𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐮: baking for him
౨ৎ 𝘎𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘢𝘬𝘶𝘵𝘢 𝘋𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 ゛ ⸝⸝.ᐟ⋆
𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐞 ; you and your apron, how domestic of you. when the object of your affection has a taste, what does he think ?
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ; stir and mix scratchin’ melodii
𝐟𝐭 ; enjin, zanka nijiku, fu orostor, august stilza.
𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 ; gn!reader, swearing, what the fluff, pining, holy yap, mild spoilers, maybe ooc
𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐟𝐬'𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ; first post, kinda nervy. manga only enjoyer (attention span too fried to watch the anime :( lol ) be kind, im just a noob who formatted this in her notes app :3
Cupcakes, like the mini, more palatable version of cake. Neither you nor Eishia were entirely sure what Enjins favor in sweets was, and I mean, who doesnt like cupcakes?
The goods had just come out of the oven, your bake-buddy and you speaking in hushed tones as if on a super-secret mission, oblivious to the scent wafting through headquarters. Unknowingly, Enjin, lured by the heavenly scent, would stumble upon the treat-trap before they were ready.
“Ill be right back, I’m gonna check if they’ve cooled yet,” you would excuse yourself in your floured apron from the common area, leaving Eishia to flip through your cookbook as you slipped into the kitchen.
To your surprise, your victim was already helping himself to your bowl of icing. He smiled up at you as you walked in, ignoring the pink whip on the side of his mouth, “somebody got a birthday coming up?” He would ask, licking his fingers.
Your heart leaps in your chest, but that silver tongue of yours strikes before your buttery heart, “get your grubby paws out of my treats!” You would scold him, shooing him away from the bowl with flushed cheeks.
Hed raise his hands in mock submission, taking two lazy steps back, “woah, I just had a little taste, Cupcake. I dont know you could bake?” He would lean back against the stove with his hands on his hips.
You would blush a pink to rival and strawberry purée as you tested the cupcakes, trying to ignore the churning you felt being caught, “you weren’t supposed to see these,” you huffed under your breath.
He smiled, “yeah, yeah, hey- save me one, huh? You’ve got some real tasty-talent there,” he’d lick his lips as he brushed past you, but his eyes were on the other kind of bakery you had to offer.
Something simple, something classic, something you could perfect in an attempt to impress him.
You had music playing softly as you pulled the tray from the oven, carefully and precisely examining each individual cookie for the perfect shape, thickness, and consistency.
Perfect. After plenty of trial-and-error you'd done it. The most exquisite batch of cookies you've made to-date.
You set one aside as the others cooled, the biggest test would be the taste. Looking good and tasting good weren’t the easiest tasks to do at the same time, after all.
They smelled absolutely wonderful, and you were too enraptured by the scent to realize who had sauntered in before he spoke.
“Late-night-snack?” He was in his loungewear, it was nearly midnight, after-all.
Damn, and you thought he would be asleep at a time like this. You felt stupid for not double checking first.
Youd turn down your music, your hands immediately wringing your apron nervously. God you felt stupid, like a kid with their hand caught in a cookie-jar.
“Uhm… cookies?” You would offer instead of some half-truth explanation, gesturing to the cooling treat to his right that was going to be yours. How stupid, how idiotic. Offering a good without taste-testing first?! You made a mental note to beat yourself up about it later.
If that cookie was bad, this would be the third most humiliating defeat in your life, the other two too embarrassing to even think of.
He didn’t need to be told twice; he didn’t get sweets as often now that Rudo was here.
The first bite earned a visceral reaction, his steel eyes widening in what you assumed was surprise. Hopefully even approval when his perfect blues slipped over to capture your eyes in thats stare you couldnt break out of if you wanted to.
“D’you make these?” He didn’t try to hide that he was impressed, he didn’t feel he needed to with you. God he felt so real, and completely fictional at the same time.
Your heart leapt in your throat, was it hot in here? You decide to blame it on the oven and not your nerves lighting on fire.
You nodded once firmly, “my uh- my own recipe.” Fuck, what were you? A child? You sounded five years old, idiot. You felt like you were being interrogated, like one slip up and you'd be locked up.
Not that youd mind, of course, as long as he was there.
He nodded, taking another indulgent bite, “real good, Sugar,” he even dared to lick the crumbs from his fingers. What a dick. What an evil bastard.
Your head spun as he walked out of the kitchen as if he hadn't just flipped your world upside down like an hourglass. You couldn’t even say anything, no rebuttal, no quip, you couldn’t even tell him to take another if he wanted.
And he knew it too from that little giggle that escaped you as you finally relished in that sweet praise, Sugar
If memory serves you right, and it usually did, fu had mentioned once (offhandedly and to someone else in a conversation you had no business in) that his favorite treat were brownies. The triple chocolate kind with fudge and chocolate chips and that deep brown batter.
If you were correct in that youd also have to be correct in recalling his specifications.
Hii preferred the edges, the crust of the brownies that may have been in the oven a minute longer than necessary, all flaky and firm. Not hard, but solid enough to hold between your teeth or in your palm without falling apart.
While Fu himself enjoyed the gooeyer middle section, still warm and decadent. The way that after the first bite, you kinda had to pray it stayed in one piece instead of melting onto your fingers.
Which meant you had to work fast to get these to his door.
You had it all laid out, a cute little tin, a note, and the edges in a divided section from the still warm, still flaky, still heavenly smelling brownies.
In a sick twist of fate though, when you went to grab an envelope for the note you had left it out in the open, on the counter, with his brownies. Like a fool.
You walk back into the room, and your face falls in horror.
Fu was standing, stiff as a board, one of the gooey brownies in hand, mouth paused mid chew as he read that damn note with eyes blown wide and cheeks dusted.
“Oh god-“ you had no breath in your lungs . Mortified, completely and utterly mortified as you realized your fuck-up.
He visibly flinched when he saw you, hiding the note behind his back as if he hadnt been caught red-handed, then realizing he still had that brownie and hid that too.
Of course he knew that didnt work, “im so sorry-“ he immediately babbled through a half-full mouth, face twice as red as yours. You knew that fucking note was overkill. You knew something would go wrong, it always did when you tried to make a silent move on him.
When you don’t answer, stuck in your catatonic shock, he fumbles for a better angle, “these are.. yeah. Very.. yum.”
You’re worried he’s not even breathing, no air getting to the poor boys brain as he trembles with that red face. But, the way he struggles with his words is just too damn cute to resist letting your shoulders relax.
“There, uhm. Well there for you, so..” you curl a strand of hair behind your ear as if you were the most casual about this ever, “they were meant to be a..” confession “surprise.”
He nods quickly, putting everything back the way he found it, “it still can be! I-I’ll go back to my room, and act like I didnt even know!” He quickly runs out of the kitchen.
You cant help but smile, what a dork.
𝘼𝙪𝙜𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙎𝙩𝙞𝙡𝙯𝙖 — 𝘼𝙥𝙥𝙡𝙚 𝙋𝙞𝙚
“Hey Sweetness,” he would coo enthusiastically, marching his happy ass right into that kitchen as you slid on your oven mitts with trembling hands.
Despite having been baking for as long as you can remember, you were shaking like a leaf, utterly terrified of the oven. I mean really, haven’t you read Hansel And Gretel? That poor old woman.
August was very well aware of this and usually came to fish your treats out of the fire-box for you, somehow that was one of the tasks he was always just on time for. You never ever needed to ask him, not that you would want to embarrass yourself by doing so.
He gently pulled those mitts right back off of you with a big teasing grin, “stand on back, Sweetheart, Auggies gotcha,” he was always wearing gloves anyway, or thats the reason he gave for his eagerness.
He smiled as he opened the oven, practically melting right there, you could see it in the wobble of his knees as the scent of fresh apple-pie hit him where it mattered.
He looked like some greedy troll, fingers wiggling as he pulled the pie out and sat it on the stove, staring with hungry eyes as if it wasnt like a billion degrees right now.
“Apple-pie, an American classic. Chic and classy and my favorite,” he mused.
You knew that, obviously you knew that. You knew everything there was to know about him, his favorite food, scent, color, animal, fabric, sound.
How could you not? Someone with that much passion, you cant help but throw yourself into him like a coin into a well.
You hoped he wasnt as dense as he acted, that he would see this pie as some kinda half-baked (or fully baked and heavenly smelling) confession. You prayed that he’d understand that these little treats, candies, snacks, this pie, were how you showed your love to him.
You weren’t good with words, words were hard and strong like liquor, like cinnamon, like him. You were more soft and airy, like sugar, like that damn apple-pie he still hadn’t torn his eyes from.
When he did look back at you, which he was bound to do eventually, he smiled all big and proud. Proud of you. You could feel your tummy tie up in doughy lattice knots.
“You really outdid yourself with this crust, Sweets, what a looker,” he had his fists on his hips as his eyes went between studying the intricately woven dough and your flustered state.
You smiled, “its all yours once its cooled,” you mumble, please god, please let him catch that this was your offering, your confession, your wordless love-letter.
“All ours, Sweetheart, you deserve to indulge in your fine art while I fit you for another piece,” he slipped away from the oven to twirl you.
Okay, maybe you were both a little dense.
But its okay, one of you will figure it out one day.
𝐓𝐚𝐛 ; this was secretly very fun and i had a super secret wonderful time writing this. If you read this, TEEHEE THANK YOU and uhm make requests if you want no pressure OKAY LOVE YOU SWEETHEARTS <333
