzzes. Dean’s name flashes on the screen in bright letters, unconsciously your lips curl into a smile at just the thought of him. “Hello?” your body sinks into your shared bed to listen to the man on the phone.

“Hey, change in plans,” New York streets come alive behind Dean’s voice, you can tell by the shortness in his breath he’s walking through the city. “I have to stay in New York a little longer to finish my case, it doesn’t look like we’ll make it to Lawrence after all.” a knot drops in your stomach, you slowly rise and peer into the city around your apartment.

“Oh, that’s okay,” you force a chuckle, “Guess it was pretty crazy to plan a vacation with someone I haven’t seen in years anyway.” Dean laughs at your comment.

“Yeah, probably. It’s only for the next three days, I’m sure New York is more exciting than Kansas ever will be,” laughter fills the silence between you, “I’ll need a tour guide to show me where the hell I am, interested?”

“Sure,” you catch yourself smiling.

When you reach the lobby, Dean is already waiting for your arrival.“I see you haven’t grown out of your plaid.” You eye the handsome man dressed in an old flannel.

“What can I say?” you flash him a smile before leading him out of your apartment building and into the city. The two of you roam through the streets, deep in conversation. You pass snobby strangers, businessmen in freshly ironed suits, and flirty teenagers during your stroll.

The wide diversity of people is what drawn you into New York in the first place. You weren’t one to need extravagant clothing or a luxury home– somehow that managed to fall into your lap. All you needed was inspiration. You studied the people you came across, homes, locations, all in the efforts to enhance your writing. New York gave you just that, it’s no wonder why you climbed to the top of your career so quickly.

“Care to join me for dinner?” you propose stopping in front of a restaurant, your feet aching for a rest from all the walking they’ve endured throughout the day.

“I couldn’t turn down that offer” his arm extends towards you to take just before you make your way into the dimly lit building. A young waitress seats the two of you to a secluded table in the back.

“I’ll be right with you,” she purrs at Dean completely ignoring your presence. Dean pays her no attention, he pulls your seat out for you and gently pushes you towards the table.

“You’ve kept your mannerisms. Brownie points for you,” you giggle as he takes his seat across from you.

“Only for you, you’re the only woman worth impressing.” Dean grins opening his menu, “I have an idea.”

“Oh? What might this idea be?” you cock your eyebrow to the man across from you.

“We’ll order for each other, I’ll find something I think you’ll like and you’ll do the same for me. Deal?” Dean smirks towards you.

“I’m intrigued, you’re on Mr. Winchester.” moments after the waitress returns, ready to take your order.

“What can I get for you, handsome?” she bites her lip looking over Dean as he reads her the order.

“I’d like to have the pasta special of the day, with white sauce, and a water to drink. Thanks.” he closes and hands the menu to the blonde beside without a glance in her direction. Her eyes flair at the lack of attention she receives from him.

“And you?” her eyes don’t leave Dean as you hand her the menu.

“I’d like the House Burger, cooked medium, side of seasoned fries, and a beer in a frosted mug.” you don’t even thank her, the way she eyes Dean causes jealousy to flourish inside you. She scribbles down your orders and hurries away. “Looks like you have an admirer.” You grumble, eyeing the woman as she walks to tend another table.

“I knew you’ve been flirting with me all day,” you playfully roll your eyes at his comment, “You got my order perfect, how’d you remember after all these years?” Dean asks, his fingers intertwine together on the table.

“You’re pretty hard to forget.” your voice is soft, anyone in the room could tell that there was still something between Dean and yourself, even if you’re not quite sure what that ‘something’ is anymore.

“So are you,” he admits, his eyes fall from yours unaware of where to look. Dean quickly clears his throat and tries to change the subject.

“Alrighty, here’s your water, sugar.” you didn’t know it was even possible for someone to set down a glass of water sexually, but right before your eyes, this woman proves you wrong. You scuff at her efforts to gain his attention. “And your beer.” She slides the mug toward you, “Anything else I could get you, dear?”

“No,” Dean says sternly, picking up on her purposeful acts, she lingers around your table a little longer before turning away in defeat. He offers a warm smile avoiding the topic of the amorous server. When she returns again, it’s to deliver steaming plates of food. You twirl your fork in the pasta and shovel a mouthful into your mouth, instantly you’re overwhelmed by impeccable flavors.

“I must say, you did an amazing job choosing my order.” you meet eyes with Dean who already has his mouth full of fries, “I’m guessing I did a pretty good job myself.” you smile as he gives you an enthusiastic nod.

Throughout the meal, the waitress checks on your table way more than necessary, whether it was to refill Dean’s beer, clear a single plate, or just to ask how the food is. You try your hardest to ignore her and to just focus on your night with Dean, you weren’t sure how many nights with him you have left.

“How is everything?” her question is directed towards Dean.

“Delicious,” he says through a mouthful of his burger.

“May I get you anything else?” she smiles.

“Some privacy would be lovely, thanks for asking.” you snap. Her eyes travel to you for the first time all night.

“Excuse me? Who do you think you are?” her face is appalled at your request.

“I know exactly who I am. I’m Y/N Y/L/N, a well-respected author that’s been mentioned in The New York Times Book Review more than once,” her face falls as you continue your speech, “Not to mention I’m Chuck Bass’ fiance.” all color drains from her face as she takes in the words you just spat.

“The Chuck Bass?” her mouth gapes at her sudden realization.

“The Chuck Bass, now if you excuse us,” you gesture towards Dean, “Privacy would be much appreciated until we ask for the bill.” you seethe through a clenched jaw, she scurries away without another word.

“Your fiance is Charles Bass? As in Bart Bass’ son?” he asks, his face full of concern.

“Yes, why?” You ask taking a sip of your water to cool down.

“My dad did some business with him this past year…” he trails off looking over you, “Small world.” he mumbles, “I didn’t know you became such a badass.” he chuckles completely changing the subject.

“What can I say?” you shrug with a smile.

You stroll the busy streets side by side yet again after your eventful dinner. The two of you walk closer than before, your hands brushing against each other’s every now and then, it took all of your power to resist the urge to hold his hand. “I wanted to say something back at the restaurant, it just didn’t seem like a good time for you,” Dean admits as you near your apartment building.

“I’m all ears.”

“Chuck Bass doesn’t define who you are,” he sighs, you look at him in confusion not following his statement. “At dinner– when you were talking to the waitress, you added that he is your fiance. I get that he’s powerful and well respected, but so are you. You’ve been mentioned in The New York Times Book Review multiple times and that’s pretty damn impressive. You don’t need him to let people know you have power or to demand their respect. You’re Y/N Y/L/N, you can demand respect with or without Chuck.” you’re taken back by his speech at first, tears threaten to form but you hold them back, not wanting to cry in front of Dean.

“I-” you search his face unsure of what to say, “Thank you, I needed that reminder,” you admit. You look ahead at your apartment, “Um,” you clear the knot in your throat away, “This is me” you sigh not wanting the night to end just yet. “Thanks again, Dean. Goodnight.” you lean up to kiss his cheek softly, before returning back to your home, repeating Dean’s words until you believed them.

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mastcomm · 5 years ago

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What to Cook This Weekend

Good morning. It’s Valentine’s Day and I believe in romance, but the cards the children made us in preschool are the only thing that has ever made the holiday even remotely heartwarming, thank you for coming to my TED Talk. (I’m not a monster. Here are some excellent recipes for the holiday, if the holiday is important to you. As close readers know, I’m all about Gabrielle Hamilton’s caviar sandwich: roses, diamonds and Champagne in a single bite.)

What I’m really excited about today: our cool new collection of recipes devoted to the pleasures of the single-vessel meal in all its sheet-pan, skillet, big-pot glory. I hope you’ll check that feature out right now and luxuriate in the print edition we’re sending out to home-delivery subscribers tomorrow. (It’ll be on newsstands on Sunday.) It’s really good and fun, requires less pot-washing and, if it leads you to want to experiment, great: Take a look at Melissa Clark’s invaluable guide, “How to Make a Sheet-Pan Dinner,” before you head to the store.

What else to make this weekend? I love Melissa’s video recipe for an anchovy martini and could very well enjoy the drink on Saturday night. Which could be a Melissa dinner again, come to think of it: I want to try this recipe for lablabi, the Tunisian chickpea stew (above), that she adapted from Joe Yonan’s new cookbook, “Cool Beans.”

Or maybe chicken enchiladas? Cauliflower adobo? Barbecued shrimp? I could imagine a big bowl of creamy white beans with herb oil hitting the table this weekend, and everyone around it cheering.

Will you bake this weekend? I’d like to. Maybe vegan brownies with tahini and halvah? Or an olive oil cake? Giant crinkled chocolate chip cookies? It’s been a while since I’ve cooked Christina Tosi’s crockpot cake.

There are thousands and thousands more recipes you could cook this weekend on NYT Cooking. Yes, you need a subscription to get to them, just as you need a subscription to watch the second season of “Shrill” on Hulu. Worth it!

Please visit us on Instagram, Twitter and Facebook, as well. I like our off-platform work. And definitely come see us on YouTube, where our Alison Roman is cooking her new recipe for wine-braised chicken with artichoke hearts.

If anything goes wrong along the way, either with your cooking or NYT Cooking itself, please write for help: [email protected]. Someone will get back to you. Or you can write to me directly: [email protected]. I read every message and try to get back to as many people as I can.

Now, here’s a remarkable Reddit post from a home cook on lockdown in China that, as my friend Andrew Scrivani says, brilliantly connects the comforts of food to the hardships of fear and boredom. It bounces all over the place, yes. But it is absolutely worth a read. (And this dry-pot situation the guy developed, with sizzling pork and peppers served on flour tortillas with soft Oaxacan cheese? Brilliant.)

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/what-to-cook-this-weekend-9/

#Life style

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devilsknotrp · 5 years ago

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Congratulations, Cee! You have been accepted for the role of Zeke Hawker (FC: Jack Dylan Grazer). This was another really tough decision, and we truly thank the both of you for your applications! We love how deeply you got into his mind, his likes and dislikes, his snarkiness balanced with a touch of insecurity and a dash of healthy egotism. He’ll be a delight to have running around town! Please have a look at this page prior to sending in your account.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Cee Age: 20 Pronouns: She/her Timezone: GMT+10 Activity estimation: I’m currently studying full-time again, so I should be able to post IC every 2-3 days easily, depending on my muse. Even if I’m not writing, I’m usually able to be around to plot almost every day! When I know I’ll be pressed for time due to deadlines or exams, I’ll request a semi- or full hiatus. Triggers: N/A

IN CHARACTER

Full name: Ezekiel “Zeke” Hawker Age (DD/MM/YYY): 13 (07/01/1983); Capricorn sun, Gemini moon, Libra rising Gender: Cis male Pronouns: He/him Sexuality: N/A Occupation: Student Connection to Victim: Brian was one of them. He has no idea how such a quiet kid managed to weave his way so easily into an already tight-knit group, but it happened. Zeke wonders if it was because of him being in the same baseball team introduced Brian to the group. Whatever it was, he’s never found himself doubting whether Brian could be part of the friendship – and he doubts plenty of things. Alibi: Zeke was watching the other baseball games. With his game finished (and most of it spent sulking on the bench with Brian reluctantly lending an ear), he’d chosen to stay a while longer that afternoon. Sometime between the matches, he’d made a quick trip down to the Piggly Wiggly with ten dollars he’d mooched off Abel for candy and chips with a few other kids on his team who were still around. At around four-thirty he picked up his bag, shrugged on a crewneck and walked home from the pitch. A teammate’s parent offered him a ride home, and he gratefully took it. He was dropped off at the front doorstep and went straight inside. Faceclaim: Jack Dylan Grazer

WRITING SAMPLE

“Nope. That’s not it.”

Dust motes float languidly around him in the muted daylight that spills from the attic window, stagnant in mid-July air. A hand retreats from the cardboard box he’d finished rifling through, a messy stack of books and trinkets set back in their rightful place. To find a hint, anything about his parents, shouldn’t have been this hard to find. This was a trope of every movie; people kept unwanted things in the attic, not the basement. Too predictable. He thinks so, anyway and although this was real life and not some Spielberg blockbuster, it was close enough. Zeke had forgotten about the graze from another failed skating attempt that spans the base of his knee when he kneels down to store it away. A slight wince crinkling his face, he pushes it back to the spot on the boarding that’s a stark brown against the thin grey that covers the floor. Like nobody would know he’s ever been there. He dusts his hands on his shorts, but not before he’s rubbed his face and splutters from a cobweb across his nose. “Gross.”

Over cereal that morning, he’d asked again. Over a sugary bowl of whole milk-laden Cheerios, Abel consumed by today’s newspaper and soft radio masking the quiet that settled over the house, he wondered if there was anything else to be told about his mother or father. And just as his grandfather always did, it was a stock-standard answer of no, not really, there’s nothing remarkable to tell. As if he hadn’t missed out on the ordinary things already. And besides, isn’t it much more worthwhile to focus on the present?

“Focus on the present, my ass,” Zeke mutters to himself now, free arm outstretched to tear away a frayed edge of packing tape run across cardboard. In heavy marker, the next box is labelled 1971. A good decade before he’d come into existence, kicking and screaming. “Huh.” With limited options for company, it’d become nothing short of normal to talk to himself. Small comments of wonderment as he came across a particularly impressive fact in a book.

Backhanded remarks as he resigned himself to watching The Bold and the Beautiful when nothing exciting was on television. Once, while they watched television after school, Josh had said he bugged out for doing that, laughter mingling with the taunt. Whatever. You try living in a giant house with just your grandpa, Zeke retorted. The Sunday visits Josh came along for were far different from living there week in, week out. Sundays were warm and bright. Cheerful, even. Once that rolled past, it fell back into the same monotony of school and baseball and homework, all tied together neatly with a rigid lights-out by nine sharp. To focus on the present was a joke.

A soft tug pulls the tape away easily. It’s left crumpled up beside him, gathered together in his fist before being dropped to the floor. He’s hasty to uncover the contents. Just like the last one, it’s packed meticulously. Like Tetris. The cover of the top photo album is worn in one spot, thumbed over by countless hands. He’s careful when he lifts it out and sets it on his lap, even more gentle with the plastic covers that run over the already faded photos.

So he sets to work. He’s learned to search out that face, the same way he skim-reads the chapter of a book assigned for reading he’s put off until the night before. Even if the only reference he relies on is faded, the photograph tattered and dog-eared in one corner from being stuffed in his jacket pocket to show his friends, the features are clear as day when Zeke pores over the images one by one. The disappointment’s sour in his mouth when he’s gone through it with no luck. The photos are beautiful, filled with smiling memories and yet, all devoid of his parents.

Beads of sweat across his upper lip, cotton shirt glued to the spot between his shoulder blades, another hour passes of searching through the storage boxes. He gives up eventually, when he’s graced with that same unpleasant taste. Mingled with that, though, is something else. An idea that perhaps there’re better places to look than right under the nose.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Zeke equates knowledge with adulthood. Maturity. Being a grown-up with a monotonous office job, fibre cereal and the drone of a television. Or used to. Brian’s disappearance has confirmed his suspicions – that it isn’t quite the case. The cops figured out who snuffed Phillip Silverman all those years ago pretty quickly, right? Or so some of them claimed. So, why’s it so hard to put a finger on who kidnapped Brian? The manhunts have gone on drearily, ended with no real certainty. Nobody’s a step closer to finding his friend. All grown-ups seem to do about it is croon in gossip over a diner booth table or spare an infinitesimal glance at the Crime Stoppers posters plastered on each utility pole downtown. He’s become distrusting, and quick. Whatever valiant spearheading people take up of the manhunt and the newfangled mystery of Brian appears self-serving. That there’s a few brownie points to score for next Sunday’s service, or a nice spot on the front page to print their mug across for stumbling across the next clue. If grown-ups cared, what reason is there to be so hush-hush when he asks questions? Zeke doesn’t want to think only the worst will happen. But if the adults are getting nowhere, he’s brought it up in hushed conversation with his friends that maybe, maybe, there’s a better chance of them getting to the bottom of it.

It’s well-known that Zeke isn’t great at making friends. Scratch that – he’s awful at it. Was his father, with all those vices, like that as well? It isn’t that kids don’t want to be friends with him because of his admittedly unconventional family. Whose only parent is their grandpa? But that’s never been so strange to set him apart far enough to be the black sheep. Jealousy has kept him from making friends. Until he reconciles with the fact, he supposes there’ll always be a quiet anger simmering at the back of his throat. It’s an uncomfortable sensation that makes its home in his chest, knowing that he won’t have a mom or dad to take (somewhat reluctant) photos of him on a birthday, on the first day of school or at a family gathering with a scowl plastered to his face. Those are things he’ll never be able to replicate, with Abel occupied by work and the belief that rules in place of his company are enough to raise a kid. He’s long become familiar with that yucky twinge when kids mention their families. He’s never had the luxury of saying My mom took me to go watch Independence Day in Lansing last weekend, or Hey, my dad came to see me score in little league, isn’t that cool! No, it’s been quiet admissions of frustration to Andrew when Abel has skirted a question on his father with the same lacklustre, manufactured answer journalists get when they shove a microphone in his face for the millionth time. To have answers is an itch he constantly finds himself having to scratch.

Apparently, his name means “God will strengthen”. Impressive. Except he despises going to church, enough to almost call himself an atheist, though he’s uttered a prayer or two in the last week when the worry really gets to him. Please, God, find Brian. Keep him safe, bring him home. It’s a nice way to swallow the nerves down, but not much else. He’s more interested in picking up a science book rather than the Bible, adamant about his excuses to weasel his way out of Sunday service but the effort is often pipped every time. Elaborate stories are quickly becoming his new forte. They’re just not quite good enough to get him out of that scratchy button-down and slacks too short at the ankle from his last growth spurt. At least he doesn’t have to go to those prayer groups Abel attends. While he can chalk it down to tradition and old habits, he’s never quite understood why Abel’s put much of his time and energy into it. He’s funny about it, too. Not funny as in it’s an innocent hobby, but funnyfunny. Funny where, if Zeke holds him up with a badly-timed question right as he’s about to step out the door or makes an offhand (and most definitely deliberate) remark that he might as well live at the church with the group, his face becomes stony. While he has quietened down about it, as far as his grandfather’s concerned, he’s determined to ask around elsewhere.

Sometimes, Zeke entertains the idea of asking if he can live at Ken and Aisha’s house. It makes sense. Their car often rumbles in the driveway to pick him up for school or to take him to a county fair. It feels much more familial. He worries that he’s a burden on Abel, that he’ll never properly connect with him as a son should. He’s come home with a busted lip and bruised pride from smart-mouthing bullies enough times to make anyone sigh with exasperation rather than concern. It’s not as if resisting the status quo at home, rules laid down like the law, helps his case either. His uncle and aunt’s home is welcoming. Smaller and cosier and warmer, always filled with chatter or laughter or radio. Abel’s house is huge. Silent, most of the time. When bad weather’s in, the windows rattle and wind shrieks around the corners, making it feel far emptier than it already is, which is no easy feat. To busy himself, Zeke got into the habit of reading and video games. Once he’d mowed his way through the fiction in the reading room, he quickly became hooked on non-fiction. There’s a haphazard stack of books on his bedside table at all times, switched out every week or so. He didn’t mind playing Actua Soccer for a while, until it reminded him of just how terrible he is at sport. Zeke likes to pick up new hobbies. It’s given him a wealth of new knowledge; new facts to ring off. Or when he needs to prove a point. He even tried to skate for a while. Eventually, he got sick of the bruises and grazed knees and Andrew’s bemused remarks. From stargazing to photography to origami, it’s a good way to pass the time.

When it comes to music, he’s pretentious. Zeke considers himself an indie aficionado – he’ll go for an underground station rather than the commercial pop garbage that plays on the radio. Most of his mixtapes are painstakingly curated, filled to the brim with Pavement, Mazzy Star, The Cure, Soul Coughing. Weird stuff. It’s made him consider picking up music, save for the fact that he can’t carry a tune to save himself. Tone deaf, that’s it. He won’t dare admit that he doesn’t understand half of the songs, lacking the life experience to even do so, but he’ll certainly make it seem like he does.

He has no idea why he keeps on with baseball. Most of his time at practice and games is spent cracking jokes and trading interests with Brian on the bench, ignoring the tinny sound of a bat and the shuffle of feet, the cheers from onlookers. Coach says he’d be good at the game, only if he paid attention. Deep down, Zeke has an urge to master everything. It distracts him easily. New things pop up to command his attention and in the blink of an eye, he’s moved on. He’s not scatterbrained, though. Just selective. He knows where to allocate his time. Ideally, he wants to be a jack of all trades, well-rounded and good at school and sports and small talk, though he hasn’t gotten any of them down pat. Too much of a smartass for teachers to really like him, too clumsy with his motor skills that he drops the ball half the time, enough lip and a tendency to curse that makes most kids reel, his friends included. But he’s trying to be better. It’s a quiet effort; one that won’t happen overnight. He cares about his friends deeply, even if it is masked by a habitual urge to squabble and brazen ideas that elicit eye rolls rather than impressed gasps. One day, though, he’ll come up with something good. Something spectacular.

#dkaccepted #accepted #zeke hawker

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