MASON ZEDLER

                            /////  STARTERS 

name: Mason Pierce Zedler DOB & zodiac: june 4, 1997 // gemini gender & pronouns: cismale // he/him sexuality: pansexual // poly // non-monogamous occupation: head chef and host of You Butter Believe It hometown: levelland, texas family: jack and abby zedler ( parents ), caroline ( sister, age 8 )

Her smirk was undeniable - she giggled before crawling off the picnic table, trying to find her flip flops in the sand beneath them as she searched for her roommate. Fi really may have left - she shot her a text just in case, leave without me, gonna head to Mason’s for awhile - knowing that the second the other saw the text, at least, she’d be able to head out without feeling guilty. 

Not that Merrick didn’t feel it herself; she had dragged her to the party, but the staff at hoopla was so wide and varied that it was easy to get lost and separated - sure, she usually hung around the writers and those who performed on camera, since she was in that range herself, but she also liked to hang out with everyone. It was like it’s own little city, and Merrick was a politician’s daughter. 

“Come,” she said, finding her small stash of belongings a few feet away, sliding her button up over her arms but leaving it undone, her wallet tucked into the back pocket of her shorts before she stood behind him, hands on his shoulders and pushing her weight up with a soft jump until she was on his back for him to carry. “Let’s see if maybe this time we don’t get interrupted by a cop, yeah?” 

.

“I think it was you who leaned against the horn and got their attention,” Mason said as a reminder, slapping her ass as she walked in front of him. Which of course meant she swatted right back, catching him in the stomach with a sharp sting. That’s was what he liked most about Merrick: she gave as good as she got. In all ways.

His truck really wasn’t too far. He put Merrick’s things in the bed and walked her over to the passenger side, the side that was facing away from the party. With a quick look around to see that they were alone, he pressed her against the door, his hands sliding under the shirt she wore open and grasping her hips. He pressed himself against her, his mouth catching her in an open kiss. And she was right there with him, matching him and pushing where he pulled, her hands tangled in his hair, tugging at the roots.

She really was sexy, limber and blonde.

She bit his lip and he groaned loudly.

And feisty. She was so feisty.

“This is cute,” he said as he pulled away, tugging at the ends of the open shirt.

If Alma had to guess which one of those were true, she’d say both because they weren’t exclusive. “I got a haircut recently, but I’m leaning towards the second.” She wasn’t against telling it how is it and it was true Mason had that kind of reputation, so she doubted it was the worst he had heard.

“Really? Come on, what’s to hate about it?“ Alma asked. Although she had never been there before to visit some of her friends upstairs, she had heard wonders about the break room up there. “I’ve never seen it so I don’t know what I’m talking about, but I’ve heard the seats are great and the cereal bar is to die for. Assuming people haven’t told me lies about it and it’s not just a myth. Are you trading all of that for a smaller break room with not much than black coffee, Mason?“

.

“Yep, fair enough,” Mason laughed; he knew most people would take offense but really, what was the point of that? They both agreed he was right and that was pretty much all that mattered.

“No, the breakroom is awesome,” he said, correcting her only slightly. “The cereal bar is nice when it’s not stale, but the couches and giant tv? Prime. I was talking about how I hate writing scripts.”

He shook his notepad at Alma, the pages ruffling against the binding. It really was full of nonsense notes to show he’d tried to put together something cohesive before handing it off to one of the actual writers upstairs. 

“I can cook and talk, but I’m not good at scripts.”

Merrick blushed lightly; their banter could be innocent enough if overheard, but she knew the innuendos, the meaning laced behind his words. There were thousands - literally, thousands - of girls and guys who wanted to take him home and while she knew sometimes he was with them instead, she couldn’t deny that she liked when his attention was on her. 

“I mean, you know how much Fiorella hates parties,” she reminded him, their whole world shrunk down to the way her arms laid relaxed over his shoulders, his body cradled between her thighs on the bench, “and I did drag her out of here, and she’s been ready to go for - well, since we first got here. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if she ditched me already.” 

She pretended to muse it over, her tongue darting across her lips as she looked over him as if scanning for her roommate - “yup,” she sighed heavily, her chest heaving in her bikini top as she did, “it looks like I’m definitely going to have to take you up on that offer for a ride.” 

.

“Fiorella is such a buzzkill,” he said as if in agreement, following along with Merrick’s little game. Her place was often chaotic, with her roommates, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t as chaotic herself. It was one of the reasons he liked her; she was quick and razor sharp and funny. Not to mention insanely hot. 

And she had been looking good all day, losing little pieces of her outfit at a time until she sat in front of him now, her legs in the shortest shorts and a bikini as her top, little strings that held it together dangling at the back. 

His hands slid from her thighs until they were on the sides of her waist, fingers stretching over her curves until he could just brush against her ribs. And with her looking over his shoulder, he had to admit, he had a very nice view of the way that bikini cut across her chest.

“My truck is only a couple of blocks away,” he whispered, tugging her closer until her legs were practically around his waist. If she were to close the very small distance between them, she’d know how much he’d like to leave as soon as possible. “And I just got the windows tinted.”

Spice hit her nose and she paused her game, immediately standing from her gaming chair without a second thought. After a year at hoopla, she knew better than to let good smelling food go without a check-in – more often than not, the chef was looking for a taster. Keiko had every interest in tasting whatever caused this beautiful smell. Without a word to her team, she hurried out of the office and to the kitchens, letting her nose be the guide at this point. Finally zoning in on the smell, she happily moves into the kitchen and grinned “It smells so dope already.” Popping their mouth open she leaned in to get a taste, a pleased groan coming from her, “holy shit. what is this?!”

.

It was always nice to hear someone moan in pleasure and it was sometimes especially true of food. Something about universal experiences or simple joys or some other thing that someone smarter than him could worry about.

“It’s an onion and curry sauce,” Mason replied, dipping a tasting spoon in the pot and letting it cool for a moment. “But not like, a curry, you know? Trying to get some heat and flavor into this chicken thing we’re supposed to do next month for some health and fitness thing the site is doing. It’s stupid.”

He finally put the spoon in his mouth, letting the taste hit him. 

“Is it too salty for chicken? Or maybe it should be a chutney instead.”

“I wasn’t trying to find a date date in there, everyone knows that’s for fuck buddies, and unfortunately, the guy didn’t even pass the test for that. Hell, he didn’t even try,“ she turned her face to find Mason Zedler, the host of one of the video series Hoopla produced. Alma was a big fan of the series, but what she didn’t understand was why he was there, in the break room of the gift shop.

“I can’t believe I’ve been here for two years and you don’t even know who I am. I’m Alma, the cashier of the gift shop,” she introduced herself and signalled to the door that led to the shop, “but my question is: what are you doing here? Isn’t there an even nicer break room upstairs?” 

.

“Oh yeah,” Mason said as something in his brain clicked and the recognition took over. “You did something with your hair. I think. Or I’m a piece of shit. Both could be true.”

He put his notebook down and leaned back in the plastic chair a little bit, hearing it squeak against the floor. He did have a nicer break room upstairs: couches and chairs with cushioned seats. 

“I wander sometimes,” he said with a shrug. “I’m supposed to be writing scripts. I almost never use them but it’s for proof of concept or some other legal HR thing. Problem is, I hate it.”

“Oh, there’s an after party at your place?” she teased, a raised eyebrow in his direction, “Fi will be so glad when I tell her she can’t actually disappear yet because we must see what that’s like, and I’m sure Loki would be thrilled with all the guests.” 

Not that she minded the idea of heading back to his place afterwards - their arrangement was casual, lax. Friends first, that was the most important rule, but sometimes when she was feeling….twirly, he was good at helping her out. And nights like tonight, when the beer left her a little buzzed and the high of attention left her feeling extra warm, she was definitely feeling twirly. 

“It’s too bad, that everyone’s going there. I mean, I was hoping maybe you could bring me home since Fi and I came together. And we already know how well it works when you come to mine - there’s too many of us. And they don’t appreciate your breakfasts as much as I do.” 

.

Mason smirked a little, shifting from his slouching lean against Merrick’s leg until he could turn to face her, sliding his hands slowly over her thighs. She was still looking down at him, but this way, his angle up was much more... accessible.

“I didn’t say it was at my place,” he corrected her, letting his thumb drag across her skin, “I just said I’d probably end up cooking.”

Whether it was intentional or not, or perhaps just his perception, Merrick seemed to lean closer, her smile starting to match his. 

“But like, if you’re stranded here, I’d be a shithead for leaving you,” he continued, shoulders shrugging slightly. The brim of his baseball cap was almost brushing her nose. 

“Is that what I’m hearing?” he asked. “Do you need a ride?”

☄

Merrick crinkled her nose - “I’m going to pass on that one, thanks,” she retorted easily, taking a bite of the crisp pickle she’d snagged from one of the many catering tables full of food, “you know I don’t like mustard.” It was one of the very few things she refused to eat, which was saying something, considering she didn’t veto out much else. 

Her hand fell absently to his hair, running her fingers through it as she munched on her snack - the superlatives had been handed out ( Merrick, of course, had won cutest cameo star because she’d ‘worked’ for it by demanding everyone vote for her ) and the evening was winding down into drunken shenanigans - the volleyball game was quickly turning into laughter in the sand, the bonfire was raging with people trying to find sticks for s’mores, and Merrick was content to just watch it all unfold. 

“How come they never ask you to cook for these things?” she asked absentmindedly, crumbling up her napkin as she finished her snack and tucking it under her bare thigh, “I bet you could have made hella better burgers - I mean, they were fine, but I still dream about the one you made me with fried eggs and hashbrowns on it.” 

.

“I lie and say my food doesn’t work for a crowd,” he said with a harsh bark of laughter. “Quality control and other bullshit, like ‘can have our own employees telling people my burgers suck if I’m supposed to cook online for everyone else’ and that kind of thing.”

Which was probably how he won “Best Bullshiter” in the little award ceremony. His trophy had a toilet seat cover on it, pointed up like a horseshoe. Clever in a kind of obvious way but it worked. 

“Besides,” he said, tugging at one of the curls hanging down from Merrick’s shoulders. “I gotta save energy for the after-party when I start making everyone the better versions of the stuff they wish they’d eaten here.”

The pot next to him was smoking and okay, yeah, the smell was a little on the burnt side, but the sauce was rich orange and the spice of the curry was strong. He just had to get it off the burner. 

The door to his test kitchen swung open with a bang! and he waved the person over without looking up as he concentrated on the wooden spoon currently mixing the sauce free of any last minute clumps. 

“Here,” he finally said, sticking the spoon out towards whoever was next to him. “Try this.”

The company barbeque was always a big hit, even if absolutely no one in California knew how to do a real brisket and Mason refused to divulge the secret as long as they kept grilling up those nasty fish burgers. And he liked fish sandwiches, salty and greasy and flaky, but the things the people in this office would eat... at least he always had willing test subjects.

His favorite though, at least the one willing to eat before asking questions, was currently sitting on top of a picnic table with a giant pickle wrapped in a napkin. 

“You should dip that it mustard,” Mason said, plopping down on the bench, his shoulders between her legs so he could let his head fall back on her knee and look up at her. “Mustard and chili powder.”

open starter || @hooplastart​

“The model has finally arrived,” Ford looked up from changing lenses as he saw them walk in for their staff photo. “Twelve minutes late… Don’t tell me there is other diva behavior I should be expecting.” The brightened smile on his face proved to show his words were playful.

.

Mason grinned around the mouthpiece of his vape, taking one last pull before slipping the slim device into his jacket pocket. 

“I hope HR updated you on my fully cleared request to be photographed by a nude photographer,” he joked, winking at Ford. “Otherwise, the diva behavior will definitely continue.”

open starter, at the coffee shop during a break / @hooplastart​

“I swear I’m done with Tinder,“ Alma spoke after she set her coffee on the table. “Last night’s date was a disaster and I’m done with all of it. Please hit me in my head if I ever mention the idea of signing up for another dating app.“

.

“Babe, if you’re trying to date someone, you can’t use Tinder. That’s strictly smash or pass territory. Dating is for shit like, I don’t know, Bumblr.” 

Mason said, lifting his head from his notebook. He squinted at the girl in front of him, a slight frown tugging at his lips. He knew he was in the break room of the gift shop downstairs from his office, but he liked to think he at least recognized most faces.

“Also who even are you?”