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jasmineoolongtea · 3 months

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coffee jelly and parfait ― chapter 1: caramel pudding

pairing: bodyguard!toji x baker!reader (f), toji is 38, reader is 22

summary: after working towards and succeding in accomplishing your lifelong dream working for one of the most famous bakeries in tokyo, you decide to go out for a night of celebratory drinking. however, the next morning, you wake up and find out that you're now married to a total stranger and an older one at that! but, turns out, this accidental marriage of yours might be more useful than you think.

contents: a sesame salt and pudding!au, age gap relationship (16 years - everyone is completely legal here!!!), marriage of convenience/accidental marriage, fluff, angst, slice of life, nicknames (toji is referred to as ossan by reader which is an informal way of referring to a middle-aged man in Japanese and this is taken directly from the manga inspo behind this)

warnings: drinking/alcohol, smoking (from toji)

word count: 3.9k words (much beefer than i was expecting ngl)

extras:

⤷ mood board/pinterest board

a/n: ahhh i'm so excited to finally be able to work on this series since it's been workshopping in the back of my mind for a while shdhahwj hope you guys enjoy this and hope you have an amazing day/night !!! sorry that this chapter is so exposition-heavy rip djasd, i promise later chapters will get better. as always, any likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <333

It's normal for weird things to happen after a night of heavy drinking, right?

You've heard all sorts of stories from your friends and family about the strange antics drunk people get up to once they get a certain amount of liquor running through their veins. It can range from small silly things like trying out a new skill in public due to a sudden burst of newfound confidence to more extreme ones like running away from an angry mob of people that you've accidentally incited somehow. Despite the difference in their severity, the common thread here remains: all are mostly harmless things and nothing that is possibly life-changing.

Much to your dismay, however, you seem to be the outlier in all those cases. Actually, it appears to be that you've managed to outdo almost everyone this time as this one definitely has to take the cake right here or whatever award they give out for things like this.

This morning, as you wake up and open your bedroom door, you suddenly find yourself face to face with a complete stranger, who very much appears to be an older guy, standing right outside in your apartment.

And to top off this already weird trajectory of events, as if things could not possibly get even stranger, it also turns out that you've apparently married said stranger last night.

...What!?!

To say that your memory of last night is hazy would be a massive understatement in all senses of the word. But what you do remember clearly is the reason why you went drinking in the first place, which was to congratulate yourself for finally achieving your lifelong dream up to this point.

After years of blood, sweat and tears spent at the Tsuji Culinary School where you fought with tooth, fist and nails against hundreds of other culinary hopefuls to win the highly coveted and only place available for the exchange programme to Le Cordon Bleu institute in France, your suffering was not all for nought as on your glorious return back to Japan, you've managed to land your dream job of working at one of Tokyo's most famous bakeries, Pierre Hermé.

If that was not a perfect reason to celebrate and drink the night away completely carefree then you don't know what was.

However, there was one tiny little snag in your plans for a joyous night out. The moment that you returned home to give your roommate the good news, still trying to come down from the high of hearing the good news, it seemed that she apparently also had a similar genius idea of her own and decided to inform you that she was leaving you to search for somewhere else to live closer to her job.

For most people, that wouldn't be a problem as they could just be able to leisurely search for a new roommate at their own pace. But for you, this was not the case as you were facing a different set of circumstances. For you, your move to Tokyo was entirely conditional on the fact that would stay with someone and this was explicitly set and outlined by your dad. Now roommate-less, you suddenly had a ticking expiry date placed on all your ambitions that you had barely scratched the surface of by this point.

This was probably the worst case of whiplash you've ever had, going from an extreme high to an extreme low all in the span of less than 10 minutes. Unfortunately, it seemed that the odds were very much not in your favour. But how could you let that waver your resolve? If you had learned anything from your years of existing is that you weren't going to give up and relent that easily.

So, in actuality, it was somewhat a lie that you were only out drinking for one reason. In reality, it was for two reasons; one, to congratulate yourself on achieving your dreams and two, to try and forget your newfound problem through the power of alcohol. And this was how you found yourself complaining to a bunch of strangers at a local izakaya, surrounded by several empty pints of beer.

A loud drunken sob echoes through the small confines of the bar which is accompanied by the thud of an empty glass cup slamming against the wooden countertop of the bar.

"It isn't fair at all! Do you know how hard I've worked to get here? I've basically given up everything for this and now it's going to all disappear?" You bemoan out loud to whoever's around you, signalling to the barkeep to fill up another pint for you as you're clearly intent on accomplishing your plan of drinking away your problems.

There's a lady and her boyfriend, whose face you can't really remember or recall in any particular detail, sitting next to you on your right trying to comfort you with sympathetic coos and awkward back pats. While they're trying their best to comfort you, or as best as drunk people can, their efforts are seemingly in vain as you can only sigh in defeat at your current predicament.

Taking another swig of the freshly poured pint, you continue on your rant. "And you know, my dad is only letting me stay in Tokyo if I either have a roommate or if I'm married even if I'm happy here as is!"

The lady nods in an empathetic manner as if to say she's gone through the same thing as well, commenting, "My dad's the same way as well, he's kinda old-fashioned when it comes to stuff like this and it's awful."

"If only alcohol could cure problems like this," You muse. "My roommate and I used to come here all the time and everyone we met here is always so nice."

At your praise of the other bar patrons, there's a murmur of agreement and cheers from all around. The frothy foam of your drink has bubbled down by now but as you stare into the half-drunk glass, you're suddenly hit with an outrageous idea. "Hey, what if I get married to one of you guys tonight, right here right now?"

Boisterous laughter immediately erupts at your words. One dishevelled salary man from the other side of the bar jokingly remarks, "If you do that, you won't even be wanted back home!"

However, once the laughter dies down there's a genuine pause from everyone, including yourself, as if you all were genuinely considering carrying out this ridiculous and definitely impractical idea. Following the brief silence, the other patrons turn to their neighbours and begin to talk and discuss amongst themselves, their heads swivelling left and right in what seems to be an attempt to size up and judge the men at the bar as potential candidates.

"I'm already married to a wife I love dearly so I'm going to have to turn down that offer." Announces a middle-aged man from opposite you, with other similar comments and statements soon chiming in to eliminate themselves from the running based on a variety of different reasons.

Before the lady's boyfriend can even open his mouth to volunteer himself, she sends a withering look and an accusatory finger his way as she warns him, "Don't even think about it." At her stern warning, he quickly sinks back down into his seat.

An elderly man sighs wistfully to himself. "Ha, maybe if I was 20 years younger..." He then turns to his side, nudging the guy next to him with his elbow to get his attention before asking him. "Hey, what about you?"

You can't really see the other man's face since he's pretty much on the other side of the long table and your vision might have been slightly hazy on account of all the alcohol flowing through your system at this point, though you hear his gruff voice ring out as he shrugs his built shoulders and responds, "Me? 'M single I guess."

From all the other voices you've heard tonight, you don't recognise his, guessing that he might have been relatively silent throughout most of the conversation. Although you can't see much of him, you notice even sitting down, he's about two heads taller than those around him and his broad shoulders and well-built physique are accentuated by the tight-fitting black shirt he's wearing. God, it looks like he's basically vacuumed and sealed into that thing as the fabric shifts with every flex of his muscles.

Maybe it's the dim lighting of the izakaya but you're sure you catch a brilliant flash of green from across the table looking you up and down with vague curiosity and interest. You think to yourself, he doesn't look half bad.

Suddenly filled with a renewed sense of energy, or rather you're getting to the point on your drunkness scale where you feel comfortable enough to throw logic out of the window, you leap up from your seat and point at the man as you shout at the top of your lungs,

"Alright, you in the black shirt! Let's get married!"

After hearing your declaration, the lady starts to furiously flip the magazine in front of her until it lands on a certain page before picking it up and showing it to the others. "Hey, look! This magazine I bought has a marriage registration form at the back."

"What an amazing coincidence." Someone mutters from beside you with a few other voices soon relaying their own hums of agreement.

"We can all be witnesses! Come on and sign it!"

Chants of "Sign it." start to fill up the bar as the other patrons begin to cheer you two on like a crowd at a live stadium sports match from the sidelines of their seats. The moment your pen clatters against the floor, the crowd bursts out into celebratory shouts and cheers, with that being the extent of your memories of last night with whatever after it fading into black.

Now back in the present, you feel your face start to burn with a renewed sense of embarrassment as memories and small recollections of last night start to flood your mind. Any chance of even possibly denying the events of last night goes out the window as turns out, your drunk self decided that it was the perfect opportunity to apparently take a commemorative photo of the event with the marriage license at the dead of centre of it, your names unmistakably written on there in bold.

As you examine the form, still slightly gobsmacked, you spot his name next to yours. Fushiguro Toji, huh? You think quietly to yourself, his name sounds kind of nice. But before you can find yourself getting lost in thought, a husky voice snaps you back into reality.

"Now, do'ya remember?" The man, or Toji as that's what appears to be his name, quirks an inquisitive eyebrow at you.

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain how you ended up in my apartment." Eyeing him up and down, you pause for a second as you take in your equally dishevelled appearances, something suddenly clicking in your head as your overactive mind begins to draw its own conclusions about what happened after the events of the izakaya. "Oh no. Di-did we..?" You gesture frantically at the two of you, hoping that he understands what you're implying with your question.

Toji shakes his head, a slightly irritated or perhaps even amused sigh leaving his lips, you're not sure. "No. Yer insisted that you should take me home since I mentioned that I didn't really have a place to stay for the night."

A sigh of relief escapes you.

You take this time to now fully examine him since you didn't get much of a chance last night, or rather you had forgotten all about it. There's an unquestionably intimidating aura about him with his shaggy black hair, incredibly muscular physique and piercing emerald green eyes that look like they could kill a man where he stood with a single stare. His all-black clothing and what appears to be a vertical scar situated on the right corner of his lips do him no favours to make him look less like a gangster straight out of an action movie.

Although there aren't the typical tell-tale signs of ageing on him like obvious wrinkles or a head of grey hairs, there's a faint imprint of more permanent creases starting to form in the middle of his brows and if you look closely enough, you might even notice some small sprinkles of white starting to pop up amidst the rest of his raven locks. This all points to the fact that he's definitely older than you but you're unsure by how much from your initial assessment of him, probably at least ten years older than give or take.

Though, besides this outright menacing factor to him, you can't help but admit that he's also strikingly handsome in a rugged way. You realise that you might have been caught staring at him for too long when he clears his throat and gives you a pointed glance with those sharp green eyes. Just having his gaze on you is enough to send a tingling sensation down your spine.

Deciding to brush it off, he huffs to himself as he leans his weight against the white walls of your apartment. "It's probably too late to cancel it since we already signed and submitted it last night so the only option we have now is to divorce."

He fishes around in the pockets of his pants and produces an already half-empty and slightly crumpled cigarette box. Before taking one out, he turns towards you and silently asks for your permission with a tilt of his head. You nod at him, expecting him to crank open one of your windows to smoke but instead, he walks towards your kitchen and turns on your kitchen hood. Curiously, you follow behind him and see him use a dingy lighter to light up the cigarette, the pale glow of the flame illuminating the harsh lines of his features, as he takes a deep puff of it before blowing the smoke up the hood.

So he's a kitchen smoker, huh? Obviously, you want to know how he's developed this peculiar habit but you decide to bite your tongue for now as there are more pressing issues on hand such as the undeniable elephant in the room.

There's a brief moment of silence before Toji starts speaking again. "Y'know, I kinda feel bad for last night 'cause you're going to be a divorcee so young."

"Hey! I'm not that young you know, Ossan!" You protest in return, crossing your arms over your chest in a slightly childish display of annoyance. That earns you what sounds like a breathy laugh from him as one corner of his lips tilts upwards in a somewhat crooked manner.

"Oh yeah? Then how old are ya?" There's a teasing lilt to his voice, almost as if he's slightly amused by your antics.

You huff. "22. What about you?"

"You really can't remember much from last night huh? I'm 38." If he's 38 then that means there's a 16-year age difference between you two. Not the worst-case scenario that could happen when it comes to marrying a complete stranger by accident, you think to yourself.

It seems that your apparent lack of reaction, only giving out a half-hearted hmm, to finding out his age is surprising to him. If he was going to be honest, he wasn't ruling out that you might have started bolting out of your apartment at the mention of it and in that case, he wouldn't blame you.

You state, "Besides, you're not the only one to blame here. It's on me as well since we both signed it. So don't feel bad. We'll get it taken care of as soon as possible." You send a reassuring smile his way, waving off his concerns with an easy-going wave of your wrist. For some reason, he feels like he might even believe your assurance for a second.

Much to your public embarrassment your stomach starts to grumble loudly with what some might say is impeccable comedic timing. "Or well, as soon as I get some food." You comment bashfully, your previously carefree attitude fading away relatively quickly as a new priority has emerged.

As you make the move towards your fridge, you look over at him from your shoulder as you ask, "Oh right. Do you want something as well? I don't really cook meals that often so all I have in my kitchen is basically just baking ingredients."

Toji does a quick look around the kitchen, examining the clear state of mess and disarray that it's in and scoffs offhandedly to himself. "Didn't realise you could call this mess a kitchen."

"In my defence, my roommate used to do all the cooking and cleaning whilst I mainly covered the bills." You point back at him, a wooden spoon in hand as you wave at him warningly.

"What happened to them then?"

"Oh, you know, suddenly deciding to move closer to work even though your roommate has already paid the lease for the year for two people and stuff like that." There's an edge of annoyance to your tone, clearly, you're still annoyed at your roommate for putting you in this predicament, but Toji decides not to comment on it.

After watching you struggle to turn on your gas stove for what seems to be like the tenth time in the span of 2 minutes, a loud sigh of exasperation escapes him as he places his calloused hand on top of yours. stopping you in your tracks. "Come on, just let me do it." He states. As he moves closer to the kitchen counter, his body is positioned so close to your left side that you can feel the heat radiating off of him.

He starts to busy himself with various ingredients as it seems that he's now begrudgingly taken over cooking duties from you, no protests from your side by the way. Before you go to take your seat at the kitchen table, you hear him mumble under his breath. "Can't believe you have the time to go out and get drunk and not even to clean your place."

"Hey." You turn around to face him once again, your voice stern. "You don't know me, alright? I wanna stay in Tokyo because I just got my dream job and I'm not planning on leaving any time soon."

"...Yer job? What d'you do?"

"I'm a baker. Have you ever heard of the bakery, Pierre Hermé?"

He pauses, bringing a finger up to his chin as if deep in thought. "Think 've walked past it a few times. Why?"

There's a renewed sense of excitement to you, passion very much evident in both your words and expression as you launch into an animated spiel at his question. "It's one of the top bakeries in Tokyo and I've spent my whole life working towards being able to get a job there." You look out at the window, quietly contemplating and contrasting the crowded and bustling streets and skyline of Tokyo with the sleepy and relatively isolated atmosphere of your hometown.

"Back in my home town, there isn't really much opportunity to work somewhere like this, especially since it's a foreign bakery specialising in French pastries so this is basically my only chance to fulfil my dreams." You can't help but let a wistful sigh leave your lips, thinking about how hard you've fought to get to this point now. Unbeknownst to you, Toji suddenly sits up straighter, his back pressed against the cool ceramic countertops as he stares at you, seemingly studying you in a new light after your words. Before you can realise it though, he quickly adverts his gaze elsewhere, taking another drag of his cigarette.

"What about you?" You ask him, a sense of interest clearly present in your voice. For someone like him, you don't even know where to really begin when it comes to guessing what a guy like him could do for a living as it could range from semi-realistic to wildly fantastical like straight out of a TV show.

"...I'm a bodyguard for hire." Compared to you though, his tone is devoid of the same energy and passion present in yours with him even pausing slightly before answering, as if he was hesitant to reveal this aspect about himself.

"Wow, that's cool." There's a small sense of awe at his response. Being a bodyguard would definitely explain that muscular physique of his, you remark quietly to yourself.

A tsk sound escapes him at your comment, shrugging it off with his shoulders as he turns to the side. "All I care is that it pays well. Nothin' more."

You deflate a little at his words. To you, he sounds more begrudging than anything and you think that there's probably a story behind that as well, like many other things about him like that lip scar of his, but you choose to avoid prodding him even further as well in his defence, you've technically just met each other last night. All of a sudden, you're hit with an idea, a crazy idea just like last night, but this time now sober, and it might just be crazy enough to work or you two might just be desperate enough to make it work. You clear your throat before you call out to him.

"Hey, Ossan." Toji looks back at you, and clearly, you've managed to pique his curiosity by the amused expression present on his face. If you were a lesser person, you might have shrunk under the intensity of his gaze so intently trained on you but you don't, there's too much of your future dream riding on this now for you to back out before anything could have even begun. You look into his eyes, maintaining eye contact before you continue. "I have an idea, actually, it's more of a request. The next time I go back home to visit my parents, can you come with me as my husband? If I'm married to someone who lives in Tokyo, my dad can't tell me to move home anymore and he'll definitely believe that it's real once he sees your name on the official family register."

Before he can even say no or offer any protest of his own, you add, "Plus, this deal will be beneficial to you as well since you'll get a place to live until you get your own apartment. So, let's hold off on the divorce until then."

There's a hopeful look in your eyes with a look of determination painted on your features. Evidently, even without his input, it appears to be that you're dead set on this plan if it means you get the slightest chance of staying here. He contemplates a future where he says no, imagining another week of being forced to couch surf on his boss's stale office couch and living in a constant state of uncertainty for who knows how long. Sure, it's not like he's so sure about what going to happen now but at least if he agrees to this, he's not alone in dealing with whatever uncertainty is thrown his way.

He shakes his head, stubbing out the burnt end of his cigarette in the sink and takes your hand in his.

"Alright fine, yer got a deal."

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tgmsunmontue · 28 days

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Season to Taste - 8/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I have a friend in Paris, I want you to go there and work in his kitchen.”

“Why?”

“You’re too comfortable here. Time to remind you that you never stop learning,” Leandro states and Bradley lets out a slow breath. He’s been here for three years, and he’s learnt so much, and Leandro and Silvia’s hospitality has been amazing. He feels part of their family.

“I don’t speak French.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t speak Italian either when you started with me. I will teach you.”

“You speak French?”

“Of course. It’s where I trained.”

“Trained?”

“I went to Le Cordon Bleu. Now I teach you,” Leandro says, and he rolls his eyes but he’s grinning. Bradley feels like there must be a joke there that he’s missing.

… … …

He’s never spent so much time with a guy he’s not in a relationship with and also having sex with. Spending time with Jake feels so easy, like they’ve somehow skipped ahead over weeks of dating and awkwardness by simply forging ahead with lots of sex and hanging out. They haven’t had deep or meaningful conversations, other than some quite frank discussions around preferences in bed. They’re wonderfully compatible sexually and Bradley hasn’t had as much sex in the last year as he’s had in the last forty-eight hours.

Jake has gone home, well, to his sister’s house across town, to where he is apparently babysitting his nieces and nephew so that his sister can have a date night with her husband. And also so he can have a night chatting with Vi before her flight home tomorrow. Although chat might be pushing it, because he’s pretty sure Vi is going to have a brain aneurism with all the muttering she’s been doing under her breath. Every time Jake put sauce on something her nostrils flared just a little and he wonders when she got a bigger bee in her bonnet than him about shit like that. She doesn’t even cook.

“He puts sauce on pickles…” she mutters, and she’s pouring two glasses of wine, so he guesses he’s drinking wine tonight. Clearly because she doesn’t want to drink alone.

“He does seem to put sauce on everything.”

“Oh my god…” Vi says, pulling a face.

“What?”

“You would normally flip your shit at someone adding sauce to everything and yet… here you are looking like it’s cute. You actually like this guy.”

“I mean, I don’t like his taste in sauce. But yeah… he’s pretty… uh… great.”

“Oh my god. Leandro and Silvia are not going to believe it.”

“How about we don’t share the details of my sex life with them until it’s something more than just sex?”

“Oh, I’m calling it now. It is definitely more than sex. You wouldn’t be staying if it was just good sex.”

“What about mind blowingly great sex?”

“With a guy that adds sauce to everything?”

“Well, he hasn’t brought it into the bedroom. Yet.”

He supposes he deserves the punch to the arm.

… … …

Leo is an active rester. That’s the only thing he can take away from watching him be completely unable to just sit. Even after sex he seems to buzz with energy until Jake wrings another orgasm out of him, which had been a delight to learn. Now he’s making more food and he watches as Leo cuts, his hands, fingers and blade flying and it’s mesmerizing, like watching the flicker of flame but instead it’s the flash of a metal blade.

“Damn you’re good with that…”

Leo doesn’t stop but he looks up to smile at Jake.

“The knife is an extension of my arm… just like when you fly. Muscle memory and training.”

“Huh. You know a lot about flying huh?”

“Navy brat remember?”

“Even after you dad died?” Jake asks.

“Yeah… my godfather stepped up and he helped my mom raise me. So I know all about the military lifestyle. How I was raised.”

“So your godfather was also an aviator?”

“Yep,” Leo says, tone clipped and okay, not touching that subject then.

“So, raised a Navy brat then. Not how you live now, we do not eat this well.”

“Well, not for lack of trying. I ran away from home when my godfather pulled my papers for USNA. And you put sauce on everything, so it’d all taste the same anyway,” Leo says, winking at him and Jake grins, reaches over and steals a slice of pepper.

“Wait. You were going to go to USNA?”

“That was my plan. Instead I got on the first plane out and ended up in Italy.”

“Holy shit… you kind of brushed over how young you were when you did that.”

“Yeah. I got very fucking lucky.”

“Is Violet actually your cousin?”

“No,” Leo laughs. “Her family pretty much adopted me though.”

“Huh. Okay.”

“Here. Try this.”

Jake obliges, although he’s not quite sure what Leo is hoping to achieve here. Jake hasn’t ever been able to differentiate different flavors, not like some people seem to. He licks the spoon, grinning a little when he sees Leo’s eyes tracking his lips.

“Could use a little sauce,” he says, just to be an asshole.

“Don’t be a dick… Come on, I'm trying to make a new dish...”

“A new dish. Why not just use a recipe?”

“I wouldn't be much of a chef if I used other people's recipes...”

“Huh. Okay. You want to have someone that’ll actually talk about the flavors with you? Because I know I’m just going to think everything needs sauce, because I think everything needs sauce. You know who would be really good at this?”

“Who?”

“My sister. Well, two of them specifically, but Maria is easiest. She loves all this tasting things over and over stuff.”

“You’re lucky you’re hot.”

“Are you saying I have no other redeeming qualities?”

“Oh, you have plenty of redeeming qualities. Your tastebuds just don’t happen to be one of them.”

“I’ve got good taste where it’s important…”

“Smooth, real smooth.”

“I do alright.”

… … …

“Shit shit shit…”

“What?”

“I burnt the rice.”

“You? You still burn stuff?”

“Yeah, when there’s a guy in my kitchen naked who decides that fucking me on the dining table is a good decision…”

“Mmm. Sorry baby. I didn’t think about the food.”

“Yeah well, the smoke alarm kind of killed the afterglow,” Bradley mutters and Jake snorts against his neck before licking a stripe and he groans again. God. He’s never going to get enough.

… … …

“Hey. I have a favor to ask.”

“Shovel or money?” Maria asks, clearly distracted by something but Jake is still trying to parse what she’s said.

“What?”

“Am I burying a body or am I bailing you out?”

“Wow. Do you guys have a bet going what will come first?”

“Yep. So which is it?”

“Neither actually. Fuck. Maybe this is a terrible idea.”

“Well, I still don’t know what it is and I’m a little busy so… either piss or get off the pot.”

God his sisters are all so classy.

“Do you want to be a taste tester?”

“What,” Maria asks, and Jake doesn’t hear an inflection, she’s just surprised so he waits. “A taste tester… for a competition or something? Oh god, don’t tell me you’re trying your hand at cooking again, because you’d have to pay me danger money…”

“Hey! I can make some things! But, no. Leo is a chef and he’s trying to perfect this dish and I’m as useful as tits on a bull.”

“You’ve got a guy who can cook as well as everything else? How is this fair?”

“You ain’t even seen him yet Maria, he’s fucking gorgeous.”

“You get all the luck, I swear. So what… you want me to eat some of his cooking? Oh my god. Let me guess, he asks you and you just keep on adding fucking sauce to it.”

“Yeah. It kind of makes his eye twitch a little, but he still lets me do it.”

“Does he now?”

“Yeah. His cousin uh… actually. Nevermind.”

“No no, his cousin what?”

“Just said… well, she said it in Italian, so I could have gotten it wrong, but…” Jake can’t believe he’s sharing this with his sister. “Just that, uh, the dick must be good?”

“Ew.”

“You asked!”

“Remind me of this conversation next time I ask a question you think I won’t like the answer to.”

“I’ll try. You never listen to me anyway.”

“Maybe I’ll start.”

CHAPTER NINE

#Season to taste #Hangster #Sereshaw #Top Gun Maverick fanfiction #AU

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chic-a-gigot · 6 months

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La Mode nationale, no. 7, 1 avril 1886, Paris. No. 2. Costume Clergyman. No. 3. Costume Diane. No. 4. Costume de visite. Bibliothèque nationale de France

No. 2. Costume Clergyman. Jupe de lainage vitraux bleu à filets rouges, drapée en biais sur le tablier, tombant en plis droits sur le côté, coquillant en pouf derrière. Là-dessus un jersey en laine bleue, lacé en aiguillettes par une tresse de mohair rouge.

No. 2. Clergyman suit. Blue stained glass woolen skirt with red threads, draped diagonally over the apron, falling in straight folds on the side, shell like a pouf behind. On top a blue wool jersey, laced in needles with a braid of red mohair.

—

No. 3. Costume Diane. En soie de sanglier fauve. La jupe montée à gros plis par devant, tombant en pouf derrière, fendue de côté sur un jupon barré d'astrakan naturel.

Le corsage en sanglier tricoté, brodé d'une fine guirlande en laine bourrue, d'un ton plus foncé. Capeline en paillasson beige, avec cordon de boules ambrées et panache de plumes fauves.

No. 3. Diana suit. In tawny boar silk. The skirt fitted with large pleats in the front, falling in a pouf at the back, slit on the side over a petticoat barred with natural astrakhan.

The bodice in knitted boar, embroidered with a fine garland of coarse wool, in a darker tone. Beige doormat capeline, with cord of amber balls and plume of fawn feathers.

—

No. 4. Costume de visite. En étamine gris de fer, ciselée de rayures à jour. Le devant de la jupe forme double pli Montespan. Le reste est plissé. Là-dessus une tunique drapée, ouverte devant et retroussée de côté en étamine unie, de même ton. Jersey en soie grise ouvert par une double rangée de boutons nacrés sur un gilet de velours d'une nuance plus soutenue.

No. 4. Visiting suit. In iron gray cheesecloth, chiselled with openwork stripes. The front of the skirt forms a Montespan double pleat. The rest is pleated. On top a draped tunic, open in front and rolled up at the side in plain cheesecloth, of the same tone. Gray silk jersey opened with a double row of pearly buttons on a velvet waistcoat of a more intense shade.

#La Mode nationale #19th century #1880s #1886 #on this day #April 1 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #suit #bustle #visiting

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gastronominho · 1 year

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Ofner apresenta sobremesas em parceria com a Le Cordon Bleu

Novos doces poderão ser encontrados nas lojas dos Jardins, de Pinheiros e do Shopping Iguatemi

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#comida #gastronomia #le cordon bleu #notícia #ofner #são paulo

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alrightbuckaroo · 3 days

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Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers! Spread the self-love 💞

Hi Rae! I always think "Rae of Sunshine" when I hear your name ☀️ I hope you've been doing well and taking care of yourself <3 I'm going to tag @bonheur-cafe as she was kind enough to send an ask too <3

love can pull you out of yesterday

The day TK falls through the ice is a day that Carlos doesn't want to remember, but it's one he can't forget. It's the day he's currently stuck living over and over and over again.

summer slipped us underneath her tongue

TK Strand is a freshly heartbroken art history student who's been given the opportunity of a lifetime; studying art in the heart of it all, Paris, France. However, he thinks it's a cruel taunt from the universe. He's studying what he loves so much in the city of love but is stuck thinking there's no one out there who loves him. Carlos Reyes is a career driven culinary student studying at Le Cordon Bleu. He has hard time maintaining relationships, an even harder time of detaching himself from his work and and has an awful habit of doubting everything about himself. After a night out that they end up sharing with each other; they agree to keep any and all things casual. Well, like most things, that's easier said than done.

tender eyes that shine

“No llores, nieto,” Carlos’ abuelo tells him during the wake of his abuela's funeral. His abuelo crouches down, his joints cracking and popping as he stoops to Carlos’ eye level. He raises a calloused thumb and wipes away the tears that are still falling from Carlos’ wide brown eyes. “Men like us,” His abuelo continues, his words casting a wide net. “We don’t let the world pity us, we can’t let them see us as soft.” Carlos nods, wiping away any new tears that are starting to fall. The right sleeve of his charcoal gray suit now comes away colored a staunch black where Carlos’ tears have dampened it. For some reason, the way his abuelo says ‘soft’ ricochets off of Carlos, as if it were stone and Carlos is a thin sheet of glass nestled into a window pane. It’s left a dent, an imprint, an impression, but hasn’t done enough damage to cause a crack. Carlos’ bloodshot eyes shine with hesitation as he asks, voice small and insecure, “Reyes men don’t cry? “Reyes men don’t cry,” His abuelo confirms.

29 Going on 30

During a trip to New York City to celebrate TK turning 30, TK and Carlos stumble upon a list of things TK always wanted to do before he turned 30, all of them being references to romantic comedies he loved so much growing up. While TK is fine with leaving the past in the past, Carlos thinks there's no better time than the present. He thinks that TK deserves to feel the same type of love he loved watching on the silver screen, so he devotes the rest of their trip to just that. Told through a tale filled with everlasting love, a never-ending trek across New York City and the occasional painful reminder of the past, Carlos learns a little more about the city TK once called home and TK learns a little more about himself.

a little taste of love

TK Strand, a florist working for the renowned flower shop, Bloom With a View, can't take his eyes off of Carlos Reyes, a baker working at Cake My Day, the bakery across the street.

I say it all the time now, but if I were to ever just randomly stop writing one day and never published anything again, I'm glad I got the Time Loop AU up. Definitely a new personal favorite (summer slipped us, you still have a special place in my heart) <3

#if you're a madonna fan i'll start thinking rae of light #anyways these long ass summaries #thanks so much for the ask <3 <3 <3 #asked and answered #tk strand #carlos reyes #tarlos #911 lone star #my writing

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cameronspecial · 11 months

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Before The Last Petal Falls (Part 2)

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: N/A

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: It's always a funny thing to be invited to your ex-boyfriend's engagement party. It's an even funnier thing when it seems all his family members have something to say to you.

Masterlist

“How about Lace Place?” Lacey asks, flashing her hands in an ark to imitate the arch of the sign she is imagining. Y/N gives her a funny look at the words, “Babe, that sounds like you sell drugs. If you name your restaurant that, you’ll be attracting the wrong type of clientele. Although, if a stoner accidentally walks in, maybe you’ll get some business from the munchies.” Lacey cringes at the realization and nods. “Hey, you think I could sell some cookies at your bookstore? Maybe, it can help drum up some business,” Lacey suggests.

“I don’t see why it would be an issue. Let me just read up on the regulations on it just in case we need a special license or something, but it’s such a cute idea. I can get one of those rollie carts and call it the Cookie Cart. Ooh, maybe I can give a free bookmark with each purchase of a cookie.”

“That’s a great idea. Then I could offer the same thing when someone buys a certain thing at the restaurant. Like, get a ten percent coupon for the bookstore. How do you feel about being a dinner special?”

“Ahh, I love this idea. We are just two business girlies supporting each other. Soon, well, be girl bosses dominating the world.”

“Uhh, excuse me. Last time I checked, you were already a girl boss, who dominates the world. I mean In The Shadows has been in The New York Times Best Sellers for fifty-two weeks, now. You went on an international book tour for your debut book and you are writing the much-anticipated sequel as we speak. You made it, girl.”

“Okay, okay. Don’t discount your achievements though. You literally worked at a Michelin-star restaurant and graduated top of your class at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris. Now, you are opening your own restaurant at twenty-three.”

The girls laugh at the little spiel they went on about being proud of their achievement and return to the paperwork they were going through for each of their respective businesses. In the five years since graduating high school, Y/N graduated from Oxford at twenty-one, but not before signing a deal with a major publisher for her book. A year later, her book is on the best sellers list and she is whisked away all over the world to promote it. She does recognize that her success may in part have to do with her mother and considered writing under a pseudonym, but decides against it when she realizes it wouldn’t really do anything. Using a fake name would mean she wouldn’t be able to make an in-person appearance out of concern for being recognized. It’s not exactly like her face has been hidden from her mother’s social media page. She really wants to have those moments to connect physically with her fans.

On the other hand, Lacey had gone to culinary school at Le Cordon Bleu, and then quickly got a job at the Michelin-star restaurant. She decided to quit her job there so that she could open up her own restaurant.

——

Y/N has no clue where she is going. Mason had just told her to get dressed nicely and to get in the car. She couldn’t get a question out, so she followed his instructions and got changed. She put on tan-coloured pants and a light pink balloon-sleeved satin blouse. She wore a black belt with a gold buckle and golden jewellery to pull the outfit together. Y/N sulked as she walked to Mason’s car. Her pestering as to where they were going went unanswered. When she sees where he stops the car, she wants to literally jump out of the car and run home. “Why did you bring me here, Mace?”

“It’s their engagement party today. I wasn’t planning on bringing you, but Blythe called and she literally begged me to bring you today. She knows how much you meant to Rafe and wants to get to know you more. She hopes, maybe even, that you guys can make up.”

Y/N gives Mason a questioning look, “She wants her fiancé to get along again with his ex-girlfriend?” Mason nods and gently moves to bring his sister inside. “Blythe is a sweet girl and she really loves Rafe. She feels secu-.” Realizing that what he was about to say may have made his sister feel bad, he quickly switches to a different path. “Blythe is really friendly. She makes it her mission to help mend broken relationships. Rafe told me that she got two girls who were best friends when they were younger to make up after they got into a two-year fight over a boy. Can you just go in? You don’t have to talk to anyone and I literally brought you a book.” Y/N isn’t too excited about going to her ex-boyfriend’s engagement party, but she does as her brother asks.

The twins enter Tannyhill together and are immediately given each a hug from the excited bride-to-be. “Ahh, and in comes the best man. You are only a tiny bit late, Mace. Y/N, I’m so glad you decided to come. I just know you and Rafe will make up in a jiffy.” Y/N gives an awkward smile, “Yeah, I totally chose to be here voluntarily.” Mason discretely elbows his sister in the stomach with a smile on his face. Play nice, the action signified. Blythe doesn’t seem to sense the sarcasm in Y/N’s words and turns towards Mason. “We are going to take the wedding party pictures now. Come on,” Blythe orders, taking Mason’s hand and dragging him away. “Rafe, say hello to Y/N.”

Y/N hadn’t noticed that Rafe had been standing at the main entrance too. Blythe has a way of holding everyone’s attention in a room. He had been standing there quietly observing the greetings. He quickly murmurs a hello then goes off after Blythe before Y/N can return it. She isn’t sure what to do and seeing as the only people she knows at the party are groomsmen, she goes upstairs to read on the balcony. She knows she probably shouldn’t be up there, but the balcony was guest free and she really didn’t want to explain who she was to anyone else.

The broken silence from the front yard causes her to look up from the book. She silently watches as it appears the party is being moved outside. Rafe’s arm is wrapped around Blythe’s waist as she makes a speech thanking everyone for being there. Once she is done talking, Rafe follows her around whilst she talks from guest to guest. Rafe and the older lady listen to something Blythe says and they both laugh their heads off. This is why Y/N had to break up with Rafe. She could never be the social butterfly that matched his need to be around people. She could never fake pleasant conversations with people she doesn’t know. She would never want any of the traditional things associated with a wedding. And Rafe deserves all of that. Watching Blythe be all of those things for him cements the idea into Y/N’s mind that she did the right thing for him. He was able to move on and thrive with someone much more like him. With someone who didn’t hold him back.

“Why does it not surprise me that you are up here?” A voice breaks the silence. Y/N turns to see a much older Wheezie at the door of the balcony. “OMG, Wheez. Look how big you’ve gotten. You are such a dignified young woman. Are you driving yet?” Wheezie moves herself to go sit beside Y/N, “Thank you, but I only seem to have gotten bigger because you haven’t seen me in five years. And I am driving. Rafe and Sarah are too scared to be in a car with me though. Blythe lets me drive her but I think only because she wants brownie points with me.”

“It’s still nice of her though. Do you like her?”

“Yeah, but you would let me drive you because you believe in my driving. Not because you want me to like you. You bribed me with cookies for that. She does it because she wants me to like her. She’s nice, though. But you know, she doesn’t make Rafe’s eyes twinkle as much as you do.”

“Louisa, you can’t keep comparing me to her. She’s the one marrying your brother.”

“And you are the one who still has a tighter hold on his heart even if he won’t admit it. You know I’m still angry at you for breaking up with him in the first place. But I missed you too much to be mad at you right now.”

“You gotta stop saying that. And I know you are mad. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have iced you guys out like that. I’m back now though and you can tell me all about your high school experience.”

“Yeah, yeah. We can talk about that later. Right now, I want you to sign my book.”

“You read my book?”

“Of course I did. You tell the best stories. You know Damian is an interesting character.”

“He is, isn’t he? Don’t you just love a good demon love interest?”

“Yeah, that’s totally why I find him interesting…”

Y/N doesn’t comment on Wheezie’s crypticness and follows the girl to her bedroom where the book sits. She signs the book and is dragged back downstairs to the party by the younger girl. Wheezie promises to come back and darts off to who knows where. Y/N is left alone in the kitchen she once used to make dessert cookies for her first date with Rafe. She resorts back to reading her book on the kitchen island. The sound of someone entering the kitchen causes her to look up from her book. Rafe is at the entryway staring at her with a scowl. “Where did you run off to, Y/L/N?”

“I was upstairs on the balcony, reading.”

“You know, typically guests aren’t allowed upstairs during a party.”

“Wheezie didn’t seem to have a problem with it.”

“Yeah, well, she worships the ground you walk on so she isn’t exactly a non-biased host.”

They stare each other down for a few seconds in silence before Y/N decides to break it.

“You told me you wanted to get married at twenty-five.”

“And you told me that you wanted to be with me forever. I guess we are both pretty good at changing our life plan without telling the other.”

“Haha, such a good retort. You really thought that would hurt me, Rafe?” Her words are only half true. The reminder of the choice she made stings a lot if she were to be honest, but she wasn’t about to admit that. Rafe just shakes his head and pushes past her to get to the fridge. He gets a drink out of it, “Whatever, I don’t have time to deal with this.” On his way out of the kitchen, he accidentally brushes her arm with his elbow and the scent of sea breeze and pool overwhelms her. The fact that he still smells the same after all these years causes her breath to hitch and tears to start to swell in her eyes. Rafe wants to pretend like he doesn’t see it. He wants to pretend like he doesn’t care, so he does. Now, she is left alone in the kitchen, wondering where the hell Wheezie went.

Y/N goes in search of the younger girl, but it seems to be like playing a game of Where’s Waldo with the amount of other people in the house. Somehow, Y/N always seems to find herself in the same room as Rafe and it doesn’t go unnoticed by her that every time he spots her, he moves to another room. He’s avoiding her and she obviously understands why he would. Eventually, she gives up on finding Wheezie, but she soon regrets staying in the now-empty backyard. Because Ward Cameron is quick to make his presence known to the girl. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you here.” Y/N looks at Ward with critical eyes, it’s not every day she sees the human embodiment of her insecurities in person. Her hands go to hold her locket and plays with it between her fingers.

“I’m not here out of my free will. The bride wanted me here and what the bride wants, she gets.”

“Ahh, yes. Blythe,” Ward begins, they both look at Rafe and Blythe through the window. “Isn’t she a much better fit for him? She went to UNC with him. She moved to the OBX for him. Look at everything she sacrificed for him.” Y/N watches as Blythe and Rafe interact with the guests of the party. She can’t listen to Ward’s insistent belittling of her, so she does what Rafe would argue she does best and runs away from Tannyhill. She runs as fast as she can back home without a care for her tired limbs. Once safely in the sanctuary of her room, she slams her back against her door and starts crying. She doesn’t know why she is; she’s over Rafe. She let him go, but something about Ward poking holes at all of her insecurities brought back some complicated feelings she always seems to want to repress.

——

Rafe had seen Ward talking to Y/N through the glass and he watched confused as she ran off after something his father said. He had no idea what Ward said but he was sure as hell going to find out. The engagement party has finally come to an end. Rose and Blythe went out to do some wedding shopping, while Sarah and Wheezie went to go do sister things, leaving Rafe the perfect opportunity to interrogate Ward. “What did you say to my ex-girlfriend?” Ward turns toward his son in his desk chair, “Nothing she hasn’t already heard before. What does it matter? As far as I know, you didn’t want anything to do with her.” Rafe shakes his head at his dad’s callousness. “Really, Dad? Even after we’ve been broken up for five years, you still find a way to torment her,” Rafe argues.

Ward gives a questioning tilt of his head towards his father, “She broke up with you. How could you still care for you?” “She may have made the decision to break up with me and I will always be angry at her for that. But I’m not oblivious enough to think you were a harmless observer in Y/N and mine’s relationship,” Rafe begins. “I know you probably said some things to her that set our break up into motion. I want to make something clear, Dad. Even if we are broken up, I don’t want you to get your claws into Y/N’s head ever again. She doesn’t deserve it no matter how much she hurt me.” Rafe finishes his threat and gets up from the chair he sits upon. He storms out of Ward’s office without another word.

Taglist: @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @gillybear17 @f4ll-for-you @winterrrnight @maggiecc

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