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telleroftime · 2 years ago

Text

Commission ||| Gavin Reed x Reader

- Florist/Tattoo Artist AU -

A florist and a tattoo artist. Two starkly different careers, yet somehow they tend to intertwine, especially when one needs an outside opinion to push their work forward.

——————————————— Request - Anonymous : Can you please do a romantic Tattoo Artist ! Gavin x Florist ! Reader?

Pairing: Tattoo Artist ! Gavin Reed x Florist ! Gender Neutral ! Reader

Relationship: Romantic

Tone: Fluff

Word Count: 1.9k

Oneshot Masterlist

———————————————

Gavin’s apartment sat in a mist of evening heat, the sharp rays of the setting autumn sun filtering through the gaps in his wooden blinds leaving even stripes on any surface that got in the way. The living room that the two of you sat in was practically painted golden, the original vibrant colours of books and throw pillows muted to hues of orange and brown. It was almost as if you were looking at the world through a choppy filter. The shadows were darker than before, pronounced by the light, and if you looked closely you could see small bits of dust float in the direct spotlight. Almost like glitter that in the end brought the surroundings of high contrast back to life.

Even with such a pretty moment, you couldn’t help but spare a few glances to your boyfriend as he sat on the floor, wearing the sweater you bought him not that long ago paired with mismatched sweats. A line of shadow comfortably blocked out Gavin's eyes as an adjacent strand of light did the opposite to his lips. The stubble practically sparkled from his hunched position over the coffee table, his scar pronounced with a slick sheen. However, that was the most you could see from where you sat, as the open laptop obscured most of your view. There were blank sheets of paper haphazardly scattered around him on the dark wood of both the table and the floor; pens and pencils of many brands were a mess of piles on the desk. You could almost make out the tiny metal shine of a sharpener. Everything but the current thing Gavin was drawing, the sound of the pencil scratching against paper the largest hint you were getting.

With a small puff, you turned your attention back to your phone, bringing your knees up to your chest and sinking into the back cushion of the loveseat.

Your small shop needed a new order of seasonal flowers, however you only had enough money spare for a small sample of them as opposed to what you usually bought. The changing seasons meant recycling the leftover summer collection, your earnings taking a hit in the process. Paired with the pressure of rent and how costly the heat was during the actual months of summer, you were on a tight budget that you didn't want to waste. And, as you scrolled through the supplier's website, you also had a budget you didn't know how to use. You practically frowned at the vast selection.

It's not like variety wasn’t good, though. The issue was that you had to choose and soon before the plants went out of stock. You wanted to buy ones of yellow to match with the overall warm colours of autumn. Coneflowers and Sneezeweeds stood out to you as an interesting option, unique in essence however those would not only have to be imported from a different farm as the small text told you – meaning that you'd have to wait a week or two longer for their arrival – but you also feared that their almost protruding centre bulb would be seen as unattractive by most. That, and you weren’t sure if you would be able to group them in any coherent compositions as they were usually garden flowers and not ones you would pick for a vase. You held onto the thought though, wishing to experiment with them once your finances became more favourable.

Scrolling further, you noted that you already had some Orange Lilies in stock, alongside Peach Bloom Chrysanthemums. Maybe you could buy some other colours, like Orange Chrysanthemums as they were easy to use and easy to source. However the issue was that they could also be associated with funerals and death, so involving them in casual compositions would be risky with the people that are fans of flowers. More roses could always be a safe bet, although… the cost of freshly picked ones would bite into too much of the budget…

Your fingers pinched at the bridge of your nose whilst you forced yourself to take a steady breath. When they slowly slipped from your face, plopping to your side, your head turned back to Gavin. A fresh mind, you thought. With careful intent, you leaned ever so slightly, causing the cushions beneath you to puff in the silence of the room.

“Gavin love, I need your help picking some flowers for the store. I can’t make up my mind.”

Your voice carried itself into a moment of beating silence, the only thing breaking it up being the loud scratching of a 4B pencil. It scratched louder and louder, right until the lead audibly snapped, and your boyfriend let out a grumbly, irritated curse with a small slam of his fist, tossing the wood to the side.

“Whatever you choose will be good,” he grumbled, visibly pocketing his anger as he ran a hand down his cheek. It didn’t stop the pout from gracing your lips.

Standing up from your spot on the loveseat, you slowly waddled over towards where Gavin sat on the wooden floor, all the while getting a better look at the piles of work in front of him. You didn’t stop until you stood just about next to him, your legs gently bumping into him as you bent at your waist to look at what exactly he was doing.

From the looks of it, Gavin had designed the beginnings of a tattoo, something autumn themed if the crayons of oranges and yellows and reds were anything to go by. And, evident by the rough stacks of slightly scrunched up paper, it wasn’t going as well as he wanted. Some sheets of paper had tears in them, the small beads of residue placing the small eraser as the culprit. Others looked like they were scrunched, folded back out, only to be scrunched again and thrown to the floor. The references on the laptop’s dimmed screen were also a mess. Most of the tabs were opened into their own windows, however all but one were shrunk tiny. Amongst the images of forests and grass and twigs and flowers was a wall of black text on a white background.

You raised your brows as your knees bent underneath you and you lowered yourself to sit next to him, “is this for that commission you got a few days ago?”

“Yeah,” he answered, letting out a huff of anger, “and the bastard didn’t give me nearly enough fucking detail.”

Placing a hand on his tense shoulder, you gave it a soft squeeze in offer of comfort, giving him time to shake you off if physical touch wasn’t what he needed. When he didn’t make an effort to move, you slipped the hand behind him, slowly rubbing circles on his back. After a moment, your other hand gently lifted the drawing he was working on before you came over, giving it a light shake to remove any excess lead.

“What did they give you?”

Your eyes moved up to look at him, feeling him relax into your touch before answering, “they want something fall themed. I drew some shit up but apparently there wasn’t enough fucking nature in them.”

Briefly, you glanced at the phone you left behind on the loveseat, before looking back at his work and then up at his face. His brows were still furrowed, deep valleys forming where they wished to meet. His dark eyes were completely still and unblinking, staring murder at the laptop like a hawk would its prey. You noticed the moisture building up on their surface, and with a soft sigh you shuffled your position so that you could easily lean in and placed a kiss on his cheek, the hand that previously examined the artwork now cupping his cheek. “Have you asked them for more details?”

He scoffed, “it’s been a week. Asking now will make me look like a fucking idiot.”

“It wouldn’t,” you defended, but you didn’t push him, instead leaving another kiss on his cheek and lingering near his face for a short moment before pulling away from him completely. You shuffled closer to the coffee table, leaning over its area to look at his work more clearly. “What if you add more flowers?”

“Flowers?”

“Yeah, you said they wanted nature. What’s more natural than flowers?”

With your eyes trained on the array of sketches spread in front of you, you felt Gavin slither an arm around your waist as his body shifted on the ground to sit closer to you and follow your gaze.

“They want the design to be masculine.”

A humm of response bubbled in your throat as you took a minute to think, blinking twice before pointing your finger at the now sleeping laptop. Wordlessly, you tilted your head in request and waited for him to give you the go ahead. When he nodded and gave your waist a gentle squeeze, you instantly reached for the device and pulled it close and into your lap. You were careful as to not close any of his tabs, manoeuvring the cursor around on the big red boxes that threatened to cause trouble, quickly opening a new tab and fullscreening it. It didn't take you long to pull up a few varieties of blooms, mostly choosing ones familiar to your flower shop incase Gavin needed real references, and you pointed to some specific examples.

“If you want the arrangement to be masculine, you want to keep it minimal. Large shapes with varied detail.”

Sunflowers, Lilies. No matter how much you hated to say it, you suggested including vegetables and fruits. Pumpkins namely, to which he nodded. A short while later, his arm left your waist as he returned the laptop to its previous spot and leaned over the table, pulling out a new piece of paper from the misshapen stack and doodling some thumbnail composition sketches. A minute after minute passed as you observed Gavin work, passion for the work making his eyes glitter in concentration. When he was done with a few solid designs – circled in the yet-to-be-broken 3B pencil – you couldn’t stop the proud smile from forming on your lips.

“Huh, would you look at that…” he said quietly, examining his own work.

“I told you-”

He dropped the pencil on the table before twisting his body to the side, quickly wrapping his arms around your waist once again and pulling you onto his lap. One of his arms travelled to your back as he adjusted your position, and when he was happy, he peppered kisses on your face and your neck, causing you to giggle.

When he was satisfied with that, you felt his body physically deflate as he cuddled into you, his breath fanning against the skin of your neck - right before pushing you in front of him so that your back lay flat against his warm chest, his arms wrapped over your shoulders and his legs on either side of your body. Both of you were facing the coffee table, and he pulled his laptop closer, leaving it on top of his drawings as if they weren't as important to him. Closing all the tabs, he gestured at the screen with his hand.

“It’s only fair if I help you with your flower shop.”

You chuckled, “I love you too Gavin.”

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Oneshot Masterlist

#detroit become human #dbh #dbh oneshot #dbh gavin reed #dbh gavin #gavin reed #gavin reed x reader #gavin x reader #gavin reed oneshot #gavin reed fluff #fluff #reader insert #oneshot #tattoo artist gavin reed #florist reader

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jinxxedwammys · 3 years ago

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In celebration of 100 followers I present to you

Wammy boys in oddly specific AUs I found on pinterest and stuff.

Warnings: Swearing (mostly in Mello’s part as usual lol)

"I mistook you for my best friend and jumped on your back in public and now I'm embarrassed"

🎂🍨🍦🍭🍮🎂🍨🍦🍭🍮🎂🍨🍦🍭🍮🎂🍨🍦🍭🍮🎂🍨🍦🍭🍮🎂

It was during the Kira case when L was closely investigating Light Yagami at To-Oh University that this extremely awkward encounter occurred. The sun was high in the sky, locusts and could be heard and cherry blossom littered the wide walkway leading into the school.

You had your heavy bag slung across your shoulders. It was filled with textbooks and papers (some of which you had forgotten to turn in) as well as a few personal items. You weren't really paying much attention to your surroundings until you spotted one of your male friends!

You hadn't seen him since the beginning of high-school. To say you were excited was an understatement. In your excitement you took a running jump onto his back knocking him to the ground. He let out a yelp and that was when you realized...

This man was NOT your friend.

"Oh my God I'm so sorry I thought you were someone else" you hurriedly said pushing yourself up and on your knees an apparent redness in your face.

He seemed to be unbothered for the most part, he turned to you, crouching in a sort of fetal position.

"It's alright I understand" He replied.

"No, no its not.. I'm an idiot I should have realized" you shoved your face into your hands covering how red your face now was.

"It is alright, I'm uninjured and it was an honest mistake" you frowned a little not entirely trusting his forgiveness, but this time, you took it.

He gave you a polite smile before standing up and helping you to your feet. He wished you a good day, and left, but not before sneaking a note containing his alias and phone number.

Mello

"I lost my little sibling Matt in Ikea and I need your help finding them"

🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫🍫

"Fuck.... Shit... Motherfucker" You heard from the other side of the store shelf as you browsed through various decor items. This mystery person had been spewing profanities for the past five minutes. You sighed with slight annoyance placing the wooden model hand you had been staring at for God knows how long back, making your way to the neighboring isle.

"Hey, you've been cursing up a storm... what's going on?" You asked, hand on your hip awaiting a response. Mello looked up at you with a look of anger and exhaustion on his face.

"I'm looking for my idiot friend. He got hopelessly lost in the chair section and I've been trying to find him for like an hour now" He ran a hand through his hair pushing his bangs to the sides of his face.

"I can help you look for him!" You offered.

"You don't have to"

"I want to! I don't really have anything else to do, so it's fine. To be completely honest I don't know why I came here." He shrugged. "Oh my name's Y/N by the way"

"I'm Mello" He replied before setting off out of the isle leaving you to sprint a but to catch up. His pace was fast and he seemed to have some plan on how to tackle this, but you weren't exactly sure.

After what seemed like an eternity of silently weaving through the labyrinth of shelves and furniture displays, you spoke up.

"So... how old is your friend?"

"We're both 19... His name is Matt." You kept walking until he stopped directly in front of the office showroom section.

"He might be here, so keep an eye out for a tall brunette idiot with goggles." You nodded keeping close to Mello. Again you snaked through isles. Eventually your search devolved into looking into cabinets, drawers, anything that would open, but to no avail.

"Where the fuck is he?" Mello said under his breath as he slammed shut another cabinet.

That was when a tall brunette wearing goggles walked by dual wielding hotdogs... You sighed heavily before approaching Matt.

"Matt?" You called out gaining the attention of both Matt and Mello. Mello stood beside you before going on to scold his friend almost as if he were an unruly child.

"Sorry about that I hope looking for him wasn't that unbearable... would you like to meet up sometime again in the future?" Mello asked. You nodded in response.

"I'd love to! This was quite fun actually. Though let's not go to an ikea next time."

Near

"We both like walking In the park at night and I think you're a stalker so I accidentally attack you"

🤖🎲🃏🪀🤖🎲🃏🪀🤖🎲🃏🪀🤖🎲🃏🪀🤖🎲🃏🪀🤖🎲🃏🪀🤖

It was 2am, the night was calm yet you were restless nothing you tried allowed you to fall asleep. It was like this most nights. You would then go to the park near your house to get some fresh air and tire yourself out... and on a night like this, that seemed like a perfect idea. You didn't even change out of your pajamas before you left. As you entered the park, you felt... odd. As if someone was watching you and sure enough, as you turned your head to look behind you you saw a man following about two yards behind you.

Naturally your thoughts went wild with what ifs and possible escape plans. Yet you calmed your mind opting to check if this guy was really following you. With every corner you turned your heart sank. Panic started to set in and you rushed to get together an improvised weapon.... Your housekey! You gripped it tightly in your hand as if it were a knife and swiftly approached the man going to jab him in the eye, yet he caught your arm with ease, turning it behind you and pushing you to the ground, similarly to how a police officer would apprehend a resistant assailant.

"Why did you attack me" he questioned, plopping down just above your hips.

"Let me go, stalker!!!" You yelled at him thrashing around attempting to escape his grasp.

"What are you talking about? I'm not stalking you." He calmly said.

"That's exactly what a stalker would say! Let me go!" He sighed lifting himself off of you and crouching beside you. You rolled over and sat with your legs crossed.

"I swear to you, I was only out for a walk. I take nighttime walks sometimes, though this was the first time I've been in this park."

"Then how come every time I turned you followed?"

"I did? I'm sorry, I didn't even realize" He stated plainly. You sighed he seemed truthful.

"Fine... I'm sorry too, I probably shouldn't have assumed you were a stalker or something and attacked you" you admitted. He shook his head.

"It's alright, I understand... I can be scary" you snorted and laughed. The light of the nearby streetlamp lit his features. A frail, sweet looking man with long white hair who seemed to be somewhat reserved. You felt a little silly that you thought someone like him would hurt you much.

"You're not scary... In all honesty you're quite cute!" You admitted, reaching out a finger to poke his nose.

"Thanks, you're actually quite cute as well, maybe we could meet up here in the morning?" He suggested.

Matt

"I come here when I want to be alone and I didn't think anyone knew about it so where the hell did you come from"

🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮🚬🥽🎮

This day was aweful. Work was extremely stressful. Your coworker put important documents in the shreader for the 10th time that week and you were the one tasked with rewriting, tracking down, requesting new copies and piecing together ones that couldn't be recovered otherwise. And of course your boss made every minute of it a nightmare. So after work, you drove to your favorite place. An abandoned warehouse off the highway about 5 minutes from your house.

It was virtually untouched by people now that the walls were covered in graffiti and the place had been ransacked for leftover valuable items. You made your way inside noticing something was off... there was a leather couch that wasn't yours, a coffee table... even a TV and game console plugged into a power supply, another handheld game on the coffee table next to an ashtray with a few cigarette butts, one of which was still smoking.

You were beyond confused. From the last time you were here someone had basically moved in... it had only been a week since you last came here. You warily approached the couch. Well... whoever left it here probably won't mind! you thought I just hope they didn't sabotage it or something. You then sat down noting that it was a perfectly normal couch and you were just paranoid.

That was when a guy came in, he was tall and lenky, had brown hair and was dressed in a striped shirt, a frankly hideous vest with fur lining, black pants and goggles atop his head. He had been holding a can of coke and a cigarette, yet those were both dropped as he saw you.

"Who are you?" He half shrieked.

"Who are YOU? You yelled back.

"I asked first!"

"My name is Y/N.. I come here all the time when I'm stressed and want to be alone I didn't think anyone else knew about it"

"S..Same but.. I come here to get away from a friend of mine... he can be quite aggressive and it's scary" He sat down beside you picking up his handheld game. "Oh and my name is Matt!"

"Hmm.. then let's share this space from now on, Matt!" He nodded in agreement.

"Yea! I hope we meet again soon"

Beyond Birthday

"We live in the same apartment complex and I accidentally leave my laundry in the washer for a minute too long and you decide to take out all my wet clothes to put yours in just as I walk in"

🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪🩸🔪

It was late night. You had been putting off laundry for the past week, but now you were down to a pair of underwear and your nightgown, so you had to do your wash.. you reluctantly gathered your clothes and made your way to the communal washer and dryer. You threw your clothes in and put a coin in the coinslot then set the washer to start.

You sighed and made your way back to your room to relax a little while your clothes were still washing. It had been about two hours and your laundry was probably done. The timer you had set went off and you gathered yourself and brought the remainder of your clothes as well as your box of dryer sheets.

The moment you walked in your eyes widened in horror. Some odd man sat frantically pulling your clothes out of the washer onto the dirty floor.

"What the hell are you doing??!!" You yelled rushing over to stop him. He peered up at you from his crouching position.

"You left your clothes in too long, its my turn now" You blinked

"Only for a few minutes... it just got done less than 5 minutes ago.. now my clothes are all dirty again.. damn it"

"Sorry" He said. His beady eyes were wide and innocent looking. "I'll let you do yours again... I'll pay" He said before shoving yours back in and starting it again.

When that was done he pulled a jam jar out of seemingly nowhere and perched on top of the washer dipping his hand inside the jar and licking his fingers clean of jam. It was disgusting... But you decided to not pay any more attention to it than you had to.

The rest of the time you spent with him was in silence, all you heard was the washer and his lip-smacking. When the washer finished you silently transferred your clothes to the dryer.. this time without your oddball fellow tenant interfering much. Though when he got his own clothes in he did crawl away which freaked you out.

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hrina · 3 years ago

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Be Sweet, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M (minors dni!) WORD COUNT: 6k

hey everyone! here's part one of my new enemies-to-lovers series :) this fic will be five parts in total, but i'm only posting the first part on tumblr. you'll be able to read the rest of it on patreon if you wanna sign up!

as always, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated. i love hearing your thoughts! enjoy.

~*~

August 27th, 2021

“Who’s opening tomorrow?”

Ella scrubs a wet rag across the table closest to the door. You cast a furtive glance up at her, flipping absentmindedly through the jumble of papers on the counter in front of you. Nick’s messy scrawl catches your eye, and you pause, reading the haphazard comment written at the bottom of the page.

Customer requested a very specific shade of pink trim. See back for details.

You flip the order, scoffing at the Pantone strip taped to the other side. The square labelled Quartz Pink has been singled out, encircled in bright red. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Alice and Olly, I think,” you say, shoving the form to the bottom of the pile.

“That’s good,” Ella grunts, returning the napkin holder and the sugar dispenser back to their spots on the table. “And you’ll swing by sometime during the afternoon?”

“Yeah,” you say, drumming your fingers over the papers. “I’m gonna help Olly in the back. You know how much he hates dealing with fondant.”

“How could I forget?” Ella rolls her eyes, smiling to herself. You grimace when she tosses the damp cloth in your direction. It lands on the counter with a loud splat! You nudge it away with your elbow, shaking your head.

“Gross.”

“You’re gross,” Ella says.

“I’m lovely,” you reply. She grins.

“Where’s Alex taking you tonight?” you ask, changing the subject. Her eyes light up instantly, and she clasps her hands together against her chest.

“It’s a surprise,” she says, giggling girlishly.

You groan. “I hate surprises.”

“It’s a good thing he’s not your boyfriend, then, isn’t it?” she retorts. You snicker, and she continues: “He told me we should stop off at home to change, though, so I’m guessing that wherever it is, there’s a dress code.”

“Ooh, fancy.”

“Right?” She twists her wrist, peeking at her watch. “He should have been here by now. It’s already a quarter past seven.”

“The hospital is just down the street,” you remind her, organising the mountain of orders into a neat stack. “Give him another five minutes.”

She nods. You spin on your heel and push through the door leading to the backroom of the bakery. The large space is split into two sections: on your right, there’s a wall of ovens, and a cluster of metal racks filled with pale, unprocessed dough. On your left, tables and counters lined with all sorts of decorating necessities—piping bags, spatulas, scrapers, turntables. You make your way toward the small cabinet perched against the nearest wall and pull out the top drawer, sliding the orders inside. Olly should have no trouble locating them tomorrow morning.

When you return to the front of the shop, Ella is locked in a passionate embrace with a gangly, dark-haired man. You recognise him immediately.

“Doctor Dao,” you call out, resting your elbows on the counter. “Did you at least wash your hands before putting them all over my best friend?”

Alex and Ella break apart swiftly, but he keeps one arm wrapped around her waist. “Hey, cookie,” he says, flashing you an apologetic grin. “Didn’t see you there.”

You arch one brow, lips curling into an amused smirk. “I’ll say.”

Only then do you catch sight of the other man lingering by the door, and your smile quickly morphs into an irritated frown. Harry is watching you with twinkling eyes, like he knows the effect his presence has on you. How could he not? You don’t try to hide your disdain, especially when it comes to him.

“Harry,” you say curtly, lifting your chin in stubborn acknowledgement.

He brings two fingers to his temple—a mock-salute. “Sweetheart.”

You clench your jaw. God, he makes your blood boil. Rather than responding, you turn back to Alex, who is now smoothing his palms over Ella’s silky brown hair. “You’re late,” you tell him. “You were supposed to be here when we closed.”

“Sorry, cookie,” Alex says, and he sounds like he means it. “My last surgery of the day had a few…complications.”

You purse your lips as the annoyance melts away. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods, blowing out a heavy breath. He looks tired. “We figured it out.”

“That’s good.”

Alex directs his attention back to Ella, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Just let me grab my bag.”

“Cool,” he says. “You don’t mind if we drop Harry off at his place, right? His car is fucked, apparently.”

Ella’s grey eyes widen. She peers over her boyfriend’s shoulder at Harry. “What happened?”

Harry waves away her concerns, chuckling quietly. He tugs on the collar of his blue scrubs, and you can’t stop your gaze from trailing across the plethora of tattoos inked into his arm. Your nose wrinkles at the sight. He looks ridiculous. What kind of doctor would agree to don such outrageous body art?

“He’s being dramatic,” Harry says, shooting Alex a pointed glare. “My car’s at the shop right now, but I’ll have it back by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“Oh.” Ella relaxes. “Okay, that’s great. Babe—” She turns to Alex. “—when are our reservations?”

“Eight-thirty,” Alex says. “Plenty of time.”

“Awesome,” she chirps. She scurries around the counter and playfully bumps her hip against yours. “My purse is in the back. Give me one second.”

And then she’s gone.

You stare at Alex, fighting a clever smile. “Tonight’s the night, huh?” you murmur, quiet enough so that there’s no chance of Ella overhearing.

He beams, shouldering his knapsack and dragging his sweaty palms down the front of his shirt. His scrubs are a light purple, you note. The shade compliments his dark skin.

“Yeah,” he replies, gnawing anxiously on his bottom lip. “She’ll say yes, right?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “Of course she will.”

Just then, Ella bursts through the door, her leather purse swinging wildly against her waist. “Alright!” She claps once, striding over to you and planting a wet, sloppy kiss onto your cheek. “I’m off.”

“Bye,” you say, wiping her saliva from your face with the back of your hand. “Have fun.”

Alex waves at you as she tugs him out of the bakery. “See you later, cookie.”

You wink. “See you.”

Harry is the last one to leave. He glances at you momentarily, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smug smile. The look makes you bristle. He’s absolutely infuriating.

“Got any leftover almond croissants?” he asks. Silent laughter taints every word.

You point to the exit. “Get out.”

He bows his chin in farewell, approaching the door. “Sweetheart.”

“Asshole,” you reply flatly. Now that your friends are out of earshot, you’re under no obligation to tolerate him. Sometimes, you find yourself actually craving his company, just so you can drop the pretence and really give him a piece of your mind. You’re a mature adult, and you won’t ruin a social gathering because of one presumptuous dickhead, but everyone has their limits. You don’t owe him shit.

Harry chuckles to himself, and you clench your fists at your sides. He shoots you one last maddening smirk before disappearing out the door. You rush forward, latching it swiftly and ensuring that the sign against the glass reads ‘CLOSED’. Once you’ve successfully locked up, you march into the back of the shop, plucking your own purse off one of the metal counters and tugging it over your shoulder. You shut the light and return to the front, scanning the clean tables, the empty display cases, the shades drawn over the windows. Shards of the sunset stream through the cracks in the blinds, casting orange stripes along the floor.

All clear, a voice in your head whispers, and you sigh.

Finally—you can go home.

August 28th, 2021

Quick, frantic knocking rouses you from your sleep. Blearily, you sit up on the mattress, knuckling at your puffy eyes. The hardwood floor is cold against the soles of your feet when you climb out of bed. You shiver.

The insistent clamour continues as you pad down the hallway. You tug at the hem of your worn, baggy t-shirt, concealing your midriff. Ella wastes no time after you open the front door, surging past the threshold and vaulting herself into your arms.

“He proposed!” she squeals as the two of you stagger backward. You freeze, remembering Alex’s plans from the day before. His apprehension, too—the way he wiped his clammy palms against his scrubs and anxiously dug his teeth into his bottom lip. Shock ebbs and flows through your veins for a fraction of a second, but then you’re sweeping Ella into a tight hug, rocking your bodies from side to side.

“Oh my God,” you say. Excitement festers beneath the murky exhaustion clouding your mind. “He did it.”

Ella steps back, brows knitting together in bewilderment. “You knew?” When you nod, she scoffs, aiming a half-hearted swat at your bicep. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?” you retort, rolling your eyes at the demand. “Come on. Let’s see it.”

A bright grin stretches across her lips, and she holds up her left hand, wiggling her fingers keenly. You spy the ring resting on the fourth digit: a simple platinum band topped with a large, clear diamond. Grey morning light bounces off the gemstone, and it winks at you as if it knows something that you don’t.

“Gorgeous,” you breathe, gripping Ella’s wrist to bring her hand closer. You scrutinize the ring carefully, smiling to yourself. “He’s got good taste.”

“Doesn’t he?” she gushes, beaming like an idiot. You beckon her into the kitchen, and she collapses onto one of the tall stools positioned in front of the marble island. A quick glance at the digital clock on the stove reveals that it’s only eight in the morning. You groan, rubbing gentle circles against your temples.

“I was hoping I’d get to sleep in today,” you say, lips curling into a wry smirk.

Ella shoots you a sheepish, apologetic smile, sliding her purse off her shoulder and placing it on the counter. “I’m sorry, cookie. I couldn’t wait.”

“I’m just kidding,” you tell her, floating around the room to prepare a pot of coffee. “So…how did he do it?”

She launches into a frenzied retelling of the night before. Alex brought her to the same restaurant they’d visited four years ago on their first date. They ordered their food and made conversation. Things proceeded as usual until the end of the meal, at which point Alex set his napkin down on the table and excused himself to the restroom. Two minutes later, the waiter arrived with the bill. Ella accepted it graciously, scanning the thin paper and pausing at the question scrawled at the very bottom of the slip. When she snapped her head up, searching for her boyfriend in the crowded dining area, she found him kneeling a few feet away from her chair, a small velvet box nestled securely in his steady hands.

“I started crying immediately,” she tells you, groaning at the memory. “I couldn’t keep it together. It was so embarrassing.”

You toss your head back and laugh. Despite the crimson blush staining her cheeks, she joins in. The coffeemaker beeps, signalling that the pot is ready. You fetch two mugs from the cupboard and fill them with dark liquid. Ella accepts her drink eagerly, blowing cool air across its surface. You grimace as she takes a tentative sip—you’ve never understood her penchant for unsweetened black coffee. Sugar and cream are a must.

“I’m so happy for you, El,” you tell her, stirring a small spoon around your mug. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.”

Her eyes grow damp. You snicker quietly, reaching across the island and swiping your thumb beneath her bottom lashes. She catches your hand and kisses your knuckles softly, clearing her throat.

“Will you—?” She releases a shuddering breath. “Will you be my maid of honour?”

You stiffen at her request. Her gaze rakes over your face, like she’s searching for any clue as to how you might respond. At last, your shoulders sag in relief, and an ecstatic smile splits across your cheeks.

“Of course,” you say, voice thick. Tears gather in your own eyes, but you blink them back furiously. “I would love nothing more.”

She sets her coffee down and skirts around the counter, yanking you into another bone-crushing hug. You grin as she presses a handful of sloppy kisses to the side of your head. Her elbow knocks against your abandoned mug, and a few drops of coffee spill down the side of the cup. You laugh at her enthusiasm, pulling back and sweeping your hands over her silky hair.

“It’s probably way too soon, but have you guys started discussing anything?” you ask, arching one eyebrow.

Ella flushes pink, averting her gaze. “Um…when we got home, there wasn’t really much of a discussion going on.”

You cackle, poking at her ribs. “Oh, he gave it to you good, didn’t he? It’s a miracle that you’re not limping right now.”

“Be quiet,” she yelps, stamping her eyes shut.

You lift your hands and shoot her a teasing smirk. “I’m not judging, okay? If anything, I’m living vicariously through your various sexual conquests. It’s been months since I last got any action.”

“Maybe that should change,” Ella says, folding her arms over her chest. “You and Harry could probably fuck out your frustrations. His dick is huge, apparently.”

You balk. “Ella!”

She shrugs, grey eyes widening comically. “What? Alex told me!”

You snort, but say nothing. She watches you cautiously, examining your features for any signs of acquiescence. Any indication that you might actually be considering her lewd suggestion. You almost gag.

“Why do you hate him so much, anyway?” Ella asks, flicking an invisible speck of lint off her shoulder. “You’re not still hung up on that fiasco with the almond croissant, are you?”

“I’m not doing this with you again,” you say, and she sighs.

“Okay, I’m sorry. But can you at least try to be civil while we plan the wedding? For my sake.”

After mulling over her words, you slouch in defeat. “Fine. But only for you,” you say, throwing a stern finger in her face.

She beams. “Thank you.” Something dirty flashes behind her pale eyes. “And if you do end up sleeping with him, I want all the details.”

You shove her gently and scoff. She laughs.

“Honestly,” you start, shaking your head, “it doesn’t matter how huge his dick is. I’d rather walk across hot coals than let somebody like him climb into my bed.”

“What makes you think it wouldn’t be the other way around?” Ella snickers. You glare at her, but she just steps back, raising her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, fine. Have it your way. But I’m expecting you to find someone in time for the big day. Don’t let your plus-one go to waste.”

You roll your eyes, thoroughly unconvinced. “Noted.”

September 2nd, 2021

“Olly!” you call, sticking your head into the backroom. “Ella and I are going on our lunch break, but Leyla will be here in, like, twenty minutes. You going to be okay by yourself until then?”

Olly doesn’t even bother looking over his shoulder, too busy piping little flowers along the sides of the rectangular cake laid out in front of him. He lifts one hand, waving away your concerns before running his palm over his short blue hair. He buzzed and dyed it just last week after claiming that he couldn’t stand how the long brown curls stuck to the nape of his neck. It took a few days to get used to the change, but now that the initial shock has faded, you have to admit that he looks great.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Olly says, putting the finishing touches on the cake. He sets his piping bag down and turns toward you, wiping his palms against his red apron. His left ear bears a swirl of shiny silver piercings. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Thanks,” you say, flashing him a small smile. He returns it, and then you’re spinning on your heel and letting the door swing shut behind you.

You find Ella waiting outside the bakery. She urges you along, and you squawk at her impatience.

“What’s the rush?” you ask, falling into step with her as you both amble down the sidewalk. “We have forty-five minutes.”

“I don’t want Alex’s sandwich to get cold,” she explains, holding up the small paper bag clutched in her right hand. You snort.

The two of you make it to Ridgefield Hospital in record time, mostly because Ella grips your arm and gives it a forceful tug whenever you start lagging behind. You walk through the automatic doors, ignoring the row of ambulances parked outside. The secretaries sitting at the front desk shoot you a few distracted smiles—they’ve all grown accustomed to your frequent visits by now.

Ella babbles endlessly as you enter the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor and waiting as the metal doors slide shut.

“I want to ask Alice and Leyla to be part of the bridal party, but I’m scared the guys will feel bad if Alex doesn’t choose them as his groomsmen. Like, I think they’d understand, considering I work with the girls and we’re all pretty close, but I don’t know.” She nudges you with her elbow. “What do you think?”

“I think you should do whatever the fuck you want,” you tell her, shrugging. “It’s your wedding. And I don’t think Olly, Marcus, or Nick will mind if they’re not part of the bridal party. Olly doesn’t care about that stuff, and Marcus and Nick already have their hands full with their jobs at the bakery. Plus, they know Alex has his own friends—not just the ones he’s met through you.”

Ella nibbles on her bottom lip, her head bobbing in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You lay a placid hand on her shoulder. “You’re already overthinking this. You’ve only been engaged for a week. Enjoy it.”

She shoots you a grateful smile just as the elevator dings and the doors glide open, and the two of you step out onto the hospital’s paediatric floor. It’s a stark contrast to the other sections of the building. Instead of barren white walls, these ones are painted with all sorts of pretty, colourful decorations—flowers, rainbows, sunsets, animals. A massive sign in front of you denotes the different divisions on the floor and where to find them: the ICU, the operating rooms, the palliative unit, the psychiatry wing, and the oncology department. You and Ella turn right, making the familiar trek to Alex’s office.

“He should be on his lunch break, too,” she says. “Unless they paged him for another emergency surgery.”

You hum in response.

Sure enough, you find Alex at his desk, twirling a blue pen between his fingers as he pores over the stack of papers in front of him. Ella knocks gently against the open door, and his face lights up when he spies her standing in the threshold. He moves quickly, crossing the room in five long strides, and plants a searing kiss onto her lips. You look away, rocking awkwardly on the balls of your feet.

“Hey,” Alex murmurs after he and Ella break apart. That’s when he notices you behind her. “Hey, cookie.”

“Hey,” you reply. You toss your thumb over your shoulder. “I’m just going to—you know, the usual.”

He nods.

The last thing you see before you turn around is Ella holding up the brown paper bag, and Alex’s face splitting into a bright, easy smile.

You meander through the halls, trailing your fingers over the rich artwork covering the walls. The end of the corridor cleaves in two; you turn left and enter a large atrium. The ceiling is high and peppered with skylights. A small cafeteria sits off to the side, clusters of families chatting and laughing together as they eat. Children sprint around the space, their arms outstretched. Some of them are dressed in normal clothes—others don pale hospital gowns, their skinny legs bared for all to see. You wrench your attention away from them, fixing it instead on the far wall.

Slowly, you cross the room, surveying the vibrant handprints stamped against the plaster. There has to be hundreds of them, you think. They vary in size—some are so tiny you could cry. Colour becomes scarcer the higher you go—the youngest children are too short to reach those levels, obviously—but still. The sight takes your breath away. You visit this mural every time you find yourself at the hospital, and every time, you unearth a new detail that you hadn’t noticed before.

You walk along the length of the wall, dragging your fingertips across the dry, smooth paint. Purples and pinks and oranges and blues. Reds, greens, yellows, browns. Each handprint is a person—a pair of little feet that scuffled over this very floor, a blank story that had yet to unfold. Briefly, you wonder how many survived whatever illnesses plagued them, and how many succumbed to their conditions. The thought makes your throat grow tight with emotion, so you quickly shove it aside.

Ten minutes pass before you’re leaving the mural behind and heading back the way you came. You’ve just rounded the corner when a strong, solid body barrels into you. You grunt at the impact, smacking one palm against the wall to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you start, lifting your head to meet the stranger’s gaze. “I wasn’t paying—oh.”

Harry smirks, his green eyes glittering with mirth once he recognises you. You purse your lips, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Harry,” you say, nodding stiffly.

He folds his arms over his chest. “Sweetheart.”

His brown hair is tousled, and his biceps strain against the white button-up adorning his torso. Black slacks cover his legs, and he’s wearing a pair of pristine leather shoes, ones that look like they might’ve cost a month’s worth of rent. Your teeth grate together noisily. The sound echoes in your ears.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, as though the two of you are old friends. You want to scoff—you’d rather stick your hand in an oven than make idle conversation with him.

“Visiting Alex,” you say tightly, stepping back. “Ella brought him lunch.”

At that, Harry straightens. “Ella’s here?”

“Yes.”

“I wish I’d run into her,” he murmurs, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

You throw him a scowl. “Asshole.”

Harry cocks one eyebrow, tilting his chin haughtily. “Forgive me if I prefer her company to yours. At least she doesn’t treat me like I’m some insufferable bastard.”

“Maybe if you stopped being such an insufferable bastard, I wouldn’t treat you like one,” you shoot back, planting your hands on your hips. You tense as Harry’s gaze rakes down your body—head to toe, like he’s sizing up an opponent. His nose wrinkles in disdain, and you fight the urge to deliver a sharp, backhanded slap across that pretty, perfect face.

Harry opens his mouth, and you brace yourself for whatever retort he has prepared. What comes out is nothing overtly nasty, but it is enough to make you want to shrink away and curl into yourself until you wink out of existence.

“You smell like yeast,” he says, and tosses in a derisive sniff just for the added effect.

You recoil as the words slam into you, blinking in shock.

Asshole. Rude, arrogant, condescending asshole.

“I own a bakery,” you grit out. Harry shrugs, but says nothing else. Your lips flap wordlessly as he pushes past you, his shoulder bumping against yours. You watch him go, massaging the tender spot on your arm with shaky fingers. Your eyes fall to his ass for only a moment before skittering away, and a hollow laugh catches in your throat.

What a fucking prick.

September 17th, 2021

“Attention, everyone!” Ella stands at the head of the table, clinking her fork delicately against her glass. “I wanted to make a little toast.”

The conversation around you tapers off into silence. You sit back in your chair, focussing on your best friend. She looks splendid in her pretty blue dress, her dark hair twisted into an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck. She peers around the room, chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek. When her gaze locks with yours, you grant her a tiny, encouraging nod.

She beams, her next words imbued with renewed enthusiasm. “I wanted to thank all of you for coming here tonight to celebrate our engagement with us.” She holds out her hand, and Alex presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “We’re so grateful to be sharing this milestone with such a wonderful group of people.”

You inspect the other guests gathered around the table. To your right sit Alice and Leyla, the first employees you hired when you were trying to get your business up off the ground. It’s odd seeing them like this—poised and elegant, looking nothing at all like they do during the long, arduous shifts at the bakery. Alice’s blond hair has been fashioned into an intricate braid, and Leyla’s brown eyes are lined with dark kohl and smoky eyeshadow. They clean up nice, you must admit.

Next to Leyla: Ella’s older sister, Hillary. They have the same piercing grey eyes, though Hillary’s hair is a shade lighter. You didn’t miss the sour expression that trundled across her face when you waltzed into Alex and Ella’s condo. She’s jealous, you think. Jealous that Ella chose you as her maid of honour instead of her. You’ve been ignoring her resentful glares for the better half of the night, letting her bitterness pass over you like a cloud. Whatever her problem is, it’s clear that the issue lies between her and her sister. You’re not getting in the middle of that.

It doesn’t help that she’s been fawning over Harry all evening. Upon witnessing her coquettish behaviour, you glanced at Ella, brows raised, but your best friend just rolled her eyes and yielded a helpless shrug of her shoulders. At least the attraction didn’t appear to be one-sided—that would have been humiliating, you think—because Harry gave as good as he got, chuckling sincerely and flirting right back. You had to suppress the urge to retch, and sent out a quiet prayer of gratitude when Ella and Alex sat them as far away from each other as possible at the beginning of the meal.

On the opposite side of the table: Alex’s groomsmen—Milo, Sasha, and Connor. You’ve been in their company a few times, mainly on birthdays and other special occasions. According to Alex, they all met when Milo accidentally vomited during their very first anatomy lesson at medical school. Milo insists that the putrid smell of the cadavers was simply too awful to bear, but everyone else claims that he just couldn’t stand the idea of being so close to a dead body. No matter the truth, the story always makes you giggle. The four of them have been good friends ever since.

The five of them, you remind yourself as your gaze settles on Harry, who is lounging in the chair directly across from you.

Harry—Alex’s best friend. Harry—Alex’s best man.

You wanted to rip your hair from your scalp when Ella broke the news. Several images flashed through your head all at once. You and Harry inching rigidly down the aisle, arms linked. You and Harry donning the same colours, your gown complimenting the spry flower pinned to the lapel of his suit. You and Harry flanking Ella and Alex while they recite their vows, glaring daggers at each other behind your friends’ backs. Even now, the mere thought of it has you biting down on an exasperated groan.

You don’t realise that you’ve zoned out until the faint quirk of Harry’s mouth catches your eye. You blink once to yank yourself from your daze, and clench your jaw when you find him staring at you with an amused look on his face. He places his elbows against the arms of the chair and clasps his hands together. Unmistakable smugness emanates from him, as if he somehow managed to crawl inside your mind and saw exactly what you were envisioning. Your nostrils flare, and you fix your attention back on Ella, who has reached the end of her speech.

“Cheers,” she says, holding up her glass. The champagne inside sloshes and fizzles temptingly. Would she allow you to chug the entire bottle, if you asked?

Everyone around the table mirrors her movements, raising their own drinks and touching them together lightly. Quiet, delicate clanking fills the room, and the friendly chatter resumes. You nudge Ella with your elbow, shooting her a proud smile. “That was great, El.”

She beams. “Thanks, cookie.” She then picks up her fork and motions to the plate in front of her, piled high with seasoned chicken and steaming, roasted vegetables. “Let’s eat.”

~*~

“Are you sure you’ve got him?” Alex asks Sasha, gesturing to the very inebriated Connor wobbling at his side.

Sasha wraps one arm around their friend, letting Connor rest his full weight against him. He bares two rows of perfect ivory teeth, flashing a wicked grin. “Yeah. Besides, I’ve been meaning to pay him back for the shit he pulled at the barbecue last month. There’s a Sharpie in my car.”

“You’re going to draw a dick on his face, aren’t you?” Alex muses.

“Obviously.”

With that, Alex bids them both farewell, shutting the door and heaving a dramatic sigh. Ella approaches him after a moment, hooking her chin over his shoulder and murmuring something indiscernible into his ear. He chuckles softly.

“Didn’t peg you as the voyeur type, sweetheart,” a low voice says from behind you.

You jump, whirling around and coming face-to-face with Harry. He’s got a green washcloth slung over his left shoulder—the shade brings out his eyes, a traitorous voice in your head whispers—and his arms are folded neatly across his chest. Your gaze falls to the collar of his black button-up, where he’s undone the first two discs, leaving his sternum exposed. Tendrils of ink peek out from beneath the dark material.

You frown and take a step back, putting distance between your bodies. “You’re such an asshole.”

“So I’ve heard.” His lips twitch, and he rolls up his sleeves. “Now, if you’re done ogling them like a lovestruck puppy, I could use some help in the kitchen.”

You grit your teeth, but follow him into the other room. Harry grabs the rag hanging over his shoulder and holds it out for you. You snatch it from his fingers without a word, and the two of you take up residence in front of the sink. Harry plunges his hands into the soapy water, rinsing the dishes thoroughly before passing them to you. You stand as far away from him as possible while you dry each plate, your movements stiff and choppy. This is not how you wanted to finish off the night, but Alex and Ella spent the entire day preparing the food, and it was delicious. The least you can do is spare them the hassle of tidying up.

The tense silence eats at you, until you feel like you might explode. Unable to bear it any longer, you hastily blurt, “Saw you getting pretty cozy with Hillary before dinner.”

Immediately, you want to kick yourself. Where the fuck did that come from?

Harry snorts, shrugging coolly. “We’ve hooked up a few times, but it’s nothing serious.” He shoots you a mischievous grin. “You jealous?”

“Of Hillary?” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Please. The woman’s standards are practically underground. Why else would she be interested in someone like you?”

Harry scowls, and hot satisfaction surges through your veins. Yes, the taunt was mean, but no, you don’t care. “You’re a real bitch sometimes, you know that?” he says.

You flash him a petty, insincere smile. “Only to you.”

He squeezes the yellow sponge nestled in his right hand, scrubbing it forcefully across a dirty plate. “Maybe you should find someone to hook up with. It might help get that stick out of your ass.”

“I have better things to do,” you sneer, narrowing your eyes.

“Better than sex?” He chokes on a derisive laugh.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like…things!” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists. “I run my own business, for God’s sake. And I’m going to make Ella’s wedding cake.” You announce the last part proudly, hauling your chin into the air.

Harry, however, looks unimpressed. He shakes his head, blowing out a heavy sigh. “Uh-oh.”

You pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs again, but you detect a hint of malice behind the action. “It’s just…I’ve seen the way you decorate cakes. Ella might be better off going elsewhere—you know, to an actual professional.”

Son of a—

“That’s rich, coming from you,” you say, motioning to the mismatched tattoos littered across his arm. “What would you know about professionalism? It looks like you let a preschooler doodle all over you.”

Harry bares his teeth in a feral grin. “Deflection. I’m not surprised.”

You bristle at his words. “Asshole.”

“You’ll need to get a bit more creative with the insults, sweetheart. I’m growing bored.”

“Is that so?” you say. “I think ‘asshole’ suits you just fine. Maybe you should have become a proctologist instead of a paediatrician.”

“At least I pursued something I was good at. I’m not sure if you can say the same.”

“You fucking—”

“Everything okay in here?” Ella asks, floating into the kitchen. You spin around to conceal your anger, placing your hands against the counter and inhaling deeply. You roll your shoulders back and slap an artificial smile onto your face before turning once more.

“Everything’s fine,” you say, and fake a yawn, covering your mouth with your palm. “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’m exhausted.”

Ella’s bottom lip juts out into a pout. Her red lipstick has faded, leaving only a stain of scarlet in its wake. On cue, Alex walks into the kitchen behind her, setting a steady hand on her hip and cocking his head to the side. “Hey. Everything okay in here?”

You nearly snort. Fucking soulmates.

“All good,” you tell him, nodding brusquely. “I’m just going to finish up with the dishes and head home.”

“Okay.” Alex presses a soft kiss to Ella’s temple, murmuring something about needing to get out of his stuffy clothes. You whirl, drying the last of the plates with frantic, shaky fingers. In your peripheral vision, you spy Harry watching you, but the stupid bastard must possess some scrap of self-preservation, because he keeps his mouth shut. You say nothing else as you whack the rag down onto the counter and stride out of the room.

You don’t miss Alex and Ella’s hushed whispers at the other end of the hall, but a little voice in your head tells you not to interrupt them. You halt at the front door, snatching your purse off one of the metal hooks mounted on the wall. You’re in the middle of putting on your shoes when you hear it:

“I was hoping we could arrange a truce, you know.”

You twist around, palm flying to your chest. Harry is standing a few feet away, his hands still wet with the water from the sink. He clasps them together and ducks his head, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think he was ashamed.

Something vile bubbles in the pit of your stomach. You gnaw on the flesh of your cheek, trying to reel your emotions back in. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of witnessing another outburst.

“Keep your fucking truce,” you spit, and wrench open the door. You shoot him one last withering look before stepping out of the condo and slamming it shut.

#be sweet #harry writing #lmao you can tell i've given up on posting my writing on tumblr cus i don't even tag it with the typical fic tags anymore 😭

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love-takes-work · 4 years ago

Photo

Donut Box for the Suspects

"I'll have one jelly donut with powdered sugar on the side; three chocolate frosted; one frosted chocolate; two chocolate-frosted chocolate; one Dog-Nut; medium well; one coffee with milk and sugar, hold the coffee."

You knew someone would do it, and that someone is always me.

See below for donut recipes and guidelines.

See more SU food tutorials!

I wasn't gonna do this because I've made donuts for this show before, but what can I say, I got inspired!

Remember at the beginning of "Sadie Killer," Steven came into the Big Donut and bought a big order for the Cool Kids?

To be clear, this was his order:

Dang Steven

This turns out to be rather a lot of work for me! There are three different donut types in there with three different topping styles!

This tutorial will be broken into five parts:

Jelly Donuts

Chocolate-Frosted Donuts

Chocolate Donuts

Chocolate Glaze

Assembly

Jelly Donuts

Ingredients:

1 1/4 cups all-purpose flour (divided into 1/2 cup plus 3/4 cup)

1/8 cup granulated sugar

1/8 teaspoon salt

Half a packet of rapid rise yeast (about 3.5 grams)

1/3 cup warm milk (about 110° F/ 43° C)

2 tablespoons unsalted butter, divided into half tablespoons

1 egg yolk

1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract

Some jelly or jam

Some granulated sugar for dusting

Directions:

Whisk together the 1/2 cup flour, sugar, yeast, and salt in a large bowl.

Add the warm milk. Melt 1.5 tablespoons of the butter (leaving the other half tablespoon for way later). Add the melted butter in with the egg and vanilla, and combine it well with your whisk. Cover with plastic wrap and let it sit at room temperature for about 10 minutes. It should get some little bubbles in it by the end of the wait.

Add in the remaining 3/4 cup of flour and knead for 5 minutes. It shouldn't be sticky but if it is, add a small amount of flour. When you're done, let it rise for 1 1/2 hours covered in plastic wrap, or until doubled in size. You can accelerate this by putting it uncovered on a baking sheet in the oven at 100° F/38° C for 45 minutes instead.

Now roll the dough out on a floured surface to around 1/2” thick. Cut 2 1/2-inch rounds with a biscuit cutter. Re-roll the scraps. This makes 6 to 9 donuts.

Let these guys rise one more time on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper under a kitchen towel: either room temperature for 45 minutes or in the 100° F/38° C oven for 20 minutes.

Bake them in the center rack of a preheated oven at 375° F/190° C for 10 minutes (until the tops turn golden).

Melt your remaining butter and use a pastry brush to butter each bun when they come out of the oven.

Then dip their tops in sugar.

Cut a deep slit in each donut and pipe the jam in with a pastry bag.

They are done!

In the donut box, the pictured jelly donut has a nice tan glaze. You can melt caramel or use melted butterscotch, but I just reused some chocolate buttercream frosting I already had for the photo.

Chocolate Glazed Donuts

Ingredients:

1 cup flour

3/8 cup sugar

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 smidgen ground nutmeg

1 smidgen salt

3/8 cup buttermilk

1 egg

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 1/4 tablespoons vegetable oil

Directions:

This is a tiny batch of 6 donuts and we're using a baking pan. This will bake at the same time, in the same pan, as the chocolate donuts up next.

Preheat the oven to 325° F/160° C). Spray a donut pan with nonstick cooking spray or oil.

In a large bowl, mix the dry ingredients: flour, sugar, baking powder, nutmeg, and salt.

In another bowl, stir together the egg, buttermilk, vanilla, and oil. Whisk until combined, then pour the wet batter into the dry batter. Whisk together.

Put the dough in a piping bag and fill each donut hole about 3/4 full.

Since we are baking chocolate donuts at the same time, I'll pause this recipe here, but if you're only making these and not chocolate donuts, bake them for about 8 minutes and let them cool in the pan a while before turning them onto a cooling rack and frosting.

Chocolate Donuts

Ingredients:

1 cup flour

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/3 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

1/2 cup brown sugar packed

1/2 cup buttermilk, room temperature

1/2 cup plain prepared coffee

1 egg, room temperature

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1/4 cup butter, melted

Directions:

Preheat the oven to 325° F/160° C if it's not already preheated from the previous recipe.

In a large bowl, mix the dry ingredients: flour, baking soda, salt, unsweetened cocoa powder, and brown sugar.

In another bowl, whisk together the buttermilk, coffee, egg, and vanilla.

Pour the wet ingredients into dry ingredients. Stir, not too comprehensively--just enough to mix. Then stir in the melted butter--again, do not overblend.

I tried to use a pastry bag again to fill the other 6 donut holes, but this batter is WAY runnier. I recommend a funnel with small amounts premeasured or a turkey baster to fill the holes. Very sloppy but rich!

Bake the donuts for about 8 minutes.

Let them cool in the pan and then turn them onto a cooling rack.

You are ready to glaze them!

Chocolate Glaze

Ingredients:

1/4 cup chocolate

1 tablespoon unsalted butter

1 teaspoon honey or agave

1 teaspoon water

Directions:

Put all the ingredients in a medium bowl and melt in the microwave. I only needed two 20-second bursts to melt it down.

Stir, and dip donuts!

One donut in the cartoon's box looks like it's vanilla frosted. You can make white frosting if you prefer by melting a couple tablespoons of butter, adding about half a cup of sifted powdered sugar, and splashing in a few tablespoons of milk or cream (or water) and a little vanilla extract. But I just used some leftover buttercream frosting I had in the house since it was just one donut. (I put some cocoa frosting on a couple extra donuts too.)

Assembly

Time to put everything in the box for the Cool Kids! (Who, unbeknownst to them, were about to become THE SUSPECTS in Sadie's new band!)

First, I had to microwave a hot dog (well, veggie dog!) because SOMEONE ordered a dang Dog-Nut.

This Dog-Nut, if you notice, is different than it looks in the ad for this product. I have made Dog-Nut before and it usually has more variety in the donuts, sprinkles, and a stripe of frosting mustard. This version from the pictured order is just three chocolate frosted donuts connected with a hot dog. Oh well.

Then I added in the other boxed donuts: a jelly, three chocolate frosted, one chocolate frosted, and two chocolate frosted chocolate.

I also notice that someone ordered coffee with cream and sugar (which is just sugary milk??).

Sadie was perplexed. So am I.

I just took the order as dictated and added the powdered sugar on the side too.

That's it! Donut box for the Suspects!

Sugar milk is pretty tasty by the way. Great for eating with these rich chocolate donuts!!

See more SU food tutorials!

#steven universe #food #donuts #sadie killer and the suspects #dog-nut #steven universe recipes #myblog

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youidiotprince · 4 years ago

Text

A Very Merry Ca$hqu€€ns Christmas

“No, Nora! Stay out!” Ava yelled from floor, scrambling to shield her nearly wrapped gift from Nora’s curious gaze. Nora had announced her presence with a quiet knock as she pushed open the door, hoping to catch Ava off guard and glimpse her gift.

“Why can’t I see, hm? If the present isn’t for me. . .” Nora teased, crossing her arms over her chest, feet still planted in the open doorway.

“Because I…” Ava floundered for an explanation that wouldn’t incriminate her, but she couldn’t string together the words. “Just because! It’ll ruin it either way, so you just have to get out.”

“If you say so.” Nora turned to leave, but as she closed the door behind her, she added, “I’m taking this as confirmation that you’re my Secret Santa, though.”

“Nora,” Ava groaned, grabbing the nearest item and throwing it at the now-closed door. When it fluttered to the ground only a foot or so in front of where she sat, she realized it was the glittery green bow she still had to stick atop her present. She’d opted for a more classic look, with red and white striped wrapping paper, thick and shiny, a purchase she’d splurged on for her gifts this year because she’d always liked the crisp lines and folds the more expensive papers made when wrapping. Nora’s gift, which she’d already put under the tree earlier that day, was wrapped in snowman-covered paper, something she’d had leftover from the year before, and maybe the year before that.

Ava peeled the backing from the sticky part of the bow and placed it, perfectly centered where the lines of ribbon intersected on top of her rectangular package. She could faintly hear the tinkling bells of the festive music Nora had just started playing, and she knew that was her cue to hurry it up.

With the package cradled under her arm, she left her room and called out to Nora, “Hey girl, what do you need me to do?”

Nora rounded the corner from the kitchen and eyed Ava’s now perfectly wrapped gift. “Ooh, that looks gorgeous,” Nora said with a mischievous look. “I can’t wait to open it.”

“Yeah, you wish,” Ava taunted with a smile. She placed her gift under the tree and brushed her hands clean of it. “Have you heard from the others yet?”

“Mm, they’re both on their way, they should be here any minute.”

The girls busied themselves plating the snacks they’d prepared and the cookies they’d baked until they heard a knock at the door, the thuds sounding in time with the cheesy Christmas carol playing over the speaker.

“Merry Friendsmas!” Mailin and Fatou shouted together, smiles spread almost as wide as their arms. Mailin modeled a headband with reindeer antlers stuck on top and red makeup on the tip of her nose, and Fatou wore a red and green patterned sweater trimmed with glittery tinsel around the neck, the wrists, and the bottom hem. They both held up their presents, Fatou’s in a wintery blue and silver giftbag and Mailin’s wrapped in what looked like newspaper or scrap paper of some sort. They’d dressed on theme, matching Nora’s all red look paired with a Santa hat and Ava’s cozy plaid Christmas pajamas. After a quiet beat during which they took in all their different looks, the girls erupted in excited chatter all at once, talking over each other in order to compliment and dissect their different outfits.

“That must be so itchy,” Nora told Fatou as Fatou told Ava how much she envied her cozy attire.

“Your nose!” Ava exclaimed to Mailin as she reached out almost close enough to touch it before Mailin flinched away.

“No, don’t ruin it yet. I forgot the lipstick at home,” Mailin admitted sheepishly. “Although it looks like I could just borrow Nora’s.” Nora puckered her red lips in response. She backed out of the way so they all could come in and make themselves comfy. They left their coats and boots in the entryway.

“Mulled wine, anyone?” Nora asked from the kitchen as Mailin and Fatou added their gifts to the pile in the main room and sat on the couch next to Ava. “I’ll be having hot chocolate, so that’s an option too.”

Ava and Fatou shared a look before Fatou answered for both of them, “Two mulled wines, please.”

“Oh wait, I’ll come help,” Mailin said as she leapt up from the couch and joined Nora in the kitchen. “Also, I’ll have a hot chocolate.”

Once they brought the drinks out to the others, they all settled into their easy rhythm, talking about the little details of their lives that had happened since they’d last seen each other, recounting some of their best and worst holiday memories before they met each other. Nora opened up about the year that her mother hadn’t gotten anyone any gifts and Kiki, trying to fix everything, went out and bought Nora a box of colored pencils and a coloring book and Zoe a bracelet-making kit with the small amount of money she had. It hadn’t been much but it had meant the world to both of them. Zoe made each of the sisters a bracelet, and she wondered if Kiki or Zoe still had theirs. Fatou shared that one of the best presents she ever received was a book about marine biology with lots of pictures of marine life. She told them that her brother made fun of her endlessly about it, but he was always looking over her shoulder as she’d read through it.

When they felt like they’d run out of stories, they sang carols and karaoke in pairs until Zoe hollered from her room for them to quiet down, and while the singing might have stopped, they didn’t actually adjust their volume much. Eventually, feeling like a little kid who’d been trying their best to wait patiently for the chance to open presents but who just couldn’t hold it in any longer, Ava admitted, “Girls, I can’t take it anymore. We need to do the gift exchange already.”

“Oh, you’re right!” Mailin gasped, as if she’d completely forgotten about the main event of the evening.

Nora clapped and then wiggled her fingers together excitedly, looking slowly at each of her friends. “Who wants to go first?”

“I will,” Fatou said, straining to reach the gift she’d left with the others. She finally snagged the handle with the tip of her finger, so she pulled it over and sat back upright. “Okay, drumroll please.” The girls started pounding their fists on their legs or on the floor, whichever was closer. “This is for… Ava!” Fatou held the gift out to her with a flourish, beaming.

“Chibi,” Ava said warmly, taking the decently sized bag from Fatou’s hand. It was stuffed with white tissue paper which Ava crumpled into a ball and handed to Nora, who was collecting the trash. Beneath all of that was the edge of a sleek black frame, which Ava pulled out carefully. The frame enclosed a photo of the stars in the night sky with a date underneath: October 2, 2020. Ava brushed her fingertips over the glass, hovering just above so as not leave a smudge.

“It’s a print of the constellations on the first day we all hung out together, when we stole that money,” Fatou blurted. “I know you’ve been looking for things to decorate the place with, and that day is so important to me, to us. This seemed like a good gift because we both love the universe and space and astrology so much.”

“Fatou, this is incredible.” Ava’s voice was full of genuine awe. “Seriously, this is perfect, I love it so much. We should all have one of these, honestly.” Nora and Mailin were craning their necks to get a better look, so Ava passed the print to them. As they admired it, Ava turned to Fatou. There was no way Fatou could know just how much this meant to her. How lame and lonely and insecure she felt before as she tried to rebuild her life here without a solid friend group, how difficult it was to watch other people find these friend groups that seemed like they’d last for life while Ava had paper thin friendships that were haunted by the words of her bullies, the doubts and fears they’d implanted in her. Ava felt as though this group of girls, this group of best friends, had finally allowed her to embrace herself with the confidence she had only ever faked before. Fatou couldn’t know how much that day meant to her in particular, but still, it felt like maybe she did, at least a little bit. “Thank you, Fatou. Really.”

“You’re welcome, Ava,” she said as she rested her head on Ava’s shoulder and snuggled closer, patting Ava’s knee tenderly.

After a few moments, Ava offered, “Okay, I’ll go next, and we can just go whoever receives the gift can give the next one? If that works out.” Everybody nodded so Ava grabbed her gift and settled back down on the couch. “Okay, this lovely, award-winning wrapping is for none other than… Mailin.”

“I get the best wrapped one,” Mailin said as she excitedly took the present from Ava and shook it next to her ear. When she brought it back down in front of her, she hesitated. “I almost don’t want to open it! But alas,” she said, and with that she ripped open the paper to reveal a jewelry box with a brand label printed on it that she’d never heard of. When she lifted the lid, she saw two sets of earrings, one set of green and blue tie-dye rectangular pendants with “climate” engraved in one and “justice” engraved in the other and one set of large globe earrings.

“They’re made from completely recycled materials, and the proceeds went to a campaign for climate justice here in Germany. And they just seemed so you,” Ava explained, motioning between the new earrings and the earrings Mailin was currently wearing, which were big candy canes dangling from her ears.

“No, these are awesome, I’ve been trying to develop my collection of fun earrings. These are fun and make a statement. Thank you. Okay, my turn.” Mailin jumped up to grab her newspaper package. “Special eco-friendly wrapping,” she boasted. “Hope you enjoy.” With that, she handed the gift off to Nora without much ceremony, which added its own bit of surprise.

“For me? Ah, okay, I’m excited,” Nora said as she tore into the newspaper. Underneath it all was a thick stack of shipping labels, some used and some unused. The used ones were obviously an attempt at recycling, which Nora appreciated. The sticker at the top of the stack already had a note on it, which must have been written by Mailin, as it said, “Coupon for free shipping label retrieval and delivery for a year. Ask and you will receive.”

“Those are what you used to do your drawings on when you left them around the city, right? I know you’ve probably worn yourself out with all the drawings you’ve done for our shirts, but as a token of appreciation for all of that, I will provide you with shipping label sticker things whenever you need them.” Mailin finished her explanation with a proud smile.

“This is really thoughtful, Mailin. I’ll definitely take you up on this coupon offer,” Nora said with a wink. She then turned to Fatou. “So it’s just you and me,” Nora joked, handing her gift off to Fatou.

“This box is light, I wonder what it could be,” Fatou said as she ripped off the paper. She was only teasing Nora about the weight of the box, but when she opened it all the way and looked inside, it really was empty. Just completely empty. Fatou looked up, confused, and made eye contact with Ava. Ava’s stomach lurched. It couldn’t be. Had Nora forgotten a gift? She wouldn’t do that to Fatou, would she? And if she had forgotten, why would she just wrap an empty box? She hated herself for thinking it, but after everything she’d been through, she couldn’t keep the thought away that maybe this was a prank, that maybe Nora’s friendship with all of them was some kind of prank. It was just a nagging thought in the back of her mind, it couldn’t possibly be true, but she still couldn’t ignore it, not completely.

At the same time, Fatou and Ava turned to look at Nora, trying to work out what exactly was going on, but she was engrossed in something on her phone, her lips turning up into a smile. How could she be so callous?

“Nora,” Fatou started, voice quiet and hesitant. Before she could say more, three phones buzzed with a new message, and Nora looked up, smile growing. Fatou had planned to ignore the text, but now she was suspicious. She grabbed her phone from her pocket and opened the message, her phone redirecting her to WhatsApp. There, in the ca$hqu€€ns groupchat, was a collection of stickers, some actual photos and some drawings, of axolotls. The drawings had the axolotls pulling funny facial expressions, emoting in different ways. A smile here, a frown there, a wink and a stuck-out tongue. Fatou felt Ava exhale beside her.

“I’m sorry for the empty box, I wanted to give you something to unwrap even though the gift was virtual, but my timing ended up being kind of off with that one,” Nora said, sheepish. “And they’re not exactly emojis, but they’re close, right?”

“My axolotl emoji,” Fatou said almost dreamily.

“Nora, these are awesome,” Mailin chimed in from beside her.

“Thanks. If you want any other facial expressions, just let me know.”

A content silence stretched between the girls, everyone feeling comfortable and warm, processing the gifts they’d just given and received.

“Guys, this was so great, I… you don’t understand how happy I am right now. You guys are the best.” Ava’s heart swelled with something that felt like pride, maybe, that these were the people she chose, that these were the people who chose her. Of course Nora wouldn’t let any of them down like that, not on purpose. None of them would. They all loved and respected each other too much. “The ca$hqu€€ns were written in the stars, you guys. We were fated.”

At Ava’s moment of vulnerability, all of the girls rushed to wrap her in the tightest group hug, falling all over each other and ending up in a messy pile of cuddles. Limbs tangled and faces smushed, and when they finally started to pull away a bit, Mailin took one look at Ava’s cheek and sighed.

“Oh no, I smeared my nose on your cheek.”

#alteradventcalendar #druck #druck fic #cashqueens #ava pereira #fatou jallow #nora machwitz #mailin richter

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heli0s-writes · 5 years ago

Text

IV. The First Taste*

Summary: NSFW Chapter. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Modern AU, Teacher reader, Dad/Baker Steve… lots of pining, slow burn, romance. Enjoy!

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

Since you kissed Steve Rogers in your classroom on that Thursday afternoon, you’ve kissed him again and again after each meeting. It’s been precisely two more lunch dates, one more dinner date, and one long walk in the park on his day off before he was suddenly called in for an emergency pastry situation. That’s five kisses. Five dates. Five moments you lie in bed and think about while trying desperately not to scream.

You scold yourself every time because a part of you is embarrassed that you’re so—thirsty! But good God, the man is a tall glass of water you want to drown in. It’s been two stupid years since you’ve kissed anyone, and when you’re in bed at night, you hope that it’s not your lack of practice that’s been keeping him from moving forward.

You can’t be that bad, right? … Right?

But it’s always you who initiates, and Steve always keeps it short and sweet. Once, you felt the slightest flick of his tongue against your bottom lip, but then as quickly as he’d done it, he pulled away.

Grumbling, you press your pillow over your face and punch it a couple of times before settling back down into bed. You peer at the back of your hand in the darkness of your room and contemplate on trying it just like you used to when you were a kid. God, this feels stupid.

Tomorrow, you’ll just ask. Because you’re both adults and because he was your… boyfriend. You smother yourself with the pillow again, because that was an even more mortifying thought than making out with your own hand.

In the morning you go for a jog and make yourself a quick protein and fruit shake breakfast afterward. Then you head to the pool for about an hour before coming back home. Everything is quiet, and the world is peaceful, now that you don’t have the lives of twenty-five children hovering over your every waking moment. You shower and lie down on the couch before turning on a baking show. Looking around, you survey your apartment. It is so damn barren and cream-colored. You’re not strong nor brave enough to go get a bunch of furniture by yourself and start arranging.

Sighing, you settle on an easier task: maybe today you’ll go buy some houseplants.

Steve texts you a picture of a cheesecake around noon as you’re spraying water into the soil of two new succulents and a hanging fern. You show him your fern, placing your hand next to it for size reference. The messages between you are short and brief, since you see each other pretty often.

Summer break unravels you a little bit, but you’ll be damned if you let your new (very adult) boyfriend know. You play video games and browse the internet with a bottle of wine on the weekends, and your summer is just a giant weekend. It’s almost troubling, really, because every summer you have to either find a new hobby to keep yourself entertained.

Last year you took up rock-climbing and baked a lot… but with Steve around, that just seemed like a good way to get laughed at. And of course, the summer before that one was spent moving out of your ex’s apartment and trying to keep your head above water. You shudder at the thought. If it wasn’t for the very fortuitous call back from your current workplace, you would have probably had to move back home or continued spiraling into credit-card debt.

You text Steve, asking him to suggest a new hobby to you.

Right away, he responds and recommends that you join his watercolor session at the bakery:

I’m teaching a two-hour workshop Sunday after we close. The sign up sheet is already full but… it helps knowing the teacher personally doesn’t it? I do a ceramics one in the winter, too!

You blink.

Steve… I can only draw if I invoke the spirit of Other Steve from Blue’s Clues.

Oh perfect, now he’s calling.

“Yes?” You answer. His laughter is ringing on the other line.

“Hey! Blue’s Clues is an excellent show! And, I gotta admit, that guy can really draw.”

You huff and sputter at him, “Stop messin’ with me. Last year I baked a lot but now that you’re here… I really need a new hobby- a doable hobby!”

He chuckles again before his voice grows quieter. Bossa nova plays in the background, and the coffee grinder is buzzing intensely. “Oh honey,” He whispers, and you’re nearly gasping at the way his voice sounds—low, deliberate—like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Come to the workshop, won’t ya? It’s just a beginner’s thing. I think you’ll really like it. For me?”

The quick-draw refusal you were so sure you could unholster on time is nowhere to be found, not with him asking you so sweetly like that. You grouse jokingly and accept, warning him that if he laughs at your unskilled hand, you’ll never take his advice again.

“Me? Laugh at you? Never, sweetheart. I can’t believe you would think that of me.”

“Oh hush, Steven.”

A puff of air escapes him and everything grows quiet. Steve mutters something you can’t quite make out, and then, even louder than before, the coffee grinder screeches. “Everything okay?” You ask, worried.

“Yeah. Um, yeah. Everything’s good.”

You’re suddenly reminded of the way he pulls away after a good night kiss and reach to unholster that gun.

“Hey—uh wha—why do you--- um.” What the hell is the right way to ask this question? Why have our tongues not fought for dominance? Why haven’t both my hands gotten lost in the front of your button-up shirt? Why have you not pressed your hard, broad chest against me?

Maybe you’ve been reading too much Cosmo or Buzzfeed Relationships in your quest to find the right answers.

“Huh?” Steve asks. “What’s that?”

You holster the gun.

“Nothing! Ha! I’ll see you Sunday!”

“Okay, hon… See you then. Don’t be nervous! It’ll be great!”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you place your phone on the coffee table. Crisis averted. Then, you search for basic video tutorials on watercolors as well as tips for beginning artists on your phone before casting it to the T.V. It’s entirely baffling and when you pick up a pencil and try to draw your new succulent on a nearby notepad, the voice coming through the speaker sternly states that you should “make marks deliberately-- not fiddling about with sketchy, hairy lines like a fuzzy caterpillar!”

What you’ve been working on looks exactly like a fuzzy caterpillar, and your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

So you try again, erasing furiously before attempting those “deliberate” lines. After nearly fifteen minutes, you sit back and peer at your creations.

“Jesus.”

Your smooth, plump, glossy plant looks like one of those inflatable tubes outside of an auto dealership in the middle of deflating.

You feel deflated, too.

Over your dinner table is a corkboard of photos and postcards, and you walk over to snag Steve’s thank you card from its place in the corner. You study his technique and peer at the delicate forest green line of each stem- just a single, continuous stroke. The petals seem to be merely blobs of color if you’re looking closely, and where the flowers touch, sometimes the pigments bleed over each other.

No, it’s not a perfect thing. But it is gorgeous, still.

So, you try… again. This time, you tear off the deflated succulent drawing and place it on your coffee table in the left corner. Just for good luck, you chant “Steve, Steve, Steve!” as if he’s Beetlejuice, and get to work. Half your brain is thinking of the striped green shirt and oversized crayon, and the other half is thinking of a striped blue shirt and oversized pecs. Either way, both of them could art.

You’ve drawn all year for your students- especially your ESL kids who struggled with codeswitching. Sometimes, when they were unable to find the right word, or you were, you’d draw a picture instead. According to twenty-five first graders, you were an amazing artist, so… what the hell!

Ten minutes later, you tear off the top of the notepad and set it down next to its brother.

The two are stark differences, and your second one is little bit better. You’re almost proud of it—smooth flowing lines, rounded edges, and even a flat plane of the table to ground the pot.

Sitting back, you click around some more, making sure to choose videos that are most helpful to your current ability. Those speed-up painting videos were hella tempting, but you do not want to get lost in the rabbit hole.

Sunday is two days away. At the very least, you were going to be able to draw a damn good succulent.

---

You come in early to help him close before the workshop begins. Cap&Co. closes on Sundays right at six, and the workshop would start half an hour later.

The baristas say hello to you and smile, and you do the same back before you grab a rag and spray a counter down. The leftover pastries and sandwiches are placed on a tray and put in the middle of the room, where the tables and chairs have been pushed together by Steve.

“Snacks!” He smiles, “For the students.”

“Does that make me your student too?” You tease, finding the situation a bit ironic.

He winks at you before hanging up his apron. Between the four of you and the work that’s left, it’s quickly finished in the next ten minutes and the employees leave, wishing you a good night as they go.

Steve lets you choose the music for the night as he brightens the lights, and you randomly scroll through the shop’s selection before picking an old album you used to like as a younger girl—Fiona Apple’s 1996 Tidal. Right away, the singer’s brassy voice catches his attention.

“Who is this?” He asks excitedly, “I think I heard her on the radio the other day!”

You tell him, and he nods along to the music as he sets out sheets of watercolor paper clipped neatly on boards. Then he lays out five travel-sized round palettes already filled with an array of colors. By the time all the paintbrushes are next to each clipboard, people are starting to arrive and Steve is back and forth saying hello and giving hugs. You finish the end of the preparation and fill up heavy mason jars with water and set them at each spot. Then, you take your seat with a cake pop and eagerly and watch him lead the demonstration.

“Thanks for coming, everyone!” He smiles widely at the end of the table. “Good to see some of you again!”

This must be what your students feel like, you think—you hope, because you are absolutely enthralled with everything that pours from his mouth. Even the way he stumbles over his words fascinates you, and the fact that he is so animated and engaged makes you love it even more.

Steve tells the group that he’ll demonstrate for about twenty-five minutes before everyone can start either trying out various techniques, or if they’ve done it before, can begin on painting whatever they please and he’ll come around to offer help. He suggests the plants for a nice still life, or other knick-knacks around the shop. Some returning students have even brought their own objects and you want to pinch yourself because you could have brought your succulent!

Then, he begins, showing you the right way to load the paintbrush with paint and water, and how water tension is so important to the medium. He shows you the difference between a wet brush and a dry brush. He shows you how to layer the colors. Your brain can hardly keep up with your eyes as they enthusiastically soak up the colors over his paper and the way his wrist moves easily back and forth from the mason jar where he cleans the bristles, to the palette saturated with pigment, to the paper where strokes are being placed.

“Here is a quick and easy way to make a flower.”

Steve loads a fat brush with water and pulls two shades of orange onto the white of the palette. In one swift motion, he streaks a daub of it onto the paper, letting the water gather more heavily on one side.

“We’ll let that dry for just a second— but we can do this for now.” He presses the tip of the brush into a tiny bit of red and makes another mark similar to the first one. The edges of the paint that touches leaks into each other, creating a tiny blossom of red into the first petal.

“This is what will happen when your paint is still wet—but that’s okay!” He makes two more petals—slightly more yellow than the last and touches his finger to the one with the accidental red bloom.

“It’s pretty dry now.” He blows softly on it for good measure and mixes a rosy coral shade into his brush.

The last petal is swept over the first, and the overlapping area where they touch turns into a vibrant shade of ripe orange. Then, quickly, he sticks the wood handle of the brush sideways between his teeth and picks up a smaller brush, wetting it, loading it with a deep purple that’s almost black, and makes a spray of dots in the middle.

“There ya go!” He takes the brush out of his mouth.

A part of you thinks that you are fucked because you may have just fallen in some deep shit here, as you stare at him, grinning widely—so proud of himself and somehow proud of you, too, for listening.

He’s made it seem impossibly easy. An absurdly beautiful blossom from his imagination stares at you from the watercolor pad in his hand as you shakily pick up the brush next to your hand.

“Well… shit, Steve.” You whisper before breaking out into a silly laugh and putting your forehead into your palm at the thought of the herculean task at hand. The woman to your right laughs along with you as she makes scribbly marks and drips globules of blue water onto her paper. Steve beams at you lovingly as you try to imitate the way he made the first petal, steering the water where you want it to go.

It doesn’t.

But you’re determined, damn it. Because one, you really want to impress him, and two, you really need a summer hobby.

The next hour flies by as you paint diligently, occasionally humming along to Fiona Apple’s resonant vocals in the background, chatting with the other painters. They’re all regulars at Cap&Co., and they adore the Rogers family.

Steve circles the room and answers questions, giving pointers, and sometimes putting his hand over yours to lead your paintbrush. He even kisses you on the top of your head when you finish your first flower—a lavender five-petaled ...cephalopod.

The affectionate gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by the others as they smile and quietly ask him questions when they think you’re not listening. Your ears go hot the rest of the night—just as hot as the top of your head because Steve!

Before you know it, it’s time to pack up. The album has already repeated, and it’s back to an early track. No one seems to mind, however, as they take their papers and wave goodbye. You linger in the area, pouring out dirty water and putting the jars back under the sink. Steve puts away the paints, fixes the rest of the tables, and you return to the café area to join him. He’s patting his thighs with his wet hands when you come in, nodding along to the music.

You gaze at the damp spots on his legs, the fabric of his trousers slightly clinging onto his muscles. Quickly, before he sees you, you look away.

“This exact song was on in the car.” He mutters amusedly, “I really like this… she’s got a great voice.”

Steve walks closer to you, stopping a few steps away and leans against the edge of a wooden booth. He crosses his arms and press his lips together, eyelashes fluttering as he smiles.

“What now?” He asks. His voice echoes the same low and deliberate tone you’ve heard before, and you think that the question isn’t really a question at all. But you’re not really sure what to make of it—tonight may have been the most forward he’s ever been.

The lights are dimmed. The piano melody crescendos before the song ends. There’s a pause of silence before the next song begins, and you feel your heart leap as the first few words start.

I lie in an early bed, thinking late thoughts.

“Um…” Your voice cracks.

I do not struggle in your web because it was my aim to get caught. But daddy long-legs, I feel that I’m finally growing weary of waiting to be consumed by you.

Steve cocks his head to the side, also listening—to the music, perhaps to your now uncomfortably loud heartbeat. You run your hand through your hair. The music chimes into a more upbeat tone as the chorus starts.

Give me the first taste. Let it begin. Heaven cannot wait forever.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me first?”

His eyebrows raise briefly before he blinks a couple of times. You tilt your chin to your chest and lace your fingers together, foot tapping anxiously as you stand in wait. “I mean, I think I’m just a little confused. We’ve seen each other for like, two weeks now. I feel like it’s always me who initiates—but tonight you did a little bit more of that. And… I guess we’ve only kissed—Am I bad kisser? Steve? Am I?”

You’re full of rambling, nervous energy but you try your best to play it off. It was such an awkward thing to say out loud, and there was no way you could come out and spit: Why have we not had sex yet?

Steve surges forward and takes your hand in his, “No!” His head his shaking wildly, “You’re a great kisser! The best!”

His blabbering catches you off-guard and the snort of laughter that comes from you is anything but attractive. “Jesus, Steven, that’s too much.”

Steve slaps his palm to his forehead. “Ah… I’m sorry. I think I’m just nervous.”

“About what?” You ask, leaning forward and looking up at him, “Steve, I just… snorted. You can’t be nervous about this. I should be the one who’s nervous! Look at you!”

He takes a step back and puts one hand on his hip, the other reaching forward to signal to you. “Look at me? Look at you!” He gawks.

The two of you stand there, pointing at each other, making scoffing noises of disbelief for a good two minutes before you put up your hand. “Okay. Pause, mister. You look like someone Photoshopped a rugged Ken Doll and then 3-D printed it. Westworld-style. You bake, you paint, you’re a ceramic---ist? Ceramicist? What! Steve!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, “Come on! Your fuckin’ arms!”

He rolls his eyes, “I’m thirty-five and divorced. I sleep four hours a night. I’m a walking disaster.” Then he narrows his eyes at you.

“You’re gorgeous! You’re funny, you’re kind, you’re so sweet…! You’re honest?” He ticks off each adjective using his fingers, “You’re patient? God, Sarah throws half a tantrum and my world collapses. You’re dedicated. You’re---“

“Okay. Stop.” You mutter, cheeks burning hot, “I sleep on the couch next to a bottle of wine and have three pieces of furniture. We’re both disasters.”

Steve laughs and steps forward again, putting his hand over yours. “I just… didn’t want to mess anything up.” He whispers, “I like you so much… and… if we’re… talking about that. I haven’t… been with anyone in … two years. Other than you, I’ve only kissed one person my entire life… So, the question is—am I a bad kisser?”

You giggle as he gives you an apologetic smirk, shaking his head at the way you two have been aggressively complimenting each other. Standing on your tiptoes, you move to nuzzle your nose against his. “You’re a great kisser, Steve. The best.”

Darkness flutters over his eyes briefly before Steve expertly dodges your nose and catches your mouth with his instead. With a half-whimper, half-moan, Steve Rogers grabs the back of your neck in one large, warm hand and your lower back with the other and presses your body flush against his.

Oh.

He’s so tall he has to bend over and you’re so small against him that he’s nearly picking you up. A brief parting of your lips give you a moment to catch your breath, but he’s back again, tongue sliding against yours sweetly, as if asking a silent question.

Is this okay?

With a sigh of pleasure, you ask him to continue in the same, secret language. Your chest his burning hot, tummy quivering with nerves and delight as his hands roam your body. Firm. Strong. Almost desperate. Your own hands rest against his chest before one reaches up and cups his face, trailing your fingertips through his beard.

“D-does it bother you?” He mutters against your mouth before he slides down past your jaw and lands his lips on your neck, “My beard?”

“Mmm—no—” you’re breathless as he kneads his fingers into your waist, moving up to position them just below your breasts, “I like it—mmm-- lots.” You sigh, as his scruff tickles your shoulder, sending tingles all over your body. “I’d like to feel it… elsewhere, too.”

He freezes and pulls away. His hands place you back down on your feet-- back to Earth-- as he swallows hard, looking at you with open, red lips. Steve rolls the bottom one between his teeth and clenches his jaw, eyes half-lidded and lustful. You’re probably a wreck, too, you think as you catch yourself against a table.

“Can we---”

You cut him off. Your purse is already in your hands, keys swinging around your finger.

“God. Yes. I’ll follow you.”

Steve tugs you from the driver’s seat of your car, hand entwined with yours as he leads you up the walkway and over the step. Once the front door shuts behind him and he’s made sure it’s locked, you’re pressed up against the wall, purse, shoes, keys, clattering onto the hardwood.

“Oh, honey,” he mumbles as he presses his face into your collar, scooping you up into his arms. “Oh, Jesus, sweetheart.”

You’re glad he knows how to navigate his house with his eyes closed because the whole way there, you can’t stop kissing him. Your hands tug his hair and your teeth pinch his bottom lip. Steve responds by growling softly, biting you back, squeezing your thighs before slowly easing you onto his bed.

It’s dark in his room, but you feel the bed dip as he climbs on too. Both your eyes are trying to adjust—trying to find each other. Your hands fumble around until you catch him, his knee. His hands find your stomach. Slowly, he reaches for the hem of your shirt and peels it up over your head. Then he does the same to his own shirt and both of you shimmy out of your pants.

He is hard and hot when your bare skin touches his. Steve lies down on his side to face you, panting slightly as you glide your hand up and down his arm. Oh fuck, it’s been two years and the first man you touch is more like a mythical creature than any man. It should be illegal for someone to feel this good.

Trembling, you touch the hard planes of his torso, the ridges in his abdomen, the swell of his chest taking hard breaths. You shut your eyes and imagine the way he looks right now—breathless and wild. His knee parts your legs easily and one hand descends to feel your center, saturating your underwear.

“Jesus, baby,” Steve sighs into your neck. “You’re makin’ me crazy. This--” He begins to slide his digits up and down, getting the slippery wetness all over his fingers, “Already...”

A shudder rolls through your body upon hearing his words and you arch into his touch, moaning when he rubs your clit in perfect pulsing circles. He moves forward, kissing the tops of your breasts through your bra, nipping at the soft flesh spilling from the cups.

“Steve, you’ll make me come.” You admit, a little shyly even as your hips rock consciously into his hand. You paw at his arms, squeezing the ridges of thick muscles.

The mischievous chuckle that pours from his throat vibrates against your chest. Steve grabs onto your thigh and eases your leg over his hips inching closer and straightening himself until you’re aligned perfectly. He tilts back and guides you against him until your center slides against his bulge.

Just as you find the elastic of his waistband, he jerks away and places himself in-between your legs as he moves you onto your back. You scoot until your head hits the wall, propping yourself up on your elbows, giving him more room at the foot of the bed.

“You wanted to feel this?” Steve caresses your thighs with his cheek, the hairs on his beard tickling your sensitive skin. Your toes curl up reflexively as he moves back and forth, trailing his lips and face all over.

You squeal when the tip of his nose touches your mound, mouth hovering over your soaked panties. His mouth latches on, almost in a bite before he takes them off. Both his hands slide beneath your bottom, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass before he pulls your hips forward. You land on his face, eyes rolling back in ecstasy.

“Steve,” You gasp, “This is unfair.” Your body jerks with every teasing kiss he presses to your folds. His breath comes out in a smug puff of air that purposefully continues to drive you unbelievably closer to what feels like breaking entirely.

“Baby…” he mutters—right into your cunt, Jesus! You groan at the way his face is nestled there. “Baby---mm— It’s been two years for me.” He whispers, “If I don’t get you off now, in a really good way—it’s not gonna be good at all.”

“Steve—you know—ah! It’s been the same amount of time for me too, right?!”

He ignores you, crawling his hands around onto your hips to keep you from squirming. When you settle finally, he moves one hand to your center, sliding a finger up and down your slippery folds. His mouth latches onto your clit as his finger continues their trail. You fist his hair with both hands at the same time he slips a digit inside.

But he doesn’t move. Other than his tongue’s soft licks on your swollen clit, Steve doesn’t move at all. He happily lets his finger rest inside of you, gathering your juices all over his hand.

You whimper, trying to shimmy against them, anything to create more contact. Its intrusion builds a terrible itch inside of your body, and goddamn it, you want to scratch.

It feels like an eternity passes before he finally lets you have another—adding one more thick finger inside, stretching you as he moves them both around, curling them, pumping them in and out. He sucks enthusiastically on your sensitive bud, fucks you with two fingers almost wildly, and your body responds with fervor. You gasp and moan, arching your back into his hand and face, goosebumps blooming all over your shoulders and down your arms and legs.

“C’mon, that’s it. Thassa good girl. You’re so close. Almost there… Good girl… Good girl.”

With a cry, you come undone, rolling your hips every which way as you reach orgasm on Steve’s hand. His voice continues to praise you, lips kissing your sweat-slicked thighs, beard tickling your sensitive skin.

Instead of pulling away, Steve continues to stroke you with his fingers, slowly prodding at your entrance with a third.

“Just trying to get you ready.” He murmurs, and your heart stills. Ready?

You voice your concern, “What do you mean?”

With a slight chuckle, he sits up, wiping his mouth and parts of his beard with the back of his hand. In the dark, Steve reaches for your arm, guiding you to feel exactly what he’s talking about. A strangled cry escapes your throat as you wrap your fingers around his cock. Hot. Throbbing. Big.

Sweet, sensitive, divorced, baker, artist, ceramicist, father Steve fuckin’ Rogers was packing. And it isn’t until you nervously grip him in both hands do you realize the importance of his last statement.

“Can I get you ready, baby?” He asks again.

For the millionth time that night, your eyes roll back and get lost in your head as you lean against the headboard with a whimper. Steve crawls over on top of you, scoops you up once again in his arms, and places you on his lap. Your legs wrap around his back loosely as he holds you still, previous two fingers pushing inside gently.

You rest your head on his shoulder as your body shakes under his ministrations, already tired and overstimulated. Your hands find their way to grip him, massaging his length tenderly, savoring the temperature of his body, spreading the beaded precum at the tip of his cock up and down his shaft. Steve groans, scissoring his fingers inside of you, spreading your walls.

The third finger meets resistance as you tense up.

“S-sorry,” You whisper, “I’m… I’m pretty nervous…” But you move his hand back and try again. He’s so tender and sweet with you as he turns his head to place kisses on your cheek and ear. It’s a few minutes of this exploration before you feel brave enough to shift and stroke him with determination. Steve takes the message as a confirmation and reaches into the end table for a condom.

It’s slipped on and you follow suit, gasping as Steve guides your hips with one hand, and grips himself with the other. Slowly, he fills you inch by inch until he’s so deep inside you think he could emerge from your throat.

“Oh… my… God!” You cry. There aren’t enough words to describe it— the sweetest sting, an all-encompassing and chilling burn, a mystifying and utter fullness that nearly brings tears to your eyes. You’re afraid to move, to lose this sensation, and afraid to feel what comes next. But you know that you want it.

Steve kisses your lips tenderly, babbling praise, whispering affirmations, soothing the shock that surges up your spine with his warm palm. Slowly, he rocks you back, holding onto your body with one hand, smoothing the hair that falls over your face with the other.

You’re gripping him so tightly it takes some effort to slide even an inch of him out— and there’s many inches of him. Sweat collects on your brow as you grind, dragging against his length, forcing shudders to course all over both your bodies. “Is this okay?” you mutter, delirious, “Steve? You feel so good.”

He flexes within you, grunts into your ear. A dry chuckle escapes him as his hand squeezes your back just a little too hard. He’s holding back, trying to prolong your pleasure, but his own is chasing him down, only a few steps away from pouncing.

You coax it towards him with faster snapping of your hips against his, clawing at his back, nibbling on his ear. “Come on, my love… just a little more.”

With a grunt and a shudder, and a hard kiss to your lips that makes your teeth clack against each other, Steve thrusts one last time as deeply as possible, riding out his orgasm as he pulls your hips against his. The two of you feel welded together, sticky with sweat and so tightly flushed that you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. You body slumps as you drape your arms over his neck. Steve turns his head to kiss your shoulder before making the effort to pull away and clean himself up. He goes into the bathroom first, lying you down and covering you with the blanket.

When he returns, Steve finds you already dozed off. You palm rests under your cheek as you lie on your side, breathing deeply.

As quietly as he can, he squeezes in beside you, fitting himself against your back. He’s read it somewhere, that falling in love was a little bit like falling asleep. As his eyes slip shut, he feels it happening, just like that quote had said: slowly at first, then… all at once.

In the darkness behind his lids, there is strangely so much light.

Next Chapter

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #fanfiction #marvel #mcu #self insert #slow like honey heli0s

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idiotpotters · 4 years ago

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Cedar Wood and Galleons

Harry Potter x Draco Malfoy

Word Count: 2.8k+

Summary: “Crush culture makes me wanna spill my guts out. I know what you're doing, trying to get me to pursue you.” - Crush Culture, Conan Gray

Warnings: Angst

Author’s Note- This is for @hufflefluff-writer ‘s writing challenge from a g e s ago! I completely forgot I had this in my drafts so now I’m finally posting it. This is the first writing I’m posting on this blog so I hope y’all like it. I know the amortentia story line is way overused in this fandom, but let me have my fun. Let me know what you think! And thanks so much to Amelia for putting this together!

Harry’s temples were shining with sweat. His sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, red and gold striped tie loosened. He leaned over his potion, stirring carefully as purplish steam swirled from its pearlescent surface. The fumes of treacle tart, and the polished ebony and hazel of his Firebolt filled his nose. He tried to ignore it, but the third fragrance dug its heels into his senses the strongest, cedar wood hair gel and the familiar metallic scent of galleons.

Harry rubbed at his nose with the back of his hand, as though it would banish the smell. Nothing seemed to help, it was filling him up, stinging his nostrils, hot and steaming down his throat. He pushed away the desire to breathe in ever so slowly and deeply so that it filled him up, and the craving to do it again. To lean down so the tip of his nose nearly touched the shining surface of the potion and breathe it in, to savor the feeling of it inflating his body, pushing into his head and making him dizzy.

Instead, he leaned back and raised his hand, catching Slughorn’s eye. As the professor made his way to Harry’s cauldron, he made an effort not to turn his eyes toward Malfoy. He didn’t even notice Hermione’s furtive glance of jealousy at him for finishing first, a tiny voice in his head was begging him to turn and stare. To watch as Draco leaned over his own potion, wonder if he smelled woody broomstick handles and smoking fireplaces.

He shook himself free of the thought and met Slughorn’s cheerful eyes.

“Beautiful execution of the amortentia potion, Mr. Potter.” The professor applauded, patting Harry’s shoulder. “Ten points to Gryffindor. Pour a vial and place it on my desk, then go ahead and clean up your cauldron.”

Harry sighed with relief, eager to get the scent out of his head. He ladled his potion into a glass vial and corked it. He then wound through students and cauldrons to leave it at Professor Slughorn’s desk, along with a slip of parchment that had his name written sloppily across it.

When he turned to come back to his cauldron however, his eyes caught Malfoy’s, who was leaning ever so casually against the table where Harry potion sat, still waiting to be cleaned. His heart jumped up to his throat, fingers tingling with nerves as he bit down on the inside of his cheek. Strands of Malfoy’s hair fell into his eyes as he met Harry’s gaze unwaveringly. Harry expected to see a familiar smirk pulling at Malfoy’s thin lips, but his face was locked in an expression Harry couldn’t identify. He would’ve said it was indifference, but Malfoy’s eyes looked so determined, focused, even conflicted.

Harry walked quickly to his desk, forcing himself into a resentful frown.

“What are you doing here?” He ordered more than asked, avoiding Malfoy’s eyes as he carefully gathered leftover rose petals. A bubbly, excited feeling was crawling up his center, threatening to boil over and fill his chest, soak him with giddiness at the sight of the pale, pointed face ahead of him. He pushed aside, the dread that it was even there was enough to bring its raging boil to a feeble simmer.

“What do you smell, Potter?” Malfoy drawled under his breath next to Harry, who could feel him standing close, too close. Harry tensed as he felt Malfoy’s long, pale fingers graze his forearm.

“None of your business, Malfoy.” He snapped, daring to turn and look at Draco after he deposited his petals into a jar. Harry could no longer tell if the scent of hair gel and coins was coming from his cauldron or from the boy in front of him.“Get out of my face.” He said through gritted teeth, having to turn his eyes slightly upward to meet Draco’s gaze.

“Harry,” Hermione’s voice sounded from next to him, her tone filled with warning, as it so often was. Harry ignored her, unwilling to back down.

Malfoy only stared down his pointed nose at Harry, as though waiting for him to say something else. Harry’s heart was racing in his chest, pounding against his ribs. It would be so easy to hold Draco’s face in his hands and pull him into a kiss, harsh and passionate, feel Malfoy’s lips against his skin, run his fingers through his hair.

He’s playing a game, Harry thought to himself, he knows, he can tell, and he’s using it against me.

Time seemed to freeze as Harry flattened his hands on Malfoy’s chest and shoved him backwards, hard. As Draco stumbled, that ever familiar smirk found its way onto his lips. Malfoy hooked his fingers onto the edge of Harry’s cauldron, unaffected by its heat, and with a gentle pull, sent it careening off the edge of the table. Thin silvery purple liquid arced through the air, the candles that filled the dungeon with dim light shone off of it and flecked through it. The yellow light turned pinkish as it filtered through the potion, speckling peachy light across Malfoy’s nose for a fraction of a moment before the liquid splashed over Harry’s clothes. Hot potion soaked his pants, turning the bottom of his white shirt purple as the cauldron clattered to the ground. The heat of the amortentia stung, and he knew that beneath his clothes, his skin was turning red.

Without a thought of doubt, he reached for his wand, whipping it from his back pocket and pressing it’s tip into the center of Malfoy’s chest. The dark holly point dimpled Malfoy’s emerald and silver striped tie as Harry wracked his mind for a hex. Time restarted and Draco only smiled, his wand still tucked carefully in his robes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Ron reaching for his wand as well, his ears turning scarlet as he glared at Malfoy.

“Mr. Potter!” Professor Slughorn’s voice sounded from the front of the classroom as he rushed toward the two boys. Ron tucked his wand back into his robes. “Lower your wand.”

“I would’ve expected better from the two of you.” He said, having to place a hand on top of Harry’s wand and force it down to his side. “Ten points from each of your houses.”

Harry huffed in frustration, not able to tear his gaze away from Malfoy. Silvery eyes bore into his own, still full of emotion Harry couldn’t put together. Conflicted and mischievous, innocent and decisive all at once. “And detention!” Slughorn added.

“Professor-” Malfoy started calmly, breaking the unintentional staring contest himself and turning his eyes to the professor.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Slughorn swished his wand and Harry’s potion disappeared from the stone floor. “Potter, get yourself cleaned up and visit the hospital wing if you must.”

With immense effort, Harry tugged his eyes away from Malfoy, picked up his bag, and pushed his way to the door without so much of a goodbye to Ron and Hermione.

He sped down the corridors toward Gryffindor tower, fuming. Malfoy’s scent still surrounded him now that it was soaked into his clothes. He would have torn his own heart out through his mouth if it meant this infatuation would go away. And Malfoy only knew how to make it worse, loosen his tie and unbutton his shirt only one button too far, wear his tightest black trousers, run his hand through his hair, roll up his sleeves and stretch his arms in the middle of class, bite on his bottom lip when trying to concentrate. It was as if every day he was trying harder to tempt and manipulate Harry, pull him deeper and deeper into drowning in that scent of cedar wood and metal.

Harry thought about this all the way to his dormitory, while he changed out of his soaked clothes and into clean robes, while walking to his next class, while eating lunch, he thought about it straight through to the end of the day, and it wouldn’t be the first time.

By the time he reached Slughorn’s classroom at 5:00 that evening for detention, Harry was exhausted. All he wanted was to draw the thick scarlet curtains of his four-poster and curl up under his blankets. All day, conflicting thoughts had been swimming through his head, and it didn’t help when Malfoy arrived and stood next to him at Slughorn’s desk. There was that scent again, hair product and money. Malfoy had taken off his button-down and was dressed in a simple white t-shirt tucked into his belt. However simple, the outfit still sent Harry’s heart pounding again, his eyes flitting around the room in search of anything to look at other than Malfoy’s exposed arms, or his chest and back outlined perfectly by the thin fabric.

When Slughorn entered the room, Harry’s gaze snapped to him, watching him walk the perimeter of the classroom and sit at his desk. “Alright.” He started, straightening a stack of parchment and digging a quill and red ink from his bag. “I’m going to grade papers.”

Harry and Malfoy nodded almost simultaneously, waiting for instructions, not daring to look at each other. “You two,” continued Slughorn, “Are going to organize the closet,” He pointed at the stores in the corner of the room, where the door hung open. “Two capable potions students like you should have no trouble doing it quickly.”

They started to turn, resigning themselves to the task of standing together in the tight closet and sorting jars of various potions ingredients. Slughorn caught them before they could take a step toward the stores, “And try your hand at getting along for a minute while you’re in there.” He waved his hand dismissively and Harry and Malfoy made their way to the closet.

Several minutes of jars clinking against one another and sliding across shelves passed as Harry and Malfoy worked with their backs to each other. Harry tried hard to ignore him, his scent still harsh on Harry’s nose despite the lack of love potion. He tried to focus his mind on his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay, pushing away each thought of Malfoy that snuck into his mind. It wasn’t easy, every few moments, Harry would bump into him because of how small the closet was.

“Can you mind your space?” Harry snapped finally.

“Am I in your bubble, Potter?” Malfoy shot back sarcastically. Still, they didn’t turn to look at one another, Malfoy avoiding Harry’s eyes just as much as Harry avoided his.

A few more moments of silence passed before Malfoy opened his mouth again, “You never did answer my question.” He said softly, voice lacking it’s usual haughty aire.

“What question?” Harry frowned, pushing a jar of snake hearts out from behind a vial of ground unicorn horn. As much as he had tried to snap, the question had come out just as soft and curious as it felt.

“What did you smell on your potion today?”

Harry sighed in irritation, why did Malfoy care what he smelled off of his potion? “Treacle tart and broomstick.” He answered, sorting stink sap and valerian leaves. Malfoy was trying to manipulate him into spilling his feelings, and he wasn’t going to let him win.

Another few moments of silence, Harry could feel the stiffness of the air pressing in on his throat.

“I smelled broomstick handle too.” Malfoy said finally. Harry’s brow furrowed, Malfoy had quit quidditch earlier that year. In fact, he never really seemed to have much of an interest in the sport, he only ever wanted to enjoy the feeling of winning. “And a fireplace.” He went on.

Harry’s breath quickened, and he listened as Malfoy stopped sorting jars and turned to face Harry’s back, “What do you think that means, Potter?”

Harry didn’t answer, reading the label of a jar over and over again. He tried to rationalize it, maybe the broomstick reminded Malfoy of winning, and maybe he enjoyed sitting by the fireplace just as much as Harry did. Maybe it all meant nothing and he was just trying to force something out of him.

“I can’t seem to place it.” Malfoy went on. Harry wouldn’t see it, eyes focused on the jar of morning dew in his hands. But Malfoy was lifting a hand, hovering beside Harry’s shoulder, hesitating to grab him and turn him around.

“What do you smell?” He asked again, this time in a whisper. Second guessing, he drew his hand away and let it drop to his side.

“I told you.”

“Did you?”

This is his game, Harry told himself, daring to set down the jar on a shelf, leaving his hands empty, he wants me to admit it.

Against his best judgement, he turned to Malfoy, who’s face held a certain sincerity Harry had never seen on him before. He’s going to wait until I say something, then Crabbe and Goyle will come out to laugh at me.

Harry stared down at Malfoy’s chest. He wouldn’t dare meet his silvery eyes, that would be how he’d pull him in, it always was. Draco’s eyes were what set Harry’s heart skipping beats, his guts twisting and knotting, his stomach pooling with something hot and pleading, something like want.

He’s going to get me to say something, then I’ll see he’s brought Ron and Hermione here to watch me betray their trust.

Malfoy reached up carefully, so carefully. His fingers pushed through Harry’s hair, his palm resting on the back of his neck. He tried to ignore how soft the strands felt on his hand, suppressing what he really wanted to say, I think I smell you on my potion, Potter. I think sometimes I can’t get you off my mind. You make my pulse race, you make my face go red.

“Cedar wood hair gel and galleons.” Harry said finally, meeting Draco’s gaze.

Jars clanged against one another as Draco pushed Harry back into the shelf behind him, capturing his lips in a bruising kiss. Malfoy pushed Harry’s cloak off of his shoulders, letting it fall to his elbows as his hands hovered, hesitating.

Pins and needles rushed through Harry’s limbs, the feeling of kissing Draco was nothing less than he imagined. His gut pooling with anticipation, heart racing in his chest. Harry’s hand fell on the small of Malfoy’s back, pulling him closer. His left hand reached up, fingers twining into the hairs at the nape of his neck.

They slotted together so perfectly, flawlessly pushed together in every place they needed. It made their skin tingle with energy, an electricity winding through their bodies, the absolute connection finally igniting the fuse.

Malfoy moved to cup Harry’s cheek, but pulled away. As quickly as he had crashed into Harry, he drew away. Harry leaned against the shelf, hair and robes disheveled as he watched Malfoy, waiting for the explanation, the moment his friends’ laughter would start to echo around them. But it never did.

They stared at one another for an everlasting moment, catching their breaths.

“I-I’m not falling for you.” Malfoy stuttered out finally, his voice suddenly so familiarly cold and harsh and quick.

Harry’s breath quickened, he knew it. “Manipulative bastard.”

Malfoy didn’t reply, he pushed open the door of the storeroom and slipped out before speeding from the classroom.

Detention had lasted hours longer, Harry carefully sorting jars by himself while Slughorn graded papers. He was numb, pushing away every thought and every emotion that tugged at him until he could hide them safely behind the curtains of his four-poster. He wasn’t sure if Slughorn had even noticed Draco leave, or if he had simply decided to deal with it another time.

The way back to the dormitory was automatic, he didn’t need to think about where he was going, or anything really. He stared blankly ahead of him, droned the password to the Fat Lady, and climbed through the portrait hole. He didn’t greet anyone in the common room, though most people were still up, doing homework or talking with friends. He ignored them, and climbed the stairs to the dormitory.

The hardest part was accepting that he’d let himself get caught up in the moment, he’d let himself fall. He’d given in to the belief that somehow Malfoy could sincerely fall for him.

Reaching to the floor to pick up his potion soaked shirt, he fell into bed and drew his curtains. Curling into a fetal position still atop his covers, Harry finally let tears free to roll across his face. He held the shirt to his chest and breathed in the scent with slow, deep breaths. Cedar wood and coins overwhelming his senses just as it had when Malfoy had kissed him. The potion was cold now, a chill creeping down his fingers from where he gripped the shirt.

He had pushed away this constricting, aching pain for months, but now it was sharp, stabbing agony. It wouldn’t be ignored anymore. Harry choked on a sob, pushing his face into the soaked fabric. He breathed it in again and let it fill him. It all made him want to spill his guts out.

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you thought!

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tibbinswrites · 5 years ago

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Suptober Day 6 - Outfit of the Day

Castiel liked going to the farmer’s market in town held on the first Saturday of each month from May through to October, before it became the daily ‘Christmas market’ in December. Sam would go with him most times but some days, like today, he’d prefer to stay in. Cas mostly went for the local honey; the stall was run by a sunny woman called Lucy in her mid 40s who lived on the outskirts of town with her apiary and she always slipped Castiel an extra jar because he ended up standing there letting her talk about bees for at least 20 minutes.

“You could come and see ’em for yerself, y’know,” she told him with a friendly wink, “I open them to the public some days. There’s a little tunnel and shed there with information of the types of bees I keep. For schoolkids mostly, class trips, y’know on the last Wednesday of the month in the summer. But if you come by sometime I’d let ya in no trouble. And if you’d like to help out, I could always use an extra pair of hands around harvest time.”

“I’d like to,” Cas replied with a wistful smile. “But I work a lot, a lot of trips out of town. I can’t guarantee I’ll be around.”

“Just if you can.” Lucy said, handing him his brown paper bag. “It’s nice to talk to someone around here who actually cares about the world outside of the one they see.”

Dean would say that the woman was flirting with him, he’d nudge Castiel in the ribs, encouraging him to try some kind of line, but Castiel never would. For one thing, he was pretty sure that Lucy wasn’t interested in relationships of any kind. She’d mentioned this once or twice, laughing about being happily single in the way that suggested it was true, rather than the way people often did, trying to cover their loneliness. For another thing, Castiel wasn’t interested. He liked Lucy, would like to consider her a friend, and he very much enjoyed talking with her when she was at her stall. She set up one most days while the market was on, though earlier in the summer, she had no honey.

He bought the honey mostly for Sam, who liked to spread it on toast in the morning before his run. It was more expensive than the squeezy bottles at the supermarket, but Castiel liked to show support for Lucy. Apiaries were a fine hobby in his opinion, and he would like a hive of his own, but until then, it was nice to support a friend.

Lucy sold other things on her stall too; beeswax candles, some scented with different floral or herbal tones. He’d bought one or two of these. He liked to light them in his room at night, just breathing in their fragrance. Everything was in some way bee-related: pencils and erasers, cheap things that Lucy probably bought in bulk from some warehouse, leftovers from the school trips that she could sell on, but there were also some things clearly lovingly made by hand. Beautifully stitched patches, delicately painted teacups, even a few small framed paintings done in watercolour, lace doilies, t-shirts, a few clay sculptures, some knitted items. There were also some larger prints in varying styles done and donated to her by local artists. She apparently taught weekly classes in the village hall on painting because ‘bees don’t pay the bills’, and attended several other crafts classes, to help her make things for her stall.

The weather was unseasonably warm for October and he’d gotten more cash than he needed at the ATM (he never liked paying with his fake card at the market; it felt disingenuous, like he was stealing) and he was feeling frivolous and this would be the last week of the market until May and the last honey until next year (there were less than five jars left on her stall, the last of her harvest) so he bought more than just the honey. One of the small watercolours caught his eye just after he’d made his purchases and so he bought that too; a bee in beautiful pastel shades of pink, purple and blue. It was in a chunky, plain white plastic frame and very small, the bee itself was about half the length of his middle finger. He would put it on his desk, he decided, right in the middle.

He felt a little bad, spending the Winchester’s money on things that he didn’t strictly need. Dean never complained about him buying food, so the honey wasn’t an issue, but he’d never really bought anything else except with Dean or Sam on a case so he wasn’t sure how they’d react. Perhaps it was only useless things Dean wouldn’t like him buying. If that was the case, then he could just utilise everything. He bought.

Xxx

“Cas?” Dean said, squinting at him through the steam coming off his coffee mug the next morning.

“Hmm?”

“What the hell are you wearing?” Dean’s tone was strange, thick, like he needed to cough.

“Oh,” Castiel said, looking down self-consciously at the black leather biker jacket, faded band t-shirt and worn jeans that could pass as being ripped by design, though they weren’t. “The jeans are yours, I hope that’s alright. I bought the rest at the farmer’s market yesterday.”

His fingers came up to the fabric hem of the shirt. Dean looked confused, and something else too, something soft.

“Why?” He asked.

“I-” Castiel hesitated, looked down again, at the light blue t-shirt with a little cartoon bee on the front, sporting scowl and a pair of crossed arms, a speech bubble that emanated from its mouth said ‘Buzz off’, at the yellow and black striped woollen socks, at the pocket of his jacket, onto which he’d sewn a patch of another brightly coloured cartoon bee, this one was happily leaving a trail of wonky lines in white thread that Castiel had sewn himself to try and make it look like the bee had come out of his pocket. He’d been proud of himself for this small accomplishment, under Dean’s heavy gaze though, his effort suddenly felt stupid and pointless.

“I liked them.” He finished in a very small voice.

A gentle smile split Dean’s face.

“Well okay then,” he said. “I think I’ve got a spare suit jacket you can use when we need to pass off as feds.”

“Can I wear my new tie?” Cas asked eagerly, tugging on the one around his neck and showing it to Dean properly, it was dark blue, similar to his other one, but a slightly different shade and with a very small bee outline stitched on the end in shimmering gold thread.

Dean laughed and took the end of the tie to examine it. “Sure, buddy,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the edges as he looked up. “It’s nice. Matches your eyes.”

@winchester-reload

If you liked this, please consider buying me a coffee.

#suptoberart2019 #suptober #spn fanfic #destiel mentions #bees #day 6 #outfit of the day #this one works less well for fanfic #if anyone wants to draw cas in all his bee get-up that would be wonderful #writing #prompt #TibbinsWrites

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jamesbarnesappreciationsociety · 5 years ago

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Jessica Barnes: Jr. CEO (One Shot)

Summary: This is the cutest company takeover in history.

Pairing: CEO Daddy! Bucky Barnes x OC: Jessica Marie Barnes

Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson

Scott Lang and Peter Parker

Word Count: 1,879

Warnings: Angst; fluff

A/N: @stevieang, thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to beta read for me. Your insight is greatly appreciated.

Exquisite Designs, a commercial architectural firm owned by longtime friends James Buchanan Barnes and Steven Grant Rogers, boasted some of New York’s wealthiest clients. For over 17 years, the firm built some of the most elegant office buildings dotting the skyline in New York City.

Their number one client is Stark and Wilson Land Development. The firm was currently working on the Howard and Maria Stark wing of Mt. Sinai hospital" It was a 24-7 project with big deadlines, big pressure, and big payoff. This project held a special place in Bucky’s heart. His wife, Lillian, died from a brain aneurysm, leaving behind an adorable daughter with rich brown hair like her father and hypnotic amber eyes identical to her late mother.

Her frail body lay in the lovely king size sleigh bed. Different hues of blues dotted the sheets, comforter and blanket. Blue is her favorite color. James Buchanan Barnes, held his wife Lillian’s dainty hand. He knew her time on Earth was drawing to an end. Sunken eyes turned towards her husband whispering, “Please promise me, you’ll live for Jess.”

“Don’t know how to do that without you, Doll.” Bucky wiped the steady stream of tears from his face.

With a faint smile on her face, Lillian Marie Barnes closed her eyes. Shoulders shaking, Bucky sobbed openly, kissing her hand. “I love you, Lillian. I’ll do my best for Jess.”

Steve heard his best friend crying. He then realized, his “Lillie Bug” was gone. Trying to explain to a 3 year old that her mommy was gone, Steve put it this way. “Munchkin’, ya remember when your daddy told ya that mommy would go to sleep forever?”

Jess nodded ‘yes.’ “Daddy said mommy was Sleeping Beauty, but the Prince couldn’t wake her up. So, she’ll be in Heaven watching out for us. Is she an Angel now, Uncle Stevie?”

“Yeah, Lillie Bug is an Angel.” Jess crawled in her uncle’s lap, “I’m sad.”

“Me too, sweetheart.” Burying her face in Steve’s massive chest, Jess cried herself to sleep.

Following Lillian’s memorial service, Bucky spiralled into deep depression. No longer able to care for her, Jess mourned the loss of her mommy and daddy. Signing temporary control of Exquisite Designs to his best friend, Bucky sought the nurturing spirit of Lillian’s parents, Raymond and Bethany. They agreed to keep their granddaughter as long as needed. Unable to understand why she wasn’t with her daddy, Jess often cried, becoming clingy.

Three months later, Steve kicked his friend in the ass, explaining Jess longed for her daddy. Losing her mother had taken a toll on her young life, now she needed him to get it together.

Realizing Steve was right, Bucky planned a father/daughter vacation to Maui. As you would imagine, Jessica was delighted. Boarding his private jet, the duo made their way to crystal clear water, sugar white sandy beaches, for a chance to reconnect with his daughter. Tucked away in his luggage were photo albums, holding page after page of heartwarming memories.

Sitting in Bucky’s lap, Jess wiped the tears cascading down Bucky’s face. “Daddy, don’t be sad. Mommy is in Heaven. She can see us, just look up.”

Turning her gaze towards a cloudless sky, Jess baby girl smiled and whispered,“Mommy told me to take care of you.”

“Thank you Jess. I Iove you so much. Please forgive me for not spending time with you. Your momma was my world. Following her death, life just wasn’t the same. I neglected the one person who needed me the most; YOU!”

“Daddy, it’s okay.” Her face was sincere and her words showed the goodness deep within.

“No baby, it’s not. From now on, I’ll take more time off.”

Her face lit up like a carnival in the night. “Really?? Yippee!”

Upon returning home, Bucky thought of a wonderful way to honor his wife’s memory. He approached Steve about plans for “The Lillian Marie Barnes Child Care Center.” A free center for all employees of the firm. Parents could be there at the beginning, middle, and end of the day and didn’t have to worry about their little ones while at work. The age limits were: infants 6 months - 1 years old and children 2- 4 years old. Employees, as you could imagine, were ecstatic.

Since “The Howard and Maria Stark Children’s Wing” was on schedule, Peter Parker, Director of Marketing, pitched an idea to Bucky.

Gathered around the spacious cherrywood table were upper management and their executive assistants. Facilitating the meeting, Peter laid out his plans for “Kids Takeover the Firm Day.” “I thought it would be fun to take a day off and let the kids run the company. We’ve worked extremely hard to meet all our deadlines and it’s been accomplished.” Everyone listened attentively.

“Have you decided on a date?” Bucky leaned on the table.

“How about this Saturday? The phone lines won’t be operational just in case one of the kids decides to call out, and our answering service would alert us if they received calls that weren’t caught by one of us.”

Bucky added, “You might be onto something Peter. I’m sure they would love to dress up and play Junior Executives for a day.”

Nat and Clint’s twins, Mason and Jason, would serve as Jr. Executive Assistants to the Jr. CEO.

Steve agreed, “Jessica should serve as Jr. CEO.”

Bucky couldn’t believe his ears. “Are you sure? I don’t want any favoritism.”

“She’d make a great Junior CEO!” Wanda’s eyes sparkled.

With this in mind, Bucky suggested taking the remainder of the day off. “Alright, let’s get the ball rolling. I have a little CEO to shop for.”

Bucky made his way to Jessica’s preschool class. She immediately sprinted to his arms.“Hi sweetheart. How’s my girl?”

“I’m fine daddy. We learned our ABC’s and numbers!” Jess’ smile mimicked that of her mommy’s.

“What? My goodness you’re smart!” Bucky kissed her cheek, nose and forehead before dropping the big news on her.

“Guess what? On Saturday, all the kids of the moms and dads that work for Daddy and Uncle Steve’s company get to be in charge for the day. Uncle Steve has promoted you to Junior Chief Executive Officer - the Big Boss.”You’ve been deemed Jr. CEO.”

Unable to contain her enthusiasm, Jess sprung up on her toes. Pumping her fists in the air, she jumped around declaring, “I’M THE BOSS...I’M THE BOSS!!!”

“Peanut, there’s more to being CEO than just saying you’re the boss. Remember that it’s important to always treat your employees with respect.”

“Okay daddy. I’ll be good.”

“How about a shopping trip? You’ll need new clothes, a briefcase, and shoes!” There wasn’t much his girl loved more than going shopping. She was all in now.

“Let’s go!!!”

TIME FOR WORK

At 8:00 on the dot, decked out in her navy blue “suit” and carrying her briefcase and phone, Jessica Marie Barnes, Jr. CEO, reported for work.

Natasha’s twins Mason and Jason, donned brown two-piece suits, cream shirts, and brown striped ties. Malachi Rogers sported a gray 3 piece suit, powder blue shirt, and solid tie. Wanda, Scott and Sam’s kids also looked razor sharp, in pastel dress shirts, dark pants, and black patent leather shoes.

Parents and kids gathered in the small conference room. The kids couldn’t sit still, they were hyped to get the show on the road.

“I must admit, this is the best dressed staff in all of New York.” Bucky beamed, “Jessica, you have the floor.”

“Thank you Mr. Barnes. Good morning. My name is Jessica Barnes but you can call me Jess. It’s time for our morning meeting. Follow me to the small room.”

Their parents laughed quietly and smiled as they filed out of the room. How much trouble could 3 and 4 year olds get into? Yikes!

Parents applauded as Jess led her friends to another conference room set-up with breakfast sandwiches, fruit, pastry and juice boxes.

Munching on a sausage and biscuit, Malachi announced, “Okay, folks. We have a lot of work to do. There’s a meeting with people who want something built.”

One little lady asked, “Mr. Grant, who?”

Malachi replied, “I dunno let’s make something up.”

One factor forgotten, in the midst of their excitement of the day, the cuteness of the kids, someone forgot what could happen if kids consume copious amounts of S.U.G.A.R.

Jess, Malachi, Mason and Jason wandered away from the others and ended up in one of the copy rooms. Mason, with wide-eyed wonder, suggested making copies of their faces. How they turned the machine on is one of life’s biggest mysteries. They took turns copying faces, arms and legs. Jason, however, took it one step further. He sat on the machine and took a picture of his bottom.

Next, a group of 3-year-olds snuck into a few offices with sticky hands, pressing on the keyboards. Yep, they made a mess.

Not to be left out, Jessica and her gang visited the employee break room. The refrigerator and lower cabinets were raided. They devoured chips, Christmas candy, and cookies leftover from an office meeting.

Smeared on the pristine white walls were tiny chocolate handprints, water and orange juice got spilled onto the floor, and a few kids ate too much. The room was an absolute MESS.

Mason and Jason tried to clean up the spilled juice throwing paper towels on the floor. Malachi retrieved a mop, attempting to clean up.

Instead, he slipped, face first, soiling his new suit. Jessica, completely flustered, plopped on the floor in tears.

Leave it to the Moms in the room to hear what wasn’t being said. Natasha and Wanda suddenly looked at each other and sprinted out of the room towards the suddenly-silent children. They knew that quiet kids equaled disaster and were nauseous at the thought of what they might find. All the parents ran and converged on the breakroom, stopped cold by what they found. As they surveyed the damage. Bucky murmured, “What the hell happened in here?”

While he shook his head, most of the parents pulled out their phones to capture the moment.

The state of the room was nothing compared to the tired, messy children who were in varying stages of sugar crashes. Bucky looked at Steve, “We’re going to have to give the cleaning company a major bonus after this weekend. They’re going to think we left a zoo loose in here!”

Understanding the need for parents, as well as kids to recuperate, Steve suggested everyone take an extended weekend. Everyone accepted the gracious offer.

“Kids Takeover the Firm Day” was a complete success. Jessica Barnes’ reign as CEO had come to an end. Sleeping soundly on her daddy’s black leather office sofa, Jess was visibly exhausted. Kissing her chubby cheek, Bucky moved a strand of hair from her forehead. In that moment, he felt Lillian’s presence. Wiping a wayward tear from his face, Bucky knew his wife would live on through Jessica Marie Barnes, Junior CEO.

Tagging: @stevieang @loricameback @mrsgoodnight @suz-123 @pegasusdragontiger

#Jessica Barnes: Jr. CEO #fluffy goodness #hope you enjoy it #dad! bucky x ofc

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uxwantedheirs · 5 years ago

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▲ five time my muse thought about kissing yours, and the one time they did. [Luca and Stella]

Five Times Meme | Accepting

1) It was the first time he stopped by Stella’s office. The place was bustling with interns and legal aids and lawyers on phone calls that all sounded aggravating. He was coming by for some papers his own office needed a second opinion on and he found himself hovering near Stella’s desk as she flashed him an apologetic smile as she spoke down the phone. He had hoped maybe he could get her out for lunch once he’d gotten those papers but it seemed to be a stretch now and would settle for rescheduling. He watched the office around him buzz with an intensity he found to be electrifying and overwhelming all the same. When Stella finally found time for him she was all reassuring words and flowing apologies. They spoke easily and with familiarity despite the contrast around them. Luca waved off her concerns and draped an arm around her. “Don’t worry about it. We can try again in a couple of days when this has settled down. Hopefully.” As Stella leaned into him he debated settling a kiss upon her cheek and decided against it. Too many people and he didn’t want to distract or cause a scene. With niceties done with and work to be done he wished her goodbye and returned to his own office.

2) Luca found himself at a new restaurant that was doing well enough but once the initial buzz died down it was a really easy going environment. It was mainly a breakfast spot with welcoming staff who remembered your face and your order, if you’re lucky. He liked the change of environment compared to his own home and office. It cleared his head when he really needed it. As he nursed a cup of coffee he observed the ones who were quick to come and go. It had easy to-go options as well as a full restaurant and it piqued his interest who were in a rush even on a mid-Sunday morning. That weird time between too early and too much in the afternoon where the church crowd would come and push others out. It became routine for him to come to this little place with the freshly printed paper under his arm and he settled in a booth easily. In the long line of those looking for a quick bite and easy coffee stood Stella. He hadn’t seen her here before, perhaps waiting for the buzz to die down as he had done. The paper was up enough that she most likely wouldn’t recognize him and he could watch from a distance. Her order was as indulgent as she allowed which meant it was iced coffee and some sweet that she most likely got other places as well. There was nothing particularly special about her movements but he still found it enticing as she sipped her coffee on her way out. Luca wondered what it tasted like and if she would let him kiss her to find out. It was a fleeting thought before he was back to his breakfast.

3) The meeting had gone on far longer than any of them expected. The Wells’ refused to give much ground in the negation and he didn’t blame them but it was dragging this out and that got on his nerves. Luca was doing his best to contain his annoyance and urged his boss to speed things along. It was as if he was speaking to a brick wall. Stella was on the edge of the room taking notes from what he could tell. They hadn’t exactly talked about this meeting not certain whether they’d be present or not and now that they were here he somewhat regretted rug sweeping it in the previous weeks. He had long since checked out by the time the meeting was dismissed and his boss was wishing him a good night. It was just Stella and Luca left in the meeting room now that everyone sought their own freedom. Sidling up to her he gave a weary smile letting the annoyance and exhaustion show on his face. “That was an ordeal.” He muttered as Stella mirrored his expression though hers contained more compassion than his own. The conversation was short and more like small talk than anything else. Perhaps they were too mentally drained to really carry on. Luca embraced Stella and let his weight press on her momentarily. As they pulled away his eyes darted to her lips before returning to her eyes. “Goodnight Stella.” He released her and finally made his way out of the room and away from his work week.

4) Luca found himself spending more of his free time with Stella lately and it was nice to say the least. Some nights found them working cases together and other times they allowed themselves to properly unwind then there were nights in between. Those were the most frequent if he was being honest and usually due to Stella’s overachieving nature which kept her from taking real breaks. The soft click of the coffee pot drew his attention and urged him into motion. Luca pulled out a blue ombre mug for himself and a purple striped mug for Stella. Each cup was made to their own liking and he was quiet on his way to deliver it. Stella was elbow deep in case files and he wouldn’t be surprised if she was unaware of his presence beside her. Setting the cup in her field of vision he was tempted to give her a kiss as a moments reprieve but decided against it and decided the coffee was enough of an affectionate gesture. The night was quiet with Luca reading at her side while she worked. It wasn’t ideal but it was enough.

5) On the rare occasion that they found themselves spending time outside it was usually for typical outings like dinner or bar nights. Tonight found them out for a lighthearted evening filled with popcorn and overly carbonated drinks as they filed into a mostly empty theater. When Stella suggested going to the movies he couldn’t really find a reason to argue as it wasn’t the worst suggestion and the movie he was coerced into seeing wasn’t awful, at least that’s what the reviews said anyway. The theater only had a handful of other people in it and the pair found themselves towards the back. The movie proved to be slightly cheesier than expected and he couldn’t help but quip every time the love interest dropped a romantic line. When the movie finished they took a walk through a nearby park and proceeded to mock the movie between mouthfuls of leftover popcorn. When the popcorn became uninteresting they used it as ammo to toss at one another. The evening ended with laughter ringing between them and Stella pressed against Luca’s chest. Their faces lingered close together and he could tell there was a mutual desire to kiss. It was tempting to lean in and press them even closer together as the cool night air drifted over them. Luca let the moment stretch out just enough before it could become awkward and simply arranged them to walk side by side and returned the car.

+1) Rain pressed against the windows relentless and angry as if it was following Luca’s lead, perhaps it was. His voice was raised and angry, crackling as he addressed Stella. There was still fight in her and she was attempting to push back against him verbally though her words wavered as she finally looked him in the eyes. There was a fire there that was dangerous and dared her to continue. When she challenged him it was all the go ahead he needed to move forward. His grip on her wrist was abrupt and brutal as he pulled her towards him, twisting her arm behind her back only to press her against his chest. As she struggled he pushed her arm further up her back to where it was certain to be painful. “Listen to me little girl. We play by MY RULES! Do you understand me?” His voice was wicked and thunderous in her ear and he didn’t care. “You are mine and no one else’s.” He surged forward and claimed her mouth, it was wicked and dirty. Luca was unrelenting as she attempted to free herself. When he was satisfied he pulled back and gave her a thorough once over. “If I catch you letting another man touch you again things will be much worse than this.” Stella spat angry words in his face though there were tears in her eyes, whether they were out of anger or despair didn’t matter to the storm of a man before her. None of it mattered as long as she understood. With another crushing kiss he silenced her and pressed on her arm with increasing pressure certain it would bruise nicely. He didn’t release her until he felt the fight leave her and the kiss returned, her body sagging against his. Finally he released her and made sure to praise her, “Good girl.” With a chaste kiss to her forehead it was over.

#answers;Luca #ship;All Is Fair In Love And War #curlsncynefin #drabble

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mysticsparklewings · 5 years ago

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Holiday Card Project 2019

Oh would you look at that; I’m participating in the deviantArt Holiday Card Project again this year! Just like last year, my crafty efforts aren’t really done proper justice by scans or photos, so I’ll be uploading a short video...somewhere (probably Instagram but we’ll see) and then link back to it to hopefully show it off a bit more. It’s funny though, I’d almost forgotten about HCP until I got the notification that it had opened for this year. And yet I was so concerned about having it in the mail on time that I got this one done pretty much in one day. I think last year's card took me closer to 2 days and I was pushing my luck that it would get there in time. My process for this year went as follows: I browsed around on Pinterest for a while, as I hadn’t the foggiest idea what to do. During that process, I latched onto a concept I saw a few times; Christmas lights and the phrase “merry and bright,” and so I went with that. Already I had the idea of the lights being across the top of the card, with a real piece of thread (which would later be changed to wire as the idea occurred to me while I was digging for some other supplies) connecting them. After some thought, I decided I wanted to add some cotton to the bottom to add a little more pizzazz. Because if last year’s HCP taught me anything, it’s that I like to go big or go home for the occasion. And I knew where I could get some too; the fields next to the house have already been picked for this year, but there was still a good amount of cotton leftover on the stalks near the edges. Let me tell you, I have a newfound appreciation for whoever invented a mechanical way to take the seeds out of cotton, because gosh darn it if that process is not far more tiresome than you’d think! I think I finally did manage to get them all out, but now I know why it’s probably just easier to buy cotton or polyester fiberfill. XD Anyway. With my mind made up and a handle full of cotton at the ready, I started on the actual card part. In the past, for my card needs I’ve usually used some of the pre-folded & cut cards my mom has on hand, but this time I didn’t feel like bothering her about it. So instead I grabbed a piece of my gold-shimmer cardstock and cut it down so that once I folded it I’d have a 5” x 7” card. (As that’s what Google told me was a fairly common size for greeting cards and would fit comfortably in most standard envelopes.) Then I used my trick from my book-making endeavors of using the edge of scissors to “score” the folding line on one side of the card to make that process easier. In trying to make some stamps I didn’t end up using magically appear from whoever they were hiding, I found some metallic gold stripey paper in my stash and had the idea to cover the outside of the card with it, maybe. At the time I was a little bit skeptical if I wanted to do that, but I pulled it out and set it on the desk anyway so I could have the option if I wanted it. And as you can see, I ended up deciding to go for it, though at this point in the process I simply measured out and cut it as needed; I wouldn’t attach it until later. Then I paused and used the scrap cardstock pieces to test some pens and such, only to find I was only minimally (at best) interested in using any of them. I had some ideas to incorporate certain things but they were things I couldn’t really try out until I had more of the card finished, and some things I couldn’t figure out solutions for until then either. So I swatched out some marker colors and started practicing on some print outs of the Christmas light shape—which is fortunately had the foresight to do the said printing out before I got into the thick of everything else—only to find that I just really was not happy with the blends I was getting. I think the main problem is that I just didn’t have certain colors I needed, but the glowing/fade effect I was trying to get was also totally new territory for me and I seemed to only get worse the more times I tried it. In the end, I picked out a “base” shade for each Christmas light color from the markers and then selected a dark, a “true color” and a highlight from my Prismacolor pencils to do the shading instead. There were still challenges to be had, but this system worked a lot better for me. Benefits of being a mixed media artist: if one medium just isn’t doing it for you, you can bring in others to level the playing field The lights then got bright shine spots courtesy of my white Gelly roll pen and their little silver bits I did with a silver Art Philosophy watercolor. Even though I was already anticipating the silver getting kind of lost against the gold in the background. I had a vision and I was sticking to it. In addition to that vision, once the lights were safe to handle I glued them to a piece of foam and then left them alone to dry, figuring it would be easier and simpler to cut them out if I only had to do it once. As such, the edges aren’t super smooth, but otherwise, I think that was the right call. While they dried, I then attached the gold-stripe paper to the card surface and started thinking about where and how I would implement the text parts of the card. (And at some point I took a break to figure out the full inside and outside please, as originally all I was going on was “merry and bright,” though I don’t remember when exactly in the process that was.) Here, I had the idea that black paper might look cool. The only black paper I have is a pad of Crayola stuff that I think is actually for practicing calligraphy or hand lettering or something? My original plan was to take one of the pages out and use the blank back, but as I filled through I saw some of the cut out frame-y things and took a look to see if any of them would work for what I wanted/needed, and you can see the two I picked out. Though the one on the inside of the card had only the black and gray/silver originally; the colors I added by hand with my gel pens since it felt like it really needed it. The black paper on the inside also needed a little more attention than the one on the outside. I didn’t cut either of them perfectly straight, but there were a lot more distracting elements that were going to be on the outside, so it was far less noticeable there. On the inside, I ended up going around the edge with some gold and white washi tape that when well with the outside of the card to camouflage the uneven edges. By the time I had all the various papers properly attached to each other and the top edge inside of the card decorated with a strip of glitter tape and a repeating stamp of Christmas lights to tie in with the outside, I felt the lights were dry enough to cut out, so I did. And that meant that the /real/ card assembly could begin. I punched little holes in the tops of the lights for the wire I’d add in later and then fiddled with their placement for a bit before gluing them down...which I then I had to wait for about twenty minutes before I could proceed if I wanted things to dry mostly flat. So while that took its sweet time to dry I went back to the Crayola black paper pad to one of the pages with a grid on it to practice writing out the words for both the outside and inside of the card. In doing so, I discovered that the uni-ball Signo white pen, while bolder and brighter than the Gelly roll, made my cursive almost illegible by virtue of having a thicker tip. Which is why I went with the Gelly roll instead. Just printed handwriting didn’t feel right; I really wanted the fancier look of the cursive. However, I also wanted whoever gets the card to actually be able to read it too. Eventually, the lights, while not fully dry, were dry enough that I could comfortably move on with the assembly. And hindsight, perhaps I should’ve tried stringing the lights onto the wire before gluing them down. The main issue I had was that once I got the wire poked through the hole, it’d bump into the card on the other side and then not want to go anywhere at all. I had to play with it each time to get the wire to come all the way through so I could pull it to the next one. Or maybe that would’ve made the gluing process more difficult than it was worth? We’ll never know. And then I got to attach the cotton. That actually ended up being a much smoother process than I anticipated, as the cotton doesn’t really separate from itself unless you pull it apart, so once I had parts of a clump glued down they were pretty stationary. This was also the first time I dared use my crafting heat gun since I purchased it (which was a while ago; after reading the warnings the first time I’ve been too chicken to use it for fear of catching something on fire by accident ) as I originally thought I’d need more glue and I’d need to glue some clumps on, dry them, and then glue some more. Fortunately, I seemingly put my big girl panties on for nothing as, after the initial layer of glue, I really only needed to glue a couple of other clumps down separately, and as I mentioned the cotton stick to the wet glue well enough on its own. But I had psyched myself up and gotten the thing set up, so once all the cotton was glued down I used the heat gun to dry the glue faster anyway. I was amped up the whole time but I, fortunately, did not burn anything in the process! I did end up going back and adding some blue gel pen to the black paper on the inside, as that was the only color not there and it felt sorely lacking, giving the lights elsewhere on the card. But other than that, once the cotton was all squared away, the card was done. And I’ll be honest; I still like the card I made last year, but I think I’ve really outdone myself this time. There’s just something about the style of this card I enjoy so much more.

It’s equally over-the-top (as is my crafting specialty ) but it’s more refined, somehow, I think. Either way, all that’s left to do now is mail it off and hope that the recipient is as pleased with the card as I am. I can’t believe I’ve actually finished with it this early though! That’s so unlike me; I’m usually the one sneaking things in right on top of the deadline. But hey that means now I have one less thing on my to-do list so I can focus on other things...which may or may not include a holiday-themed kitty drawing in the works... ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

#holidaycardproject2019 #christmas #christmascrafts #handmade #holidaycards #merryandbright

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taciturnescapist · 5 years ago

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Uno was pretty much determined to actually make sure that nothing ruined his holiday this year. Christmas was a big deal for him, and really one of the ways in which he could really shine as his extroverted self.

It was decided two days before Christmas Eve near unanimously with even Rock, and Nico in agreement that Jyugo wasn't going to get a chance to get in trouble like the year before. This was how Christmas Eve was currently being spent- the three alternating taking turns making sure that the escapist didn't make a getaway.

The three were busy taking shifts in between their own preparations for the upcoming holiday to occupy Jyugo's time and energy.

"I don't see why you won't let me break out." The escape artist said rather indifferently as he sat with his legs crossed.

"We're not missing Christmas!" Uno said with a growling undertone.

"Alright then.." Jyugo would take Uno at that, and do his best to behave despite the nervous energy that threatened to rack his body.

The plan was going pretty well so far. Rock and Nico had taken to recognizing the stripes wearing inmate for his usual antics, and without them playing along and actually blocking his getaways from the cell things were going rather smoothly.

"Put me down!" Jyugo had yelled at one point as Rock had gone right outside of the cell door behind him to collect him. "This is cruel and unusual punishment!"

"Jyugo, buddy?" Once Jyugo was down on the floor again of their cell Uno had approached. "Stay put." He said calmly before returning to the task of hanging red ribboned bows around wherever he thought it was appropriate. He really wanted their cell to be festive for the next day, but Jyugo was presenting quite an irritating road block for everyone.

It was like attending to a child the gambler thought. No, scratch that kids actually got excited at the idea of Christmas.

With his break out attempts all but foiled, Jyugo had no other choice, but to actually go along with what his cellmates were doing. By the day Christmas Eve had rolled around however the pent up energy of having his friends stop him at each turn had taken a toll on the escapist.

Somewhere between the caroling that Uno insisted upon and the gingerbread house that Rock was to excited to assemble, Jyugo had finally seemed to resign himself to his fate.

Uno took the opportunity to look from what Rock and Nico were doing in constructing the house (that from the looks of it would give someone a cavity just from looking at it) and go sit with Jyugo whom looked really bored by now. Nico was occupying himself with assisting Rock in between watching the Christmas themed anime special on tv.

"What's on your mind, Jyugo?" The braided blond asked as he went to sit down next to Jyugo in the corner where the raven-haired male just seemed to be watching everything.

"I'm just thinking.. I don't want to be a buzz kill for everyone when it comes to this holiday business." He had promptly backed away from the gingerbread making already wondering what disaster he could bring to it. Nico's love for the Christmas specials weren't his cup of tea either.

"First off, you aren't a buzz kill, second we want to include you because it's more fun that way." Uno had replaced his trademark blue and white striped cap for a red cap with white fur lining- the typical Santa hat.

"You've been behaving too." Uno said with a grin, though the blond thought that Jyugo probably had little choice in the matter, and was humoring the group more than anything.

Earlier in the day, Rock had finally gotten annoyed with Jyugo trying to leave the cell after the third or fourth time, and grabbing the leftover red ribbon that they had decorated the cell with, had proceeded to promptly tie his hands together. It really served as a deterrent for Jyugo, but more for the reason that his fight loving friend had done it completely throwing Jyugo off guard.

Jyugo was finding it difficult to break free with all of the knots that Rock had laced along and underneath his shackles. To make matters worse, the mohawked inmate had then pushed him towards Uno with a mutter of Merry Christmas.

"That's not like you at all." Uno followed up with a playful pout as he puffed his cheeks a bit.

Making sure that a certain purple-haired cellmate wasn't listening in, Jyugo sighed. "I might have been thinking about something else.." Mainly about Rock's actions earlier.

"Such as?" Uno asked with a blink.

"Why Rock did.. well.." Jyugo held up his festooned and bound hands for a better example. "Why he tied me up with ribbon?"

"Well, you can't escape from it can you?" Uno was sure that the escape artist could escape rather easily once he understood what he had to deal with, but right now Jyugo was confused by all of it. It was actually kind of adorable, honestly.

However, Uno never turned away from an opportunity to fluster the lockpick happy male. "That's simple, it's because you're my present." He said complete with a wink and a grin that really placed some of the more prominent canines on display.

Uno could easily confuse Jyugo at times, and this was one of them. "Heh, there are no exchanges I hope you know." He said rather cockily as he stared down at Jyugo's wrapped, and bound hands.

The gears in Uno's mind were already beginning to turn around as he registered that sudden impression of instinct that was his intuition having a sudden bright idea.

"Hey, Jyugo, once it's lights out, how about you and I sneak out for a bit?" He was approaching the subject carefully, but he wasn't even sure if Jyugo could still even pick a lock, let alone a puzzle.

As he was thinking that, Jyugo had picked up the Rubik's cube, and was proving him wrong by twisting the sides around and proceeding to match the colors with an ease that the gambler was envious of. He needed some way to work off the urge to go explore around the halls, Uno mused.

Yet, for once Uno was glad that Rock may have accidentally stumbled on a way to occupy Jyugo long enough that he couldn't easily break free from the bindings that were holding him. It was giving the gambler ideas, and hope that he may be able to succeed with the ribbon where the pair of handcuffs had failed.

"Why not? I'm going stir crazy the past few days of not being able to break out." Jyugo told him in reply, but wasn't aware of the permission he had put into play regarding his blond friend. He would soon enough.

----

Once it was time for all of the lights to go out, and Nico was more than satisfied with the excuse that Hajime had given them about how Santa would be making a drop off at the Warden's headquarters, everyone settled down after laying out the futons.

Everyone that is save for Uno, who still had yet to even begin his evening beauty care regimen or even brushing his hair out of the waves that the braid often created in it.

The blond was waiting for the cue for when they could both make their move to escape from the 13th cell when he heard the click as Jyugo managed to open the cell door with the usual skills he displayed.

"The only one on shift tonight is Seitarou." Jyugo said before stepping out into the dimly lit halls of the bloc of Building Thirteen.

Uno wasted little time in following the dark-haired male out into the surrounding dark of the prison at night. "Come on," He said grabbing hold of Jyugo's hand in an attempt to pull him along, but now the escapist was choosing now to stall on the gambler.

"Where are you heading?" Jyugo wanted to know as he placed up slight resistance each step of the way, until eventually he just resigned himself to going along with Uno, and whatever it was the excited blond had in mind.

"Don't ask so many questions, and just live a little, buddy." Uno told Jyugo as he headed for the area where Mitsuru had mentioned about there being a spare office that they hardly used except for storage of spare supplies and furniture.

Uno of course had already visited on one of their earlier breakouts, and being satisfied with his findings had committed it to memory thinking that they could all duck in there while running from Hajime some time in the future.

Yet, he had also kept the empty office in mind when it came to hiding the gifts he had ordered for everyone, and as the mail had arrived, he had stored the packages one by one in a sort of cache, and taken the opportunity to slip away from the group a few times to arrange things to his liking.

"Uno, if you are going to try and gift me those handcuffs again, so help me.." Jyugo said seriously as Uno had covered his eyes with his hands, and was now slowly pushing Jyugo along down the lone empty hall.

He was aware when they came to a complete stop, and only listened as Uno had opened what sounded like a door. They must have made it to their destination, already.

Once inside the room a finger with a blue nail flipped the light switch causing the room to light up as Uno shut the door behind him.

"No one said anything about that. You're the one with a gutter mind, currently." The blond said as he moved over to a corner and started dragging out a few wrapped packages, complete with bows made from the same ribbon currently keeping Jyugo a little preoccupied.

Jyugo stared before sitting down on the floor, crossing his legs lazily. "I just know that you kept barking up that tree." He said cockily as he was joined by the extroverted gambler who had laid the assortment of gifts out in a neat pile much like if they were cards being cut instead.

"I'll look over that comment." Uno said before nudging a gift in red wrapping towards Jyugo. The action made Jyugo think of an excited child, and even think that Uno could be oddly cute in his own ways.

'Wait, no he isn't. Stop thinking that.' The lockpick told himself countering his own thoughts.

He wouldn't waste anymore time as Uno was waiting expectantly for him to start unwrapping the gifts that he had presented before him.

He had a little difficulty with unwrapping a package at first, but soon had the red wrapping paper off. Jyugo's eyes widened at first before a smile formed on his features. It was one of the various items that Uno had declared as 'junk' and had refused point blank to order for him.

"I'm surprised you actually ordered it." Jyugo said as he looked at the box of plastic chopsticks. He had wanted them for whatever reason in the past, but now the reason was a little blurry in his memory.

Jyugo quickly made work of the other packages, and blinked at a small box that contained a new pair of silver hoops once opened. Another contained a blue and white cap similar to Uno's.

"I thought you could use a new pair, and the cap is so you'll stop stealing mine so much." Uno said while searching for any tells that gave away how the escapist was feeling. He got it with the smile that formed on Jyugo's features, and then the subtle blush on his cheeks. The biggest tell was in Jyugo's voice; how it cracked slightly as he mumbled a thank you.

Who knew that giving him one of his old caps from the prison uniform would make Jyugo that happy?

"I don't have anything to give you in return.." Jyugo said as he stared down at the floor in front of both of them.

His words were interrupted as Uno tipped his chin upward so the gambler could get a glance at the eyes he found so pretty to look at. "I don't need a present, Jyugo, you are my present." The gambler said with emphasis added in the words before he leaned forward to brush his lips against the other males. Things had worked out better than Uno thought they would.

#:: drabble #intuitivegambler1311 #// I'm sorry if this is a mess #// I'll write the continuance if you're interested #long post

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gayestnerdsinfiction · 5 years ago

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Isaac and the Angel - Chapter 22

Read on AO3

Isaac awakes the next morning with a painful crick in his neck, his face pressed uncomfortably against the couch cushions. He did not sleep well. He wishes he hadn’t slept at all. He sits up with a groan. Peeks over the back of the sofa to look at the clock in the kitchen. Eight twenty-seven. Too early to be awake, too late to go back to sleep. He sighs, flopping back down onto the couch. He curls up on one side, reaching toward the coffee table for his phone. No notifications. He puts the phone down. Closes his eyes once more.

He can feel in his bones that today is not going to be a good day.

Isaac had half expected to wake up and find Israfil crammed onto the couch beside him. He had half expected to feel the weight and warmth of a body pressed close against his own. A pair of arms wrapped loosely around him. But he is alone. And the angel is nowhere to be seen.

He supposes that’s for the best. After all, the couch is barely big enough for him to lie down comfortably by himself. He can’t imagine how unbearable it would be to share such a limited space with another person. Creature. Whatever.

Though, he has to admit it would’ve been nice to have someone to wake up to.

Isaac hears a faint rustling sound coming from a few feet away and he opens his eyes to see Israfil setting a paper bag down on the kitchen counter. Isaac didn’t even hear him come in. He has, for the second time, changed his clothes. Instead of the striped sweater and jeans he’s been wearing for weeks, he now wears a short sleeved grey button up and a pair of midnight blue velvet pants. The shirt, mysteriously, has the Cliff Bar logo sewn into the front, parallel with the breast pocket on the other side.

“Where do you get your clothes from?” Isaac asks drowsily.

Israfil turns sharply. “I thought you were still sleeping,” he says.

“I woke up just before you showed up.” He sits up again, running his fingers through his horribly tousled hair. “Where do you get your clothes?” he repeats, knowing if he doesn’t ask again he’ll probably never get an answer.

Israfil looks down at himself as if surprised to see that he’s wearing clothes at all. He pinches the fabric of his pants between his forefinger and thumb. “Why do you ask?”

“Just… I mean, every time you change clothes you show up in some weird thing I’ve never seen before.”

“You think I look weird?”

“You don’t look bad,” Isaac says quickly, “but you have to admit that a Cliff Bar button up and velvet pants aren’t the most normal articles of clothing.”

He shrugs. “I don’t even know who Cliff Bar is.”

Isaac snorts out a laugh. “It’s not a person, it’s a company.”

“Oh.” He continues to look thoughtfully at his outfit for a few moments before saying, “Maybe the clothes changed themselves.”

Isaac doesn’t really have the mental stamina or willpower required to unpack the logic of that statement, so he merely makes a noncommittal noise in lieu of a reply.

Israfil begins to rummage around in the paper bag, pulling out a stack of napkins and paper wrapped disposable utensils. “I brought you breakfast.” He pauses, his brow furrowing. “It is breakfast time, right?”

“Yeah, more or less.”

“Too many meals,” he mumbles to himself. “I always get them mixed up.”

“There aren’t that many.”

He shakes his head. “Before I fell, I hadn’t eaten anything in hundreds of years. It is baffling to me that humans have to eat three times per day.”

“Well, three meals a day. There’s also snacks and desserts and stuff. Also brunch, which is kind of like a fourth meal, I guess.”

Israfil gives Isaac a very distressed look. “There’s what?”

“Never mind, not important.” Isaac gets up from the couch, his joints cracking loudly in protest. “What’d you get for breakfast?”

He removes a few large, plastic containers from the bag. There’s rice and dumplings and some kind of soup, along with what looks like pickled vegetables. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he admits, “and I didn’t want to wake you to ask. But I thought it would be rude not to get you anything, so I just… got a lot of things.”

“How did you pay for all of this?” Isaac asks, going into the kitchen to get plates and bowls out of the cupboard.

“…Don’t worry about it.” Isaac opens his mouth to ask what the hell that is supposed to mean, but Israfil adds, “I didn’t steal anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“The thought did cross my mind.” He spoons some of the soup into a bowl for himself. “Should I be concerned?”

“Nope.” Israfil shovels rice and vegetables onto his plate, neatly lining up three dumplings on the side. “I would tell you if you needed to be concerned about something.”

“I guess that’s… reassuring.” Isaac takes some of the vegetables as well, adding them into his bowl of soup. He also snags a couple dumplings. “Well, thanks for getting food either way. It’ll be nice to have leftovers for a little while.”

“Hm.” He sits down at the kitchen table, gingerly peeling strips of dough off the dumplings. “How are you feeling?” he asks abruptly, glancing up at Isaac.

“Fine,” he replies automatically. It always makes him oddly nervous when people ask how he’s feeling or if he’s okay. He makes himself very busy with the containers of food, putting their respective lids back on and gathering them to be put away. “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. Seems like the thing to do.” Israfil nibbles absently on one of the dough pieces. “I thought you might like to be asked. Although…” He trails off, breaking apart the filling of one of the dumplings with a plastic fork. “It looks like I might have been mistaken,” he says quietly.

Isaac picks up his plate and bowl, joining Israfil at the table. “It was nice of you to ask. But you don’t have to worry about me.”

“There are very few things I have to do.” He scoops a forkful of dumpling filling and rice into his mouth. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care ab—” Israfil cuts himself off, inhaling sharply as if pained by something Isaac can’t see.

“What is it?” he asks, looking Israfil up and down for any sign of what could have caused his reaction.

Israfil claps a hand over his wrist, his jaw tensing visibly. “Shit,” he mutters. “My cousin is calling.”

This statement raises a lot of questions for Isaac, but the only thing he can think to say is, “Since when do you have a cousin?”

But before Isaac can even finish his sentence, Israfil has disappeared into thin air as quickly and quietly as when he arrived. His fork falls from the place where his hand had been onto the table, landing with a faint clatter.

Isaac sighs, slumping back in his seat. “Just once,” he mutters, “I’d like to have a normal fucking interaction with him.”

#isaac and the angel #my writing #writing #creative writing #angels #fallen angels #original writing #original story #original characters #oc #not scriddler

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love-takes-work · 7 years ago

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Lars's Ube Roll Recipe!

Folks, I made an ube roll for the first time, and though the outside of the roll wasn't as evenly purple as I'd hoped, the cake is delicious and it's probably the most successful roll cake I've ever made! There is no food coloring in this recipe. Below, I teach you how to make this well-known Filipino dessert yourself--and if you want it to be uniformly purple on the outside, I recommend just frosting it with ube frosting.

See more SU food tutorials!

Cut for length.

Cake:

Ingredients:

4 eggs

1/2 scant teaspoon cream of tartar

1/2 cup sugar (measurement is separated in recipe)

1/4 cup vegetable oil

1/4 cup + 2 tablespoons evaporated milk

4 teaspoons ube extract

1/4 cup powdered ube

1 cup cake flour

1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda

1/2 teaspoon salt

Equipment needed:

Spatula

Three bowls (two large, one medium)

Electric mixer (handheld or freestanding)

Parchment paper

Jelly roll pan (10.5 x 15 inch size)

Towel

Measuring cups and spoons

Wire cooling racks

Your first step is to separate the eggs. Have two bowls ready. Crack an egg and carefully let the white fall into the medium bowl. Delicately transfer the yolk from eggshell half to eggshell half until all the white has slid off, then dump the yolk in the other (large) bowl. Repeat with the remaining three eggs. Separating eggs takes practice, and if you break the yolk while trying to do it, quickly dump the yolk in the yolk bowl to avoid getting yolk in your whites.

Now we whip the egg whites. When I first started baking I didn't understand how important it is to transform the egg whites the way the recipes were saying, so I'll explain: You're beating a bunch of air into these whites with sugar and thickening agents so it will fluff up. First, use your electric mixer to start whipping the whites until they're frothy. And then you add your 1/2 scant teaspoon of cream of tartar. (It's a powder you can find in the baking aisle.) Whip that in really nicely.

Now measure out 1/4 cup of sugar. (You will use the other 1/4 cup of sugar mentioned above in the dry ingredients of the cake batter.) Add a SMALL amount of the sugar into your egg whites and whip it for a while. Then keep doing that until your measurement of sugar is gone. Don't add too much at once and take your time in between beating, or your egg whites can fall. I believe I added the sugar in about six portions.

You can stop whipping when you have relatively stiff peaks. When you bake and a recipe refers to soft or stiff peaks, you figure this out by pulling your mixer out of the mixture to leave a peak, and if the point flops over, you have soft peaks, while if it stands up in a point, you have stiff peaks.

Now let's get the rest of the cake ready! Preheating your oven now would be good, too. I used 350ºF / 175ºC. And prepare your jelly roll pan by lining it with a sheet of parchment paper.

First, take the bowl where you have your four egg yolks and start adding other ingredients to it. Add your 1/4 cup vegetable oil, 1/4 cup of your evaporated milk, and 4 teaspoons of ube extract. (You can find this at some Asian food stores, or buy it online. It's in a small bottle like vanilla extract.) Mix those up.

Then, add your 1/4 cup powdered ube in.

[Edit: I put my powdered ube into the recipe as shown, but after posting, someone else in reblogs said it's supposed to be cooked into a jelly before you use it, so please use the instructions on your package. It still tastes yummy if you do it like mine, but a jelly version probably would adjust the final texture to be less grainy. Another person suggested after posting that I could have used the grated type--which is what Lars uses--and that extract may not be necessary if you use grated. So feel free to adjust accordingly--this tutorial IS based on my experimental first time making this roll!]

Separately, in another large bowl, you'll mix together the dry ingredients: 1 cup cake flour, 1 and 1/2 teaspoons baking soda, and 1/2 teaspoon salt. Mix that up evenly.

Then, you'll add in your wet ingredients bowl, stirring it into the dry.

Finally, start FOLDING IN your egg white mixture. This can be a little delicate. You should scoop a dollop of egg white mix with a spatula and toss it into the batter, and just use a folding motion to press it into the batter. Don't stir vigorously or beat it with electric mixers; you don't want to lose the air that makes it so fluffy.

Once all your egg whites have been carefully folded into the mix, you should have a pale purple bowl of goodness.

It can now be poured onto your parchment-paper-lined jelly roll pan. Pour it in a stripe down the middle and use a spatula to spread it evenly to all the corners of the pan.

Bake it at 350ºF / 175ºC for 20-ish minutes. I baked mine for 21 minutes.

[Edit after posting: A kind person in reblogs also suggested 325ºF / 160ºC would be better, since my cake browned so much, but I have not tried that myself.]

While the cake is in the oven, this is important: Prepare for the next step. You are going to need to act quickly to roll this cake while the cake is warm so it can cool in a rolled position. This prevents cracking.

Get a clean dishtowel-size towel and spread it on a flat surface. Sprinkle some sugar onto the towel. Then get your cooling racks set up nearby.

When your time is up, put your oven mitts on and quickly take the cake out of the oven, hold the hot pan over the prepared towel, and tip the cake forward so it will fall smack onto the towel. The parchment paper should come with it, landing parchment paper side up on the towel. Peel the parchment paper off.

Then, acting quickly, roll the cake up lengthwise. (As in, start at the long end and roll it so the cake will be longer instead of thicker.) You can roll the towel INTO the cake; it's just going to cool like this, not stay like this, so the towel is separating the spirals of the cake from each other. I don't have pictures of this process because I did it very quickly and needed both hands. I had a friend with me and I can't believe I didn't ask him to take pictures! Anyway, once you're done rolling, you should have a nice towel-wrapped log, with the seam of the cake on the bottom. Put it on the cooling racks to cool.

Now that you're done with that, you can start making your filling.

Filling:

Ingredients:

1 cup softened butter

3 cups powdered sugar

2 tablespoons evaporated milk

Optional: a couple drops of ube flavoring, if you want your cream to be purple

Equipment needed:

A spatula

A bowl

A sifter

Measuring cups and spoons

A pastry bag and large plain tip

First, mix up your softened butter in a bowl. You can just whip it with a fork. Then sift the powdered sugar into the butter cup by cup.

Add a tablespoon of evaporated milk and mix it in, then add another one. You probably won't need more moisture than that to make it a good consistency for lining your cake.

To frost the cake:

Please, please take this to heart: You should not frost this cake until it is completely cool. You shouldn't unroll it until you touch the towel and feel that it's no warmer than room temperature. Once the cake is cooled, you can take the towel off the racks and put it back on your flat surface, and unroll it carefully. It should curl up at the edges a bit, but don't try to squish it down.

Note: some folks like to slice the edges off the roll at this point and reserve these edges to crumble up and sprinkle over a frosted version of this cake. I chose not to do that, but if you want to, you can!

Take your frosting and spread it across the entire surface, making sure to get it up into the curls at the center.

Reserve enough frosting to make the dollops of frosting on the top of the roll when you're done, unless you are using something else to decorate the top, like whipped cream or another icing.

Now, re-roll the cake over the frosting, this time of course without including the towel.

IF YOU WANTED TO FROST THE CAKE, you could add food coloring or ube flavoring to make the remaining frosting purple, then frost the outside too (and if you reserved the ends for crumbling, do that too), but I stayed closer to the image on the cartoon for purposes of this tutorial. At this point I went ahead and shaved the ends off for an even edge display.

My ube cake baked purple in the center, but the outsides of the cake browned up so it doesn't look purple. I tried to counter this a little by using a bit of ube flavoring and water to paint over the outside with a basting brush, but it didn't come out very even. It looks okay, but I wouldn't necessarily recommend doing what I did. You can just leave it that color or frost it.

Now, finally, just load your remaining frosting into the pastry bag and squeeze large dollops onto the top, squeezing into the center of the puff you're making so it plumps up. [Edit: One of my rebloggers suggested whipped cream is more traditional for this, but I'm just using my leftover frosting here!]

Then you're ready to slice and enjoy with a friend! Or a party of Cool Kids.

My companion said it was his second-favorite cake ever, and that the texture was a bit like really good cornbread. It's a not-overly-sweet cake that smells, tastes, and looks pretty great! Try it yourself!

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#steven universe #steven universe food #food #the good lars #ube roll cake #myblog

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