#I’m talking about apple pastries with cinnamon
Text
spice & honey
bucky x baker!reader
summary: cinnamon buns and wickedly strong coffee must be the only reasons James Buchanan Barnes visits your bakery daily, despite the inconvenience of driving to a small town on the outskirts of Upstate New York. right?
warnings: first dates and crushes (absolutely classified as warnings), mead consumption, a curse word or two, soft!bucky
word count: 4,565
author's note: i've been watching Gilmore Girls a little too much lately (hence the little easter egg). on another note, autumn is my favourite season, so prepared to be sick of James attending harvest festivals and drinking apple cider 🍂🥧🎃
all the stories i've written
September 21st marks the official arrival of Autumn. Though the weather has been rather cheerful lately, today’s air is much crisper and heavier with the promise of looming rain. The streets of Eldermont remain far too green to your dismay, but Spice & Honey—the bakery you’ve owned for the past five years—is rich in shades of marigold and copper. A wide assortment of mugs, mostly in various shapes of pumpkins, and spiced teas, line the shelves, while the fresh jars of apple butter are neatly stacked alongside the register. Besides the usual treats, the glass display teems with seasonal favourite pumpkin tarts and apple cider donuts.
The everlasting chatter of customers and soft sounds of a vintage record you scored at a neighbour’s garage sale just last month saturate the space as you place the second batch of cinnamon rolls on the counter. The clock reads 10:57 AM, and though you’ve been attempting to conceal your excitement, Vivienne could sense it the second you stepped through the door, teasing you about the very special visitor who’s always in need of sugary buns and black coffee at exactly five past eleven.
James Buchanan Barnes is a regular customer, you often argue. The nervous babble, flustered movements, and beaming smiles convey otherwise. And so yes, you might have a little bit of a schoolgirl crush on the freakishly tall, muscular brunette who brings in the latest editions of The Culinary Canvas magazine each Monday and notices the smallest of changes in your recipes. Just maybe, you reluctantly ponder when your thoughts inadvertently wander to that charming grin and baby blue eyes every time you knead the dough for his adored treat — a dessert once reserved for Autumn suddenly available year around.
“Staring at the entrance won’t make time pass quicker,” Vivienne whispers, arranging butterscotch cupcakes by the pumpkin tarts.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whisper back, covering the pans with aluminum foil.
Perhaps hiding the pastries, a favourite amongst Spice & Honey shoppers, is not the best business decision, but Eldermont is merely a small town in Upstate New York. If it wasn’t located a thirty minute drive south of the Avengers compound, most people wouldn’t be aware of its presence in the first place. And besides, everybody in Eldermont is connected to everybody — the town holds no secrets, including the pastries you keep warm and frost fresh.
“The tall, dark, and handsome man,” she points out, “still has a few minutes. Perchance the preparations of Eldermont’s Annual Harvest Festival made it trickier to find parking.” Vivienne turns to you with a mirthful grin, the cupcakes resting perfectly positioned in the glass case. “You should invite him. Heard Brad brewed an incredible batch of apple cider mead this year.”
You sigh, snatching the golden tray out of her grasp. “I’m not asking Bucky out.”
“Ah! Bucky!” The woman’s grin widens. “Forgot his name for a second.” Shades of mischief dance in her tone as she marks Elijah’s, the eccentric owner of Marigold Meadows flower shop across the street, special order of fifty maple bacon BLTs as completed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Only that you mention Bucky at least seven times a day.”
“Seven’s oddly specific,” you note and swiftly, “also I do not,” disagree.
“Bucky smelled great today,” Vivienne mocks your voice, the grin you’ve come to love—and hate—remaining on her features. “Should I add apple to the cinnamon rolls? I wonder if Bucky would enjoy apple cinnamon rolls with brown butter and maple icing unless he’s a creature of habit. Maybe I should suggest a sprinkle of nutmeg in his coffee to test the waters first—“
“Vivienne,” you groan, yet she persists.
“What’s the worst that could happen? Bucky could say no. Bucky could also choose The Sugared Whisk. Bucky wouldn’t. I adore their croissants, but the coffee is terribly weak, and even their tea selection is mediocre. Indigo should include spiced teas. And sure, Luke's doesn't offer spiced teas, but Luke’s sells great coffee and danishes, except the danishes are only available on Wednesdays.” She recites a recent monologue of yours, and if you weren’t mortified, you’d actually be quite surprised at Vivienne’s ability to remember conversations as if they happened minutes ago.
The doorbell chimes before she has the chance to finish, and you’re highly unsure of whether it’s a saved by the bell kind of situation or if you’d rather the floor magically swallow you whole.
“Good morning.” James smiles, and it’s then that you decide you’d rather the floor split open because you’re awfully flustered by his entrance despite secretly anticipating the moment since the sun arose.
“Hiya, Bucky,” she returns the favour, secretly nudging your side. “Have you ever been to the annual Eldermont’s Harvest Festival?”
“Cannot say I have,” he chuckles, breaking eye contact between the two for just a second to glance at her.
Though you’d never admit it aloud, those eyes, baby blue on sunny days and resembling the ocean on the ones of rain, cross your mind more than a pair of eyes should. This infatuation borders on obsessive, you often contemplate. James Buchanan Barnes is an Avenger for heaven’s sake, and you’re almost sure a man of his maturity and composure wouldn’t agree to a date with a baker, a clutz one at that. It’s not that you’d want to, nevertheless. The two of you have a great thing together — you serve coffee, he survives on coffee, and if time allows, the lighthearted conversations you have bring colours to otherwise monotone days.
“The decorations, the food, the people are phenomenal.” You might have to assign the redhead to kneading duty if she’s heading to that territory. “This beauty right here could take you on a real good tour. Eldermont is gorgeous this time of year.” Enjoy kneading bread, Vivi.
“Is it?” James grins, his stare flicking between you and Vivienne.
“Drop dead,” she reiterates, “much like the women.”
“Vivienne,” you suddenly cut in, “the coffee station is out of paper cups. Could you bring some from the back?”
She gives you another grin, less mischievous and more understanding, nodding at Bucky before she disappears into the kitchen. The heavy wooden doors create a boisterous sound once they close, and you couldn’t be happier for a distraction because you cannot look at the brunette just yet. The bakery is sweltering, and your hands are sweaty, and, if it wasn’t evident you’ve been nurturing a crush on James, Vivienne practically plastered a HEAD BAKER IN LOVE WITH SERGEANT BARNES sign out front.
“The station’s out of cups?”
“Yes!” You glimpse behind the shoulder, deciding to keep the lie alive. “Spice & Honey gets busy during the afternoons, and we run out quickly.” The words leave your mouth rushed and a bit muttered, but the effort is there. “Black coffee and a cinnamon bun?”
“It’s a habit,” his smile is as charming as always. James hesitates for a beat, observing you locate the plastic to-go containers. “The festival Vivienne touched on, have you ever been?”
The atmosphere stills for an awkward second as you gawk at him. “Oh, sure,” you answer at last, praying her babbling wasn’t too obvious because you couldn’t fathom Bucky choosing The Sugared Whisk. “Every year since I was four. The festival’s great. Brad brews the best mead, and Johnny, the mayor, is comically strict about the decorations, so it’s all pumpkins, and string lights, and festive garlands,” you mumble, scrambling for the pan and cream cheese frosting. “I’ve even heard whispers of fireworks this year. It’s next Saturday if you want to drop by. Cassie bakes the best apple pies.”
“Better than yours?”
“I don’t serve apple pies,” averting your eyes to study the grinder seems like the best decision to avoid his piercing gaze.
“I’m sure they’d be the best if you did.” Bucky beams, leaning against the counter as he observes you make coffee.
“Thank you,” the expression of gratitude melts into somewhat of a question despite your best attempts at keeping your voice level, “but the pies I bake often turn out horribly wrong. The apples were overcooked, and the dough raw last time I tried.”
“How undercooked?”
“The trash can enjoyed most of it.”
James laughs at that, the sound of it hearty and endearing. “I’m sure it found the pie delicious.” If he’s flirting with you, you can’t tell, and you don’t exactly want to, for expectations are the fool’s hope. “If you’re not terribly busy during the festival,” he speaks after a protracted moment of doubt, “I’d love to take you up on that tour Vivienne mentioned.”
“Tour?” The man in front of you must almost all but hear your heart pounding rapidly inside your chest.
“The tour of mead, pies, and decorations.”
“Oh?” You tinker with a couple napkins, peering at him. “I’m not sure I could give you a real good tour, I’m barely a guide, believe me. I got lost in that new Target on Cedar Lane, and I cannot understand maps, and—“
“I’m asking you out on a date.” Bucky chuckles at your flustered visage, baby blues never once breaking the eye contact.
“Shit,” the curse word leaves your mouth before you can stop it, and you silently reprimand yourself for the rash impulse of colourful words. “Alright.”
The sergeant titters at your sudden reaction, a shy smile dancing on his lips. “We don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable. I just thought we might have something between us, chemistry of sorts, and that it might’ve been fun,” he briefly pauses, eyes wild and roaming around your face. “It’s just that Vivienne mentioned Eldermont being gorgeous in the fall, and it got me thinking that I’ve never truly experienced it, because the only thing I visit in this town is your bakery, not that it’s the only place worth visiting—“
“Bucky—“
“There are many stores I should probably check out, and Samuel’s birthday is in a couple of days, which is convenient. I wouldn’t describe Sam and I as the best of pals, but Steve likes him, so I should probably get him a gift.”
“Who’s Samuel?” You ask puzzled, but the flustered soldier standing before you continues to ramble.
“Something small to indicate I remembered but not necessarily care. Something that screams I’m not a total jerk, but you are for reminding the whole compound that your birthday’s on the twenty third. A wooden statue of a bird. Sam likes birds, particularly Redwing, though Redwing’s not technically a bird. A wooden bird statue would certainly insult him, so it’s settled — the plan is to visit Artists & Wood on Land.”
“The shop’s name is Woodland Artistry,” you correct with a gentle smile.
“Right!” James clicks his tongue, studying your softly amused features. “We should probably forget this conversation happened. It was a stupid idea too—“
“Yes,” you interject. “I mean no.” Surely, this scenario is a strange dream that wicked mind of yours created to punish you for the sins you assumably committed in every single one of your previous lives. It’s the only possible explanation for the sergeant’s flustered behaviour. “I would absolutely love to go on a date,” you say and pinch the flesh of your thigh for reassurance, but the scene remains as it was, “with you.”
Gently placing a twenty on the counter, James gleams at you. “I’ve never actually given you my number, have I?”
"No," you shake your head to indicate disagreement, pinching the flesh of your thighs once more. “Only the pleasure of our little chats,” the response makes you wince. The pleasure of our little chats? Something’s definitely wrong with me.
Chuckling, James grasps one of the pens you keep by the cash register and scribbles down a series of numbers on his receipt. "If I don't reply, Steve must be holding me hostage.”
"Duly noted," you grin, folding the piece of paper to tuck it into the back pocket of your denim shorts.
He stands there for a second as if absorbing the situation. “Good. It’s a date, then.” he smiles in the end, taking the coffee and the plastic box, and peeks at you behind his shoulder. “And keep the change, please. These treats of yours are more than worth it.”
A timid smile spreads across your lips at the compliment before you sink your teeth into the soft of your bottom lip, observing the soldier scramble out of the bakery, the phone in his flannel jacket ringing for attention.
“Next time,” the redhead appears beside you once James disappears out of sight with a final wave goodbye, “you should give the man coffee and buns on the house," Vivienne nudges you, "both of them."
A surge of warmth rushes to your cheeks at her innuendo. “It’s great you suddenly possessed the ability to teleport and all, but the dough back there won’t knead itself.”
“No,” she gasps, and you only laugh at her realisation, turning to help the next customer.
It’s a date.
The evening of Eldermont’s harvest festival is pleasant, neither too blazing nor cold, but despite the temperature and the appropriate sundress you’ve chosen for it, you’re on the verge of fainting. I cannot faint on our first date, you think and decide it’s the man next to you’s fault, really. The smell of his cologne is too addicting, the hints of pine and cinnamon in his aftershave too intoxicating. James is a gentleman, which you expected and appreciate, but it’s overwhelming, the way he holds your hand to lead you through crowds and attentively listens to your overdrawn stories about the origins of pumpkin carving. Heavens help me.
“Have you checked out the corn maze yet?” Brad asks cheerfully. He’s surrounded by large beverage urns and stacks of disposable drinkware. “Mary mentioned Elijah’s still in there,” he chuckles, pouring two paper cups full of steaming apple cider mead. “The fool must’ve gotten lost or something.”
“Must’ve,” you glance at him, the corner of your mouth quirking up into a half smile. “Happens every year.”
“The two of you should go,” Brad speaks once again before smiling at Bucky. “It’s a great first date activity.”
James chuckles, and you wonder if he regrets asking you on a date. The small town you call home is ludicrously close, and if Vivienne didn’t spill the beans to Mary as she promised, Mary must’ve spread the ‘rumours’ around herself. The town’s beloved bookshop owner is an incredible woman, but she loves to gossip, and you should’ve expected the second person after Vivienne to consistently insert themselves into your dating life to jump to conclusions. Though the situation isn’t precisely comfortable for you, it must be worse for James. Whilst he has never outright mentioned, the soldier has important reasons to stay under the radar. Bucky has witnessed a lot, horrors you’ve even heard about on the TV, and currently, every resident of Eldermont is aware that James Buchanan Barnes is on a date. With a local baker, nonetheless. Participating in acorn tossing and harvest bingo and conversing with Brad Monty about all kinds of sneaky activities couples get up to in the corn maze. You're certain that James is bound to vanish without a trace due to the town's antics if your diffident and often rather awkward behavior hasn't already scared him away. The anxious parts of your brain have even compiled a mental list of today's disasters:
Johnny wiped his sweaty hands on Bucky’s jacket, realising the blunder only to mumble “I love this jacket, Sergeant Barnes”, and pretending he wanted to initiate a hug before he disappeared.
Cassie offered you a sample of pecan pie, which you eagerly tasted due to Bucky’s “If I had to choose the second best pie after apple, it would be pecan” comment, and completely choked on.
Vivienne located you in the farmer’s market to say “hello”, and persuaded James to purchase a pair of beaded bracelets, the two of you had ridiculed moments earlier, for “every first date needs a souvenir to remember it by”.
James guided you to Mary’s bookstore because you conferred a series of rare hardbacks Mary hides in the back for special customers, and the older woman steered you towards a selection of intimacy guides.
Indigo, The Sugared Whisk owner, pleaded with James for Captain America’s number in the middle of a busy intersection and discussed his “timeless looks” for the next couple of minutes until a car almost struck the three of you.
Elijah phoned you in distress, panicking about “having to live out his best years in a smelly corn maze”, which disturbed the sergeant and resulted in an “Elijah will find the exit eventually” monologue on your side.
You accepted to take a photo of a tourist couple, accidentally dropping the wife’s phone and shattering the screen because James stood so close, your hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
“Thanks, Brad,” you fumble with your wallet, hastily placing a ten on the stand. “See you around.”
“Doll,” Bucky doesn’t move once you attempt to remove him from the nightmare that is the situation the two of you found yourselves in. It gives you a second to evaluate his expression, and much to your surprise, his features are as soft as ever. James is blushing, too. “I wanted to pay for that.”
“You paid for the apple pie,” the words slip past your lips mumbled because the only thing you can truly concentrate on is the fact James is blushing. Blushing as a result of Brad’s stories about couples so in love they simply cannot be bothered to locate the labyrinth’s exit before proving their emotions to the world. Couples that could be the two of you. Possibly. A sane person shouldn’t rush to assumptions unless they earned the sweetest nickname from a dream of a man. You’ve never paid much thought to whether you would enjoy being called a ‘doll’—you do, but you would probably adore every label he’d choose. The notion steers your head toward unexpected and dirty waters, and you couldn’t be happier for Brad’s decision to chime in.
“Cassie outdid herself this year,” he nods. “I’m most definitely going to dream about that blackberry pie tonight.”
“Yes,” James agrees never once breaking the eye contact with you. “The pies were delicious, and it was my pleasure to pay. It was me who demanded a tour.”
“You may pay for the maze then,” you smile at him, “but leave the ten — I’m not that great of a tour guide, and I’m afraid of the dark.”
“Dates should be fun,” James suddenly speaks. “We could’ve skipped the labyrinth.”
The corn maze is high and intimidating, but Bucky’s presence and the soft glow of an orange sunset manage to silence your fears a bit. The passages are almost entirely empty except for the two of you, and each corner you take makes your heart jump at the possibility of encountering spooky surprises.
“This is fun,” you reassure, taking a sip of mead. James shoots you a look you cannot truly decipher, but you decide the meaning is somewhere between worried and teasing. “It is,” you hesitate for a beat. “I just keep remembering the haunted corn maze in Greenwood. They have scare actors there, who jump out of the bushes when you least expect it and completely startle you. Vivienne took me there last year, and I cannot shake the memories.”
The expression on his face melts into sympathy. “If it’s any consolation, I would protect you against all the zombies and monsters this maze might throw at us,” he speaks before, “not that it has any,” adding.
“If theme’s anything to go by, I think we’re OK,” you chuckle at his offer, referring to the cutesy signs and charmingly painted pumpkins scattered throughout the labyrinth, “unless Johnny decided to include a couple gory scenes at the end, though it’d end worse for him than it would for me.”
“Johnny The Mayor?”
“Johnny The Mayor,” you take yet another sip, nodding. The beverage is barely warm twenty minutes into the attraction, providing only the comfort of a soft alcohol tipsiness.
“He’s a charming little fella,” Bucky notes, and you don’t have it in yourself to deny the statement. “I’ve never experienced someone initiating a hug by wiping their hands on my jacket.”
“Sorry,” you offer sheepishly because what could you say after an occurrence so bizarre. Everyone in this town is strange? James must’ve caught on to the fact by this time.
“It’s alright, and besides, I now have a humorous story to recount at parties, which is a first,” he gleams at you. “It may come as a surprise, but I’m not usually the life of it.”
“Can I ask you a question?” You shift to gaze at him before emptying the cup of mead to steady your nerves.
“I don’t promise to answer,” James grins, fiddling with the beaded bracelet, “but yes.”
“Who’s Samuel?”
“That’s your question?” He laughs as his flesh arm slithers to rest upon your waist. At least you think it’s his flesh arm. The man wears gloves whether the sun shines or the rain pours. You’ve seen pictures, though, and read stories of The Winter Soldier in possession of a metal arm. Neither raise concern, not for the reason you’re smitten with Bucky. Rather, because James was manipulated and stripped of free will, and if heaven would descend, perhaps because that metal arm is sinfully attractive. It’s a thought forbidden to be mentioned aloud, for the gloves are a large indicator he’d enjoy staying silent about the matter. “Who’s Samuel?”
“Yes,” you sputter. The butterflies his simple action caused you don’t mention. “I want to hear about this Samuel. I’ve been informed he likes birds, especially Redwing, who’s not technically a bird?”
“The Samuel I was babbling about is Sam Wilson. The Falcon, if you’re a fan of CNN,” James teases, steering you into the left pathway of the maze. Despite your instinct to choose right, you stay silent. “Redwing’s a drone of sorts Sam uses on missions, and, this is a direct quote, for surveillance. I despise the thing.”
“If we get lost, forget the second date,” you playfully threaten. Though the coziness of his body pressed to yours is intoxicating, it does nothing to ease the goosebumps painted on your skin, and as the sky bleeds in shades of crimson and purple, the sun melts into the horizon, teasing you for forgetting a sweater. “I would’ve categorised holding a grudge against an object as below you.”
“If the shoe fits,” he chortles, leading you down a long passage before abruptly stopping. Hesitating for a beat, he drapes the flannel jacket you’ve come to love on the man around your body. The garment is red and weighty, and it smells of James. The gesture makes your heart swell with admiration, but you ignore it. Dates should be approached with a blank slate because expectations are easily shattered. “I shouldn’t deliver Steve that woman’s phone number, should I?” Bucky’s arm finds your waist again.
Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, “on the bright side, Indigo is quite a pleasant woman,” you verbalise the thought. James observes your expression, baby blues studying the same features he cannot resist thinking about at nightfall. Blood rushes to his cheeks at the notice of your fingers on his lower back, the heat of your skin piercing through his charcoal henley. “She’d certainly treat Captain America right. On the downside,” you pause, “Indigo is the exact opposite of Steve as the media portrays him. Come to think about it, both of us are.”
“How so?”
“The media portrays supersoldiers as courageous, but Indigo and I once had to call Luke to get rid of a teeny spider. Steve’s active in politics, whilst we often skip the town’s meetings—“
“Eldermont holds town meetings?” James chuckles, subconsciously drawing you in closer.
“Once a month, always on the first Tuesday,” you gleam at him before drawing in a deep breath to calm your violently beating heart. “Last time, we discussed the very pressing issue of Halloween decorations. Johnny insists every business on the main street must participate in the festivities. Indigo and I escaped out the back before the mayor could finish his speech. At the least, Steve would’ve stayed in that meeting, and at the most, he would’ve managed it.”
“People do say opposites attract.”
“Heard that before,” you agree. The loose strand of Bucky’s auburn hair tempts you to tuck it behind his ear, but you halt the impulse of committing such a ludicrous decision. “It must be true because you drink coffee black, and I prefer lattes. You have cinnamon buns for breakfast, and I, if time would be gracious enough for breakfast, would choose danishes.”
“The jury’s decided, then.” The corners of his mouth quirk up into a lazy and wickedly attractive smile, and, you almost wonder if Bucky’s aware of the effect he has on your body because if he isn't, your buckling knees must’ve given it away. “Opposites do attract.” His wildly confident attitude is a new discovery, but you decide you like it. “It would be a shame to ignore matters of the universe.” Confidence is a good shade on him.
“Is this your way of asking me on a second date?” You tease the man, memorising the pink hues veiling his cheekbones.
James guides you around the corner, observing the corn maze’s exit, and halts his movements. “Only if the lady agrees,” he shifts to stand before you, catching your forearms in his gloved hands, “which I’m sincerely hoping she does.”
Resting your arms on his shoulders, you gift yourself a quick moment to explore his features — the stubble gently lining his sharp jaw, the little scar above his eyebrow, and the red lips you, despite hiding it, wanted to kiss since he first visited Spice & Honey. “The lady would love to go on a second date.”
“Good,” an emotion you cannot comprehend waltzes in his eyes, but, for the sake of your composure, you abstain from thinking it could possibly be lust. “The gentleman is looking forward to it.” There's an argument happening inside him, you can sense it by the way he keeps drawing you closer until the space between your bodies is virtually erased, but retains his posture straight and almost rigid. The weight of should he or should he not lingers in the air around you before James catches your stare and smiles timidly, shattering the flicker of hope you have for him to kiss you. You don’t exactly yearn for him to kiss you. In theory, kiss-less first dates are a great idea, paving the way for deeper conversations and a closer bond. They build anticipation. Anticipation is good, you ponder for a second, but all you can truly focus on is whether James would taste like apple cider mead or the sugary desserts you two savoured earlier. “The night is still young," he speaks, the tone of his voice light and reticent. "It would be a shame to end the date this early."
“Luke’s open if you want to grab a quick dinner,” you say with a grin, stepping away from him. “Though we should probably exit the maze first.”
“Yes,” Bucky laughs and extends his arm towards the light at the end of the passage. “Lead the way, pretty lady.”
#bucky x reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky x reader fluff#bucky imagine#bucky barnes imagine#bucky x you#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x female reader#bucky x female reader#bucky x baker reader#bucky x baker!reader#insomniumstella#bucky x reader spice & honey
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rahhhh i’m such a fan of your writing omg and I never request stuff so i’m very nervous to send this but can I Pretty Please ask for something w kyle who’s usually more of a sub being asked to like Go Crazy Dom and at first he’s nervous but then like completely gets into it and wrecks reader’s shit please…. thank u for yr service🙏🏼
Oh lovelies you never need to be nervous when sending requests, I know it can be intimidating but believe me I say this truly makes my day!
That being said, I hope you don't mind that I've combo the request with someone else's! I'm getting a lot of Kyle and I wanna make sure everyone gets a little of what they want! And there is filth ahead so get your bibles ready. Sinners the lot of you.
Me too
Warning: NSFW, Slight choking, Dom!Kyle, Sub!Reader, Breeding Kink, Oral, Strong Language
Pairing: Kyle x Fem!Reader
Notes: Shout out to the roommate who talked me through making a Danish so I didn't have to google it lmao.
The smell of brown sugar and cinnamon filled the air swirling around in your small kitchen. The morning light peeks through the curtains of the circular window in front of the sink, you smile at the view of lilac and orange seemed to blend. You've read things online where people compared the morning sky to painting where the paint seemed to just melt together, and it seemed like one of those days. If you were better with a camera, you'd take a picture just to share it. That and the fact that you had a pair of arms wrapped around your waist and a very sleepy curly red-haired man nuzzling into your shoulder.
Your husband Kyle was never a morning person, for all his perfections and his strict schedule keeping, when the morning sun would greet him, he'd return the greeting with a groan and a feeble attempt to hide. You were trying to revive the poor man by making a pot of coffee, the warm brown liquid was the only thing that brought him back to the land of the living. The man ran off of coffee, you were sure the Tweaks owed half their business to him. With the coffee pot humming its little tune and the smell of ingredients laid out across the counter this morning just seemed perfect. Now if only your husband didn't have to leave and go to work if he could just stay with you and keep you warm.
The crisp morning air seeped into the house and sure you could change out of the basketball shorts you stole from him, and the large T-shirt you stole from him, oh the fluffy socks you stole from him but then you wouldn't smell like him. Because he would be leaving after he got through with his morning routine, and you'd be alone in this cold little house.
"What's with the face baby?" His voice broke you out of your little pout, the sleepy gravel laced in each word sent a shiver down your spine.
"What face? I'm making apple and brown sugar Danishes..." You say with a little smile on your face knowing full well he was going to keep bugging you about this.
"Hm... that’s why you had your lip poked out. And your brows were doing that thing." How did he know? He still had his face buried in you, now pushed into the crook of your neck.
You only hum in response as you focus on the apple in your hands, the knife gliding across the skin of the ruby red fruit. He knew better than to mess with you while you were handling dangerous kitchen tools, so he waited until you finished. Once you finished slicing the apples you gently placed them into the lemon water mixture, it would keep the apples fresh while you worked on the rest of the pastry. Next your hands find the mixing tool and begin to pull together nutmeg, brown sugar, butter, salt, and finally the cinnamon. Because you didn't have a lot of time in the mornings, knowing your husband had little time, you prepared the flour before he even stirred.
"You can't ignore me forever; I'm just going to keep bugging you until you tell me why you made such an adorable face." Kyle reminds you that he's still latched onto you by placing a lazy kiss on your neck, his lips trailing down towards your shoulder touching any skin that's exposed by the baggy shirt.
Every little kiss pulled you further and further away from your mixing, you couldn't help but melt under his affection. That didn't stop you from trying. You try squirming away from his lips, pushing your cheek against his face to nudge it out of the way.
"Baby, I'm trying to make you breakfast. Do you want to go to work hungry?"
"Hmm no, but if it means getting you to talk then I can suffer a little." He responds by tugging you back against him pulling you away from the bowl, the only shield against his wondering lips.
Kyle turns you around and lifts you up so you're facing him, using the counter so that you can look him in the eye. He's lucky you already put the ingredients you needed in the bowl, it didn't matter how pretty he looked with his messy bedhead and his soft green eyes, if he ruined your work, he'd get more than a pout. You expect him to move his hands from under your thighs, but he doesn't, instead he slots himself in between your legs and keeps the warmth of his palm on your exposed skin.
"No where to run now, come on love talk to me."
You look away for a moment, the heat from his hands was almost as warm as the blush on your face. "I- was just thinking about how lonely it is sometimes when you leave for work. I miss you..." You finally cave, how can you not under his gaze especially when it softens as you speak.
Kyle lets out a soft 'oh' that seems to drag out along with a sigh. He places a soft kiss on your cheek, one of his hands leaves your thigh and cups the side of your face his lips aren't on. "I'm sorry, you know getting out of bed is one of the hardest things I do every morning. I want nothing more than to stay wrapped up in the blankets with you."
This is why you didn't want to say anything, it was a selfish feeling. He was the one going out to provide for you both, he was the one who had to leave the house while he insisted that you stayed home to relax. When you first married Kyle, it was one of the first things he expressed he wanted, the need to take care of you and pamper you. It was a dream at first, having all that time to yourself and your hobbies and the only thing you needed to focus on was keeping the house clean.
Kyle pulls your face towards him, his index finger hooking under your chin to guide you back to him. His face drops to a frown when he sees the look on your face, his eyes studying you carefully.
"Hey, why don't we go out tonight? We can get some dinner and maybe catch a movie?" He's trying and it's so sweet, the way he doesn't seem to even mind your selfishness.
"That sounds nice. I'm sorry Kyle." You smile at him giving him a little kiss on the nose.
"Why are you sorry? You didn't do anything wrong."
"It's just-...you're the one that has to work and I'm being, I dunno clingy?"
"Baby you're not clingy. Honestly, I love that you want me here. I want to be here." If he wasn't already smiling at the way you kissed his nose, he definitely has a love filled grin now.
"I know and it makes me feel bad for telling you. Like, it's probably already hard enough for you to go to work."
Kyle goes quiet for a only a moment before shaking his head, the red curls bouncing from side to side as he does. He sighs softly and looks at you with heavy lidded eyes. The love in his smile matches the soft greens of his eyes.
"You're so sweet. Such a wonderful wife, you know that? I can't believe I'm this lucky to have married someone so considerate." Between his barrage of compliments and the way he peppers your face with so many soft kisses you can't argue back. "You're not making my life harder by wanting me to stay, I'm not burdened by you, I promise. Have I ever been the kind of guy to keep that kind of thing quiet?"
No. If Kyle Broflovski felt strongly about something you would hear it. It was honestly one of your favorite things about him, you never had to guess how he felt or if he wasn't upset and was too afraid to tell you. There were moments where he needed time to sort out his feelings or he'd explode, and he swore he'd never do that to you. Not you, not the person he bound his life to.
"There's more to this isn't there? Come on love, what is it?" Kyle Broflovski was also very good at reading you, turns out.
You pressed your lips together as your hands worked up towards his hair, carding your fingers through his fiery red curls. He hummed in delight at the way your fingers felt against his scalp, if you didn't want to risk ruining the moment, you'd compare him to a cat.
One should feel honored that Kyle would even allow them to see his hair when he was a kid, now here you were touching it and even massaging his scalp. You swore if you had enough time, you'd have him purring in your hands.
"I was just thinking about a way to not make the house so lonely."
"You want me to see if I can't start working from home? It'll be a little difficult, but I can-"
"No, no. I mean that would be awesome but no. I mean like...what if we had a little us running around? You know?" You whisper letting your voice drop as if someone could be listening in on your conversation.
Kyle's eyes widen and you watch his face turn a bright red, the freckles on his face pop against his skin. You've never seen him react like that, even before you were married in those early dating stages. Sure, there were times where he got nervous, times where he felt his heart speed up when he looked at you, times where he was puddy in your hands and you could pull a side of him that he'd never show anyone else.
In the bedroom it was you who took the lead. Maybe it was because Kyle was so busy being "dominate" in other parts of your relationship that when it was time for love making, he just wanted to let someone else have control. Being able to shut his mind off and just focus on the wonderful feeling you gave him was what heaven felt like, he was sure. And he was just lucky you liked the role, that you took to it so easily. There was no shame in his eyes, he just wanted to keep what you both did between you two. The world didn't need to know what went on behind closed doors. But the way he looked at you told a different story.
"You...want a baby? My baby?" His voice matches your level, but his voice seems to dip lower than his usual sleepy voice.
"Who else? I know we haven't really talked about it, but I think we're in a good spot and we'd make really good parents."
When Kyle doesn't respond you squirm a little on the counter, shifting in his hold that seemed to tighten around your thigh. You watched as he took a deep breath, and his eyes fluttered shut. Then he grabbed his phone and began tapping away against the screen. You went to move so you could give him the privacy he needed as your eyes caught the little text bubbles being sent. You tried your hardest not to read what he was texting but his hand on your thigh squeezed around the soft flesh, a silent warning to keep still. The way his jaw shifts and the veins in his arms poke out makes you tilt your head in confusion.
"I called off." His voice breaking the silence makes you jolt, that and the way he tosses his phone to the side.
"What?! Why!? I don't want to be the reason you're staying home." You try to protest further but you're cut off by the way his lips slam into yours.
"I've got plenty of sick days I never use. You're sitting here in my clothes talking about wanting my baby. And god damn it I didn't even want to go in today anyway." He growls in between the kisses, emphasizing each word.
"I always wear your clothes though! I don't see-... Kyle did asking for a baby get you worked up?" You ask pulling him back from your lips by his hair, he usually likes when you tug on the roots.
He lets out a small moan, but it's cut off by another growl, he grabs your hands holding your smaller wrists in his one hand. Pinning them above your head against the cabinets behind you makes you gasp, and your eyes widen. This was a new side to him that had your core pulsing with desire.
He didn't need to answer, you got it from that alone, but he did. "You have no idea how long I've been thinking about wanting to fill you up. How bad I wanna cum in you until there's no question that you're pregnant."
You shutter and whimper at the way he speaks to you, his dirty talk working its magic. As the years went on, he worked on trying to keep it out of his vocabulary, but in moments like this where he gets worked up it would slip out.
But it never came out like this, you never realized how much you liked Kyle like this. You never saw the looks he would give you when you were so busy taking care of Ike. The way his eyes would linger with a dark hunger behind them as you took care of his baby brother like it was second nature. Thoughts of your own kids grabbing at your hip and hugging your leg, a baby in your arms and another one in his. How jealous he was that Stan told him one night that he was trying with his partner for kids. How Kenny already had one with another one the way. Kyle wanted his kids to grow up with theirs, maybe they'd be best friends like they were.
More importantly he wanted to see you pregnant, the need to take care of you was ingrained so deeply that he wanted this. Needed this. His cock was aching already over the fact that you brought it up and he didn't have to. You came to him wanting a baby and fuck he was going to give you one. Especially if you kept whimpering and pressing your body against his like that.
"Who's getting worked up now? Do you like that idea? C'mon talk to me Mama." Oh, the way he called you that was dangerous, his hot breath ghosting over your exposed collarbone.
"I-I-" You can't get it out, the way your head is spinning and the way his lips are working, making his mark on your skin. You yelp when his teeth sink in and his grip on your wrists tightens. "I do! I-I want you!"
He seemed to like that, liked the way you beg for him so easily. You feel him smirk into your skin and his free hand push up your shirt. His fingertips glide across your skin finding your breasts, there he gives your nipple a sharp pinch, rolling the nub between his index finger and this thumb. "You sound so pretty like this; I should have done this forever ago.... I'm gonna let your hands go so I can get this shirt off you. You keep them there." Kyle wasn't asking, not the way he clicked his tongue and rolled your nipple.
You cry out and nod, barely able to verbally respond, the pain was intoxicated something you didn't even know you liked. If this was how he was acting from just talking about putting a baby in you, you couldn't wait until he was actually fucking you. For now, you'd play his game, keep your hands above your head so he can slip the faded T-shirt off you.
"I never get tired of this." Next comes your shorts, he unties the strings keeping the baggy basketball shorts up and around your waist. His hands working on pulling them down until they pool beneath his feet, kicking them to the side. "I can't believe you thought for a second I would be upset with you for wanting me to stay home. Fuck, I'm glad you said something. Guess I don't have to worry about going to work hungry hm?" He returns to your neck, but he doesn't stay for long, he kisses a heated trail down to your breasts.
There his lips latch onto your hardening buds. His tongue swirls around the pink flesh hungrily sucking until they're red and sore. Each little cry and moan you let out only encourages him to give the other side the same attention. All the while his hands work on opening your legs to him.
His attention is pulled away when he feels your soaked cunt. Expecting to find your panties, he growls and looks down at you. You don't know how he went from looking you in the eye, to almost hovering over you with such a dangerous look. How he made you feel so small like you were prey.
"Was this a part of your plan? Make those adorable pouting faces and get me to fuck you on the kitchen counter? Wear nothing under my clothes so I can dive right into that delicious looking pussy?" You moan and throw your head back, not just from how filthy he spoke but from how he bit the inside of your thigh.
Teeth marks marking up and down your plump perfect thighs, they were perfect to him. Perfect in the way they felt under his teeth, perfect in the way they filled his hand, perfect in the way you tasted. All of you was perfect.
"Oh fuck~" You're nearly cut off by another gasp as his nips turn to kisses against your slit.
"Keep moaning like that, it goes so well with my breakfast." The way his tongue slipped through the lips of your cunt against your bud made your gasp turn to moans.
Kyle devoured you like you were his last meal, his tongue swirls around your nub like he had your breasts. You couldn't help as your hips rolled against his tongue chasing pleasure with greed, but he stops you with a firm hold on your thighs. His teeth graze your bud as a warning, a silent demand for you to sit still, but if the way he spoke and pinned you down was anything to go off of; you needed to keep pushing. So, you pushed against his hold again, squirming against his mouth.
When Kyle pulls back and clicks his tongue, it isn't until you see the look in his eyes that you know you're in trouble. "I kept my hands up like you told me to...w-what is it?"
"You know what. I'm trying to eat my meal in peace and you're making it very hard. Quit being a brat."
"But I was just-"
Kyle cuts you off again, but not with his lips or his own words, but from his hands wrapped around your throat. The tips of his fingers applied a healthy amount of pressure to cut off just enough air to make your head spin. His eyes narrow down at you as he forces your head up.
"You were just...what? Arguing with me? No, I think you were going to say, I'm sorry I won't move my hips again. I'll keep still so you can eat."
He waits. Waits for you to nod before letting your throat go, then he waits another second looking at you expectedly. As you gasp for air your tongue traces your bottom lip. "I... I’m sorry and I'll keep still so you can eat."
"Good girl."
Oh. Oh. Maybe you were more of a switch than you thought. Maybe it was just the way he said that with that delicious purr. At this moment you didn't really care to put a label on it, you were just burning from the praise. Not like you had a lot of time to think about it anyway, not when he knelt back down and started eating you out. His lips latched onto the sensitive nub pulling a moan from you as he sucked, his tongue flicks over it again and again. He's attentive to every sound you make from the way your muscles flex and bounce under his touch. All but humming when your yell for God or his name.
Throwing your head back, you swore you were seeing stars when he shook his head back and forth. The friction had you clenching around nothing and your nails digging into the wooden cabinets behind you.
"Kyle baby, I'm gonna cum. Please let me cum. I-I've been good I did what you told me!"
When he doesn't say anything, you have to fight the urge to grab him by the head and force him to look up at you. Slowly he looks up at you and the little flicker of fire behind them tells you all you need. It takes everything in your power not to close your eyes as you cum around his tongue, even more so when his tongue begins to greedily lap it up. You mewl and squirm trying to pull away from him, but he won't let you, won't let you move from his hold. Nothing you could have baked for him would taste as perfect as you do.
"So sweet~. Hmm always taking care of me." Kyle rubs his lips against your thighs again, wiping the slick off his jaw.
As he stands back up, he can't help but admire his work. The way your skin is marked with his teeth marks, the purple bruises on your thighs shaped like his hand, and now the way your face is flushed a dark red as you try to catch your breath. You can't quite read what's going on in his head, but he's got that look like he's thinking about something. The way his brows knit together and his eyes flicker from you to around the room.
Then he hums, picks you up and carries you over to the kitchen table. You shiver when the cool wood hits your back but it's a distant complaint as he hovers over you. Somewhere between the counter and the table he's slipped off his plaid bottoms and his boxers. Discarded somewhere with your clothes, you click back into reality as he pulls his shirt over his head. Most of his freckles are covering his shoulders, dusting across the pale skin and down his back. He raises a brow at you when he catches you admiring just how handsome he really is. It's only morning and he's already got you so dazed and worked up.
"Got something to say Mama?"
Fuck you were really beginning to like that, "just thinking about how incredibly lucky I am. We're gonna make some really pretty babies."
He smirks at you, the kind that would have made you fall to your knees if you weren't laying on the table. "Yeah? I was just thinking the same thing. How fucking beautiful you are. How pretty you're gonna look when I finally paint your insides."
You cover your mouth to stop the moan from slipping out of your mouth, but once again he stops you and pins your hands by your side. "No. Let me hear you. I need to hear you begging for my cock. Beg me to fill you up."
It takes a few teasing glides of his cock over you folds and a few more growls before you finally cave. The way the words roll of your tongue is like sin. "Please Kyle, I want you to fuck a baby into me. I want it so bad; it has to be you. Only you!"
"Fuck!" His own resolve crumbles just as the tip of his cock slips back down to your begging hole.
This isn't the first time you've felt him without a condom but this time it felt so different. Knowing he wasn't going to pull out this time was exciting, the fact that he could just let go and take you however he wanted. To claim you with his cum. You're so caught up in your own thoughts you don't even feel the way he puts your legs up on his shoulders, or his curls brushing against your face. It isn't until he finally sheathes himself into you that you snap out of it. You moan next to his ear when he bottoms out in you, the way your thighs burn feels so good.
"Your cunt's choking me, trying to milk me already baby? Don't worry I'll give you every last drop." Kyle lulls his head to the side as he begins lazily rocking into you.
You're almost folded in half from the way he has you under him, knees pushed back towards your shoulders. Kyle's got your hands still pinned by the side of your head; fingers intertwined with yours. Normally his eyes would flutter shut, he'd give into the sensation of his cock nudging into your walls, but this time he keeps them open. Like he is trying to memorize every time your lips form that cute little 'o' and a moan comes spilling out. The way your moans pitch up when he hits that delicious spot. The way you pant and beg for him to go faster.
That's when he shifts, the loving hold and lazy thrusts turn to fast paced fucking. Love making is always there, you never doubt that, but the way he's got his hands around your waist pulling you back onto his cock feels so raw. He slams into you with a newfound force neither of you knew he could muster. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, stars dancing across your vision. He rewards you with his own moans and grunts, the further his cock head pushes past your walls the faster he brings you to climax. Now that your hands are free from his strong grip, you place them on his forearm’s nails digging into his flesh. He hisses but it only seems to push him further.
"Come on baby. Cum around my cock. Yeah, just like that. Just like that!"
You arch your back and give him all you have. Your walls finally grip his cock as you reach your peak. Between your heart beating in your ears and the way he slams back into you, it's almost too much. Kyle finds a way to keep you on the line without pushing you too far. You feel the way his hips begin to stutter, and his moans become ragged. You know he's close.
"Yeah. Fuck you feel so good, I'm gonna- gotta fill you up. Take it!" He groans and then you feel his hot seed against your walls. Pushing up into your cunt, he plugs your hole with a final slam of his hips.
You and your husband lay there against one another, panting heavily until your breathing slows down to match one another. You can feel his lips pressed against your neck and his eyelashes tickle your skin. When you move your hands to his hair again, he knows you're okay, he presses a few short kisses onto your soft lips. Kyle feels you smile against his lips, and he doesn't even bother stopping the lazy one that comes across his.
"Never seen that side of you. I like it." You purr finally able to talk now that you've slowed down.
"Hm, keep that in mind when we do this again."
"Again?"
"Oh baby, we've got all day. It's Friday. I'm going to treat you to dinner like I promised. After that I'll take you upstairs and we're going to do this again. And again. Aaaaaand again. I'll keep my cock plugged in you like this and we'll go to sleep." His fingers push back into your hair, pushing it out of your sweaty face.
"J-Jesus Kyle." You shutter under his touch, unable to stop the way your walls flutter around him again. You can feel his cock bob in response, and when he slides his hardened member out slowly; you feel every little vein like he wants you to memorize it.
"Gotta make sure you're pregnant. My perfect, beautiful, wonderful wife deserves to be a mama. And what kind of husband would I be if I didn't give her exactly what she wants?" Kyle smirks down at you with newfound energy.
It was going to be a long morning, maybe you could convince him to let you finish making those pastries but you had a feeling that would be a battle. Especially since he's already started thrusting back into you. Maybe a few more rounds wouldn't hurt, you could always have him put the baked goods in the oven. After all he was doing so well already.
#south park#reader insert#sp fanfiction#south park x reader#x reader#south park fanfiction#anon ask#i do for you anon#requests fuel me!!#kyle broflovski x reader#kyle broflovski#shhh its a secret#oh god#this is sin#filthy thoughts#filth#its smut#craaaaazy#just love how the fandom is just so down bad for this nerd#he might be a little ooc#but like#i don't care#hey here's a fun game#everytime I write someone getting plowed in a kitchen#take a shot#don't do that#behave#or don't#I'm not your mom#hey next is some fluff
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Hey, sweet Meera.
How about some Bucky
And snacks (this is a Baklava Cronut, but any pastry will do)
Kisses
a/n: can i be cringy and say i don’t know which one is yummier? ahahha no sorry but omg i love this. it inspired me to write this AU hehe i really hope you like it.
James Bucky Barnes, spoilt and rich, son of CEO George Barnes, has everything. He is living his best life from on frat party to another from one girl to another, the famous playboy loved his life.
Until one day, few months before his graduation, his father called him in his office.
“You’ve had your fun, now it’s time to get serious” Bucky rolled his eyes
“Dad, I’m not joining your company” the senior Barnes laughed at that
“oh son, you really think you’re fit for my company? you are a spoilt little brat, living his life on his old man’s money. it’s time to change that.”
This made Bucky curious
“Go get yourself a job, any job, I don’t care, but if you can’t get yourself a job by the end of the month, then you’re out.”
“Out? what do you mean out?”
“Out of my will, out of your penthouse that I bought for you, well… everything actually.”
And that his Bucky Barnes found himself working in this coffee shop. He hates it I mean how do people even do this? And the customers are the worst, but he can’t complain or else he will be fired.
“This sucks” he mutters under his breath as he was making ‘oat caramel macchiato with mocha drizzle’ or whatever the shit the customer has ordered.
“Here’s your coffee” Bucky gives a fake smile to the customer, ugh they are lucky to receive even a fake smile from him.
Evening rolled in, it’s almost time for Bucky’s shift to end, finally. He’s cleaning up the counter, muttering curses under his breath when the cafe door opens again.
“Fucks sake wh-“ his rant stops in between when he sees you across the counter. Your eyes focused on the pastries displayed. And his eyes focused on you.
You look up at him and he looks away, he doesn’t want to get caught staring like some creep. Bucky clears his throat and you smile at him. How can someone else’s smile make him feel happy? He asks himself.
“Hi, um, can you help me with selecting a pastry? They all look so good I’m confused.” You ask him with that pretty smile of yours
Now if it was any other customer he probably would have rolled his eyes and said whatever came to his mind but in this case, he does want to talk to you.
“Well I’m a basic guy myself, quite love the brownies and cinnamon rolls, the apple pie too, but um, we started doing these Baklava Cronuts recently and they are quite popular so you can try one.” Bucky says with a smile, a genuine smile, after a while, gosh he doesn’t remember the last time he actually couldn’t stop smiling, he feels shy.
“One Baklava Cronut it is then” you give him your order “and can I please get an iced coffee as well?”
Bucky feels like saying ‘I’ll give you all the pastries and coffees if I could’- a smile plastered on his face.
You take a seat and wait for your order, Bucky told you he’d bring it over.
As Bucky starts making your coffee he cannot help but steal glances at you, you’re sitting there by the window, the evening sun casting a beautiful glow on your face. This is something Bucky would have scoffed at in another situation because he doesn’t really understand love, but there you are and he cannot stop staring.
It’s not that Bucky has not dated beautiful women before, some were models, literally but there is something about you which is giving him butterflies and he is not yet sure if he likes it.
“Here you go” Bucky smiles and places your order in front of you on the table.
“Tha- oh uh, I didn’t order the brownie.”
“It’s on the house.” The smooth Bucky who has flirted with many many women is gone, and remaining is a shy bucky who cannot stop smiling.
“oh,” and that’s when you bite your lip and Bucky feels his eyes are glued to your lips.
“Thank you…” You trail off to find his name tag. “Bucky”
The moment you say his name Bucky is gone. He wants to hear you say his name, again, and again. Has his name ever sounded so good?
“I’m- I don’t know if this is too forward but um, would you like to go out with me sometime?” Bucky is flustered while trying to ask you out. He looks at you with his pretty blue eyes and you felt like you’re melting into a puddle.
“Yeah, I’ll like that.” You smile.
Bucky feels like jumping in happiness. But tries to play it cool, you know scratch that he doesn’t want to be cool he wants to be happy and shy and spend time with you, get to know you.
He gives you his number and asks you to text him when you’re free.
After you leave the coffee shop that day, Bucky feels keeps checking his phone, excited, nervous, anxious, and after finishing his shift when he is going back home, when he feels like he is losing his mind, his phone chimes
you: hey, i’m free this friday if you’d like to meet x
Bucky smiles, almost giggles. Quickly types back.
Bucky: Sounds perfect. Can’t wait to meet you again.
Maybe working at the coffee shop isn’t that bad. He smiles to himself and drives back home, counting days till Friday.
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes au#bucky barnes college au#bucky barnes coffee shop au#coffee shop au#james bucky barnes#ask answered✨#meera writes prompts
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Dr. Sharma pestering Dr. Bridgerton on his follow up care for Edwina? Coffee and pastries as a thank you for fitting her in for a consultation...
Kate calling every 15 minutes like “Have you gotten the results of Edwina’s gestational diabetes screener yet?”
And Anthony’s just standing in line at the coffee shop like “Kate, I called to ask if you wanted a muffin, you know I can’t discuss your sister as my patient when she’s not present.”
“I obviously want an apple and cinnamon muffin, Anthony, but I’m worried about my sister.”
Anthony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “I told you, this test is a formality. Everyone has to do one at 26 weeks. I’m not worried.”
“Oh so you have the results.” Kate clipped and Anthony nearly groaned. “Will you answer me?”
“Give me one second and you can go back to being the most stunningly infuriating woman I’ve ever met. I’m ordering your muffin.” Anthony smiled at the barista apologetically holding the phone away from his ear. “Hi can I can an Americano and an iced latte with three shots and an apple and cinnamon muffin? Thanks, keep the change.”
“I didn’t ask you for coffee.” Kate tutted as he came back to the call.
“I know you need one from your tone.”
“Anthony, please, I’m worried.”
He felt it, the concern she must be feeling and he groaned, “Babe, please, they aren’t back yet. I’ll call her and Matthew as soon as I have them.”
Kate sighed and he could almost see her, slumped against the wall of the hospital corridor. “Still can’t call him Matty hey?”
“I can’t. He’s going to be a father, I can’t In good conscience call him that.” Anthony clicked his tongue, smiling to himself.
“You know I trust you right? I trust you with this, I do.”
It caught in his chest and he nodded before he remembered she couldn’t see him, “yeah I know, I have to say though, if I knew it was going to be like this: I probably wouldn’t have taken her on as a patient.”
“I appreciate that you did it against your better judgement.” Kate chuckled and silence welled between them before she cleared her throat, “I do want to talk more about the Babe that just slipped out though.”
And Anthony’s stomach dropped.
#doctors au#kathony#anthony x kate#kate sharma#kate sheffield#anthony bridgerton#molly’s asks and answers
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(Request!)Slashers x G/N! Reader
✨Fall Dates✨
a/n: i’m sorry this is pretty past halloween y’all! i’ve been pretty sick lately but i’m doing better now so it’s fic time🥰🫶🏻
Includes: Michael Myers (OG or RZ), Jason Voorhees, and Danny Johnson
Michael Myers (OG or RZ)
You woke up way before Michael did to get to the grocery store.
While at the store, you saw where the store had their pumpkins and picked one up for Michael and you to tackle.
After grabbing the rest of your groceries, you decided to grab some of the pre-made cookie dough and some apple cider; he had no idea of the lil idea, but it’s not like he’d mind, right?
By the time you got home with groceries, Michael was anxiously awaiting your arrival, greeting you with his usual head tilt, but the second you got inside, Michael ripped the pumpkin from your hands in excitement.
He’s like a big child sometimes<3
While Michael was gutting the poor pumpkin, you were popping the halloween pre-made cookie dough onto the baking sheets.
Once in the oven, you met Michael in the living room, who already had the top of the pumpkin cut off and the seeds out.
“Which design did you think Mikey?”
Typically, he’d cringe at the nickname, but he was too focused on the pumpkin in front of him.
He pointed at a template of Frankenstein’s head, picking the booklet up to rip out the piece of paper while you put on classic Halloween cartoons.
Once the cookies were almost ready, you heated up some of the cider you got and brought the drinks and cookies out for you and Michael.
Jason Voorhees
Jason woke up before you, and quietly admired you as you slept in on the cold morning.
The cool Jersey air crept through the windows, and gave you an itch to bake.
So you and Jason make your way to the kitchen, and you pulled out ingredients to make some cinnamon rolls.
While you were mixing and playing with the dough, Jason was grabbing and putting away items as well as cleaning the dishes for you.
When he had finished, you asked him to help you roll the cinnamon buns and put them on the baking sheet.
Soft music is coming from the radio quietly, and the two of you are baking and dancing around each other before cleaning the rest of the mess up.
“Would you like to eat by the lake?” Jason signed to you.
“That sounds lovely, Jay.” You smiled at him.
He rushed to grab some thick blankets and some candles, and got set up by the lake where the two of you cuddled and ate breakfast.
It’s safe to say your guys’ day was just as peaceful as the morning<3
Danny Johnson
Danny had picked you up from work in the early afternoon, and drove you to your favorite cafe.
Once you ordered your favorite hot beverage and a pastry, the two of you drove around talking about your guys’ day.
Danny turned some RnB on the radio quietly as you both watched the scenery outside.
Tress went from a deep forest green to littered with fiery oranges and reds to lemony yellows.
“This is nice,” You hummed, reaching to hold his free hand which was resting on the center console.
“Yeah,” he smiled, “We should do this more often.”
It wouldn’t be Danny if he didn’t take pictures to treasure the moment, so the two of you pulled off to a trail, and walked around for a few minutes.
Danny was “taking pictures of the trail”-it was more pictures of you; he’s obsessed with your bright smile on your soft features<3
After his little photo shoot, Danny drove you guys to the local theater, where you both saw the latest horror movie.
You both clung to each other, out of fear or just the need to feel each other’s embrace, you didn’t know nor did you care.
In that moment, everything felt right; you could almost forget you’re dating the Ghostface himself.
#slashers x reader#dbd x reader#michael myers x reader#ghostface x reader#danny johnson x reader#jason voorhees x reader
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I’m jumping on the “coffee” band wagon because it’s just so good…continuation at upstairs at the downstairs or the papers talking about them all cuddled up at the bar?
Joel shoves the paper in her face when she shows up at the Button Club to do a set the next night.
"Et tu, Brute?" he snaps.
Midge takes two steps back, looking confused. "Did you just Julius Caesar me?"
"I did."
"and shove a newspaper in my face?"
"Yes."
Midge snatches it and reads, nodding slowly. "Yep. I figured that might happen. I did warn him."
"Who?" Joel asks. "Who did you warn? Lenny fucking Bruce?"
"Well. Yes," Midge nods. "I told him the papers would pick it up. And he didn't care."
"You and your Danish."
"You don't know it was a Danish," Midge tells him with her chin in the air.
"Of course it was a Danish!" Joel cries. "It's always a Danish!"
"Fine," Midge tell him, handing him the paper back. "It was an apple cinnamon Danish."
"Yuck," Joel snaps, grabbing the paper back.
"Lenny liked it," Midge tells him.
"I bet Lenny fucking Bruce likes a lot of things you like," Joel says.
Midge stares at him for a long moment, before snatching the paper back and heading for the stage.
"Shit," Joel snaps, chasing after her. "Shit. Midge. No."
She stomps on the stage without responding, taking the mike and smiling at the crowd. "Good evening, everybody!" she says to heavy applause. "I'm Mrs. Maisel - not to be confused with the future Doctor Maisel, my husband's fiance."
She gets a laugh out of that as Joel looks on, obviously quietly freaking out.
"Dating is hard, right?" she asks the audience, getting a confirmation. Right? Your divorced, you have kids, and you just - want to make some kind of a connection. The problem - aside from trying to schedule dates around work and potty training and your ex's schedule - is that everyone has an opinion. Everyone!" She shakes the newspaper. "Every-fucking-one!"
It gets a laugh and she laughs at herself a little.
"As someone who makes a living talking to strangers and looking at people in their homes through their television screens, it's even more difficult, because it's not just your mother who has an opinion. Of your incredibly insecure ex-husband who has absolutely no room to make judgements considering his wild behavior over the last handful of years - it's complete strangers."
She stares out at the audience accusingly. "It's allllll of you."
That gets a good laugh as well.
"Was I caught sharing a not-so-innocent pastry with a certain foul-mouthed fellow comedian last weekend? Yes. Did we leave together, to go do things that can be described with pastry as a euphemism?" She fans herself with the paper. "God, yes."
It gets some cheers from the ladies in the audience and some hoots from the men.
"Were the words "god yes" used multiple times during those pastry-adjacent activities?" She goes on. "You. Bet. Your. Ass."
More cheers.
"And that's the thing! I'm not ashamed of my sex life," she tells the crowd. "I'm an unmarried, adult woman. If I want to share a pastry with an attractive man there shouldn't be a gauntlet of approvals I have to go through. It is psychotic that my ex-husband - a man who left me, by the way. Up and left because he was unhappy with me - gets to wag his finger at me about my romantic choices. A handsome man brought me my favorite kind of Danish. And maybe we went back to his place and I sucked the pastry cream out of his éclair. It's no one's business. She says as she blurts it out to a room full of strangers."
She hears Lenny's laugh from the back along with the rest of the crowd, and sees Joel, still standing, mortified off to the side.
"But you know, Joel, I forgive you for the weird Shakespearean judgement," Midge goes on. "Being divorced has never been easy, and it must be kind of a mind fuck to be replaced with - what did you call him? Lenny fucking Bruce?"
She turns back to the audience. "Can you imagine just - Lenny fucking Bruce, brushing his teeth. Lenny fucking Bruce rummaging through the refrigerator for a snack at three in the morning. Lenny fucking Bruce with a tummy ache."
The audience laughs at that, and again, she can hear Lenny laughing more.
"Lenny fucking Bruce bringing you your favorite Danish, just because he wanted to. Because at the end of the day, he might be Lenny fucking Bruce to all of you, and in the papers, but he's really just Lenny. Just some guy who did something thoughtful and sweet." She shrugs. "It just earned him a muffin later that night."
The audience laughs hard at that and she gets a large round of applause.
"I'm Mrs. Maisel! You've been wonderful! Someone call an ambulance for my Ex. Thank you and goodnight!"
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🎆
29. — pie
34. — cinnamon
Evelyn had expected her day to go many ways. She did not, however, think that she’d spend it trapped in a bakery baking pies with a handsome semi-stranger.
Let’s rewind a little. It’s morning, she’s happy (for once) and ready to face the day (for once). Leefside definitely took some time getting used to, but now she has the feeling she can do this. She can write a proper article about it without being a total bitch. She can learn to appreciate this village. So she gets breakfast, brushes her teeth, gets dressed, and heads outside in order to scout the most interesting, tourist trap places.
After hours of visiting bookstores, skating rinks, coffee shops and weirdly specific stores (who knew a store selling only plastic flamingos existed!), she decided to spoil herself a little. Nothing better than getting cozy in a bakery and watching the snowfall as she feasts on a cinnamon roll. Yes, yes, this is it. Yum.
You see the gist, now? Today was supposed to be a nice day. However, Evelyn is overall unlucky. Evelyn has some god that is against her and refuses to let her have one good day. So of course (of course!) as soon as she gets comfortable in the empty bakery with her pastry, the biggest snowstorm she has ever seen hits.
And here she is now, baking pies with a handsome semi-stranger. “Remind me again why we’re doing this?”
Theo chuckles as he mixes the dry ingredients. “Nothing goes better with a snowstorm than pies, don’t you think? I’m thinking of hand delivering a few to people once the storm lets up. Best way to feel better about the fact that your house is buried under snow.”
And that was no exaggeration. As she looked outside the window, all she could see was white. Blinding white that could frostbite her ears off. Oh, great. She sighs as she cuts apple slices. Why did she accept this already? Because he was kind enough to let her stay in until the storm calmed down? Because his smile is weirdly charming? Because she’s too nice? Probably the latter. She’s way too nice, and now here she is helping him out while she could have napped in his apartment upstairs (his offer).
Leefside is known for being a tight knit community, and Theo is proof of that with the way he speaks of each villager with a smile on his face, as if he knows them all personally. It astounds her, really. After all, why care? People come and go, there’s no need to get to know them that much. Back in New York, she didn’t know everyone who lived in her building, and she was perfectly happy with that. Connections might seem good, but in the long run? They hurt. She’d rather keep away from that guaranteed pain.
Maybe this is why you don’t have many friends, hm?
“It’s just…” she begins slicing another apple. “You don’t owe them anything.”
Theo gives her an amused smirk. “Do I have to? Can’t I simply want to be nice?”
Well, she can’t counter that without sounding like a complete asshole. That makes her grin. “I suppose you have a point.”
And really… this is fun. This is really fun. She hasn’t baked in a good while, so she had forgotten how good it felt. The entire bakery smells of apple and cinnamon as they bake the multiple pies they’ve made, and the entire time, they talk and talk and talk.
“Are you kidding me?” Theo hands her a steaming cup of hot cocoa. “Legally Blonde is totally the best movie.”
“I mean, I guess it’s nice, but really? To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before is the best romcom.”
“Please, fake dating is anything but realistic. And predictable,” he takes a sip from his own mug. “I mean, of course they’re going to end up dating! It’s literally written in the stars!”
“Should we test it, then? Fake date, and then part ways” she grins, fully determined to tease him. “I’m telling you, fake dating without getting feelings is doable.”
She does notice the way he blushes a little, and really, she’s blushing as well as she stares into those dark brown eyes. When the light hits them just right, they turn into a delightful honey color that she wants to stare at for hours.
Theo grins. “Well then, this only leaves us with one option.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Fake date?”
“Nope. We deliver these pies, then watch the romcoms later to decide which one is the best.”
Evelyn had expected her day to go many ways. Now, however, after delivering the pies to happy villagers and sitting down on Theo’s comfortable couch to watch romcoms, she finds herself pleasantly surprised.
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You know what I really want rn? Apple dumplings.
#I want to make them#and my mom is like no fried foods#like have you ever made a dumpling in ur life woman#what kind of world do you live in where you fry pastries#my parents are stupid#I’m talking about apple pastries with cinnamon#not whatever the fck she was thinking#this is the same woman who thinks I have diabetes because I hate drinking water#like what the fck#you are the reason I have nightmares#I can’t sleep in a house full of idiots#my writing#and now I’m hangry and won’t be able to sleep until noon
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Sugar, Spice, and Everything (Not So) Nice (Reid Imagine)
Summary: Being a Barista and falling for a regular is as cliche as it gets. Having that customer become your new professor? Not so much.
A/N: *Peeks head out* Hello everyone. I have come back from my unannounced hiatus to show off this baby. Major thanks to @definitelynotkatesblog and @clean-bands-dirty-stories for helping me put this fic together. This was written for the lovely @httpnxtt for the secret-fic-swap in the Discord (thanks @imagining-in-the-margins.) I hope you all enjoy this smutty goodness.
Category: Smut
Content Warnings: Face Slapping, Degradation, Slight Hair Pulling, Oral Sex (male receiving), Fingering, Spanking, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex/Creampie
Word Count: 6.4K
Masterlist
Being a barista is pretty awesome. Sure, there were bitchy customers and super early mornings but it had it’s redeeming perks. We got free coffee, tea, and snacks during our shifts, which served the caffeine addict in me. I also learned how to make popular lattes, mochas, and frappes that I ended up making at home for myself one too many times. While there were the occasional assholes who couldn’t appear human before getting their hands on some caffeine, there were the regulars who made it worth it. Most of the regulars were so sweet, I appreciated a familiar face when they came in. Some.. more than others.
“He’s baaaaaaaaack,” my coworker Hazel whispered to me in a sing-song voice as she scribbled a customer’s name on a cup. I turned to see who she was talking about, but I already had an inkling about who it was.
My suspicions were correct. I turned to see one of our kindest regulars, my personal favorite customer, Dr. Spencer Reid. Is it weird to know the full name -including the honorific- of a customer? Possibly. But when I’d asked for his name to write on his cup the first time he came in, he accidentally gave me his full name.
“Dr. Reid- uh, Spencer. Sorry, work habit.” He stuttered, avoiding my eyes after the mistake.
“No worries! What can I get started for you?”
As a Criminology major, I learned to study the people who catch my attention before indulging them. Call it an old habit.
Dr. Spencer Reid had earned his title and then some. He’d joined the FBI at only 22, having six degrees under his belt by the age of 27. He’d written several dissertations and co-wrote novels with his colleague, David Rossi. Someone with his reputation could be a pompous ass and have a leg to stand on, which is what made his humbled demeanor so much sweeter. He was also incredibly easy on the eyes, which was a nice little bow on top.
Hazel liked to joke about how we’d make a cute couple but I know she only did it to watch me get flustered.
I walked towards the counter to take his order, leaving Hazel with the task of refilling the caramel syrup. I’m always the one to help him since he very aptly pointed out that I’m the only one who makes his coffee just how he likes it.
Some days, he’d let me surprise him with a random creation. I’d confirm if he wanted caffeine (he always did), iced or not, and any flavor requests. He’d take his drink, tip me handsomely and let me know his thoughts on the drink the next time he came in. So far, his favorite was the almond milk honey latte I’d concocted. It was nice to have a little bit of fun, especially with regulars who were as consistent as him.
“Hey Doc, what can I get ya’?” I asked.
“The usual, please,” he said with a smile. I nodded and set off to make his drink: a venti dark roast with a shit ton of sugar, a dash of nutmeg, and a tiny bit of cinnamon.
“Of course!” I quickly go to fill his order, making sure to put a complimentary treat in a bag for him. I know he had the ultimate sweet tooth so I try to sneak him a confection whenever I can. At first, he was a bit reluctant to take the free pastries, but nowadays he usually smiles when he sees the small bag.
“Here ya’ go.” I handed him his steamy cup of caffeine along with the little treat, seeing him smile at the small pun I add to his cup, “Have a BREW-tiful day, Doctor!” I watched as his lips landed on the rim of the cup, taking a long sip of the hot coffee. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the sight making my cheeks promptly flush. I cleared my throat before asking, “Is it good?”
“It’s always good when you make it,” he stated matter of factly, a small smile touching his lips. The heat in my cheeks rose again. “Will you be taking a course this summer?” he asked, taking another sip of his coffee.
“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it. My first day is actually later today. I’m surprised the class section was open, to be honest.” Super surprised actually. I’d been trying to enroll in this class for the past couple of semesters but it was always full by the time I was able to even load the registration page.
“Well, I’ll wish you luck, but I’m sure you won’t need it.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“I can just tell.” He stated calmly, like it was common knowledge. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. Before he could respond, an insistent cough caught both of our attention. I peeked over Spencer’s shoulder to see a customer waiting for his order to be taken. I turned my attention back to the Doctor, an annoyed look painted on my face. He nodded, taking a hint from the impatient mouth breather behind him.
“Thank you for the coffee. Enjoy the rest of your day. I hope that class goes well.”
“Bye, you too.” I waved, watching as he exited the door. I turned to the waiting customer, a bit miffed that he interrupted our conversation. But because I was at work, I plastered a fake smile on my face so that he wouldn’t see just how annoyed I was. “Welcome, how may I help you?”
●●●
After clocking out at 2:30 PM, I made a dash for the building where my class would be held. It’s not supposed to start for another half-hour, but I wanted to be sure to get there in time to choose a good seat and settle in before the rest of the class arrived.
Luckily room 301 was relatively empty so I was able to score a perfect seat by the window. I decided to kill some time by listening to some music and doodling randomly in my notebook. Some time had passed when I felt someone take the seat next to me. I turned to see a young man occupying the chair beside mine. He looked to be a frat boy based on the Greek letters he was sporting. Who wears a cap and hoodie in this weather? I really hope he didn’t expect to cheat off of me- although these types of guys always seem to do so.
I was about to return to my doodle when I felt a poke on my shoulder. I turned to give the offender my full attention, removing one of the earbuds from my ears.
“Hey, I’m Tony,” frat boy said, with a wide smile adorning his face. I must admit, his boyish grin melted the slight annoyance I had begun to stir toward him. I returned his greeting and introduced myself as well. “I don’t mean to be a bother,” he continued, “but I like to have at least one buddy in each of my classes. In case we need help or miss an assignment or something.”
I nodded my head - a friend in a class was always useful when it came to studying and swapping notes. We chatted a bit more, learning about each other’s major and why we both decided to take a summer course. Tony is a double major and this course will satisfy the credits he needs for his psychology requirement. This is why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.
It wasn’t until I heard the hush of the classroom that I realized the class was about to begin. I turned back to my notebook, preparing to jot down some important information despite it being the first day of class.
“Good morning class.” Wait. That voice... I didn’t even need to pick my head up to know who had spoken. “This is Criminal Psychology and I am your instructor, Doctor Spencer Reid. Unfortunately, Professor Monroe could not cover this course so I’ll be his permanent replacement. Now…”
I raised my head, watching as he continued to talk about what is to be expected in this course while a TA handed out the syllabus. He went on, able to capture the attention of everyone while speaking of the experiences he had with an array of criminals. His eyes scanned the room and for a brief moment I thought they would land on me, but they continued to take in the mass amount of students before him.
My concentration was broken by Tony passing me a copy of the syllabus. I scanned it over, making sure to highlight all the important dates. I didn’t want any exams or projects conflicting with my work schedule. I also made note of how the overall grade system is broken down. The whole thing seems pretty fair and everything was spaced out enough where I wouldn’t feel too overwhelmed with the workload.
“… and that pretty much wraps it up. Does anyone have any questions?” I tuned in just as he was pulling the first class to a close. No one raised their hands, so he dismissed us with a reminder to read the first chapter of the textbook and to check for any emails.
“So do you want to grab lunch?” Tony asked from beside me. I contemplated whether or not to go with him. He must have seen the hesitation in my face because he quickly added, “Not as a date or anything, I just wanted to grab a bite and I didn’t want to do it alone.”
“Sure,” I smiled, “Let me just ask the professor a quick question about his office hours and I’ll meet you at the food court.”
“Sweet, I’ll see you in a bit.” With that, Tony gathered his stuff and exited the back door.
I focused my attention on the podium, seeing a gaggle of girls surrounding him asking redundant questions. From what I could hear, their questions could have been answered if they’d read the syllabus. I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, they were probably more focused on him rather than what he was saying during class. I waited a few more minutes for them to finish up before I made my way to him.
“So do I call you Doctor or Professor now?” I laughed.
“From you, I’d respond to either,” he replied warmly. The comment made me blush. If he looked into my eyes at that moment, he’d see more stars in them than the night sky. I bit my lip to stop the idiotic grin from spreading across my face.
He’s your professor, get a hold of yourself.
“How can I help?” he asked, bringing me back to the original reason as to why I was standing in front of him without a cash register between us.
I cleared my throat. “Um, I was wondering if it was possible to see you outside your normal office hours? I usually work the morning shifts and I don’t want to flood your emails with my questions.” I asked.
“Of course,” he said. “You can come to my office at whatever time works best for you. I know balancing a work and school schedule can be hard. Besides, I’m usually there handling paperwork anyway.” He gave a small shrug, pushing his hands in his pockets.
“Thank you so much. I look forward to the rest of the semester Professor Reid.” I liked the way his newfound honorific rolled off my tongue.
“Goodbye, Y/N.”
“Goodbye, Professor.” With that, I left and headed out to meet Tony.
I was able to find him at the food court. We got some food and chatted more about our classes as well as life outside of school. He made it easy to be his friend, and it was nice having someone to talk to. He works as a waiter so we shared our customer service horror stories and tales of sneaking food at work. It was a nice distraction that took my mind off of Dr. Reid and the ongoing battle of calling him Doctor or Professor. As Tony rambled, my mind wandered about other things I’d like to call Spencer instead.
●●●
In that short span of two weeks, we already had an exam, an oral presentation, and a report on the psychoanalysis of serial killers. Not one day had been wasted, but this is what to be expected from a summer course. The essay was due the day before. Now we had to wait for our grades which gave us a moment to take a breath.
I was worried that my paper was subpar; especially since I chose to write about Andrei Chikatilo, a serial killer from Ukraine. He wasn’t as popular as those in America, so I ended up spending hours on deep research to find substantial information about his crimes. It also didn’t help that some of the original reports weren’t in English. I had worked hard, and hoped Professor Reid would see that, even if my writing could sometimes be a little weak. I was worried about the grade as our research papers held the weight of 20% of our final mark.
“Hello? Earth to Y/N! Anyone in there?” Hazel’s voice pierced through my worry bubble, her hand waving in front of my face. I shook my head, trying to focus on restocking the coffee beans.
“Sorry Haze, I’m thinking about this class.”
“Funny you say that; your favorite professor just walked in. Thought you might want to take his order.” She wagged her brows at me, making kissy faces as I hurried to the front register, trying my best to not let my eagerness be so glaringly obvious.
There he was, in his usual handsome glory, patiently waiting for me to take his order. He greeted me with a small smile that I happily returned.
“Hey Doc, what can I get you today?”
He debated for a moment before saying, “Surprise me.”
“Gotcha.” I already had an in my head; it’d been a while since he asked me to make him a random drink so I’d had plenty of time to plan. We got an early shipment of ingredients for our fall-themed drinks and I figured he would appreciate some pumpkin spice in his caffeine. “How are the papers coming along?” I asked casually as I rang him up.
“Pretty well. I’m almost done, so you’ll all receive your grades later today.” Wow, that was fast. I wondered if he stayed up reading all those papers to be done by today. Probably not, a TA must have helped him.
“I am a bit nervous about mine, especially since it’s worth a huge part of our final grade.” I really wanted to get an A in this course, but it was hard juggling everything in such a short amount of time.
“Don’t worry about it too much,” he reassured. “I haven’t properly finished yours yet but it looked great just from what I’ve seen thus far.” His words gave me a little reassurance.
“Thanks. I put a lot of effort into it. Let me grab your coffee now.” Spencer walked towards the pick-up station while I grabbed a venti cup for his drink. Just when I was about to make his order, I saw another familiar face come up to the register. “Tony, hey!” I shouted, placing the cup back down, “What can I get you?”
This was the first time he’d been here, despite him saying for the past few days that he’d stop by for a visit, even with the promise of a cake pop if he did. It was nice to see another familiar face.
“Hey coffee girl, how you doin’ today?”
“Just peachy. My feet are killing me, though.” Just saying the words caused the ache on the soles of my feet to spike higher. I thanked my lucky stars I was almost done with this eight-hour shift.
“Give me the chance to sweep you off your feet, I promise you won’t regret it.” he offered boldly. It wasn’t the first time he’d joked about taking me out. I laughed, especially since he had a girlfriend. She met us for lunch one day and we became fast friends- she was an incredibly sweet and intelligent girl, polite and elegant as well. It is a wonder how his frat boy charm won her over but opposites attract, I guess.
“Shut up, Casanova. What are you gonna have?”
“I’ll have a grande iced matcha latte, please.” I should’ve known. He told me that he loves matcha flavored food and drinks the first time we grabbed lunch after class. He had complained that there was no good place to get one on campus.
“Coming right up.” I quickly filled his order since it was faster to make compared to the pumpkin spiced latte. I handed him his bribe-cake pop, matcha flavor of course, while he waited for me to finish making his drink.
“By the way, we’re still studying at the library for the exam later tonight, right?” Tony asked.
“Yup, I’ll meet you at 8.”
“Copy that, see you later coffee girl.” He turned to leave while I turned to make Professor Reid’s order. I put extra whip cream and a bit more syrup to satiate his sweet tooth. I grabbed a fresh chocolate muffin from the display case and popped it into a bag for him as well, drawing yet another pun on the good doctors bag. “Thanks for being such a TEA-rrific professor!”
“Here ya’ go Doc,” I called out before placing his drink and muffin on the counter. I looked up to see him no longer smiling. “Is everything okay?”
Ignoring my question, he said, “I wasn’t aware you were so close to Mr. Montgomery.”
“Oh yeah, we study together once in a while.” I could have sworn I saw his frown deepen before his features became void of any emotions. He shifted his eyes downward, his hand moving rapidly to grab the cup.
“I should get going.”
“Oh, okay” Before I could say goodbye, he was already halfway out the door.
That was weird. I looked at the counter and noticed that he left the cupcake behind. Maybe he was in a rush?
I shook my head. I needed to concentrate on making it through the last couple of hours of work.
●●●
I made my way to the classroom, smiling at Tony as he pulled out my seat for me. Professor Reid walked in a few minutes later, his tall figure drawing all the attention to the center of the small stage. He let us know he already graded the papers and that they would be distributed by the TA before the end of class. I had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach but decided to brush it off and pay attention in class. Despite my attempts to focus on his lecture, I found my mind wandering every so often anyway.
I couldn’t help but think he was less animated today. Usually, he taught with such passion that the class couldn’t take their eyes off him. But today, it felt as if we were all in a boring seminar with an ancient professor. Tony kept glancing at the clock, probably also wondering why time felt like it was going by so slowly.
I couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling the entire class. It didn’t help matters that every time I would raise my hand to answer a question, he would call on another student. What the hell did I do?
I decided to tune out the rest of the class. There is no point in being an actively engaged student if I wasn’t going to get treated like one. I’d just get the notes from Tony later.
Thirty minutes before the end of class, the TA handed out our essays while Professor Reid wrapped.
“Some of you did very well, while a few others struggled with the assignment.” His eyes landed on mine as he said that. It was the first time he had glanced in my direction the whole class. He moved on to the other side of the room. My mind was probably just playing tricks on me. “If you have any questions you can see me at my office hours next week or send me an email. You are dismissed.”
The TA finally made his way over to me, handing my essay in a slight fold. I looked at the grade on top and almost dropped the paper. My heart sped up as I stared at the letter in bright red ink. No way, no way this could be my report. I looked at the right-hand corner and saw my name at the top. I read through the first page and saw they were indeed my words.
How the fuck was it possible that I got a D on this paper? I knew my writing wasn’t the strongest, but a D?
“How you’d do?” Tony asked. For a moment I forgot I was in a room with other people.
I cleared my throat, trying to relive the lump so that he didn’t hear the croak in my voice. “Umm, not what I expected. I’m going to try to speak to him about it.” Tony was a smart kid, so I was sure he could see how tense I was. Luckily he didn’t question me any further and instead told me he’d text me later before leaving the classroom.
Fortunately, there were no other students in the classroom to slow me down this time. I walked right up to the podium, watching as Professor Reid placed some papers in his satchel.
“Professor, I need to speak with you.”
“Not now, I’m busy,” he replied, not even bothering to glance in my direction. This can’t be real. The sweet, kind Doc could not be the man acting like a total asshole right now.
“I really need to discuss with you my paper,” I pressed, raising my voice a little louder in an attempt to get his attention. That was wishful thinking on my part since he continued to fiddle with his satchel.
“I said I’m busy,” he uttered once again, his voice void of any emotion. He was about to walk past me, ignoring my whole being. His blatant disregard made my cheeks burn, and not in the usual way they usually did when I was around him.
“Spencer,” I barked, “We need to talk. Now.” For a few moments, he stood in front of me, his back facing my direction.
I was about to speak again before I heard him say, “My office. Half an hour.” He exited, leaving me alone in an empty classroom. The only things keeping me company were the fuming feelings swirling inside me and the failed paper clutched at my fist.
●●●
I knocked on his office door ten minutes earlier than he’d told me. The anger in my gut brewed hotter the longer I waited. As soon as I heard a “Come in,” I rushed through the door, slamming it behind me. He regarded me coolly, but didn’t comment on my actions.
“What can I do for you Ms. (Y/L/N)?” I walked up to his large desk, not bothering to take a seat in the chair in front of me. I took a moment to calm myself down before replying.
“Well, you can start by explaining to me why I got such a low score on my paper.” I guess he didn’t like being the only one of us sitting down because he stood up and leaned against the wall behind him.
“It did not meet the requirements for a passing grade as outlined in the rubric. The information given was boring and the overall topic was uninteresting. It was tedious to get through,” he responded nonchalantly, like he was giving me a weather report.
“You said that you enjoyed it so far.” I rebutted, placing my hands on the desk. I needed something to offer me stability so that I wasn’t visibly shaking.
“I’d mistaken your work for another student’s. Maybe Mr. Montgomery,” he dryly clipped.
A bitter laugh escaped me as I put the puzzle together. Was- was he serious? Was this man acting like this because of Tony? The audacity! The laugh that bubbled from my lips must have unsettled him. He left his position from the wall in favor of standing in front of me.
“You want to know what I think?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond before continuing, “I think you’re jealous that I have another guy that isn’t you getting friendly with me at the shop and because of your inability to keep your---“
“That is enough,” he grounded out, shaking his head. But I didn’t stop talking.
“--private feelings away from your professional ones, you decided to give me a failing grade. Do you know how hard I worked in-” my voice rose up higher and higher until I was yelling.
“I said that’s enough,” he said again, louder this time. But I wasn’t done.
“-this class? This is my life, my fucking future on the line. I’ve told you how important this all is to me and you don’t even give a shit! You’re going to let your interpretation of my relationship with another student influence the way you do your job? And here I thought you were a decent man, Professor.” I hissed, “Do you even give a damn abo-”
“Enough,” he roared, slamming his hands on the desk and caging me against the wood. His breathing was matching the upbeat pace of my own. His quick movement and the sheer volume of his voice caught me off guard, effectively silencing me.
“I don’t deserve to be punished over your envy,” I whispered, locking eyes with him in a steady gaze.
“You want to see a real punishment, darling?” he hissed, the heat of his words almost breaking my glare, his breath fanning along my face.
We stared at one another for a while, neither of us willing to be the first to back down. The tension between us kept rising and rising until the inevitable happened. I couldn’t be sure who made the first move but before I knew it, our lips collided with a mix of rage and desperation. My arms draped around his neck as he pressed me on to the desk. He placed his hands on the back of my thighs, lifting me up high enough until I was perched on the cool wooden surface.
Spencer’s lips were soft, a stark contrast to the harsh way he was kissing me. His tongue parted my lips, gliding over mine with fervor. I couldn’t help but moan as he rolled his hips into me. He continued his rough grind, keeping my legs open as we moved as close together as our bodies would allow. He overwhelmed my senses- the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. Everything was making me absolutely feral for this man.
I never expected the gentle Dr. Reid to be so fervent, so sensual. The kindhearted, sweet professor who regularly drank his weight in caffeine never gave me this impression. But then again, I’m sure he was shocked by my attitude as well. He knew me as the friendly, bubbly barista, now student, who enjoyed his class. He was about to meet a whole new side of me, just like I was going to for him.
Spencer pulled away from me, our mouths making an audible ‘pop’ sound from the sudden separation. I tried to catch my breath as he stared at me, our chests rising and falling together. If I were to move a bit closer to him, we would be touching once again.
He took a few steps back before motioning me to step in front of him. “I want you to get down on your knees. Now.” I wasn’t going to argue with him, mainly because I wanted the exact same thing he did. I kneeled down, keeping my eyes on his face.
“You going to shut me up, Professor?” I teased, feeling powerful, even though he was looming over me. He didn’t reply, just continued to look down on me with those honey colored eyes- full of lust and rage.
I watched as he slowly placed his hands on his slacks, undoing the belt and buttons. He drew down his pants and boxers at the same time, just low enough to reveal his impressive size. My mouth salivated at the sight of his bulge as he came closer to me.
“We’re going to put that smart mouth to better use. Open.” He said, gripping my face between his fingers, forcing me to follow his orders. I opened my mouth slightly, not giving him exactly what he wanted. Instead of ordering my mouth to open further like I expected, he placed his thumb inside. He pushed the digit deep, pressing it against my tongue. I moaned around the finger, softly nibbling at the skin. He continued to slide his finger within my mouth before dragging it out completely. He wiped the excess spit on my cheek before lightly smacking it. The small shock of pain sent a shiver down my spine.
“Open, and do it right this time.”
I obeyed, opening wide enough to accept him into my mouth. My lips were stretched almost uncomfortably in an attempt to fit around him. He was so hot and thick, I couldn’t help but hum at the taste of him on my tongue. The soft “fuck” that fell from his lips had me purring around him. I went to place my hands on the remaining portion that couldn’t fit, but he batted them away.
“You’re using only your mouth.”
Fine, have it your way, Sir.
I placed my hands behind me as I bobbed my head, hallowing my cheeks with every rise. His shallow thrusts encouraged me to suck harder. I slowly pulled away to run my tongue against the vein protruding on the underside of his cock. I was rewarded with a groan escaping his lips.
“I should have known that you would be so good at this, darling,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse as he tried to control his grunts.
I made sure to look in his eyes as I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock. The face he made was purely angelic. The muscles of his neck protruded more evidently and his breathing became more labored. I placed him back in my mouth, this time taking my time to go down on him.
“That’s right, Princess. Show me what a good girl you are for me.” He moaned as I felt his hands weave in my hair before he pushed my head down on to him, causing me to gag around him, tears pricking my eyes. He continued his thrusts into my mouth, barely allowing me a chance to breathe. My nose repeatedly touched the base of him as I swallowed around his hard length.
Spencer tightened his fingers in my hair and I knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. The pace was brutal, but I enjoyed the rough treatment. Knowing that I was the one making him feel good was such a turn on. He buried himself deep in my throat after a few more thrusts to finish. I swallowed his release like the greedy brat that we both now knew I was.
He eventually pulled out, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips. I swiped the back off my hand across my mouth to clean off any leftover spit and cum.
“Get up,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.
I did so, rubbing the ache in my knees as I slowly rose. “I want you bent over the desk,” he continued.
“I want you to answer my previous question.” I quipped.
“You’re not in the position to be making commands,” he growled. He wrapped his fingers in my hair again, pulling just roughly enough so that I was looking up at his face. “If you want this to end well for you, I suggest bending over my desk before I stuff my cock in that bratty little mouth of yours again.”
He released me, eyes still on my face waiting for me to follow through on his order. I turned to his desk and did as he asked, bending over the wood until my chest laid flat against the surface. I waited as patiently as I could for him. It felt as if I was in this position for an eternity before he touched me. He pushed both my underwear and skirt down to my knees before placing his hands on my hips. I heard it before I felt it- the smack on my ass that caused me to yelp.
“Fuck, Spencer. What the—” I was cut off with another resounding smack.
“Did you really think that I wasn’t going to give you a real punishment, darling?” I took a deep breath as another shiver went down my spine. He had no business sounding so hot right now. Another smack, this time on my opposite cheek, had me biting down on my lip to stop myself from crying out.
“This” *SMACK* “Is” *SMACK* “What” *SMACK* “Happens” *SMACK* “To” *SMACK* “Bratty” *SMACK* “Little” *SMACK* “Girls” *SMACK*. A sob ripped from my chest as the last blow landed. My ass was on fire and surely littered with his hand prints.
“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood since you sucked me off so nicely, or I would have made that worse.”
Gee, thanks.
“You look like such a dirty slut like this.” I felt a finger enter me easily, the wetness gathered there making my entrance ready to take him. “So wet. Was it the spanking that got you like this, or your mouth around my cock?” A moan was my only reply as he added another finger, the two digits moving in a scissoring motion.
“Are you gonna be my sweet girl, now?” He asked as I moved my hips along his fingers, desperately trying to seek some more relief for the fire burning between my thighs as his mouth littered marks along my thighs. I closed my eyes, focusing on the pleasure he was giving me as he curled his fingers, a slow moan falling from my lips. He pulled them out of me, wiping the slickness against my still burning ass. Fucking bastard. I wiggled my hips against him, hoping he would grant me a reprieve and put his fingers back inside me. Instead, he spanked my ass one more time- one quick, sharp blow against the bruised cheek.
Just when I was about to yell at him, he placed the head of his member against my entrance. He moved up and down my drenched entrance before penetrating me in one full thrust. I took a short breath in, trying to get used to feeling so full. He was stretching me out in the most amazing way.
Spencer waited until I was grinding against him before he pulled out and pushed back into me. “Look at you, such a wanton little bitch aren’t you?” He could call me whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop fucking me.
He kept a steady pace, making sure to grind into me every time he slammed back in. The obscene sound of our skin smacking against one another’s and the moans escaping our throats was an erotic symphony that had my body heat raising the temperature in the room.
He hitched my leg on top of the desk, entering in an angle that made the pleasure so much better. I couldn’t stop the whines that kept escaping my mouth every time he pounded into me. His hand stayed upon my leg, holding me down and limiting my movements. His nails dug into the skin so harshly I was sure there would be bruises left in their wake.
“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me,” he hissed under his breath. “Should have known you just needed to be fucked like the cheap whore you are.” He sped up, hips snapping at an almost punishing pace. The desk creaked every time he slammed into me. I hoped no one was nearby to hear what was going on. A whine left my throat when I felt his fingers rub against my clit. I was so close now.
“Should I stay inside you? Fill you up so you walk around campus carrying my child?” He growls, his pace increasing with each passing moment. “Knock you up so the whole campus knows what a whore you are for me?” He asks, earning a cry ripped from my throat.
“Who’s fucking you?” he grunted. I don’t know how he expected me to form a coherent statement at this current moment. My eyes could barely stay open at this point.
“Spencer, please.” He smacked the outside of my thigh.
“Try again, who’s fucking you?”
“You are, Doctor.” Apparently, that was the wrong answer too, because it earned me another smack on my thigh. I had tears streaming down my face from the pleasurable pain he was giving me.
“You have one more chance or else I’m not letting you come. Now, who’s is fucking you?”
“Professor Reid!” I cried out.
“That’s right darling. Now come on my cock.” A harsh bite on my neck was the ultimate push that had me seeing stars. Spencer thrusted a few more times before fully sheathing himself within me.
He slumped over me, the feel of his breath against my neck causing me to shiver once more. We took a moment to have the high leave our body before he pulled out of me, a gasp leaving the both of us. Spencer was the first to break the silence between us.
“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked, his voice a bit shy.
I giggled at his demeanor. A few moments ago, he was fucking me senseless and spanking me over his desk like a porno, and now he was asking me out to dinner.
“Absolutely,” I smiled. “But I should probably cancel my study plans.” I quickly added.
He led me to the faculty bathroom so I could freshen myself up. When I emerged, he was back to being the prim and proper professor I knew him to be. Just before we left his office, he leaned down and whispered, “By the way, you got an A.”
#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid imagine#Criminal Minds#Criminal Minds Fanfiction#criminal minds smut#reid smut#Smut#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid reader insert#reader insert#mgg#dom!spencer#professor reid#professor spencer reid#secret fic swap
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Gezellig
You were the warmth that only another person could give
Kenma x f!reader
a/n: kenma is definitely my comfort character~
wc: 1.8k
It started with an apple pie recipe.
Kenma was editing his latest play-through video for a new video game when the craving for his favorite food creeped up on him again. He considered going to the nearby bakery that sold decent mini apple pies but a glance at the clock on his computer put an end to that idea—it was midnight and the bakery had been closed for three hours.
Normally Kenma would have settled for the day old pastry on his kitchen table but the craving for apple pie had plagued him for a while now. The reason? His neighbor had baked one a couple days ago and Kenma couldn’t stop thinking about the delicious aroma that had seeped through the walls into his unit.
A hasty thought crossed Kenma’s mind and he got up from his gaming chair to wander into the kitchen. He scanned the counters until his eyes landed on the two large apples Kuroo dropped off along with other groceries Kenma let spoil more often than not. The presence of the main ingredient spurred his impulses and Kenma fell back onto his couch as he scrolled through YouTube for an easy apple pie recipe. His perceptive eyes were immediately drawn to the golden crust of the pie on your thumbnail and his fingers clicked on your video without a second thought.
In the end, Kenma never got to making the apple pie and instead binge-watched every video on your ASMR cooking channel until he passed out at five in the morning.
Kenma knew he was obsessed when he turned on the notification bell on your channel. He loved the simplicity of your videos. There wasn’t any cheesy background music or obnoxious text. Your videos were intimate and comforting with the natural sounds of your cooking or baking and the high-quality recordings. More often than not, Kenma found himself unwinding to your content after a stressful meeting with the board members or a difficult gaming session. In fact, the more he watched your videos the more he found himself closing his eyes and imagining himself in your kitchen listening to the sizzling of the sautéing vegetables or the whir of your mixer combining the ingredients of a cake. It wasn’t necessarily hard to do since the layout of your kitchen was very similar to his own.
He should have found it suspicious when his neighbor’s cooking seemed to predict the video you would upload next but Kenma wasn’t one to dwell on unnecessary things like that. So when his neighbor cooked a delicious smelling recipe, Kenma would crave it the next day and ordered it to eat while he watched your nimble hands cook a similar dish.
In the two years Kenma had lived in his unit, he’d never crossed paths with his foodie neighbor. Although considering his line of work, Kenma supposed it wasn’t too surprising. He spent most of his time in his office and only when out when necessary. So when his doorbell rang and it wasn’t Kuroo with groceries or takeout but a young woman with a sheepish look on her face, Kenma froze like a deer in headlights.
“Hi! Umm…I’m your neighbor,” she introduced herself and awkwardly held up a small bowl. “Do you have some salt I can borrow?”
“Uh…yeah, come in.” Kenma replied stepping aside to let her in. There was a softness about her demeaner that drew him in and it wasn’t until her eyes blinked at him in confusion that he realized he’d been staring.
“T-this way.”
As Kenma led his neighbor to the kitchen he wracked his brain for the location of the salt container Kuroo had bought for him to use despite never having cooked a meal in his life. It took a couple of tries flipping through cupboards before he found the large salt container and handed it to his neighbor.
“Thanks!” She accepted it and began pouring some into her bowl. “Y’know your kitchen is a lot like mine but way cleaner!”
“I don’t really use it,” Kenma admitted. “I find it kind of intimidating…cooking.”
“It is at first but it gets easier the more you do it.” She smiled as she handed the salt back to Kenma and he couldn’t help but admire the way her entire face seemed to smile. Her eyes crinkled into crescent moons while the apples of her cheeks framed her gummy smile endearingly.
“I guess that applies to a lot of things.”
“Yes, it really does! I’m a firm believer in practice makes perfect.”
With that she thanked Kenma profusely and apologized for the intrusion before slipping on her shoes and walking out the door. While it may have only been a few minutes, the impression she left on Kenma lasted much longer. He went outside more just so he could run into his nice neighbor who would always strike up a conversation with him about anything. And while he was normally not one for small talk, it never felt forced around her. She had a knack for making even the dullest subject a compelling topic and Kenma quickly looked forward to those moments outside their apartment complex, in front of the convenience store, or outside her unit.
But even those short conversations Kenma has with his neighbor reveal very little about her. So when Kenma gets a notification from your channel and opens YouTube, he drops his phone when your thumbnail picture isn’t food but rather his neighbor that he’d grown fond of. Kenma’s eyes dart to your shared wall as he comes to terms with the fact that his favorite content creator and his pretty neighbor are the same person. It takes a couple of minutes for the initial shock to pass and another twenty minutes for him to play the video in the comfort of his office and with his headset on.
You’re all smiles as you announce a giveaway to celebrate one-hundred thousand subscribers. You introduce each of the five prizes and explain each one in detail. They’re all cooking tools from one of your sponsors that Kenma recognizes from your previous videos. When you’re describing the rules to enter, the similarities between your apartment and his are glaringly obvious now and Kenma can only shake his head in disbelief. The video ends too quickly so he watches it another ten times almost convincing himself that it’s to understand the rules of the giveaway and consider each of the products despite knowing he’d never actually enter.
A week after your giveaway video, Kuroo comes over with food and drinks after a business trip. A meal and a couple of beers later, Kenma opens up to Kuroo about you and the fact that you’re not only his favorite YouTuber but his neighbor as well. The liquid courage spurs him on and Kenma talks about your gorgeous smile, soft-looking hair, and your laugh that goes from a giggle to a cackle within a matter of seconds. Always the observant friend, Kuroo notices the persistent smile on Kenma’s face as he goes on about you and urges his best friend to ask you out on a date. The thought of spending hours with you is enough to get his heart racing but his insecurities never fail to rear their ugly heads and Kenma dismisses the idea as quickly as it comes up.
Kenma drinks even more to drown his insecurities and fantasies of you while Kuroo drinks with him knowing it’s best to support him quietly like this. When the last drop of alcohol is consumed, the two friends are completely drunk and Kuroo crashes in the guest room while Kenma stumbles to his room and collapses on his bed as the world spins around him.
Your image comes to mind but it’s too hazy for Kenma’s liking so he pulls up your giveaway video and watches it for the hundredth time. You’re so happy about your channel’s milestone that Kenma can’t help but smile like a fool as you thank your subscribers profusely. It’s with lowered inhibitions that Kenma is able to scroll to the comment section and write out how much your channel means to him.
The sound of multiple notifications stirs Kenma awake to a terrible hangover. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and focuses on his blindingly bright screen to see what the fuss is about. There’s a message from his publicist asking if he’s okay but before Kenma can reply he gets a notification from your channel; however, it isn’t the typical one that lets him know you’ve uploaded a video. The notification is a heart reaction to a comment and Kenma’s heart is in his mouth as his shaky finger taps on your giveaway video.
He doesn’t have to scroll far to find his comment because it’s the first one with ten thousand likes and three hundred comments to boot. Completely mortified, Kenma reads through the comments that have a wide range of reactions. Some gush about how cute it is for Kodzuken to fanboy over your channel while others express their disappointment that their favorite gamer actually likes cooking ASMR. While they are unnerving, it isn’t the comments that worry Kenma but the little red heart you’d left on his comment.
While he doubts you knew who he was before, this comment and the crazy feedback will definitely pique your interest enough to look him up and find out who he really is. Scared of facing you, Kenma holes himself up in his apartment. To get you out of his mind, he buries himself in work and video game streams and turns off the notifications for your channel.
After a week of not hearing anything from you, Kenma thinks he’s in the clear until one evening he opens his door expecting his takeout only to find you.
You’re a sight for sore eyes and Kenma’s heart hammers in his chest as your eyes soften and you break into a smile. The aroma of cinnamon and apples wafts up to his nostrils and you raise your mitted hands to reveal the same pie that had drawn him to you in the first place.
“Your fans mentioned you like apple pie,” you explain with a chuckle. “And I still owe you for the salt.”
“My…fans?” Kenma asks, still stunned you’re talking to him despite the comment fiasco.
“Yeah, you see I needed a reason to visit my neighbor and ask him out. Luckily, he’s a famous streamer with lots of fans.” Your confidence almost hides flush on your cheeks that deepens the longer Kenma stares at you in shock.
“…Unless you don’t want to go out-“
“I do!” Kenma blurts out. “More than anything.”
Your entire face breaks into a smile. “Well then how about a pie date?”
With a stomach full of butterflies, Kenma lets you into his apartment for the second time only this time he knows what he feels for you and is comforted by the fact that you feel the same way.
#kenma x reader#kenma x you#hq scenarios#kenma fluff#hq x reader#hq x you#hq fluff#kenma x y/n#haikyuu scenarios#kenma scenario#kenma#kenma kozume#hq#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu x y/n#haikyuu x you#haikyuu imagines#navs.hq#navs.gezellig
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this is a few days late but it’s still technically Hanukkah, so! here’s a fic about Jon and Martin celebrating Hanukkah in the safehouse (shhh timelines aren’t real) because I like to project and I really like the idea of Jon being Jewish. a lot of us are having weird holidays this year, away from friends and family, so the boys having a weird one too seemed appropriate. in particular, Jon not having a menorah because I don’t have one this year either :(
the stuff in this is based on my own experiences celebrating Hanukkah growing up in a pretty secular household, so if you see anything that’s “wrong” then that’s why, lol. the prayer is accurate as far as I know though, it’s the same one my family and I sing every year.
(also this is not a good representation of how to make rugelach! if you really want a good recipe, hmu and if you ask nicely I might share my mother’s 😁)
enjoy and Happy Hanukkah!! 💙🕎✡️💙
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“I just feel bad,” Martin said, watching from the sofa as Jon put the challah in the oven. “You’re doing all this cooking, and I’m just sitting on the couch like a lump. And this is supposed to be your holiday.”
“Martin, for the tenth time, it’s fine. Besides, the holiday doesn’t actually start until sundown,” Jon called, cheerfully enough, from the kitchen. Jon liked cooking, Martin knew, and he didn’t really see it as a chore in the same way Martin did. Still, this was a special day for Jon (well, eight days, really), and Martin wanted to be of some use. He’d offered to do everything from peeling potatoes to rolling matzoh balls, but Jon, ever the control freak in the kitchen, had stopped him at every turn. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about not helping out as Jon bustled about, trying to make Hanukkah dinner for the both of them.
More than helping out, really, Martin just kind of . . . wanted to share this with Jon. The way Jon talked about it, it sounded as though he’d had more Hanukkahs alone than with friends or what little family he had. Martin wanted to make Jon feel like he didn’t have to be alone this year, and even if Martin was new to this, he was game to learn. Jon had already told him about the holiday and all the different foods he was making, but there was still some distance there, a disconnect, that Martin knew Jon wasn’t putting between them on purpose. It seemed to Martin more like a force of habit than anything else.
After setting the timer for the challah, Jon nodded, satisfied, and came over to join Martin on the couch. He slouched against him comfortably, and Martin automatically put an arm around his shoulders. Jon had a bit of flour on his nose, and Martin gently swiped it off, which made Jon’s face wrinkle up like a disgruntled cat. Bloody adorable, Martin thought.
“I get a bit of a break before I have to start on the latkes in a few hours,” Jon said. “Got to make those right before dinner so they’re fresh.”
“Can I please help with those?” Martin said, half-joking.
“Fine,” Jon laughed, “yes, Martin, you can help with the latkes.”
“You won’t regret it.”
“I’m sure.”
“Is there dessert?” Martin asked, offhandedly. He hadn’t noticed Jon getting out any sugar or making anything sweet that day. “Do people eat anything sweet on Hanukkah?”
“Well, there’s gelt,” Jon says. “Chocolate coins. But the grocer’s didn’t have any. Unsurprisingly.”
Martin laughed. “Yeah. Probably not a huge priority in the Highlands.”
“People also make rugelach, sometimes.”
“Arugula?”
Jon laughed, not unkindly. “Rugelach. Different from the vegetable. Very different,” he said. “It’s a pastry. A kind of holiday cookie, I guess you could call it. Sweet dough with chocolate or cinnamon inside. It’s simple to make, but I didn’t buy the right stuff for it, and honestly I have enough cooking to do.”
“Yeah? How d’you make it?” Martin asked, innocently enough, though an idea was brewing.
As Jon explained, he waved his hands in the air, miming the process. “You just roll out some pastry dough, cover it with chocolate or cinnamon or walnuts or whatever you like, cut it into strips, and roll them up.” He thought for a moment. “They look a bit like seashells.”
“Huh,” Martin said. “Seems easy enough.” He’d never made dough before, but how hard could it be, really. The hardest part, he figured, would be actually making the things in their tiny cabin and even tinier kitchen without Jon finding out.
Soon after that, the oven timer started beeping, announcing that the bread was done. Martin took advantage of Jon busying himself in the kitchen to slip out the door, giving him some offhand excuse about wanting to get some air, to which Jon waved him off.
In the baking aisle at the grocer’s, Martin quickly realized he was out of his depth. He stared at the display of flour and sugar and baking powder and all sorts of other stuff, utterly at a loss as to what one needed to make pastry dough. He tried, once again, to Google a recipe on his phone, but once again, there was no service and no wifi.
Well, there was always pre-made, frozen dough. Not ideal, but it’d probably work in a pinch. Much faster to make, too, Martin thought as he dropped a couple cans of it into his basket. The filling, at least, he knew he’d be able to handle; he grabbed a few bags of baking chocolate and a shaker of cinnamon, and brought everything up to the checkout counter.
Martin didn’t even know which lucky stars to thank when he arrived back at the cabin to find the kitchen empty, and Jon passed out on the bed in a post-challah, pre-latke cooking nap. Martin gently closed the bedroom door and immediately set to baking.
Going by Jon’s vague descriptions, he rolled out some of the dough into a flat oval shape, but the pre-made kind wasn’t meant to be used all at once, and the end result was a sort of lumpy mass. Digging around in the cupboards, he was able to find some flour, which helped make the dough less sticky, at least. Eventually, he was able to get it flat enough to cover it with the filling, like Jon had told him. Half of the dough he covered in cinnamon, liberally shaking it out all over the dough. The other half he covered with the baking chocolate, which came in little chunks, but he figured it would melt in the oven just fine.
Next, just as Jon had described, he cut the dough into even strips, thin and rectangular, and rolled each of them up, so the filling made a little spiral shape inside. The chocolate ones were a bit chunky and awkward-looking, but, well, it was the taste that counted, wasn’t it.
Martin turned to face the oven, realizing he had no idea how long they ought to bake for, or at what temperature. He checked the instructions on the tins of pre-made dough, deciding to go by whatever they suggested. It wouldn’t do for the dough to be raw, he figured.
Soon enough, the pastries were in the oven, and Jon was still dead to the world, none the wiser. Martin felt quite satisfied as he cleaned up, mentally patting himself on the back for a job well- and stealthily-done. He’d hide them in the oven, he decided, until after dinner, and then he’d surprise Jon. Smiling, he went to join Jon in bed, curling up next to him as he slept, until he fell asleep himself.
Martin woke groggily several hours later to Jon gently shaking him awake, telling him it was time to make the latkes. He’d already got the batter done, a thick, floury mixture of potato and onion, and a pan of oil was bubbling on the stove. Jon showed Martin how to drop spoonfuls of batter into the pan, patting them down to shape them into little fist-sized “pancakes.” He let both sides brown in the oil until they were nice and crispy, before transferring them onto a paper towel-covered plate to cool. It was simple enough, and Martin was able to finish up the batch as Jon set the table, bringing out the challah and matzoh ball soup he’d made, as well as sour cream and apple sauce to dip the latkes in.
Once the latkes were done (and Martin was quite proud to say they’d come out very nicely), Jon retrieved some red wine he’d gotten in the village and poured them both a glass. Then, as Martin was getting ready to sit down, Jon glanced around sheepishly, gesturing at an empty space on the kitchen counter.
“I, ah, normally I’d have a menorah to light. But obviously I didn’t bring one when we came up. And out here, well, it’s the same as with the gelt. No real place to buy one.”
“Oh,” Martin said, heart sinking. He reached out to squeeze Jon’s hand. “That’s a shame. I’m really sorry.”
“Really, I just wish I could show you,” Jon said, shaking his head as he took his seat at the table. “It’s really lovely. You light a new candle every night, and when they’re all lit . . . I’m sure it’d look nice here, especially.” He gestured at the space in front of the darkened kitchen window.
“Yeah,” Martin agreed, wistfully. He’d seen photos of menorahs before, and he could just picture it, he and Jon gathered around, lighting candle after candle as the eight nights passed.
“Well,” Jon said, turning back to face Martin at the table, “we may not have a menorah, but I can still do the blessing.”
“Blessing?”
“Yes. You’re supposed to do it while lighting the menorah, but, well. I’m sure this will do, given the circumstances.” Jon reached his hand across the table, and Martin took it.
“Alright.” Jon cleared his throat, almost self-consciously, and then began to sing in Hebrew, a melodic, practical tune that sounded comfortable and familiar on his tongue, like a well-worn shawl. “Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzivanu, l’hadlik ner, shel Hanukkah.”
Martin couldn’t really sing along to the words, but he nodded along to the melody, and when Jon was done he looked up at him and smiled, and Martin beamed back. They both raised their glasses and drank.
They ate heartily, or at least Martin did, because Jon kept shoving second and third bowls of soup at him, and insisting he finish off the latkes. Not that Martin was complaining, of course; it was all delicious, and Jon did praise him for how nice the latkes had come out.
They left the dirty dishes for later (or, knowing the two of them, tomorrow morning), and after dinner they went straight for presents. Though his options were limited without online shopping or anything outside of the tiny village, Martin had managed to find an adorable little painted china Highland cow in a local antiques shop.
“I know you think they’re cute,” Martin said as Jon lifted it out of the box.
“How did you know,” Jon deadpanned, but he grinned as he brought it up to his nose and stared at its little painted snout. “I love it, Martin, thank you.”
Jon had gone the homemade route, and knitted Martin a scarf. And a pair of mittens. And an entire bloody sweater.
“Oh my god, Jon,” Martin said, staring in disbelief at the mounds of knitwear before him. “How did you find time to do all this? How did you find time to do all this without me knowing?”
Jon looked away sheepishly. “I, uh, I’m a fast knitter.”
Martin shook his head fondly. Unbelievable. But he immediately took off the sweater he’d been wearing and pulled on the one Jon had made. It fit rather well and was as cozy as it looked. “Thank you, Jon,” he said, feeling the sleeves, knowing that every loop and stitch of the fabric had been purposeful. He could practically feel the care and love Jon had put into each one of them. “I love it,” he said, leaning over to kiss Jon at the corner of his eye.
“Well,” Jon said, cheeks darkening, “Happy Holidays, then.”
“Oh,” Martin said, rising from the sofa, “I’ve actually got one more thing. Sort of a last-minute gift.”
“Hm?”
Martin went over to the oven and took out the trays of rugelach. He’d checked them earlier to see if they were cooked through, but hadn’t gotten the chance to taste one yet. “Tried my hand at a bit of dessert,” he said, selecting a couple nice-looking ones and putting them on a plate for Jon to try.
Jon had followed Martin into the kitchen, and was staring at the pastries lined up on the trays. “Oh, well, thank you,” he said, surprised, taking the plate Martin handed to him. “What are they?”
Martin cocked his head at him. “Rugelach,” he said. Wasn’t it obvious?
Jon’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Ah,” he said, voice strained with positivity. “Of course. Right.”
Martin was starting to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.
Gingerly, Jon took one of the rolled-up pastries, and bit into it.
Martin tried one as well. It was one of the chocolate ones, and it was . . . crunchy. Very crunchy. The chocolate, it seemed, had only partially melted in the oven, and the pastry dough itself was a bit hard to bite through. Besides that, it wasn’t very sweet, the chocolate being too dark and the dough being too salty.
He tried a cinnamon one. Again, the dough was crunchy, and the cinnamon was overpowering without any sweetness to it. Martin considered the possibility that perhaps he ought to have added sugar.
Jon, for his part, was doing his best impression of a person who was very much enjoying the pastry they were eating, honest. “Mmm,” he said, demonstratively, as he swallowed one of the cinnamon ones. “Thank you, Martin, these are . . . delicious.”
Jon was actually reaching for seconds, which Martin knew he was only doing to make him feel better, so he reached out a hand and placed it on Jon’s, stopping him short.
Jon looked up at him. Martin shook his head wordlessly. Jon cracked a smile.
“They’re not good,” Martin said, putting them back on the trays one by one.
“Martin--”
“It’s okay,” Martin said, smiling back at him, “I know. They’re rubbish. I didn’t even use a recipe, of course they were gonna turn out--”
“Well,” Jon said, stubbornly, “you tried. It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, Martin, really,” Jon said, bringing up Martin’s hand to kiss the back of it. “It was very sweet of you to put all this effort into it.”
“Next time, I’ll look up a recipe,” Martin said, bringing one of the trays over to the kitchen bin. Jon was quick to assist him.
“There’s seven nights of Hanukkah left,” Jon said, after a moment’s thought. “We can always try again. Tomorrow, we’ll get more ingredients, and I’ll show you how to do it properly. It really is easy, you just need . . . well. Sugar, for one.”
Martin laughed as he tossed the last of the batch away. “Okay. We’ll try again tomorrow.”
“I mean it, though,” Jon said, looking at him fondly. “Thank you. For this, and for the cow, and for sharing the holiday with me. It’s . . . this has been really . . .”
Jon was gesturing in the empty air, struggling for the proper word, but Martin understood well enough. “Yeah,” he said. “And thank you, for sharing it with me.” He pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek.
“Happy Hanukkah, Jon.”
#tma#the magnus archives#jonmartin#martin blackwood#jonathan sims#gwyneth writes#oh shit this is long#it's 2.4k#btw not pictured in their spread is gefilte fish which is a staple in my holiday dinners#but again idk if you could find it in the scottish highlands lmao#not a ton of jews out there i imagine#anyway happy hanukkah yall i love you
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Mikey I have Feelings about Steve Rogers specifically tonight and I want you to hear them
- Steve likes apple just fine but he actually doesn’t like the taste of cinnamon so he doesn’t actually eat a lot of apple things; Bucky experiments with different pastries until he finds one that’s close enough to the regular thing that everyone (including Steve) is happy.
- Sometimes Steve gets overwhelmed by all the sights and sounds and smells and textures and it’s all too much. He goes into his room, sits on the floor (the bed is too soft), puts on a sleeping mask and puts in heavy-duty earplugs. (Can you tell I read “Suspended Silence” again tonight? 😂)
- Sometimes if Steve is mentally overwhelmed (which happens a lot after a lot of PR-type stuff, he’ll take tweezers to his legs; the hairs don’t snap out so much as they pull or drag out. It’s not the sharp pain of other hair, it’s slower and more all-encompassing. He’ll pluck until he feels calm again.
- He���ll only sleep around you (let alone *on* you) if he really truly trusts you; it doesn’t happen for the team for the first year and a half at least.
- Steve likes almost all flowers except marigolds; Sarah died in October, and marigolds are the flowers of October, so there were a lot at her funeral. Same with narcissus for Bucky, at least until he gets back. (Bucky never saw his funeral; all he knows is the flowers are pretty, and finally Steve starts to see them that way again too.)
- Steve had a little bit of a lisp way-back-when that no one told him about because they all knew it was caused by his bad hearing. It was fixed almost immediately after coming out of the vita-ray chamber because he heard people talking and subconsciously mimicked them. However, no one spoke to Steve in Gaelic after Sarah was gone, so his Gaelic sounds just the slightest bit off.
- Sometimes if Steve is minority stressed, he’ll grab his sketchpad and work on warm-ups: straight lines, loops, etc.
- Steve has Sarah’s wedding ring tucked away somewhere; it was in the Smithsonian, but he took it back. When he’s not on a mission, it goes on the same chain as Bucky’s dog tags.
- Nomad!Steve went a little crazy on beard care products… however Bucky definitely appreciated it!
- He has to have someone (usually Bucky or Natasha) proofread his mission reports because his commas are ATROCIOUS. He never could sit still in class long enough to learn when to put a comma, so they just go wherever he thinks they should.
Steve has a four-foot-tall stuffed dog named Frank that Bucky won for him at Coney Island
Hope you like them ❤️ feel free to elaborate on anything that catches your fancy! I love these types of conversations with you where we keep hyping each other up.
Also how are you?? ❤️
YOU HAD FEELINGS AND GAVE M E FEELINGS OKAY LETS BREAK THIS DOWN
-YES to the apples one! The juice is real good and refreshing and helps him feel less nauseous, but apple pie and apple fillings are way too sticky and dense for him, and he feels like he can barely swallow them! And yeah, the cinnamon taste it just so overwhelming-- no. Bucky ends up mushing down the apples a whole bunch and using less cinnamon to make little mini apple strudels that Steve really loves!
-(Thanks for reading again, pal!) Yes! Steve with sensory overload is one of my absolute favorite headcanons. I headcanon that he's always had sensitivities, impairments or not, but the serum just exacerbated everything and he shuts down so quickly. Bucky walks in on him sometimes lying spread eagle on the floor and he like goes over him and asks if he'd rather company or not and usually ends up with Steve in his arms while he squeezes the heck out of him. (Steve likes pressure)
-Yes! He also bites his nails and picks the hell out of his cuticles, which serve the same sort of soothing repetitive purpose
-YEAH AND THE FIRST TIME HE DOES fall asleep around them, he's in the huge squishy armchair in the communal living room, curled up with his legs tucked under him and his face propped all smushed on his fist and they're all struck by how goddamn young he looks ("Nobody fucking wake him" "Wasn't planning on it")
-And once he shifts his view on flowers, he gets a marigold tattooed on his bicep! The stem loops around his arm
-STEVE WITH A LISP YEAH That tracks, I can totally see it! And yeah, I can see his Gaelic being just the slightest bit stunted, but he's still entirely fluent.
-He also doodles swirlies and little comics! Like cartoon mini Avengers
-Sometimes he twists the ring around in his finger, or holds it to his cheek or lips to ground himself if he's stressed or needs centering
-OKAY BUT BUCKY DOING HIS BEARD CARE F O R HIM I'm such a sucker for like,,, intimate grooming. Shavings, haircuts, washing hair/bathing together. So sweet. Bucky rubbing in some beard butter and kissing Steve's forehead. "Looking good, sweetheart"
-You know, it's fucking hilarious you bring up this headcanon and also very creepy because me and @misspluckyplum JUST wrote a scene where this exact thing was happening. Like I'm pretty sure this line was actually written: The grammar he could help with. Steve wouldn't recognize a comma if it hit him in the face. I think he struggles with that sort of thing partly because he couldn't focus when he was at school, and also because he had to miss so much of school, so some of the more basic technical stuff he missed out on. Grammar is hard for him on paper!
-FRANK MY BELOVED on bad days, Bucky finds him dead asleep on top of Frank send tweet
These were wonderful, thanks pal!!! I'm good! Had a bit of a stressful week, but I'm much better now. How are you??
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*kicking at your door, smashing it* DING DONG
Hello! 🥰🌸
from "Questions You Should Be Able To Answer For Any OTP" 1,3,4,5,9 and 10 for moanida!😅💜 But you can answer all of them or only few of them is it's too much ahaha
Ily, take care!!
YEAH BOIIII
Coffee shop AU: Who is the barista, and who frequents the coffee shop?
I'm just imagining Moana being a barista at some hole-in-the-wall authentic Polynesian coffee place by the beach, and of course Merida because she damn well needs her caffeine in the morning or she'll pass out, and Rapunzel insists on starting these fucking Squad Beach Days early. Merida was honestly willing to take the first cup of coffee she could get when the gang first went into town, but uhhhhhh oh GOD that girl behind the counter is cute!!! Merida starts "ending up" in there quite a lot, although initially she can barely string a coherent sentence together in front of that cute barista and can't make eye contact for more than half a second. Extroverted as she can be, Merida dissolves into an absolute mess as soon as a pretty girl is involved XD
Merida also pretends to only like black coffee to make herself seem tough, but in reality she kind of hates it and prefers sugar-laden lattes and sweet teas. After a while, when she and Mo have established kind of a friendship, and Merida can have an conversation with Mo without imploding and making an idiot of herself, Mo notices Mer making a face every time she sips her Plain Black Coffee and kinda smirks and is like “You know, there’s no shame in adding sweeteners. I mean, for god’s sake, my favorite drink here is the blonde vanilla coconut latte, and I’m still pretty tough.” Merida is just like “OH THANK GOD” and finally admits that she’d much rather be ordering an Irish crème, toffee, buttered rum, cinnamon, or caramel latte. If the seasonal flavor selection offers any apple-accented or apple pie-esque lattes, Merida’s all about that shit, too! Probably the most “intense” drink Merida actually enjoys is a pretty spicy cinnamon latte. She ends up ordering this pretty frequently to impress Moana with her spice tolerance, even though she really doesn’t need to.
Also, in case there’s any question about it--yes, Moana absolutely memorizes Merida’s orders! Moana also memorizes what flavor syrups Merida seems to like best (i.e. spicy cinnamon, apple pie, caramel, toffee, butterscotch) and gives them extra shots of them in her drinks. When the manager complains about all of Merida’s favorite flavor syrups running out frequently, Moana is like “Oh nooooo, I have no idea why THAT could be! That’s terrible!”
Rivals to lovers AU: Who takes their rivalry seriously, and who is half in it just to push the other’s buttons?
I love the idea of them having a super-petty sports rivalry in a modern AU! Merida strikes me as being competitive as hell, so I’m betting anything she’d be the one to take it way too seriously and get increasingly annoyed with Moana outdoing her, while Mo kind of gives in and indulges Mer but is also secretly amused and kind of flattered that Mer is like...that into their rivalry. Moana’s just like *Regina George voice* “Why are you so OBSESSED with me???”
Like maybe in a modern-day college AU, Merida has been the star of her college’s archery team basically since freshman year. She wins the championships!!! She gets the trophies!!! She’s very well-known within the tiny niche community that is college archery!!! Then, come junior year, this girl in Merida’s year who Merida’s never even SEEN before shows up out of nowhere and makes the cut for the team. She’s honestly way better than she has any right to be (like judging by how she is with that harpoon gun, Moana’s aim is pretty damn good) and is constantly stealing the spotlight, and Merida is a very angry lass. Like it seems like no matter what she does, Moana can always one-up her, and Merida wants to tear her hair out in frustration. Doesn’t help that every time Moana does ridiculously good on a drill and gets 7 bullseyes in a row or some shit, she’s insufferably smug and cocky about it. Merida very-nearly throws a fit every time Mo outdoes her, and Moana honestly finds the whole thing pretty amusing. She’s sort of flattered that apparently only she can get such dramatic reactions out of Mer, and that just tempts her to push Mer’s buttons all the more.
Then, come the annual Big Archery Tournament Finals! As usual, Merida’s college’s team wins--although this time, it’s through a combination of Merida’s and Moana’s skills rather than just Merida kicking archery ass for like 2 hours straight. On the individual evaluations, Moana scores higher than Merida, but only by a little bit. Merida is, of course, extremely salty, but she’s also grudgingly grateful that Moana being there was able to give their team a definitive edge in the competition.
Afterwards, the team goes out for celebratory drinks. After probably 3 drinks too many, Moana finally works up the courage to try and actually like...have a straight conversation with Merida for once, instead of just communicating with passive-aggressive show-offery. She wanders over, sits next to Mer at the bar, and half-slurredly asks if she can declare a truce just for one night, in honor of their kind-of-teamwork winning the tournament. Merida is also a few drinks in, so she’s just like “sure, fuck it, maybe yer not so bad after all. Now prove to me you’re not a pain in the arse!”
They chat for a while, and it turns out Moana is actually pretty easygoing and fun to talk to when she’s not mega-flexing with her archery skills. After a few more drinks, Moana is like “...can I tell you something?” and Merida’s like “why not?”
And then Moana just goes bright red and looks away and admits that the whole reason she got into archery and boosted up her skills enough to join the team in the first place was because she saw Merida making like 50 bullseyes at the previous year’s tournament, and developed a huge crush on her--to the point where she did all this extra-ass shit just so she could join the archery team and get to know Merida better. Also, every instance of Moana acting smug and cocky after acing a drill or perfectly hitting a target? It was honestly because she was trying to impress and show off to Merida, and also because she’s awkward as hell and has no idea how to actually flirt without being joke-mean and joke-cocky. Merida, a much more emotional drunk than she will ever admit, starts crying and gets super apologetic, because oh god, she was being so mean and rude to this girl who only ever thought she was cool and wanted to impress her from the jump??? How COULD she??? Moana lowkey loses her shit laughing because how mad Merida got at being upstaged was honestly kind of hilarious, and she was actually really flattered that Merida was, again, that obsessed with their rivalry. It made Moana feel weirdly special that only she could get to Merida that much, and she honestly liked the attention, even if it...wasn’t the most positive XD And Merida starts laughing, too, because she’ll admit that in hindsight, this whole thing feels a little ridiculous, and extracurricular college archery really isn’t that big of a deal.
Finally, Merida just rolls her eyes and says “C’mere, yeh bloody show-off yeh” and grabs Moana by the front of her archery uniform and smooches her!!! The entire archery team hoots and hollers because OH SHIT, DAT GAY!!! Merida holds out her other hand and flips the entire team off, which honestly just makes them cheer more.
Enemies to lovers AU: Which one switches sides?
Depends a lot on the conflict, I think! Maybe a war breaks out in an AU where someone other than Moana is chosen to return the Heart of Te Fiti--I’m gonna say Tui, for irony’s sake! Moana and Sina take over as co-chiefs while he’s gone, but he takes significantly longer than Moana did in the quest, so Moana’s tribe is eventually forced to flee Motunui to find new fishing grounds before their island is overtaken by darkness. The people of Motunui sail across the world, trying to find a new place to call home. Unfortunately, every time they find a habitable place, it’s already occupied, and the people who live there are uninterested in sharing their already-scarce food.
Eventually they stumble upon Dunbroch, far enough away from Motunui that the seas aren’t affected by the spreading darkness, and fish are plentiful. Naturally, Moana’s tribe sets up a camp on the shores and starts catching as many fish as they can, hoping they’ve finally found a place where they can have enough to eat again. Unfortunately Fergus and Elinor aren’t too crazy about this, and are like “yo, these oceans and these fish and other game belong to the people of Dunbroch and you gotta leave” and Sina and Moana are like “Pls we don’t have any place to go and we’ve been barely eating for a long-ass time, can’t you spare some food?” and Fergus and Elinor are like “sorry bro, it’s almost winter and we have our own entire kingdom to look after, we don’t need more mouths to feed. You gotta be on your way or shit’s gonna get real.”
So Moana thinks this sounds sketch as fuck because like...there’s an entire forest full of deer, rabbits, and other game, and they have NO food they can spare??? That night, Sina sends Moana to spy on the kingdom, since she can be pretty sneaky when she wants. Moana manages to climb the castle battlements and watch through a window, and she sees a bunch of people enjoying a massive feast in a huge dining hall. Her eyes are particularly drawn to a girl about her age with a head full of bright, fiery curls, wearing a nice dark green dress and gorging herself on pastries adorned with white icing and raspberries.
Moana heads back and tells Sina “actually it looks like these assholes have PLENTY of food to spare, and they just want to keep it all for themselves” and Sina is like “well shit...why don’t we raid their food store, then??? They’ve gotta have one somewhere!” And so the Motunui village storms Castle Dunbroch at dawn, catching them almost completely by surprise.
The first thing Moana does is seek out the redheaded pastry girl, whom she’s developed a particular disdain for. When she rushes her, she’s surprised that the ginger girl whips around and immediately sends an arrow sailing into her shoulder. When Moana gets close, the redheaded girl pulls out a sword. Moana takes out a long, sharpened wooden spear made from a particularly tough oar.
She turns out to be much more competent than Moana expected, especially for someone who was shamelessly shoving sweets into her mouth not 7 hours earlier.
They go toe to toe Raya-and-Namaari style, and the redheaded girl admittedly gives Moana a run for her money. The longer the battle goes on, the more Moana’s rage grows. She taunts the redheaded girl the entire time, calling her a spoiled, selfish brat who’d rather gorge herself with all the sugar in the world than share even one grain of it. Merida, who hasn’t exactly heard good things about these people from her parents, is just like “well, you’re no better, showing up and thinking you can just steal what belongs to Dunbroch and we won’t put up a fight!”
And thus the war begins. Motunui is never quite strong enough to get through the guards and raid the food stores, and Dunbroch is never quite strong enough to fully drive Motunui out of the kingdom. Fergus and Moana are both far too stubborn to surrender (despite the fact that Sina is kind of ready to), and so the battles continue. Casualties start to pile up. Dunbroch seeks help from the other clans, but they refuse--they did not take their leaders’ sons being scorned by the Dunbroch princess lightly.
Over and over, Moana can’t help but be drawn to the redheaded girl. She realizes after a few battles that this girl isn’t just anymore, but the Dunbroch princess--her resemblance to the king and his protectiveness over her can’t be a coincidence. It only makes Moana hate her more--but time and time again, she isn’t able to get the better of the princess. Moana can fight hard, and she can be vicious--but so, she’s discovering, can the Dunbroch girl. The princess is clever and cunning, and underestimating her has almost gotten Moana a blade in the throat one too many times.
Merida would be the one to change sides eventually, I think (wooo! Finally got to the actual question!). Once she finds out her parents didn’t tell her the whole truth about their first meeting with the Motunui village and sorta fudged what happened, Merida is livid that they turned away people who needed help. She said if she had known there were people who were tired and hungry and just needed a place to rest, she would have gladly given up some of her own meals for them! To prove this, she gathers up her dinner--plus some apples and some pastries she was going to have for dessert--and puts it in a basket, taking it to the Motunui camp as a peace offering. Moana ambushes her and very nearly slices the basket in half, if only because Moana was convinced it was filled with venemous snakes. After some bickering, Moana finally snatches the food away and, after testing it to make sure it wasn’t poisoned, brings it to Sina.
Unfortunately, one basket of food isn’t enough to feed the village, and the fighting continues. Merida tries to convince her parents to share their food stores with Motunui, but they still refuse, saying they need those stores for their own people and the Motunui people killed any chance of goodwill they might get when they attacked. Determined not to see people starve, Merida starts stealing from the reserve herself and sneaking the food out to the Motunui camp. Moana is feeling a lot more kindly towards Merida at this point, and feels a little bad about being so quick to judge her initially.
Eventually, Fergus and Elinor notice the food in the stores going missing, and figure some of the Motunui villagers must be running stealth operations to sneak in and get it. Dunbroch launches a full-scale attack on Montunui--while Merida is at their camp sneaking them food, in fact. Fergus makes a beeline for Moana. Word has gotten out by now of the times she managed to spy on the castle, so her sneakiness is well-known--and Fergus is all but certain she’s the thief. He charges at her with his sword, aimed to kill, when his own daughter steps in the way.
He barely manages to stop himself, but he does just in time. Merida admits she was stealing the food the whole time, and she can’t let Fergus hurt Moana. Fergus demands to know why, and Merida tearfully admits “Because I love her!”
Fergus, in a rage, takes out his sword again and charges Merida. Swords clash between father and daughter, and Merida looks like she’s just about to be overpowered. Moana can see the fear and betrayal in her eyes, appalled that her father would actually contemplate hurting her.
Not wanting to see whether he actually would, Moana steps in and helps Merida to fend Fergus off. “Enough!” she screams. “How can you live with yourself? My father risked his life to try to save his daughter and his people--and you’re willing to fight yours because she doesn’t agree with all this senseless violence?! You make me sick! I’m standing with Merida, because...because I love her too. I’ll leave if you want, but I want this to end.”
This finally snaps Fergus out of it, and he and Elinor decide that maybe the fighting has gone on long enough--and maybe it’s not worth it anymore, if it’s pitting them against their own daughter now. They end up trying to work out something with Motunui. Establishing a peace treaty and figuring out how to proceed forward is a long and messy process, but everyone is willing to put in the work--for the sake of Merida and Moana, if for nothing else.
Soulmate AU: Who is eager to meet their soulmate? Who absolutely does not want to meet their soulmate?
Neither of them want to meet their soulmate XD Merida has just been repulsed by the idea of marriage and commitment since she was young, mainly because she can’t not see it as just a means of taking her freedom away and making her be subservient to someone. Besides, given the, um...heteronormative culture of Dunbroch and all, she assumes she’ll get not just stuck with, but cosmically bound to a man and that idea just...doesn’t do anything but fill her with unadulterated disgust XD Like please no, she’s perfectly happy to go where she pleases when she pleases with no one but Angus for company. The last thing she needs is some stuck-up, snot-nosed boy telling her what she can and can’t do.
Moana has similar concerns, although maybe a bit less extreme. She’s mainly worried that when she meets her soulmate and, as per expectation, marries them, she’ll be expected to “mature” into a full adult and fully embrace her responsibilities as chief, leaving behind her childhood dreams of exploring the ocean. Same as Merida, she’s worried the person she’s destined for will tie her down and prevent her from exploring and going on the adventures she craves so badly. She’s also, like Merida, worried she’ll get stuck with some lame, boring dude who she’ll be destined for because...he loves her!!! And will be really nice to her!!! But will not stimulate or interest her in any way whatsoever!!! And Moana is pretty uninterested in romance and dating regardless, so the idea of any kind of romantic partner who she’d hypothetically have to run crazy ideas by before just doing them doesn’t sound too appealing to her. Like, she’s happy where she is and having her friends and family for company, what does she need an SO for??? It just feels like the whole “soulmate” business is just the universe attempting to give her a babysitter, and Moana ain’t about that. She can do things on her own, dammit!!! And what makes the great elder love gods think she wants another person to keep track of on her escapades, anyways?!? It’s enough effort keeping herself safe without worrying about someone else!
Imagine their shocked delight when each finds out their soulmate is a) a girl and b) a girl arguably just as chaotic, adventurous, and rebellious as they are!!! They meet and they’re like “huh...maybe the universe wasn’t being some big dumb fucking idiot binding us together after all. I can work with this!!!”
Pirate AU: Who is the pirate? Who is the member of the royal family who did not sign up for this?
Merida is the pirate! Or at least...the one who becomes a pirate first! XD Maybe to escape her betrothal she steals a ship and flees Dunbroch, and BOOM trouble on the High Seas time!!! Eventually she sails to the south Pacific on her naval escapades, and stumbles on Motunui. When she finds out Moana is a chief’s daughter, she naturally kidnaps her and holds her for ransom--because screw it, she hasn’t successfully pillaged any merchant ships recently and she needs some cash. But instead of being like “Noooo take me home!” Moana is like “Actually this fucks, I’ve always wanted to sail the ocean anyways and my dad wouldn’t let me before, so you’ve accidentally given me an avenue to achieve my dreams!!! Thank you!!!” And Merida realizes that a first mate would actually be a lot more useful in the long run than a handful of hostage money, so she just kind of shrugs like “aight, yer on the crew.”
Merida is a bit salty because Moana takes to the pirate lifestyle excellently--so much so that before long, she’s arguably a better pirate than Merida XD While Merida is a bit cranky about being outdone in the art of piracy, she also can’t help but admire Moana’s natural aptitude for sailing and propensity for mischief on the High Seas!!!
Their ship is called “The Arrow,” and Merida definitely uses her bow during pirate-to-pirate combat! She teaches Moana how to shoot a bow, but discovers Mo is pretty nifty with a harpoon gun as well!
Childhood best friends AU: Which one was super obviously in love with the other the whole time? Who was oblivious until they were older?
Oooooh, this is a fun one!!! Admittedly I don’t usually think about these girls in a Childhood Friends to Lovers AU (very possibly due to...geographical constraints lol) so this’ll be a cool thought experiment!
SO in order to fix my unfortunate geographical constraints, I’m gonna say that this is an AU where the people of Motunui were wayfinders from the jump, and while voyaging (admittedly a LONG way), they stumbled upon Dunbroch. Moana’s parents and Merida’s parents immediately hit it off, and established a political alliance of sorts.
Moana, meanwhile, pulled the classic “little girl on vacation/at an event immediately seeks out other little girl and becomes best friends with her.” Moana and Merida naturally also hit it off immediately, and are both pretty bummed out when Tui and Sina want to leave and continue voyaging and such. However, they make plans to visit as frequently as they can and Merida and Moana are super hyped about this! They both always get extremely excited for said visits, and Little Moana nearly falls off the front of her family’s boat several times because she’s leaning over so far and squinting so hard to try and see Dunbroch.
I love the idea that Moana was the one who was totally smitten from the jump, to the point where it took her years to realize she was aspec because she was like “Of course I can fall in love!!! I’m in love with Merida!!!” She just didn’t realize most people have romantic inclinations toward more than one person over the course of their lives XD
It absolutely does not help that Merida is extremely romance-repulsed when they’re kids--mainly because she associates romance in general with being docile and acting stupid to impress some annoying macho guy, and that thought kinda makes her want to puke. That, and given how, er...heteronormative things are in Dunbroch, it doesn’t reall occur to her that romancing girls is like...an option. So poor Moana has always kind of resigned herself to thinking she has no chance with Merida, and keeps her feelings under pretty tight lock since she doesn’t want to ruin their close friendship and all and she doubts Merida even swings that way.
THEN when they’re in their early teens, Merida is like “hmmm...I wonder what it would be like to kiss Moana?” but then IMMEDIATELY feels weird for thinking that and tells absolutely no one. She’s definitely starting to feel something a little different than just platonic friendship though, and of course she’s also convinced Moana only sees her as a friend and probably doesn’t like girls.
Then one day they’re wrestling around out in the woods, like they have since they were little, and at one point Merida leans down and just impulsively kisses Moana. She’s super flustered and apologetic afterwards, but Moana just stares in shock before being like “holy shit, I never thought you’d actually want me too. Holy shit!!!!” After that, they start secret-dating and everyone around just thinks they’re still “very good friends” XD
When Merida turns 16 and gets the news of her betrothal, she’s devastated. It takes her several days to process her emotions, and several times she tries to protest to her mother, but Elinor steamrolls her and talks over her at every turn. Finally, when Merida can get a word in edgewise, she tearfully bursts out that she can’t go through with this because she loves Moana. Elinor, traditionally-minded woman that she is, is horrified by this.
When Fergus finds out, he GOES OFF at Elinor and sticks up for Merida. He basically says that she’s their daughter and they should want her to be happy, and they should be happy for her that she did find someone she loves, even if it’s a bit...unconventional.
Later, at the betrothal ceremony, Merida picks an archery contest for the suitors with the hopes of cheating the system and winning her own hand. Imagine her surprise when Moana rushes in late with a makeshift bow on her hip, shouting “I am Moana of Motunui, and I’ll be shooting for the princess’s hand as well!”
Luckily, due to Moana’s years and years of informal archery training from Merida herself, the other suitors really don’t stand a chance.
It turns out that Elinor and Fergus set this whole thing up, deciding in the end that their daughter should at least be able to marry who she loves if she had to get looped into a political marriage. And honestly, they weren’t going to say no to a stronger alliance with Motunui at the end of the day. Merida is so pleasantly shocked by the whole thing that she forgets to be mad about the fact that she’s still being pressured into a marriage pretty young XD Luckily, Moana has no intention of trying to hold Merida back or take her freedom away! Their relationship really barely changes after they officially become wives, and they’re still just as in love as they’ve basically always been.
As for the issue of heirs, Elinor and Fergus just make Merida’s brothers the heirs of Dunbroch, and Tui and Sina are fine with Moana and Merida choosing an heir for Motunui who isn’t necessarily their biological child. Neither Moana nor Merida are crazy about the “leaders have to be from the chief/monarch’s bloodline” rule anyways, so they’re more than fine with this!
This is in reference to this post! Still answering these questions for Moanida and Hiccanna, if I haven’t done so already!
@takaraphoenix come get your daily dose of Moanida!
#moanida#moana x merida#merida x moana#disney femslash#otp questions#merida#moana#moanaxmerida#meridaxmoana#moarida#merana#meridana#moana waialiki#merida dunbroch#rotbtd#brave#crossover
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Nepenthe (KTH)
Nepenthe: A drug used to induce forgetfulness of pain or sorrow; something capable of causing oblivion of grief or suffering.
Part of the “Protect the Village!” Oneshot Series!
Masterlist
Pairing: Baker!Taehyung x Reader
Genre: Fluff, angst if you squint, romance...? Reader has troubles with their emotions and TaeTae tries to help them, ft. a blonde smug Jimin,
Note: Time to sleep. Catch up on writing :)
Summary: Mama always said that sweets give you cavities. But she didn’t warn you about the boy who makes them. Or, having an insatiable sweet tooth has left you spending much of your time in Taehyung’s bakery. But nobody prepared you for the feelings your cold heart caught.
Word Count: 2.4k
Contrary to popular belief, you did have feelings. You felt happy, sad, angry. You were human. But people tended to forget that. Whether it was because you were academically intelligent or you were just an easy target, you were used to... Well, getting used.
You were often the cash cow. The dead horse everyone thought was entertaining to beat. The goose with the golden egg and no farmer would leave you alone before you popped out the next solid gold money maker. And when you gave in and gave them what they wanted, you were the one left behind, high and dry.
Years of being treated like this in college left you emotionally unavailable. You opted to protect yourself from the hurt you felt by not allowing yourself to feel at all. You had built up your walls so thick that you barely allowed yourself to even feel happy half of the time. Many people tried to break down the brick hell you’d banished yourself to, but gave up when the stone didn’t relent. But it's not like you care, right?
You didn’t care that you had nobody to voice your worries to late at night when the self doubting thoughts plagued your mind. You didn’t care that people avoided you because of your frigid nature that left the happy little people in Bangtan Village uncomfortable. So what if you didn’t have anyone to catch you when you fell? You didn’t need anybody.
You just needed your comfort foods.
Yes, maybe it was an unhealthy habit to drown your self hating thoughts in the taste of sugar and cinnamon. Maybe anyone looking into the state of your mental health would cringe at the way you personally dealt with it. Who cares? This was your life and you would live it however the hell you wanted to. You were tired of others dictating you.
So you often found yourself at “Kim’s Confections” sitting in the corner, looking out with window while you ate your danish and sipped your tea. Every single day, whether the sun was up or down, you sat in the same seat, at the same bakery. You changed up the pastry, of course, you could only eat danishes for 3 days straight at most. But the routine of visiting the small shop was one thing that never changed.
As leaves fells and winter came, you visited the bakery. As rain fell and flower bloomed, you visited the bakery. You like the atmosphere the bakery gave off. The aroma of sugar and bread that wafted through the air made your body feel like jello as you could easily fall asleep to the smell. The small wooden tables that were scattered around made the shop feel more personal. The food that never failed to melt in your mouth calmed any tension that seeped into your bones.
But one thing about the bakery that didn’t calm you down was the owner himself.
Kim Taehyung.
Nothing was wrong with Taehyung, per se. He was an attractive guy who always had a friendly, boxy smile on his face. He had beautiful brunette hair and majestic auburn eyes. His skin was always shining, 24/7, always looking like he walked off the cover of a magazine. Even if you gave off a cold, icy aura that screamed “Don’t talk to me,” he never once failed to give you a smile and a warm welcome.
No, you were never purposely mean to Taehyung. You never snapped at him or showed any sort of distaste towards him, because you didn’t have any. He just confused you. Normal people would stop trying to be nice to you by now. Most people would take your less-than enthusiastic responses as rudeness or dislike. Not Taehyung though.
You often asked yourself what was up with him. I mean, who would look at you and think, “Yeah, I’ll give the snow queen a shot,” Nobody. Except Kim Taehyung, apparently. Without fail Taehyung tried to initiate conversations between the two of you that would last more than a few one words answers (Mostly from your side,) He would ask how your day was or what you did over the weekend. To which you would respond with “Good” or “Nothing,”
It’s not that you didn’t want to talk to the guy. He just made you feel... Weird. His smile made your heart quicken. His laugh made your cheeks heat up. Whenever he had his eyes on you, your hands would turn clammy. It just made you feel... uncomfortable. You were used to feeling 2 things, “Bleh,” and “What am I doing with my life,” not some odd feeling of quickened hearts and clammy hands.
But alas, no matter how much you wished to banish the invasive feeling all together, your sweet tooth needed to be satiated. So here you were, standing in front of “Kim’s Confections,” Walking in and chiming the small little bell that hung above the door. The familiar sight of wooden chairs and the glass display case full of confections filled your eyes. But there at the counter was the man himself.
“Hello Y/n! Welcome back!” Taehyung said with a smile on his face, enthusiasm laced in his voice. “Hello,” You said, sounding dead compared to his lively way of speech. “What will it be today, sweetcheeks?” Taehyung smirked, resting his head on his hand as he leaned over the counter. “Don’t call me that,” You said, not liking the heat that made its way onto your face the moment he called you “Sweetcheeks,”
Taehyung chuckled, saying nothing, just gesturing to the glass case of goodies. Taking a look, you noticed your favorite was in stock today. Red velvet cupcakes. “That one, please,” You said, pointing at the mouth-watering pastry. “Coming right up, sweecheeks,” Taehyung smiled. You decided to ignore the endearing nickname, instead trying your best to cool down the heat on the tips of your ears and apples of your cheeks.
Taehyung grabbed the cupcake and put it on a plate for you, sliding it towards you as you handed him the money you’d already fished out of your wallet. “Thanks,” You mumbled, grabbing the plate off of the counter. “Anything for you,” Taehyung smirked. You didn’t say anything else to him as you went to your corner to eat your cupcake.
Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.
You’ve read The Iliad a thousand times before. You know how the adventure ends and what the climax of the story will be. You knew what happened to the characters, and you were well versed in the outdated way of speech. But that didn’t mean you appreciated the interruption of a certain blonde haired male. “What Jimin?” You groaned, putting down your well-worn book, glaring at the man in front of you. “Ah you wound me, Y/n. I just wanted to see you is all,” Jimin shrugged.
“See me? Dumb move,” You countered back, face unchanging. Jimin just chuckled, shaking his head with a smile. “You know, I was talking to Taehyung and he said you barely speak a word to him. That’s surprising since your with him every day,” Jimin smirked, swiping off some stray frosting that laid on your plate and putting it in his mouth. “I have nothing to say,” You said, turning to look outside the window.
Jimin scoffed, “I find that hard to believe. Tae can make anyone talk, do you not like him?” He asked, tilting his head to the side. “I didn’t say that,” Was your immediate answer, debunking Jimin’s dumb theory. “Well, you kinda did,” Jimin teased. “He makes me feel weird,” You admitted, unable to face the man in front of you.
“He makes you feel weird?” Jimin asked, confused.
“He makes my palms clammy and face hot. He’a like a witch or something,” You sighed.
You didn’t know Jimin, no. Jimin was one of Taehyung’s friends who tried even harder than him to get on your “Good side,” When in reality, there was no good side. You were just in a perpetual state of saying “Cool,” and throwing up peace signs at everything life threw at you. So no, you weren’t Jimin’s friend.
So the unimpressed, disdained face you gave him when he burst out laughing at your words wasn’t entirely unwarranted.
“Oh my goodness, you’re funny,” Jimin chuckled out. “What did I say?” You asked. “You have a crush on Tae!” Jimin whisper shouted. Your eyes widened, and you flicked his forehead. “What are we? Twelve? A crush? That’s preschool shit,” You seethed, not allowing yourself to believe what Jimin was saying. “Woah, calm down Y/n. Crushes are normal,” Jimin explained, right before Taehyung came up to grab your empty plate for you.
“Did you enjoy the cupcake?” Taehyung said in his deep baritone voice that made goosebumps rise on your skin. You nodded your head yes, avoiding looking right into his eyes. “I’m glad,” Taehyung whispered to you, giving you a smile as he walked back to the kitchen with your plate. You watched him go the whole way.
“Scratch that, your head over heels,” Jimin spoke up, and you whipped your head around to glare at him. “Shut it,” You spoke through gritted teeth, gathering your book and purse, standing up to leave. “I don’t have a crush. That’s childish,” You countered, but Jimin just gave you a knowing look, a smirk plastered on his face.
You never missed a day to visit the bakery. But maybe you should’ve today. It was pouring outside. Thunder rumbled through the air and lighting flashed through the sky. You were without an umbrella or anything to protect you from the rainy onslaught that was happening outside the shop.
Sighing, you flipped through the pages of The Iliad. You had just finished the story another time, and the epic was still too fresh in your mind to begin reading again. So you sat in your corner, listening to the pounding of rain that rammed against the shop windows.
“It’s pouring out there, huh?”
Taehyung’s soft, deep voice cut through the rain ambiance that filled the tiny shop. You nodded, tearing your eyes away from him and suppressing the thoughts of his muscular figure from your mind. “Do you have someone coming to pick you up? I don’t want you walking out in that,” He asked, coming to sit in the seat in front of you.
“I don’t,” You answered, avoiding his gaze. “Really? No boyfriend coming to sweep you off of your feet?” He chuckled. You shrugged, picking at the edges of your book. “I’m not girlfriend material,” You sighed, finally looking up to meet his gaze. “Not girlfriend material?” Taehyung asked, furrowing his eyebrows. “I just have too much baggage, I guess,” You shrugged.
Taehyung chuckled, “Everyone has baggage, Y/n,” Was his answer, looking right into your eyes with his deep auburn ones. “I guess,” You mumbled. The two of you sat in silence for a couple of minutes, just listening to the sound of the rain outside as the two of you just enjoyed each other’s presence without the other knowing it.
“I think you’re girlfriend material,” Taehyung spoke up suddenly, startling you out of the thoughts that swirled around your mind. “Ha ha,” You sarcastically laughed, but Taehyung doubled down. “I’m serious, Y/n,” He said, leaning forward on the table. “No I’m not,” You argued, shaking your head at what you believed was a ridiculous claim.
“Why do you think that?” Taehyung asked, but you didn’t respond, feeling the walls you meticulously built start to crumble. That scared you. You’ve always been focused on others trying to force your walls down, but you never thought about what it would be like for someone to urge you to bring them down yourself. To want to willing talk about the thoughts that plagued your mind. To let someone cozy up with you inside your walls. It was scary how you wanted to talk to Taehyung.
You didn’t know what it was about Taehyung that made you want to let him in and turn your hell into a sanctuary. Maybe it was because he was always so nice. Or maybe it was because he made the best comfort food you’d every have. Whatever it was about him, he was starting to get through to you, and it scared you more than you’d like to admit. So you shut down.
Taehyung kept asking you why you thought that or what made you think that you were any less than amazing, but you just kept shaking your not wanting to open your mouth in fear that you’d spill out all of your emotions like a hangover full of regrets and puke.
You heard Taehyung sigh as he got up from the chair. You felt your heart squeeze at the thought of him finally giving up on you. You knew it was a bit selfish to expect him to stick around after you gave him no reason to, but it still hurt. You were so out of tune with your emotions that you had a hard time identifying what was what.
Was this disappointment? It’s been a long time old friend.
Was Jimin right? Am I in love? Is this what love feels like?
A hand placed a plate with a cinnamon roll on it in front of you. The aroma of cinnamon filled your nose, and you cracked a small smile at it. Taehyung sat back down in the seat in front of you, giving you a warm smile. “You don’t have to push yourself to answer,” Taehyung spoke up, “I don’t know exactly how you feel, but my friend, Yoongi, is like you.” He smiled as you took a bite of the cinnamon roll. “He says that talking to others about feelings is a monumental task, so don’t feel obligated to answer my question. You have your walls for a reason, Y/n. It’s up to you if you want to let me in. But I will say, I’m waiting at the door with cookies.”
At his words, you gave him a sincere smile. The first sincere smile he’d ever seen from you and you could tell by his huge, boxy one that it made him happy. “Thank you, Taehyung,” You said. “Anything for you, sweetcheeks,” Okay, so maybe your heart was a bit cold. Maybe the thick walls you built around yourself prevented you from properly processing your feelings. Maybe Jimin was right and the clammy hands and giddy feeling you got from being around Taehyung was love.
But right now, the two of you didn’t care.
Because you were in the middle of your first genuine conversation.
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Peter is the owner of a lovely little Coffee Shop and famous billionaire/ironman tony stark is his regular costumer.
Oooh man I went lowkey wild with this one I love coffeeshop AUs. Hope you enjoy c:
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The very first time he comes in everybody recognizes him immediately. It’s busy with people coming and going trying to get their caffeine fix before work, and although most of the people’s eyes are on their phones, he doesn’t go unnoticed, and whispers start up before he can even make it to the counter.
Peter is helping out front to get through the initial morning rush hour, working the till with a beaming smile, but because he’s busy punching in orders he doesn’t see him until he’s right in front of him.
Their eyes meet, and it’s as if the both of them are taken aback for a second, before Peter can flash him a warm smile and asks him what he can do for him.
He doesn’t stick around for very long, and Peter figures he’s in a hurry to get out, even if it’s possible he didn’t necessarily have anywhere to be. Peter wouldn’t want to stay in a crowded coffee shop where everyone is staring at you and whispering behind their hands and probably taking sneaky pictures over their toffee nut lattes.
The morning staff doesn’t stop talking about it until they leave their aprons in the backroom for the afternoon workers. And even then the gossip passes on to those starting their shift late.
And, in all honesty, Peter feels a little proud.
He knows that it’s probably a coincidence that the Tony Stark came into his shop, and he’s aware that it doesn’t say anything about his management or his products or the atmosphere in his shop until someone actually starts to come back regularly, but still. It’s like he’s been visited personally. By a celebrity!
Peter hopes that he’ll find his way back to his café some time, but he also feels like the chances of that are pretty slim. About as slim as the chance was that Tony Stark would one day walk into his shop and order one of his coffees from a blend he’d so carefully selected and perfected and maybe even think, by the time he takes his last sip; ‘huh, that was pretty good coffee’.
When Mr. Stark shows up again a few days later, Peter starts to think that maybe the odds were in his favor after all, and the chances of all of that weren’t as slim as he thought.
MJ is at the till and Peter is in the back when Tony gives his order, and since it’s past the morning rush and it’s now a lot quieter, MJ is also the one to make him his coffee.
Peter has just loaded up a tray with freshly baked triple chocolate chip cookies and steps out into the shop behind the counter, setting the tray down to slide it into the glass display case. When he looks up and notices the familiar man on the other side of the counter waiting for his order, he smiles at him.
“Good morning Mr. Stark,” he greets him pleasantly, and the man looks up as if shaken from his thoughts, and one corner of his mouth ticks up when he sees Peter.
“Hi. Morning. Are those made in house?” He points at the tray of cookies with the pair of sunglasses in his hand that probably cost more than Peter’s rent.
“Sure are. Just in the back.”
Peter likes it that way. They bake whatever they can in the shop so that it always smells like something fresh. They started doing that just with the cookies, but the more customers came up to the staff complimenting them on the smell, the more they strived to put out homemade products. Now, depending on the time of day you come in, you’re met with new scents every time. In the morning it’s usually the pastries and cookies, the latter of which need to be refilled when the morning rush has gone. Then in the afternoon, the pies are prepared to be baked at night, and Peter will usually throw a tray of brownies in the oven, and cakes depending on how many slices have been sold. Then toward closing time Peter finishes up with the pies, and prepares several batches of cookie dough.
It’s a lot of work throughout the day, and they’re constantly busy, but it’s rewarding when someone specifically asks for Peter, and compliments him on his products.
Thankfully he has great staff that help him day in and day out, so he’s never left to do the work alone. Without them by his side Peter probably would never have been able to fulfill his dream.
Tony’s coffee is done, and he puts his sunglasses on before he picks up the cup.
“Smells great,” he says, and Peter has to fan himself with his oven mitt when the other man is safely out of the door and down the street.
“Smells great,” he mimics to MJ, who just fondly rolls her eyes at him.
After that, Peter is hopeful that he’ll come around again. At some point. There’s no pattern in when he’ll show up, but Peter is almost always there anyway, so when Tony makes another appearance he’s right there once again.
It seems that Mr. Stark is slowly finding out what times are safe for him to drop by, because it’s quieter again, a little later in the afternoon and after the lunch crowd has come and gone. Peter is working the front while newbie Harry is sweeping tables.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Stark,” Peter greets him pleasantly.
“Hi,” Tony takes off his sunglasses and peers at his nameplate, “Peter. I’ll have your finest Americano please. Just a medium.”
“House blend?”
“Yessir.”
Peter picks up a cup and writes the man’s name on it, sneaking in a little heart instead of the O of his name. Can’t hurt, can it? He probably gets those kinds of things all the time.
“So are you the Peter that owns this place or do you just so happen to be a random Peter coincidentally working at Peter…Peco… I’m sorry what’s this place called again?”
“Petercolator,” Peter explains with a grin as he punches in Tony’s order and gives him his total, “It’s from the word percolator, which is an old type of coffeemaker.”
Tony hums thoughtfully as he drops his change into the tip jar.
“Oh—and to answer your question, I suppose I am the Peter from Petercolator, yes. Not just a Random Peter. Although maybe I should look into hiring more Peters. Really make it our trademark.”
“Go for it. Really lean into it.”
Peter slides Tony’s cup of coffee across the counter and chuckles.
“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for any applicants called Peter.”
“You do that.“ Tony flashes him an actual, honest-to-god wink, “See you later, Petercolator.”
Peter watches as he leaves. No one is ever going to believe that Tony Stark just said that to him.
Peter falls ill with a cold and has to stay home for a few days. He doesn’t want to infect anyone else and he definitely doesn’t trust himself around the food when he’s all sniffly and sneezy. He keeps in close contact with MJ, one of the managers who makes sure everything runs smoothly when the owner is away, and gets two texts he’s not sure he believes during the week that he’s at home.
One reads that Tony Stark came by the shop and asked for him, curious if he was in the back, or…? MJ gladly informs Peter that she’s convinced Tony looked disappointed when she told him Peter was sick.
The second one explains how Tony came by another couple of days later, and asked how Peter was doing, if he was feeling better yet.
MJ knows that Peter has had a crush on the man since he was little, and Peter is convinced that she’s just using that knowledge against him now, teasing him when there is nothing he can do about it. She’s just feeding into his obsession. Probably trying to get back at him for all the times he’s put her on the early shift.
When he gets back he jumps right back into the middle of things. He’s still recovering from his cold and therefore gets tired pretty easily, so he lets his colleagues handle things in the front while he keeps to himself in the back, working through batches of whatever it is they need. He’ll make it a short day, stay as long as he can, and then he’ll go home to rest again. The evening shifts aren’t usually as busy as the morning ones anyway.
He’s just restocked their display with a load of seasonal apple cinnamon muffins, crouched down to be able to reach the lower trays, when a face pops up on the other side of the glass that says; “You’re back.” Peter nearly startles and sends the last muffin tumbling to the ground, but he catches it in time. Unfortunately, he catches it a little too firmly, and his thumb is pressed right through the middle, stuck in the gooey apple filling of the muffin.
He pulls a face but smiles when he straightens up and looks at Tony on the other side of the counter between them, who has the decency to look sheepish a little, at least.
“I’ll pay for that,” he offers, gesturing to the muffin.
“Why?” Peter asks, sounding amused, “Are you going to eat it?”
Tony seems to calculate his next move, before stretching his hand out over the counter, wiggling his fingers at Peter. Peter doesn’t quite believe him, shakes his head just a touch, but when Tony wiggles his fingers more insistently again he can’t do anything but slowly put the muffin down into the other man’s waiting palm, extracting his thumb almost pointedly at the last moment.
Peter’s thumb comes away sticky and covered in cinnamon and the muffin has never looked more unappealing, but Tony Stark sets his cup of coffee down to free up his other hand, and casually peels off the paper muffin cup, calculates his angle for a moment, and then takes a big bite.
Peter watches with something of a muted horror, his jaw slack and mouth open as if he’s halfway to saying something but has changed his mind at the last second.
“Mhm. Not bad,” Tony says when he’s swallowed his bite. There’s crumbs on his lips and Peter wishes he could look away as the man licks them off. “How much do I owe you?”
Peter gives an exasperated chuckle. “It’s on the house, sir.”
“Huh. How generous. Anyway, I just wanted to say I missed you.”
“…You missed me?”
“Yeah, I missed you. You were gone, right? Sick.”
“Oh! Yes, yes I was. For a few days.” Peter is too dumbstruck to be able to really say anything else. MJ had been telling the truth? He almost can’t believe it. Not that she doesn’t always tell the truth but she sure has a way of making things out to be better than they are sometimes. She is just about as good at that as she is at making things out to be far worse than they really are. Or at pretending that everything is fine when everything clearly isn’t. It’s a gift, honestly.
“Right, well. Glad you’re feeling better.” Tony reaches for his coffee again, and lifts the hand with the disastrous-looking muffin as if in greeting, “Thanks for breakfast.” And then he walks out again, leaving Peter with a feeling like something equal parts wonderful and bizarre just happened.
Occasionally, Tony comes in and sits down. He’s usually busy, Peter assumes, with work and being a billionaire and everything. Peter can’t imagine what that must be like.
But sometimes Tony comes in and sits down, and those are honestly pretty wonderful days. He drinks his coffee from one of the many cute mugs Peter has acquired for the shop, reads the paper, or taps away at his phone. He only sits down when it’s really quiet though.
It makes Peter wonder if sitting down in his shop is the only moment of reprieve he gets in his busy life, or if he has time to find peace elsewhere, too. He kind of hopes so. Peter is heavily biased though.
MJ teases him about it more and more. Ned is in on it as well now, which means he practically never gets a moment of rest, because if MJ isn’t in then Ned usually is. It’s like they plan it that way, to keep Peter perpetually tortured – even though that’s not possible because it’s Liz who makes the schedules.
Unless Liz is in on it…
It’s nice to be able to see Tony sitting down and enjoying his mid-morning coffee, or his afternoon fix, or occasionally his nightly dose just before they close up shop.
Peter also notices a pattern that when he’s baking another tray of brownies, Tony usually sticks his nose into the air while he’s in line, and then decides to have his order in.
He has no idea if it has anything to do with each other, because Tony never actually buys a brownie, but he can’t help but wonder.
Ned and MJ are convinced that whenever Peter’s not looking, Tony is keeping an eye on him. Naturally, Peter doesn’t believe it, although sometimes he’ll think he catches him looking when he peers over his shoulder or peeks through his lashes. It’s silly of course, because someone like Tony would never even notice someone like Peter, and yet it makes Peter feel warm in a way no one has in a very long time.
It’s about an hour from closing time when Tony has been sitting in his usual spot, nursing his usual coffee, and MJ corners Peter before he can go out and take stock of their inventory for the night.
“You need to go give him a brownie,” MJ says urgently, as if they’re talking about a matter of life and death, not chocolate cake.
“What?” Peter asks confusedly.
“You need to go give him a brownie, on the house, and write your phone number on the napkin.”
Peter shakes his head vehemently when he realizes what MJ is trying to do. “No. Nuh-uh. Not happening.”
“Peter,” MJ groans, “If you don’t do it then I will, but if I bring it he might think it’s my number on there. You have to do it. Now’s the perfect chance. We’re literally empty, you’ve been drooling over him for ages, I’m pretty sure he comes in just to see you…”
Peter shakes his head again.
“Fine, then I’ll do it. I’ll just tell him it’s yours, and that you’re too much of a coward to come onto him even though he’s clearly been coming onto you in his own…peculiar way.” MJ has a look in her eyes that tells Peter she’s dead serious. So now he has two options; he can either do it himself, or MJ can do it for him. Either way, Tony Stark is going to end up with Peter Parker’s phone number alongside a freshly baked brownie, and he might never come visit Petercolator again.
MJ follows him closely as he goes to grab a napkin and reluctantly writes down his cell on one corner, as if she doesn’t trust him to do this himself. Granted, if MJ wasn’t watching him so closely he would probably find a way out of this. Peter scoops up a brownie square from a cooling rack and places it on the napkin next to the phone number, then he deposits both onto a small plate.
His heart beats furiously in his chest as MJ physically pushes him toward the door into the shop. Tony’s still sitting in one of the comfortable chairs in the corner of the room the furthest away from the windows, looking intently at his phone.
“What if I accidentally interrupt something important?” Peter whispers.
“He’ll probably think you’re just as important. Now hurry up, I wanna go home.” She hisses back, and gives him another push.
Peter nearly stumbles over the threshold. It catches Tony’s attention, and for a moment they just look at each other. Peter flashes a quick smile, which the other man returns.
Shit. Okay. Now or never.
Peter approaches his table and puts down the brownie in front of Tony, who looks up from where his gaze had gone back to the phone for a minute, gaze inquisitive.
“It’s on us. They came out of the oven when you walked in, so they’re still warm. I thought you… Well you seem to always like the smell, so… Um. Enjoy, Mr. Stark.”
Peter hurries back and all but dives into the backroom, eager to be out of Tony’s direct line of sight. He takes a deep breath and gives MJ’s proud smirk an unimpressed look.
“I’m putting you on startup shift for the rest of the week,” he says when his heart has stopped beating like it’s trying to break out of his chest.
“Hey!”
Peter won’t listen to her protests.
He refuses to come out of the backroom again until Tony is gone, afraid to meet his gaze and recognize that he’s found Peter’s phone number and that he doesn’t know what to do with it or doesn’t want to do anything with it.
They close up shop and Peter clears out Tony’s table, taking his empty cup of coffee and the empty plate, belatedly noting that not only the brownie is gone, but the napkin as well.
He tries not to think about it.
Tony Stark has his phone number but he tries not to even acknowledge that fact.
MJ leaves a little early when all her chores are done, and Peter does his last rounds, turning off the lights and activating the alarm before he steps out onto the street and locks the door behind him. As he turns the key he wonders if he’ll ever see Tony again after this. He wouldn’t be surprised if he never showed his face again.
His phone buzzes, and he tucks his keys away before he reaches for it, wrapping his scarf a little tighter around his neck.
He has a text from an unknown number.
Peter nearly forgets how to breathe for a moment.
I think it’s time I pay you back for all those complimentary snacks. How’s dinner sound? I know just the place.
Signed:
Tony Stark.
#starker#peter parker/tony stark#starker fanfic#marvel#coffeeshop au#aus#starker au#peter parker#tony stark#marvel fanfic#my fanfic#my writing#this is the longest starker fic I've written so far lol#also please don't roast me for my choice in coffeeshop name i'm begging#get it? roast#Anonymous#replies
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4, 5, or 35 ? Because I’m indecisive as hell and love your writing.
From this prompt list: 4. “If I die, I’m haunting you first.”; 5. “But I’ve never told you that before.” ; and 35. “Oh honey, I’d never be jealous of you.”
Bitty played hockey and Samwell and went on to be a cookbook author; Jack went directly into the NHL.
Bitty’s eyes traveled up the the shelves of the cupboard, wondering what ingredients he could reasonably expect someone who did not cook or bake for a living to have.
Flour, of course, if they were volunteering to be on a baking show. Most likely all purpose. Sugar (white) and salt (iodized). Butter. Maybe they usually used margarine, but Bitty would not compromise on that. Butter surely counted as a common ingredient. Shortening, too.
What about spices? Most people probably had cinnamon in their cabinets, even if it was twelve years old and devoid of flavor. Would nutmeg or allspice be too much? Maybe.
And this contestant had requested a fruit pie. If they were going for common ingredients, that would most likely mean apple. Apples were nearly always plentiful and cheap at supermarkets, so if this pie was going to use fresh fruit (and it was), it would be apple.
*
Bitty had misgivings about appearing on “So You Think You Can Bake,” the new Food Network show that pitted expert bakers against celebrities. The idea was that the expert would develop a recipe they thought was suitable for an inexperienced home cook.
Then the expert and the celebrity would both make the dish in separate kitchens while being filmed.
The expert baker and celebrity contestant would have their creations scored anonymously. If the celebrity chef received at least eighty percent of the score of the celebrity baker, they won money for the baker to keep and the celebrity to donate to charity. Total scores counted toward the final competition at season’s end, when the three best pairs would be brought back for the final, competing for a $50,0000 prize.
There were so many things that could go wrong. Bitty could get paired with a celebrity chef with no palate, or no coordination, or even no real interest in winning. Some people could mess up a perfectly good recipe by not measuring accurately, or doing steps in the wrong order, or even mistaking the salt for the sugar. If the celebrity chef messed up, it wouldn’t just look bad for them. It would throw shade on Bitty, whose job, after all, was to explain how to bake in a way that people would understand. Relatable was his brand.
But Eileen, the PR rep who handled his books for the publishing house, thought it would be a good idea.
“This show is literally made for you,” she said. “And the exposure would be great. Think of the campaign for your next book.”
So Bitty agreed. Then he found out who his assigned celebrity was.
“A hockey player?” Bitty asked. “Whose only memorable sound bite is ‘Eat more protein’? Which did not go viral for the reasons he thinks it did. I mean, I wasn’t expecting Beyonce, or even Taylor Swift, but why not a Kacey Musgraves?”
Bitty wasn’t at all bitter that, at 24, he no longer had regular access to an ice rink. He could pay to rent ice to figure skate, but it was hard to find the motivation since he was no longer in competition, and he hadn’t yet found a men’s league hockey team where he felt comfortable.
“I know Jack Zimmermann isn’t who most people think of as a home cook,” Eileen said. “But the producers were thrilled. They think he’ll bring on a whole new demographic.”
“How’d they rope him into it anyway?” Bitty asked, scrolling through interview after interview with Jack talking saying, “We win and lose as a team,” and “We have to protect the neutral zone and get the puck down low,” and “We need to keep our feet moving and have a shoot-first mentality.”
It was like they taught him six phrases in media training and he used them over and over again, in random order.
He wasn’t hard to look at, Bitty would give him that. And the physique -- yeah, his nutrition plan was definitely protein-heavy. Why would he agree to do a baking show?
*
“My agent said it would be a good idea,” Jack Zimmermann said when he and Bitty had their first meeting. “He said it would humanize me. Actually, he said it would be the beginning of an arc of character development I wasn’t expecting, but that’s just the way he is.”
The actual first meeting was in the green room, waiting to go on-set for the “first meeting” taping. Jack had been sitting in a chair along the wall when Bitty came in, reading an actual, honest-to-God book.
Bitty had to shove his phone in his pocket as he cleared his throat to get Jack’s attention. It seemed like Jack kept reading for a few seconds after he noticed Bitty, which was annoying, because the book would always be there, but Bitty was prepared to be gracious.
“Mr. Zimmermann? I’m Eric Bittle,” Bitty said. “We’re going to be working together. Pleased to meet you.”
“I know,” Jack said.
Okay.
“When we start the taping, I’m going to ask you about any experience you have baking, any favorite desserts, things you’ve always wanted to learn to make,” Bitty said. “Anything you want me to steer the conversation toward? Or stay away from?”
“Are we supposed to be doing this?” Jack said. “Talking, I mean.”
“Um, yes?” Bitty said. “It’s not like we’re concocting a fake story. We just want the on-camera talk to go smoothly. So have you baked before?”
“No.”
“Any favorite desserts?”
“I don’t really eat sweets.”
“Well, you’re going to have to eat something sweet,” Bitty said. “Anything you want to make?”
Jack shrugged.
“Honey, don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you here?” Bitty asked.
“Uh, you can call me Jack,” Jack said, then launched into his explanation about his agent, a man with the improbable name of John Johnson.
Bitty shook his head at that, and tried to keep the conversation going.
“You’re Canadian, right?”
“Dual citizenship,” Jack said. “But I mostly grew up in Montreal.”
“Anything special from back home?”
Then the assistant came to bring them on the set, dressed to look like a home kitchen, each of them seated at a table with mugs in front of them. The mugs just held water, but the audience wouldn’t see that; it was supposed to look like two friends talking over coffee.
Bitty decided to pick up the conversation where he left off in the green room, since it was the only thing he hadn’t struck out on already.
“So, Jack, I understand you’re from Montreal. Do have any memories of classic desserts or baked goods from your childhood?”
Jack paused and looked like he was really thinking, like he didn’t want to disappoint the producers.
“We used to have tarte au sucre at the holidays,” he finally said. “I liked that.”
“Sugar pie?” Bitty said, thankful that at least the cooking terms had stuck from his college French class. “We could do something with that.”
“But I’d like to do something that has some healthy ingredients,” Jack had said.
“Is fruit healthy enough?” Bitty asked. “Maybe a fruit pie? You might not know this, but that’s kind of my specialty.”
Jack had offered a smile at that, and said, “Good to know. Maybe we can win this thing, eh?”
The taping didn’t last long, and soon Bitty was collecting his things from the green room.
“Wait, Jack, I forgot to ask you, any allergies? I wouldn’t want to kill you for a silly TV show.”
“If I die, I’m haunting you first,” Jack said. “But no, no food allergies. Is there anything I should practice beforehand?”
“I don’t think I’m allowed to tell you that,” Bitty said, starting to feel like maybe Jack wasn’t as wooden as he’d seemed at first. He seemed to relax once the taping ended. Maybe this would be okay after all.
*
Bitty started by making an apple pie, trying to write down the steps as precisely as he could just as he did them.
It didn’t work.
Sure, he could measure and mix the dry ingredients for the crust, and tell Jack to make sure his butter and shortening were cold, but how could he explain the twisting motion for the pastry cutter? When he had to start by explaining what a pastry cutter was?
And how would Jack know when he was done cutting and should add the ice water? Bitty had read recipes over the years saying the mixture should look like everything from rough crumbs to small peas … which were not the same thing by a long shot. Bitty had learned what it should look like at his MooMaw’s elbow; sure, he’d tried to put it into words in his cookbooks, but there was a reason he always included photos.
Jack had said he’d never baked. He wouldn’t know what it should look like.
Bitty called the producers to ask if he could include pictures in the recipe he developed for Jack. The answer -- hand-drawn sketches were fine, as long he drew them himself, but no photographs -- was not encouraging.
Bitty started over and this time took a photograph of the dough mixture just before he added the water. He could use that to write a description, he decided. Then he had to think about how to explain when the dough was wet enough.
Once he had the dough made, the process for making the filling was easier. Peel and slice apples, coat with flour and a little cinnamon and sugar -- and, a last-minute brainstorm for Canadian Jack, a little maple syrup -- and set aside. He toyed with the idea of including maple sugar for the crust, but the studio pantry probably didn’t have real maple sugar. He could boil some syrup down -- but that wasn’t something Jack could (or would) do, probably. Better to just do an egg wash and sprinkle some sugar on for the sparkle.
The instructions for rolling out the dough were simple enough, provided Jack followed them. That was the hard part. Most people couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone with pie dough.
Bitty moved to his laptop and wrote at the top of the instructions:
“A general note on making pie dough. Do less than you think you need to. Don’t work it too much. If you do, it will be tough. So if you’re not sure if you should stop messing with it, stop.”
Then he did his best to put into words what it should like with all the fats cut in (“If you don’t see any powdery flour, it’s probably good”) and with the ice water added (“It should be moist, not wet”).
Then he thought about the top. Normally, people thought of lattices as being hard to do. But if the baker was methodical and followed directions, it wasn’t so bad. And it would be easier to put strips on top of the pie than to pick up the whole top crust and put it on intact. It didn’t really matter if the bottom was a mess; this wasn’t the Great British Bake-Off with Mary Berry and her hatred of soggy bottoms. The pie would be served from the dish, and no one would know if the bottom crust was torn and mended as long it still tasted good.
So, a nice, tightly woven lattice for the top. Bitty set to drawing a detailed diagram.
*
Bitty printed the recipe he developed -- all ten pages -- to bring with him and hand to Jack. He’d already supplied it to the producers to make sure they agreed all the ingredients were things a home cook would have in their pantry, or at least have ready access to.
“Real maple syrup?” the production assistant had asked. “What about something like Pillsbury pancake syrup? That’s what most people use.”
“My baker is Canadian,” Bitty argued. “He’d have the real stuff.”
“Fine, I guess.”
Bitty was dressed for TV in dark skinny jeans, a light T-shirt and a Samwell red button-down over it with red Chuck Taylors. The provided apron, he knew, would be beige with a dark red logo.
Jack came in dressed in charcoal gray tailored slacks and a light blue shirt, almost exactly the same color as his eyes. Yeah, he was good-looking. Bitty wasn’t sure if he would bring in the sports-loving young men the producers were hoping for, but it wouldn’t matter. The women would love him. And the gay boys like him. But no one ever counted them as their own demographic.
When the got into the studio, Bitty handed over the recipe.
Jack’s eyes widened when he saw how long it was.
“Does this take all day?” he asked.
“I can do it in about two hours,” Bitty said. “Counting chilling and baking time.”
“You’ll have three hours to complete the challenge,” the host said. “As long as you finish in that time, any differential in how long it takes won’t count against you.
Jack nodded, a determined set to his jaw. Bitty was almost glad they would be separated so he didn’t have to worry about cutting himself on that jawline.
Then Bitty was escorted to his studio kitchen, where he proceeded to make a pie, narrating each step, just like he was making a vlog post.
He made sure to turn the top of the bowl to the camera when he was done cutting the fats in, and again when he added the water.
“You see those streaks of butter and shortening?” he said, when he gathered the dough into disks to chill. “You want those to make flaky crust.”
He made sure to slice the apples evenly, and mix them gently with the flour and flavorings, then he rolled his dough out.
He clucked at himself -- but didn’t say anything -- when he realized he’d forgotten to tell Jack to make sure he had the thinnest possible layer of fat on his work surface before he scattered flour over it.
Then, once the pie was done, he actually slapped himself upside the head.
“I never said anything about covering the edges with foil at the beginning,” he said. “Poor guy is definitely gonna have burnt edges. Oh well.”
Bitty’s pie came out of the oven at the two-hour mark, and he donned oven mitts to be filmed carrying it into the judging room.
“You’ve got some time if you want to head to the green room relax,” the production assistant said. “Someone will come get you before Jack is ready to bring his pie in.”
Bitty flung himself onto the couch and groaned. He could have used the $5,000 prize from this stage of the competition to get ahead on his rent for a couple of months … and maybe even rent an ice rink for a couple of hours to clear his mind. He didn’t regret his choice of career -- writing cookbooks, running his vlog, making appearances like this -- but the money tended to come in fits and starts.
He realized he’d never even asked Jack what his charity was. The show must have asked him at some point, so Bitty was sure he’d find out eventually. He hoped Jack would donate to his chosen charity regardless. He could certainly afford it. The only real advantage for the charity to having Jack appear on the show was publicity. Well, and convincing people that straight, athletic young men could bake and enjoy it.
But Bitty forgot to tell him to use foil to guard the edges, so they probably wouldn’t advance, and it would all be Bitty’s fault. Jack -- he had to be competitive, right? -- well, it didn’t matter if hated Bitty. They hardly knew one another.
*
“Eric? Jack’s pie is done. Time to go to the judging room.”
Bitty roused himself from the sofa, resigned to his fate. If nothing else, he’d learned a lesson.
He took his place behind his pie and waited for Jack and his pie with its inevitable burnt edges.
He was sitting there when Jack came in, carrying his beautiful golden brown pie aloft. Jack set it on the empty cooling rack next to Bitty’s and stepped back.
It was beautiful. The lattice was maybe not quite as straight, not quite as even as Bitty’s, but it was close.
Bitty couldn’t help a pleased grin, first at the pie, then at Jack, who had finished with fifteen minutes to spare.
“Okay, you two. We’re going to break for lunch while Jack’s pie cools,” the production assistant said. “We need you back in an hour in the same clothes, so don’t mess them up.”
Bitty was about to head out when Jack said, “Want to grab a sandwich? There’s a place down the block.”
“Sure,” Bitty said. “I have some questions for you.”
“And me for you,” Jack said.
Once they had their food and settled at a table, Bitty said, “How did you keep the edges from burning?”
“I made foil collars,” Jack said.
“But I’ve never told you that before,” Bitty said.
“You always do it on your YouTube channel,” Jack said.
“Wait … you’ve seen … but you said you’d never baked,” Bitty said.
“I hadn’t,” Jack said. “That doesn’t mean I’ve never watched anyone else bake on YouTube. When Johnson said you were doing this, it seemed like a good opportunity to meet you.”
“To meet me?” Bitty really had to start thinking of some of his own words instead of just repeating Jack’s.
“Well, yeah,” Jack said. “Someone showed me your videos when you were at Samwell, and I was intrigued by a hockey player who baked. Made me wonder what it would have been like to be on a college team, or whether I’d develop any other interests.”
“Someone?”
Jack actually blushed. “My mother. She went to Samwell.”
It was almost a physical effort for Bitty to push that out of his head. Jack’s mother was … nope. Not going there.
“So you wanted to make pie because you’d see me make it before?”
“A lot,” Jack said. “But the instructions were really helpful.”
“I thought we’d lost it when I realized I’d never said anything about the foil,” Bitty admitted.
“But I figured you could make a donation to your charity anyway.”
Jack nodded.
“I plan on adding to it even if we win,” he said. “What do you want to do with the money?
Bitty was not going to tell Jack Zimmermann that he needed money to pay his rent. Not this unexpected Jack Zimmermann, who for some reason had been interested in Bitty for years. Despite, Bitty reminded himself, being straight. Almost certainly.
“Some of it will buy ice time,” he said. “I miss skating, you know? I used to figure skate before I played hockey.”
“I’m not sure what I’d do if I couldn’t skate every day,” Jack said. “Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t say that. Don’t want to make you jealous.”
“Oh honey, I’d never be jealous of you,” Bitty said. ”I have the job I want. I just want to be able to skate for fun. Like you want to bake for fun, I guess.”
“I don’t know about that,” Jack said. “It was pretty stressful. I kept wanting to make it perfect, but you said not to overwork it. But maybe it would be more fun if it wasn’t being recorded for TV.”
“Maybe we could bake together sometime?” Bitty said.
“Then skate?” Jack suggested. “On our practice ice.”
“That would be really great,” Bitty said. “Ready to go back? By the way, you never said what your charity is.”
“You Can Play,” Jack said. “I’m thinking of coming out next year.”
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