#baker!reader

bakery | oscar piastri x baker!reader (written + smau)

based on this request

syn: you've always known oscar piastri. you grew up sitting on the opposite side of dinner tables, passing each other on the street, sitting quietly in the corner of events between your families. it isn't until you grow up and see eachother for the first time in years that you realise you can actually talk to him, and the funny thing is, he's always been willing to listen. wc: 4k cw: lots of fluff and smiling in this one, reader is a yapper, oscar is a listener, no smut but there's kissing a/n: this was requested ages ago and it took me FOREVER to get started on </3 hope you guys enjoy! also ignore the hair color if it doesn't match yours, i chose pics based off vibes

you’d never planned to move to monaco. 

it was a spontaneous decision, one that came to you right when you were about to fall asleep and stayed when you woke up the next morning. just like how you’d never planned to continue baking till adulthood, but it’d turned into your full-time job anyway.

“juliette,” you call, and one of your staff members pokes her head out from the bakery’s kitchen. “could you focus more on the éclairs?” “got it,” she calls back, and you turn back to the register. 

the bakery you’d opened hadn’t been planned either.

you’d moved with the intention of working under someone, and opening your own store was just a lingering thought that crossed by every so often. it wasn’t until you’d passed by this place, which an older woman named luicia had put up for sale, that the thought had become a very real possibility. 

Neighbor!Frank Castle x Sweet!Baker!Reader

Summary: Your neighbor, Frank Castle, helped you with one thing, one time… and now you’re attached. He’s attached. But are either of you going to admit it? 

MASTERLIST

Warnings: endearingly awkward reader and Frank, yearning, avoidant!Frank, grumpy x sunshine dynamics (my fave), hurt no comfort, frank’s coming out of retirement & transitioning back to being The Punisher | w/c: ~3400 | requested by anon!  | a/n: not sure how I feel about this one lol? feels like it needs part II or somethin idk im open to suggestions.

song rec

Next chapter → (coming soon)

You’ve heard the fastest way to a man’s heart is food. You just didn’t know it’s true. 

Oookay, sooo…

This needs to… perfect. 

Cracking eggs over the side of the stainless steel mixing bowl, the yolks plop down one at a time into the melted butter. 

A dusting of flour leaves the shape of your own handprint on your pajamas, but it’s collateral. 

This needs to be perfect. You’re trying to make it perfect. For Frank. He deserves that, your effort. 

The scent of warm vanilla and fresh, tangy lemon swirls around the kitchen, carried from the cracked window across the room. 

This has to be better than the cookies you gave him. 

And the double dark chocolate chip brownies you happened to make too many of. 

You zest a lemon rind over the grater, fine shreds flaking like microscopic confetti. 

And the chocolate chip muffins, after realizing how he loved chocolate and skipped breakfast. 

And the raspberry scones, testing his palate last week. 

This… this one needs to be exactly like Frank. 

It’s been precisely one month—almost to the minute—that your neighbor, Frank Castle, saved your life by helping you fix your dishwasher. 

And since then… you’ve kinda, sorta, no-labels made him your Frank. Your friend. Your bestie. Your grocery-store companion. Which, to be fair, you ramble. Frank shops. Your late night insomnia cure via texting (even though he’s really bad at it). Your every other day phone call to update him on things of zero importance (the birds at the park, the meat at the deli, that girl from work you hate do not like), but he lets you talk, never hangs up, never rushes. He listens, grunts once and awhile to sound his attention...

Yeah… your Frank. Frankie. 

And your thanks, your gift, your sweet treat… Well, you want it to be like Frank. Sour, sweet. Mostly tart, undertones of sugar. Handsome— oh god, no. No, stop. Stop, brain. So fucking ruggedly handsome— you literally squeal at yourself. It’s shun not delight, ripping your head back-and-forth to shake the pesky thoughts from your head. 

Hands caked in lemony batter, hair breaking free from the clip from your hours long, elbow-deep prep, you flick a glance over your shoulder at the oven. Temperature climbing, preheating to 350 degrees. Then to the microwave. 8:17a.m. 

Okay. Perfect. The lemon loaf should be done by eleven, making the hour acceptable to go pester thank stare at your neighbor for his generosity bearded good looks. 

Attention back the stand mixer, a soft whir of the paddle filling the early morning placidity of your apartment, you finally take a second to breathe. Hands draped over the top of it, you sag, head bowing. 

It’s just dessert. A little thank you. It’s not a big deal, so why are you making it one? 

“God, be cool for once in your life. Just calm the fuck down. I’m not even sure he likes us. I think it’s just… tolerating,” you mumble to yourself. 

Frank's... nice… in his own, gruff, I’d-really-rather-not-be-having-this-conversation type of way. He's not told you directly to fuck off yet. Still nicer than all the other tenants in the complex.

Neighbors upstairs slept all day, romped all night. Kitty-corner to you, you were lucky enough to know the next Eminem. Wow. Some copy-cat, no-name SoundCloud rapper that literally rewrote Eminem’s songs with his own lyrics and swore he’d never heard of the guy. Around you, the smell of pot day and night. Domestic clashes in neighboring apartments followed by the thunder of police. It isn’t a pretty (or safe) side of town… but it’s all you can afford. You’re saving up for something better. Hopefully a small studio unit above a bakery. Your bakery. It just takes time. And this dream? It’s worth the wait. 

The only quiet apartment besides yours, though…?

Frank's. 

That’s probably how he heard you fighting with the dishwasher in the first place. 

Okay. Crying over the dishwasher. 

One month ago...

Water floods the kitchen, soap suds on the rise up to your ankles. “No, no, no! Oh please! Please no!” You yell—plead—with the machine. That only seems to anger it. It reacts violently. The unit quakes. Steam billows from the seams. Yanking at your own hair, you make a sound of guttural devastation.

It must sound like you're in here pleading for your life, not a kitchen appliance. 

Then comes the knock at your door. Three hard thumps. Hard enough to be heard, urgent enough to startle you from your flash-flood issue. 

“Y-yeah?” You ask with knitted brows, ripping open a drawer to throw every single hand towel you own onto the ground. “Who is it?” 

Please, god, not the landlord seeing the mess. It’ll come straight out of your pocket and—

“You, uh... You alright in there?” Gravel muffled by the door. A rough baritone that shoots right through you, retrieving your full attention at the closed door. 

“Uhhhmm… define alright?” You answer, scrubbing a towel over the floor with your foot.

“Uh. Not in trouble?” 

You blink a glance from the door four feet away. To the dishwasher. To your water-logged socks as it regurgitates more detergent. 

You sigh, rubbing a hand over your forehead. “…I think this could be defined as trouble.” 

“Yeah? Alright. Open the door,” a harsher demand. Not unkind, just… weird? Like there’s a countdown you’re not aware of. Time’s of the essence, but for what? It’s trouble, not an emergency.

“Why the hell would I open the door?” You snort out, mainly to yourself, looking around at the imaginary cameras in your apartment like get a load of this guy. “You’re a stranger.” 

“Know what? You’re right.” A snark to his tone like he’d thought about this, thought better of it, and showed up at your doorstep anyway. Now here you are, urging him to leave. “Good luck.” 

The heavy thunk of boots retreating. As he leaves, you scurry over. 

Squish squish squish. Socks flopping wet and heavy as you pad for the door, looking through the peephole. 

It’s him, you think, perk up, the hot caveman neighbor. 

The smallest, hushed gasp parts your mouth, your hands flying to stifle the sound as you look at him through the fish-eye lens. Shoulders broader than you remember in passing. Black tee stretched tight across his back. A long mop of curls at his neck. Bushy beard hiding a face of bones reshaped from too many breaks. 

Frank’s a man who looks like life’s been unkind to him. It’s usually the case for people that look as worn as he does. 

You’re not the type of person to close your door when someone asks in, offers to help. Maybe… opening the door, letting him help… maybe that’ll do him some good. 

Just as he goes to close himself in his apartment… there’s two creaking hinges. 

His closing. 

Yours opening. 

Through the space you’ve made to fit your body in the frame, you catch his double-take in the last two inches of his door shutting. 

His hand stalls on the knob. His boots scuff to a stop. He looks at you—a flicker of something softly surprised in those dark, wounded dog eyes that cling to you a second too long—and your heart breaks. 

There’s one word to describe how he looks. 

Alone. 

Not lonely. Not necessarily. 

Alone. 

Which is worse? 

“…Hi,” you say, easing the door open a little more. 

Reflecting you, Frank’s door opens… just a little more. “…You alright?” he asks in a voice that sounds like it hasn’t been used in weeks, eyes flicking over your shoulder to gauge. 

“I’ve been better, been better…” you mumble along, too busy reading the square tension in his shoulders, the discipline bulk of the man hidden in street clothes to remember how you got into this situation. “How are you?” 

His face scrunches a bit. Probably wondering why in the hell you’re asking that after he just overheard you screaming no. “Uh. Said you got trouble, huh? What kinda trouble?” 

“…the wet kind.” 

Record scratch.

“I mean! A soapy one?” Oh, god. His brows raise. Your face’s beet red. He doesn’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Why would he? You don't even know.

“It’s my dishwasher,” you finally spit out with a nervous laugh. “It’s, uh, doing something…” the random gesticulation of your hands, “not normal… As you can see.” And his eyes pan to your saturated feet. “It’s throwing up. Everywhere. It’s a mess, seriously. I don’t think anyone’s gonna be to fix it. It’s gonna cost me out the ass, the landlord’s a dick. I mean, you know how he is—”

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” his hand goes up to halt your rant. “Dishwasher throwin’ up. Got it. Lemme get my tools, yeah? Jus’… hol’ on. Stop... all that.” 

“Yeah,” through a sigh unknotting your shoulders. “Okay. Yeah, thank you. Thank you so much.” 

“Ain’t done anythin’. Might still cost you out the ass,” Frank grumbles as he walks off, disappearing into his apartment to collect his toolbox. 

Whomp-whomp. 

Ten minutes later, there’s a caveman in your monsoon-zone kitchen, and you’re hovering nine inches from where he kneels on the swamped ground. 

“So… what do you think it is?” you ask, words catching a pitch in your throat. God. Embarrassing. You clear your throat, arms sinking around yourself to maintain some level of normality. 

Set up beside the opened washer door, toolbox beside his knees, Frank grunts as he tugs out the rubber door gasket. “Dunno.” 

“Think it’ll be an easy fix?” 

“Dunno.” Sharp, thinned patience.

“Why would it be working perfectly fine yesterday and today it’s going haywire?”

“Doll,” a polite edge to ask you to stop asking questions as he rises to wash the liner in the sink. “Been ten minutes. Ain’t figured anythin’ out from ‘a second ago. You’ll know when I know. ‘Kay?”

As Frank inspects the appliance, his clothes drenched and adhering to his chiseled body like a second skin of unintentional sin, you make more small talk. 

Which, as it turns out, he’s not very good at. 

You’re not good at awkward silences. 

Well, for him it’s comfortable silence. For you, you feel the need to fill it. Because there’s a difference between being alone and being lonely. 

Frank’s alone. 

You’re lonely. 

You get his name. 

Frank. 

He gets yours. He even repeats it, uses it often, as though he enjoys the taste. Or maybe he hasn’t said anyone’s name in so long he’s practicing with yours. 

Frank does construction sometimes. Odd jobs, he'd said with a double meaning. Figures, you think, he’s built for it. 

You relay your job, too. Where it’s at, how long you’ve been there. Frank lets you talk. Doesn’t seem to mind as long as you’re not stacking questions on him. 

By the time Frank’s on his back under the sink—shirt riding up to show a sliver of muscle, a trail of hair going to his belt—you’re adequately flush. 

You busy yourself with anything. Restacking the same pile of mail. Wiping the countertop. Adjusting your stand mixer in the far corner of the counter. Anything to keep your eyes where they belong. 

“Got it,” he finally calls, echoing through the pipes under the cabinets. 

You straighten, turning to look at him now. “Wait, really? You do? What is it?” 

Groaning, Frank pulls himself out. Planted on his ass in the overflow on the floor, knees bent up, Frank holds out something… concerningly brown with green flecks. 

“What the…?” You lean in closer, head tilted. 

“Have chicken recently?” he asks, turning the discolored nugget between index and middle fingers. 

“Not recently… maybe two weeks ago?” 

“Mm. Two week old chicken’s what did it. Clogged the drain pipe. Scrape your plate off next time, hm?” 

“Ew,” nose crinkled, you step back as he shifts up. “So it should be good now? No more flooding?” 

“Should be. S’long ‘s you clean the shit off your plates.” He tosses the molded chicken chunk into the trash. He’s taller up close. Much taller. Fills out the space in your kitchen to the point it shrinks.

“Thanks,” you say again, able to fully mean it now. Humbled to quietness by the food in your drain that turned into a full-blown tsunami. “Really… Thank you. You… didn’t have to do that. It was really nice of you and it saved me a lot of trouble.” Pausing, you offer him a little smile. “You saved me a lot of trouble.” 

“Ain’t nothin’,” he dismisses, eyes downcast after lingering on the sheepish curl of your lips. “Knock ‘f you need somethin’ next time. Don’ gotta go on screamin’ like that.” 

“Yes, sir,” you mumble agreement, throwing down another bath towel from collection on the counter. 

Toolbox in hand, Frank takes a step for the door. Head down, eyes ahead. Has every intention of leaving without a goodbye. Leaving without a word, for that matter. 

“Hey, wait,” you call, your foot stuttering where you stopped yourself from full on lunging. “You don’t… you don’t have to go. Right away, I mean. You can stay. For a minute. Right? Let me make you a sandwich or something? I have leftover pot roast in the fridge, if you’re interested. As a thanks.” 

“Nah,” Frank shakes his head, feet carrying him to the door. 

Last ditch effort, you make one final offer: “…Coffee and cookies? I made homemade chocolate chip ones yesterday. I’m happy to send you back with some.” 

There he stops. 

That’s what gets him. 

Coffee. And sweets. 

Present day...

Pulled from your thoughts when the standmixer slows, whining low protest as the batter thickens, you startle back to reality. 

The clock reads 8:22a.m. The oven’s up to temp.  

Go time. 

You take a shot of Diet Coke, wipe the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand, and slam the can back down.

The batter finds the loaf pan. A sugary drizzle of pastel yellow trickling out, blueberries plopping. A beautiful contrast in sight and smell, but most importantly, taste. 

Bake the loaf. Shower. Clean yourself up. Make the powdered sugar drizzle and garnish.

Easy.

The hard part? Slowing your heart before knocking on Frank Castle’s door. 

Frank’s a sweets guy. Ain’t vocal ‘bout it. Don’t go outta his way to get ‘em. When he does have ‘em, though? Christ… swears anything with sugar’s got healin’ properties. 

But when Frank answers the door just after eleven and you’re there—

Hell, maybe you got healin’ properties too. 

Your face shifts in real time. Casual expectancy to confusion, giving way to joyful recognition. 

Frank clocks you in a blink. Cants his head. Hair done nice. Cute little number on. Bright like the sun’s been, warm like the weather. And in both ‘a your hands… a decorative plate. On it? A goddamn masterpiece. 

His mouth opens, but you beat him. Mutual surprise, different reasons. 

Him? You. The dessert. 

You? Him. 

“You… wow!” the words stumble out of you, caught off guard. “You… shaved. Aaaand… got a haircut.” Your eyes soften as they roam Frank. Little smile on your face, color on your cheeks that’s got him looking at the ceiling. “Oh my god, I hardly recognized you. Okay. Okay. I’m taking this all in… big shock here.”

“Heh… yeah…” scratching the buzzed hairs on the nape of his neck, words flat. “S’like a new neighbor… ‘r somethin’, huh?” 

Jesus Christ. 

You’re bad at flirting. 

He’s worse. 

“…You look good, Frank.”

Frank dismisses with a halfhearted tut, fingers binding tighter after the doorknob. Keep his cool. Keep his distance. Door’s open f’you right now, but he’ll close it. Swear to god. The door’s gotta close.

In his silence, you find some nerve. Eyes down the hall, you think it’s safe to say: “You look like… it’s a weight off you. I… like it. I like being able to see more of your face.”

Seein’ right through him. As always. Frank doesn’t bother with an answer. Answers’re dangerous. Means this shit keeps goin’, like he ain’t already starvin’ f’you these last thirty days.

Frank just tips his chin a bit. Eyes the plate you carry in question. "This, uh… this ain’t the regular stuff, huh? Gettin’ all Martha Stewart on me, are ya?”  

“…Minus the serving time in federal prison for fraud.”

Frank huffs. Closest to amused he gets.

You present it with quiet pride. The kind that comes with judgement of givin’ someone your best, your all. The glazed lemon blueberry loaf. Your voice quiets under the weight of the admission, “This is for... you…” 

The fuck? Why him? Frank shifts in place, brows cinched down, mouth left open ‘cause what’s he supposed to say? Opts for a joke, brush it off. “Tryna tell me I need t’gain weight, huh? That what this is?” 

You’re not off the hook. You huff a thin laugh, eyes batting down. “No, that’s not what this is… Aside from the fact if I don’t do something with my hands, I fear I might explode…” you draw in a steeling breath. “…I wanted to… do this- make this… for… you. I know how much you liked the cookies, so… thought I’d try something else. Something a little more intricate, you know? Requires more thought, effort.” 

Someone tryin’. F’him. His insides evaporate. Go mushy. You got that effect on him. “Uh… sure. Yeah. Yeah, alright. F’you say so…” 

You push the plate at his chest. 

Frank blinks down at it. Feels… wrong, takin’ it. Fragile china. Gold-gilded edges. Dainty watercolor flowers circlin' the rim. Loaf cake decorated to the nines. White glaze drizzled over it. Thin slices of lemon and bundles of blueberries on the top, lookin’ picture perfect. And here you are, givin’ it to a guy like him. 

Frank takes the plate. Uses both hands. Ignores the red-hot spark when his big, rough fingers graze yours in the exchange. Cannot—will not—drop it. 

“…How long this take you?” Frank asks without meeting your eyes, his thumb grazing the embossed print. 

“Not long,” you lie, smile falling. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like lemon?” 

“Nah, nah,” immediate, placating. “Love lemon. Yeah. Christ, pro’lly too much.” 

Silence. Tense ‘cause there’s an expectation to it, yeah. You expectin’ more from him. Him not lettin’ that happen ‘cause that’s how this festers into a bigger fuck all Frank never shoulda nosed in.

You’ve learned how to look into Frank’s silences instead of cover them up. Frank knows that, too. Hates it a little. How you look in now instead of away. 

Hates he cut his hair ‘cause it’s grocery day tomorrow. Hates he shaved ‘cause you mentioned two weeks ago you wondered what his full face looked like. Hates he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doin’, lettin’ a pretty thing like you get close, make him part of your life, and you his. 

He needs to stop this. Right here. Right goddamn now. Rip the bandaid off. He’s done worse. Hurtin’ you’d be temporary. You’d get over it. Move on. Find someone good f’you. Clean. Some suit-‘n-tie, nine-to-five to bake for. Some asshole that deserves it. Frank tries, comin’ out all rough-edged and full of regret.

“Look, sweetheart, we gotta—”

Whoosh. 

“Oof—” Frank grunts, staggers a step back with the plate held outta harm's way. Held outta your way.

In a rush of limbs and your weight, you fling yourself at Frank. Launch into him like you got to before you lose the nerve. 

Your arms wind around his neck, your body fit against his. And you just… cling. Not initiatin’ nothin’, just… huggin’ on him like you need someone to do this to you.  

Frank… stands there. Both arms stiff, unreciprocated in the blindsiding affection. Feels the air get knocked outta his lungs, body malfunctionin’ ‘cause it ain’t felt somethin’ like this—somethin’ warm—since 2015. Since his kids, Maria—

His brain shorts out. Disconnects from his body. Leaves him shakin’, involuntary response. 

It’s pent up. How you hug him. Kinda hugs he got when he came home from overseas, first time seein’ his wife and kids in months, a year. 

His eyes zigzag over your shoulder, breath stalling in his chest. 

You don’t seem to notice. Maybe you don’t care. Fuck if he knows. You press your face into the crook of his neck and hold. He lets you. Lets you take what you want, need, what the fuck ever. It’s yours. He’s—

“I don’t know how to say thanks very well,” you whisper, eyes screwed shut as you hang on a little longer. “Doing things is… easier. So… sorry. Just trying to say… thank you, Frank. For everything. It’s been a lot less lonely with you around. You don’t know what yo- it means to me.” 

Sunshine of his life’s in his arms (tryna be, anyway), apologizin’ like she’s the one that’s broken. Meanwhile he’s shortin’ out over a goddamn pound cake. 

You pull back before Frank can put his arms around you. You slink off. Drift back. Drop eye contact. 

“Aaaand that was weird, wasn’t it?” you whisper, shame not allowin’ your voice any higher. 

“Nah,” Frank says, nose scrunched as he gives little shakes of his head. “All good.” 

“You’re not a hugger, are you?” A glance up from your lashes, smile unsure. Pained. 

Frank meets your look head-on. Blunt in his honesty, an apology in the words, dark eyes softened like butter. “Ain’t sure what the hell I am, sweetheart.” 

But he feels it. Your absence. Body warm where yours was. Tryin’ desperately to memorize how you felt, why you said you did it, how he felt while he had you. 

In the second lapse of silence, fleetin’ looks, a foot carries you back. 

You're leavin’. Leavin’ this asshole here with a cake thing you spent too much goddamn time on f’Frank to tell you to scram. He fuckin’ can’t. Not like this. Not after that. Can’t say shit, throat closed around his bullshit excuses, jaw buckled down so hard his teeth ache.

“Okay, well…” you drift, every bit of excitement you had out the door now. Gone. ‘Cause of him. Fuck. “I’ve gotta go. Got some errands to run. Enjoy the loaf, okay? I hope it’s good.” 

“S’gonna be good,” Frank pushes out too quick, too terse, pissed at his own ineptitude. He stands in the goddamn doorway like a fuckin’ idiot while you walk away, not even knowin’ his heart’s rippin’ at the goddamn seams every step you take.

You hum a chuckle, hand on the stairwell exit bar. “Only one way to find out, right?” 

“Hey.” 

You stop at the sound of his voice, shoe scuff echoin’ in the hall. You peer back, a spark of that goddamn hope lightin’ your face back up. “Yeah?” Anticipative lift to your brows, spark renewed in your eyes.

Makes him sick.

“…Be careful,” he gruffs, eyes flitting anywhere but you. Can’t—won’t—see that fuckin’ look in your eyes like you’re hopin’ he asks you f’more. “Alright?” He nods at the door. The outside world. Where you’re goin’ and he ain’t. “Out there. Errands.”

One last little smile. Hurt in the flimsy curve of your mouth. “Yeah… sure. Okay. Always... Bye, Frankie.” 

No bye from Frank. Just another curt nod, watchin’ you walk away, his knuckles white around the plate. 

God fuckin’ damn it.

Shadows rotate over the walls ‘til there’s no sun left.

Frank hasn’t moved. Barely blinked. Eyes glassy and distant, honed in on the lemon blueberry loaf for guidance on what the fuck to do next.

Pent up at the kitchen counter on a barstool. One hand wrapped around his fist, pressed against his mouth. Thinks if he moves it, gives himself room to speak, he’ll do something he can’t take back. Yell. Throw shit. Walk straight to your door.

Fuck.

You brought the cake at eleven.

Digital numbers on the stove say eleven again.

Twelve hours later. All he’s done is sit.

He could make you hate him.

Break the plate, break your heart.

What he’ll do is leave it.

Find a way to forget about it.

Find trouble instead.

Let trouble clock a few cheap shots to his head.

Forget the fuckin’ cake. Forget the grocery run tomorrow.

Fuckin’ forget you.

content is mine, always without the use of AI. i am strongly against AI in fandoms. do not share or repost on any other site without consent of the author (hi, me). characters are not mine. do not feed my work to any AI services.

this is not a place for anyone under 18. 

Tags (tag list open, only for 18+ users): @emma-frxst @jakegyllenhaalscharacters @tigerf-cker @harbouredsoulss @gingin3-blog @notimminent @yesshewrites1 @allinourprivate-traps @saintcastiglione @cinamqnr0ll

please consider reblogging to help this reach more people! comments are massively appreciated! if you’re not comfortable commenting publicly, consider sending an anon ask! 🩷🩷🩷 THANK YOU! 

Pairing: Florist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Content: angst, reader is being cheated on (not by Bucky), I’m not from NYC so if the directions don’t make sense I used Google maps and a dream, hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff

Synopsis: Bucky notices the same man ordering two bouquets from his floral shop each month and sets out to let you know the truth.

A/N: written for @buckybarnes82 / this idea has been in my notes for a while. I hope you like it!

Main Masterlist | Bucky Masterlist

———

Bucky opens up the online order page to yet another order from the same name - always two bouquets of two dozen red roses wrapped in craft paper and tied with twine. The only divergence every month is what the man requests to be written on the notecards with the flowers.

Today, he requested card number one to say: To my wife, you are the heart of our home and the light of my life. With love, Your Husband. Card number two’s request: To my best girl, you keep me young and alive. Thank you for being mine. I’ll see you this weekend, Your Man.

Banger ask omg

I'm thinking like after retirement, Ghost isn't trusted to live on his own due to suicidal tendencies and such and gets connected with caretaker Reader.

At first, Ghost is obviously appalled and resistant to the idea that he even needs a caretaker. He's not some teenager who has to keep the door open all the time. Doesn't matter though, as Reader takes the time to order installments in his shower, stairs, etc for his injuries/old age.

He's rude and hissy towards Reader, insulting and taking out his own helplessness on the only person trying to help. There are many times Reader considers just leaving and giving up the job to someone else, but who else would deal with a snappy old man?

So Reader takes the time to make him food, fluffing, kneading, rolling, cutting, baking, all of it whilst Ghost steals glances at whatever delicious disgusting dish is being made this time.

He turns up his nose the first time a cookie is placed on the side of his sectioned plate, looking up at Reader with a glare.

"What is this."

"Chocolate chip cookie! Made it extra sweet for you."

He glared at you, opens his mouth to retort before you shove a spoonful of curry in his mouth with that sickeningly sweet smile. Reluctantly, he eats your food, eyeing the cookie the entire time like it personally insulted him.

He was is a military operator! He doesn't have the time for sweet treats, food is just nutrition. All these.. lovely seasonings are unnecessary for his palate! He is certain he appreciates despises you with everything he has.

Eventually, once his plate is fully cleaned, you hold the cookie up to his mouth, beckoning him to at least take a bite.

"I'm happy you ate everything! Here, as a reward."

"I'm not a bloody dog, I don't need a fucking re-"

There was a plan. Price was sure there was a plan. He'd ask you out, take you on a few dates until you were comfortable with him, then gently ease the idea of pack dynamics to you, hopefully not scaring you away more than his pack already did after the first time they met you.

They didn't actually scare you away. No, you loved them. You adored Price, and his boys, after you got to know them, turned out to be loveable men too. Not to mention it was nice having company every day. They'd come in, sometimes all of them, sometimes separately, but there's always one of them around at least most of he day; they taste tested new ideas you had, bought pastries, helped with clients sometimes, scared away any creeps, it was honestly the best thing you could ask for: four handsome, fun and caring men, and they weren't exactly bad on the eyes either.

But the plan Price had was destroyed right in front of him as he watched Gaz walk in with the most smug look that man can manage. He had gone to the bakery while the others did their usual chores and what-non. Price immediately knew something was off, eyes zeroing on the glossy lip mark on Gaz's cheek, your gloss.

"Asked the pretty bird on a date. Couldn't help myself captain. They were all sweet talking about missing a night out. Can't blame me for making a move when y' didn't do it before"

He countered. Price couldn't really argue with it, no matter how much he hated it. So he let it slide, glaring at Gaz that night when the hybrid left with a bouquet and a grin.

Then, his plan failed, agan. This time was Soap and Ghost. Ghost didn't even say anything in his defense, while Soap smirked.

"Bonnie liked the idea of date with us. Cannae blame us, cap'"

And there they go, leaving together to see you. And once again, Price is left glaring at the front door. Even worse when they come back that night and slip into their spaces in bed, still smelling of your perfume.

The next time Price went to the bakery, he was pissed. He was sure you'd hate how pissy he was being, he couldn't help it! He was supposed to be the one taking you on dates, you were his, for god's sake. But the moment he walked in and saw you humming, wearing a new silver heart locket around your neck and a bracelet with four little beads — one of each of the boy's eye color, including his stomy blue — and with that loving smile on your face, he melted.

He even forgot he hadn't made real advances on you, just immediately whining and rumbling out in distress as he crossed the bakery over to you. Pushing you back until you were against the counter, then pouting and sticking his face against the side of your neck, huffing.

"Those moppets got t'ya before I could"

he grumbles, and you laugh, because they had already explained the whole pack dynamic to you, and let you think over the idea on your time. You really should've known the handsome wolf captain wasn't coming in daily whenever he was on leave just for the croissants.

"Yeah, they did" you hum, patting him and holding in your laugh as you see his tail wag behind him. "You should've asked me out before, if you didn't want it to happen like it did"

He grumbles loudly, annoyed that you're talking like the others, despite the terribly happy turn his stomach does at hearing the way you're already so close to his pack.

"Tonight. Dress up nice, 'm taking y'out"

he huffs, and you nod, grinning. He eventually pulls back enough to pout at you, frowning and angry, but he looks honestly adorable. His eyes glance over you in your work apron and he puts you on top of the counter like you weight nothing, looking soft suddenly.

"They didn't scare y' away, yeah?"

He mumbles, looking worried, like you really would be scared off. Which granted mot people would probably be overwhelmed by the thought of dating a whole task force of men. Price didn't want to think about not having you in his pack, it made him go crazy inside.

You shake your head, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Just a brush of your lips against his, but it has him sighing and humming.

"No. But you better make up for not asking me out earlier"

Summary: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fe!Reader -> After Natasha presents you with an idea on how to save your family business and legacy, you start to realise maybe marrying Jake Seresin wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Disclaimer: Mostly domestic/wedding fluff, frenemies to lovers, marriage of convenience, reader has to be married in order to inherit her bakery, one bed trope, bit of a slow burn, slow 90s country ballads, mutual pining, he falls first.

“Remind me again why I’m doing this?”

Jake stood behind you, holding your shoulders steady. “Because you love me.”

You paused a little before saying, “That doesn’t sound like me.”

Jake shrugged. “Because you don’t have any other option.”

“Are you sure?”

Jake nodded as he rounded you and stood beside you. The wooden doors seemed to be getting taller. Was that even possible?

“Yep,” Jake told you. “I was there, remember? A total of a gazillion hours and this is your only suitable option.”

You groaned a little, popping your knee back and forth wishing a hole would just open up beneath you and swallow you whole. 

“I hate this.”

You could hear the smile growing on Jake’s face. He was enjoying your pain way too much. Looking at him, you watched as he just shrugged. 

“It’ll be fun.”

With a loud creak, the doors in front of you both opened wide and the classic wedding march started playing. 

Red Hood x baker!reader || Masterlist || Request! A/N: Based this off of my cousin because last time I visited her she baked me delicious matcha cookies and white chocolate ones! Hope you enjoy this!

˚˖𓍢ִ໋❀ eating demonic creatures never tasted good for han maru. that’s why, after every mission, he goes to this tiny pastry by his shitty apartment to try to get the bad taste out of his mouth. though now he didn’t really come by for a sweet treat. he craved someone sweeter!

tw: mentions of blood, knives, messy eating, very greedy behavior, smut, food play, drooling, creampies, ooc, oral (f receiving), subby! han maru, cervix kissing, overstimulation, han maru being very needy and emotional, virginity loss, soft dom f! reader (tell me if I should add more and if I missed any!!)

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

no one knew how it tasted.

have the taste of demon flesh rotting away in your throat and infecting your very being.

the clawing at your throat after the thrill of the moment wears off.

"BLEEUUGGGHHH!"

he gags at the aftertaste of the demon's flesh as the yellow mist finally vanished into thin air. "ya done, kid?" deokman sighs lazily, rolling his shoulders back as if he'd been the one doing all the hard work, which just made maru glare at his captain. he tries to spit out, sticking his tongue out in an attempt to get rid of the horrid aftertaste. "yeah, yeah..m'done." he grumbled, refraining from gagging, slightly pouting before following the rest of his team.

"could you put your fucking tongue back into your mouth? you're so disgusting.." seonwu scoffed, grimacing in disgust as he stared at han maru having his tongue out, trying to throw up what he had just consumed.

he glared up at the blue-haired man, stopping his attempts to make himself sick and simply kicks a rock like a child throwing a tantrum.

"remember, don't be late again," deokman warns with narrowed eyes and a pointed finger as he walks off.

"i won't, alright?" he grumbles, waving his hand.

he always ended up feeling in a sour mood after eating a lot of monsters. sure, it was badass having the power running through his veins, but it literally felt like they were desperately trying to crawl and gnaw their way out of his damn throat and rip through his stomach.

just as he was walking back to his apartment unit, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, his keen nose immediately picking up something sweet.

his nose softly twitched, sniffing once.

twice.

thrice.

donuts, fruit tarts, chocolate, powdered sugar, caramel, coconut, hazelnut, chai, icing, vanilla, cream cheese, matcha, custard, gingerbread, sourdough, cupcakes, blueberries, strawberry jam, sugary peaches, mouthwatering plums-

his eyes snap open, his feet having guided him directly to the source of the heavenly smell. his mouth was watering; somehow, the aftertaste of flesh still lingered on his tongue. he quickly went inside and looked at the pastries up on display.

though as soon as he skimmed his eyes over the pastries, all of a sudden, none of it seemed appetizing anymore as his eyes lifted to meet yours.

you were piping cream puff pastries, small drops of fluffy white filling on your hands, powdered sugar and flour lightly smudging your cheeks, while your face was lightly frowning in concentration, trying to pipe in the perfect amount of filling. you were so focused on your pastries that you barely noticed him walk inside your little bakery until you suddenly heard the sweet little chime of your bakery door opening. "welcome in!" you chirp, still distracted by the pastry you were finishing up.

"sorry 'bout the wait, what can i get you for today?" you smiled, starting to lightly drizzle the puff pastries with powdered sugar.

all the demons he's consumed almost seemed to get louder and more desperate.

feed me.

feed me!

feed me!

"mister," you spoke up, the puff pastries long forgotten as you now looked up at him, a little puzzled. "please don't drool on my floor, i literally just mopped this morning." you warned with a pointed glare, your whisk pointed up at him as if it was some sort of weapon.

he blinked down at you before realizing he's been drooling all over the place, quickly wiping the drool dripping down his chin with the back of his hand. "just smells really good..how much do your macarons cost?" he ogles them through their glass container, mouth watering even more, his throat tightening. he could practically feel his heart in his chest, trying to beat out.

"depends what flavor-"

"what flavors ya got?" he quickly clipped in, leaning over the counter, his nose sniffing around as if he were some kind of dog.

you flinch back, your top lip curling into a small sneer as he seems to have no control over his drooling.

you huff out softly wih a shake of your head, rolling your sleeves up to knead some stubborn dough as you listed off all the flavors of macarons. "i've got vanilla bean, raspberry, hazelnut, cream cheese, chocolate, lavender, strawberry shortcake-"

"m’gonna take one of everything please!" he grinned wolfishly, those big eyes of his glued on your own and your hands as you knead the stubborn dough that easily comes off your hands.

you blink up at him in surprise before quietly nodding, a little taken aback by his gluttony.

your little bakery wasnt all that popular.

sure you got a couple of customers a day, but never as many as you hoped.

yet here is this stranger who wants to buy nearly every macaron you have left in stock. "okay, coming right up." you smiled quietly feeling proud that someone finally coming in for a somewhat big order.

you go wash your hands carefully before organizing his order.

"are ya new?" he mused softly, watching your every move as you decorate his to-go box, big eyes glancing up at him before smiling gently. "uhh, yeah i am. just opened up shop two weeks ago." you smiled briefly.

you close up his to-go box before adding a cute little ribbon at the very top. "gonna have to be $10."

he blinked down at you before his face turned into a shocked but thrilled expression. "only $10 for 12 macarons? god, you're an angel," he nearly squealed, quickly searching through his pocket to give you the $10, his tongue sticking out to clean the dribble of drool running down his chin.

you take his money, and right when you were about to tell him to have a good day, he ripped that cute ribbon on his to-go box and quickly bit into a pink macaron, the sweet cream cheese filling overwhelming his taste buds in the most pleasant way. he lets out an exaggerated moan at the taste before stuffing his face into the sweets as he lets out a messy and incoherent string of praises about each french airy treat.

you didn't even know if this was normal for him, but you were..amused to put it nicely by his messy eating and talking with his mouth open.

you felt your skin crawl as he smiled at you widely, crumbs in between his teeth and on the side of his lips.

it reminded you of watching a dog devour his food as if it hadn't gotten fed in weeks.

it was funny..

..but mostly disgusting.

"miss tis ssoooo mmph good—"

"please keep your mouth closed when you talk.." your warn with the smallest bubble of laughter filling your voice, which he paid no mind to, his mind, his eyes, his tastebuds and every fiber of his being only focusing on the creamy sweetness that infected every inch of him. once he was finally down he started ogling the fresh sticky milk buns that just got out of the oven. you look behind your shoulder at the fresh bread, already knowing he has grown an even bigger appetite.

"a slice would be $3-"

"what about the loaf?"

you blink up at him, lashes fluttering and gently kissing the top of your cheeks. you couldn't help the slight laugh that escaped you. "gonna be $15." you smile before carefully getting the loaf out of its pot and taking out a clean knife. "gonna wanna take some?"

he eagerly nods.

"yes thank you, thank you!"

you smiled quietly to yourself and began slicing the loaf into five even slices. you briefly looked up at him just to see what look he had on his face, just to make yourself laugh a little, but instead you found his gaze locked on you instead of the pastry.

"whats ya name?" he questioned, sitting on the countertop as he watched you work and set the sliced loaf into a more comfortable to-go box. you tell him your name, our voice filled with a small bubble of laughter as he bites into a matcha flavored macaron.

he smiles, whipping his mouth with the back of his to get rid of crumbs that clung to his lips as he echos back your name. letting it roll of his tongue.

he almost forgot about the horrid taste of demon flesh that stuck to his tongue.

he pays the money for the bread and heads back to his shared apartment with a little pep to his step as you wave him goodbye and tell him to come back again.

he locked his apartment door behind him, all content before setting the pastries i hasn't devoured on the kitchen counter.

he felt oddly..satisfied for the first time in a while after he discovered that devouring demonic creatures made him so much stronger.

though as he lay in bed trying to sleep, that same hunger came back.

stronger.

needier.

demanding.

he groaned into his pillow trying to block out the gnawing in his body. nose nuzzling into the soft fabric.

he then smelt it.

coconut and vanilla filling his sleepy head as his thoughts circle right back to you.

he needed to go eat more of your pastries.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔:･

this all became a habit ever since he first sniffed out your bakery which he now considers his secret happy place. sure it was because of your cooking, the comforting smell of sweets, the environment, how not too many people were there, etc…but mainly you.

you were the main reason why he lingered and always made sure to come back.

slowly his gluttony became more difficult to handle, his visits grew more frequent and every time you watched him eat it was more urgent then the last. like if he didn’t get something sweet in his mouth right that second he’d painfully wither away. it worried you at times but you didn’t say anything, just tried to make him feel better with free on the house treats.

though now he didn’t seem to pay as much mind to your sweet treats from heaven above.

his greed for sweetness wasn’t for your heavenly airy pastries but it was instead for you.

that smile of yours.

the way your eyes crinkle up at him as he walks in.

your laugh when he compliments your baking with a mouth full.

the lingering of your eyes to his lips when he’s eating when you think he’s too distracted to notice.

the way you let him have the first bite of your new recipes (after he begged endlessly).

since his attention drifted towards you…his hunger has gotten even more insatiable.

he felt impatient.

unstable even.

you became his new addiction rather than your sweets if he was being honest..

"are you sure you're alright?"

"yes maru, im fine. just a little cut." you reassured, wiggling your index finger, which had a baby pink strawberry shortcake bandaid.

hes been visiting your little bakery for about a month now.

you told him you had an accident while trying to get out of a stubborn pit of an avocado this morning for your little sandwiches. you got frustrated, your knife slipped, and you stabbed your finger and spilled a little bit of blood. nothing too bad.

just a little cut.

his eyes lingered on the bandaid, his hunger and need to consume distracted. "lemme see it," he tries to reach out towards your wrist, but you quickly pull your hand back, eyes lightly narrowed. "i said i'm fine." you say firmly, your soft voice coming out a bit meaner than you intended as he quickly pulled his hand away.

if he were a dog, he'd have his ears pinned back and tail tucked between his legs.

"sorry, umm.." you run your hand through your hair as you tie it up one last time before your shift ends. "what can i get for you today?"

he rubs the back of his neck, those big eyes of his scanning his options with the tiniest bit of pink dusting his cheeks as he tries not to look at you.

macarons, fluffy breads, bungeoppang, yakgwa, tiramisu, chapssaltteok, cinnamon rolls, brownies, even bingsu prepared all pretty on display in a mini freezer next to you-

"can i get the bingsu and tiramisu?"

you nod quietly, turning your back to him and reaching up to the top shelf on your tippy toes for new to-go boxes for his order and an ice shaver for a new bingsu.

"what toppings do you want for your bingsu?" you ask, starting to shave a block of ice, scraping it, filling the room, mixing with the sound of more customers filling your small shop. strangely, after he arrived, more customers started trickling in, much to your contentment, since your little bakery was getting the attention it deserved.

he eagerly listed off toppings, the large amounts and varieties making you giggle quietly. once you finish the shaved ice, you add the final touches, soft hands moving with expertise with the sweet desserts.

throughout the visits he came in his attention started to drift recently. he used to solely focus on the sweet treats you made, the way you add your final touches, the way you write his name with a little heart in the end, the free macaron you add in with every order of his.

sweet little details.

"can i help you with the bakery after you close?"

the question made you pause, your pen slightly slipping and messing up on his name. you gaze up at him like a deer under headlights, big eyes locked onto his as if he just said the most unnerving thing you've ever heard. you laugh and quickly shake your head.

"no, no, no, i can't have you do that," you say, which earned you a loud childish whine from the man across from you. "you're my customer--what kind of baker would i be to make you help me after closing hours?" you tease softly but he just continued to whine louder.

"cmoonnnnn," your lip curls into a tiny sneer at the annoying whiny pitch in his voice. "i want to help you bakeee..cmon m'not always gonna be able to come to your bakery, so might as well teach me." he grinned, leaning closer to your face, resembling a puppy begging for attention.

you grin before letting out an exaggerated sigh, throwing your head back. "tell you what," you give him a spoon for his bingsu. "after work, I'll teach you how to make anything ya want, alright?" you smiled, looking up at him while you slightly lean over the counter, all doe-eyed and teasing.

he stopped mid-chew, his eyes getting bigger and a huge smile gracing his lips, cheeks full of the shaved ice he was eating. right when he was about to speak you quickly shake your head, grimacing slightly up at him.

"dont talk with your mouth full maru.."

"m'sorry."

the rest of the last few hours passed rather quickly. customers started trickling out, the pasteries started going down in numbers, and finally, the clock hit 8:30 pm.

maru quickly closes up shop for you clearly very excited to be your little assistant. you yelp in surprise when he suddenly slung himself over the counter to get to the kitchen.

"maru!" you scold, throwing a hand towel at him which he caught with ease, a big grin on his face. "sorry, just excited."

you lightly glare at him and shake your head before putting an apron on him. "so," you tie a cute little bow at the back, your face on level with his chest as you stare up at him. "what do you want to make, hmm? ya know, you could've gotten a recipe online, didn't have to come t'me."

he didn't even fully process the question, just staring down at you, all frozen up as you adjusted the apron around his waist.

his nose lightly twitched at the sudden faint smell of your perfume. It still smelled just as sweet as your pastries, but mixed with a floral sweetness that just made his mouth water.

he grimaced quietly at the aftertaste of demonic creatures still on his tongue. your sweets couldn't seem to do the trick this time, much to his disappointment--

"ow!"

you lightly pinched his cheek a tad harder, an evil little smile on your lips. "are you even listening?" you laugh quietly. he laughs quietly along with you, lightly clutching your wrists to make you stop.

"i said," you turn your back towards him, tightening your apron around your own waist. "what do you want to make? or should i pick?" you look up at him over his shoulder, those eyes of yours taking him all in.

he looked cute with a frilly little apron and his face all a little dazed.

"ya still daydreaming?"

"n-no! uh, you pick. what's something you think I'd like?" he smiled, placing himself next to you at the sink to wash his hands. you look up at him, eyes slightly narrowing as if you were trying to figure him out.

trying to figure out the perfect dessert just for him.

"you want it to be something you can make on your own?" you tilt your head slightly to the side, you pretty little head filing through all the desserts that he could like and make on his own.

he happily nodded, clearly excited and determined to bake with you.

he ended up confessing in his first week visiting you that he couldn't bake sweets at all. your birthday just so happened to be last week, and let's just say he tried to bake something for you..it was a cupcake; the bottom was all burnt, and the frosting on top was melting off, clearly just hot out of the oven.

it was the thought that counts at least..

it was adorable.

..even though you got sick afterwards.

"alright," you start tying your hair up, smiling to yourself, not being able to help yourself to hold back your giddiness to teach him how to bake. "what about a cream cheese danish? simple. easy. not too sweet. plus it goes with everything, so we can use some fruits." you get out some dough you had made earlier this morning for puff pastries, your sleeves rolled up as you roll out the sweet dough.

at the lack of response, you curiously look to your side where maru was. you tense up, lightly feeling him a lot closer than before, his eyes intently watching you start working. you lightly bump your hip with his making him quickly snap out of his little dazed trance.

"lemme help!" he chirped sweetly, his hands coming in to help you with the dough.

you squeak quietly when his hands get stuck with yours in the dough. snickering you shake your head and pull his hands out of the sticky-sweet mess. "maru, you're too hasty." your voice comes out soft and teasing. you get a small little ball of dough and roll it along his hands to collect the rest of the sticky sweetness that stubbornly stuck to his skin. "could you be any more careless?"

his hands felt rough against your softer ones. as you carefully clean his large hands, you couldn't help but trail the veins that vined underneath his skin with the tip of your fingers. were his hands always so attractive? was it strange that you found them attractive? your little questions got cut short rather quickly when he suddenly brings one of your hands up to his lips, which just so happened to have the dough and you didnt process what happened until it was too late.

a gasp leaves your lips when you suddenly feel his lips wrap around your injured finger...and he end up eating the dough.

"maru don't eat raw dough!" you scold, laughter bubbling up in your throat as you playfully smack his chest, making him let out a slight whine around the tips of your fingers. you yelp quietly at the sudden nip of his teeth, quickly pulling your hand out of his mouth. “w-what the hell..” you let out quietly, staring down at your finger. it was the same one you ended up cutting this morning, now reopened and bleeding lightly.

you hiss quietly staring down at it before reaching out to get a napkin.

what the hell was that?

did he bite your finger to make your wound open up again?

why did your cheeks feel so hot—

“m’sorry sweetheart, i-i didn’t mean t’make ya bleed..” he lets out nervously clearly feeling bad about the reopened wound.

he slowly reached out towards your hand, slow enough for you to pull away if you wanted to. but you didn’t move away. you didn’t know why you didn’t but you stayed in place.

“are you okay? y/n im so sorry—“

“yea im fine..” you murmured softly, cheeks a soft tinge of pink as he examined the finger. the smallest drop of blood dribbled down the length of it and to your wrist making you panic slightly. why the hell were you bleeding so much?

right when you decide to try to pull away to tend to your wound your whole body freezes up like a doe caught under headlights as you feel his tongue lick a long, slow stripe up your wrist to your wound, collecting your blood on his taste buds.

“maru—“

“you taste just as sweet as i thought..” he mumbled out against your wrist, kissing the inside of it as he kept it pressed to his face.

how do you even react to this—?

“this is really unsanitary..”

“you were gonna get blood on the dough.”

“I wasn’t—“

“still.”

you stare up at him, an unreadable glint shining in your big eyes as you was his kiss your wrist slowly before ever so gently and slowly kissing up the length of your arm.

from the inside of your wrist, to your forearm, to your upper arm, and finally to your shoulder where he seemed to linger.

sweet and soft little smooching sounds filled your quiet bakery, the dough long forgotten.

“what are you doing..?” you breath out, your voice coming out a bit softer and smaller then usual. were you nervous? fuck yes. were you scared? far from it.

“..do you want me to stop?” the question was softly muffled by your shoulder, his eyes looking into your own. you tense lightly against him as you felt his bigger hands snake around your waist and lightly toy with your apron.

you quietly shake your head, cheeks flushed and throat tight. too embarrassed to speak already knowing your voice was going to be all embarrassingly breathless and airy you didn’t dare speak. you felt his lips form into a smile before continuing his slow kisses against your flushed skin.

he trails sweet slow kisses up your shoulder, to your collarbone and up your throat.

you couldn’t help the small giggle as he gets to your face, his soft lips leaving gentle kisses along your cheeks, the tip of your nose, your eyebrows, your temple, your jaw and finally he stops to your lips.

he was a mere breath away from your lips.

the hunger was harder to ignore.

harder to keep at bay.

“..are you okay?” you murmur softly, brows lightly frowned as your hands gently cup his face. you gasp quietly when you realized your hands were tainted with powdered sugar. “oh my god im so sorry!” you laugh, seeing you left powdered sugar all over his cheeks.

though he seemed out of it, he hardly noticed until he caught the sweet smell of it. his eyes seemed darker. he glanced down at your hand which was still cupping his flushed cheek before nuzzling into your soft palm.

a quiet noise escaped your lips when you suddenly see yellow mist leave his mouth, swirling around your injured finger. everything about this night was a tad odd but you didn’t try to freak out anymore. your frown lightly when you noticed your finger had healed completely as if nothing happened.

“how did you—“

“didn’t think it’d work..” he murmured quietly against your palm, lips softly kissing it. “are you sure this is okay?” he lets out between kisses, the yellow mist slowly fading into thin air.

honestly the yellow mist was the last thing on your mind with how it felt to have his lips press against your skin. "are you trying to bribe me into giving you free treats for life?" you joke softly.

his brows pinch together, lips tugging into a tiny frown. "of course not," he says firmly, shaking his head. "i really like you..more than i should y/n...i-i...i can't stay away from you.." he lets out softly, closing the distance. you feel yourself flush at the proximity, your heart fluttering wildly at the teasing, faint brush of his lips.

before you could properly process what you were about to do, you leaned up to him and pressed your lips against his. your eyes fluttered shut, lashes kissing the top of your cheeks as you savored the kiss. you couldn't help but smile against his lips as the grip on your waist tightens, and he brings you closer to him.

as one of your soft hands comes up to play with the sensitive nape of his neck, your free hand is placed on his chest, he nearly whines at your touch and the teasing little bite of your teeth on his bottom lip. you giggle into the kiss, softly swiping your tongue over his bottom lip to soothe the slight sting. "your so whiny." you teased against his lips before gasping when he kissed you a little harder.

you smiled into the kiss even more, eagerly kissing back just as needy. the kiss got more playful, and before you knew it, you were hoisted up onto the counter of your cute little bakery. his tongue softly laps into your mouth, your own tongue playing with his. his soft moan is muffled into the kiss as your hands play with his hair before giving a mean little tug making him pull away with a whine in retaliation.

"m'sorry, ya gotta let me breath." you let out breathlessly, your cheeks all lightly flushed, your chest heaving as you greedily take some air. he looked like he was on the verge of tears, his lips all kiss swollen as he pouts. "ya dont need to c'monnn!" he fussed, trying to chase after your lips. you teasingly turn your face away, a smug evil little look on your face before yelping softly at the slow drag of his tongue on your cheek.

"you're disgusting-!" you shriek, facing him to glare, but it all seemed to be a part of his plan as he quickly captured your lips again. you whimpered softly into the messy kiss, one of his hands coming up to make sure you can't pull away, the other at your hip as he dragged you to the edge of the counter.

you tilt your head back as he hungrily trails biting kisses to your neck, his tongue softly soothing one of the meaner bites he left on your perfect skin. "fuck.." he growled quietly against your sweet spot before playfully nipping at it. "been trying so hard to hold back from pouncing on ya—ugh!” he suddenly lets out a little noise of disgust when he realized his hand had slipped into a bowl of fresh icing.

you laugh, resting your temple against his.

he was trying so hard to keep the mood but he was just so clumsy.

“can’t do a single thing right can’t ya maru—“ your words quickly die on your tongue as you felt the airy sweetness being smeared on your neck. you felt your eye twitch in irritation about to do the same but he quickly pinned your hands to the counter.

“been too mean t’me, gotta put you in your place..” he grinned wolfishly, stealing a deep kiss from you. you could taste the frosting on his tongue as he sweeps into your mouth, a soft meek noise escaping you as he softly suckles at your tongue. that action alone made all your words die on your tongue.

your pretty little head went blank as he pulls away from the kiss and licks off the frosting he had smeared on your neck. “your such a mmph f-freak..” you try to sound mean but it just comes out as a airy moan. more airy breathless purrs of pleasure escape you as he hungrily marks up your neck.

“so mean..” he whined into your fresh hickey before biting it out of spite making you arch and whimper. he laughed at your pained whimper before gently lavishing his tongue against the bruise.

he impatiently tore off the frilly apron you put on him and tossed it aside before ridding you of your top. you help him by raising your hands up above your head, biting down on your bottom lip excitedly. his lips were on yours immediately after your shirt was off.

he was starved.

he needed to feed.

and only you seemed to satisfy.

he pulls back, breathlessly, eyes dark and filled to the brim with nothing but pure lust and greed. “let me taste you. p-please baby you don’t understand what I-I’ve been feeling—you haunt me every night,” he was nearly crying now, those huge grey eyes of his brimming with tears. “n-need to taste you pleasepleasepleaseplease! been dreaming about eating you out for weeks now, you must be some succubus that lured me in with sweets—baby pleaseee..”

he was already kneeled in front of you staring up at you with the biggest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you coo and pout, feigning sympathy.

“aww..is the poor puppy that desperate?” you coo, running a soothing hand through his black hair before tugging meanly pulling a whimper from his throat. “been having perverted fantasies about me too? tsk tsk tsk,” you tut. “you really think you deserve to have a taste, puppy?”

though once you actually see his tears almost spill out and his bottom lip quiver between his teeth as he nods. “i-i didn’t mean to! trust me, I couldn’t help it i-i—“

you gently place one leg over his broad shoulder, the tip of your heel teasingly pushing into his back as if giving him permission to come closer. “just because you look so desperate..” he moans against your inner thigh, praises falling from his lips.

“thankyouthankyouthankyou princess, gonna give you the best head of your life. gonna have you runnin back t’me every fuckin night fuck..”

before you could try to comfort him for being a bit too mean you squeak out in surprise when you felt him bite at the lace of your panties and riiiiiip the cute lacy panties to shreds babbling something about taking you tomorrow to buy a new pair.

your hands lightly tremble in his hair as he shoved his face between your thighs and inhaled deeply like he was starved. you squirmed at the feeling of hot puffs of air brushing against your sensitive puffy pussy. he was a blabbering mess between your thighs. you barely understand his words, but you really couldn’t care once you felt his tongue flatten against your slick heat.

you look down at him, brows pinching together and your soft lips parted with pants and airy giggles at how pathetic he looked. you wouldnt have it any other way.

you moan, back arching as he finds your sodden clit and abused it with harsh suckles and mean flicks of his tongue. "n-not so hard-" you gasp, squirming against him as it became too much. he moaned around you, gripping your thighs harder and dragging you closer to his eager mouth.

the last thing he could think of was the taste of flesh.

his brain was fogged with only your taste. your heady scent and your hands in his hair that made him nearly cum in his pants right then and there.

"don't run from me, baby.." he pleads, smothering himself deeper. you cry out as his thumb rubs messy, firm circles on your aching clit as he licks fat stipes before shoving his tongue into your weeping entrance. those big, glassy eyes were locked onto yours, watching every moan and cry be ripped right out of you. his tongue curled against your velvety, gummy walls, hungrily scooping out your honeyed slick before feverishly thrusting it in and out, pulling wet, squelching noises from you.

your thighs trembled over his shoulders as he messily eats you out while muffling all sorts of praises. "cum on my tongue, i-i need you mmph so sweet," he babbled mindlessly before capturing your twitchy clit between his lips with a harsh slurp, his tongue flicking furiously as your hips helplessly rut into his mouth.

with a scream, you cream all over him, making him hungrily lap up your sweetness. "gonna live here forever fuuuck.." he slurred, his feverish feral sucks and slurps turning soft and worshipping.

you whined softly, trying to pull his out of your honeyed cunt. "maru, no more.." you let out weakly, but he was relentless. after a couple of seconds, you finally managed to pull him off you by giving a hard pull to his hair.

the look on his face made more slick droop out of your pussy, and your heart fluttered.

he was all teary-eyed, brows furrowed, cheeks a deep pink as he caught his breath. even his bottom lip was quivering as he stared up at you, half of his face wet with your essence. "m'not one of pastries, ya cant just do that.." you giggle breathlessly, running a hand through his hair, closing up your legs quickly so he wouldn't try to dive back in for seconds.

"i'd beg to differ.." he pouts, nibbling at your hip, leaving soft loving kisses all over your soft tummy and kissing his way up to meet your lips. you moan softly into the kiss as you taste yourself on his lips. now you were all needy, your hand coming down to palm his bulge that strained against his jeans, making him whimper into the kiss. "you're so hard..all this from just eating me out?" you teased, pulling away from the kiss.

he was a panting mess, shoving his face into your neck, letting out a string of pleas. "p-please keep touching me there," he nearly sobbed, rutting into your soft hand. you coo into his ear a faux pout on your lips. "aww, don't cry, baby. is it too much? what'll help you feel better, puppy?" you softly flick your tongue over the shell of his ear.

"need't be inside you.." he sniffled into your neck, his cock twitching agaisnt your hand and under his jeans. you gave him a gentle squeeze before kissing right below his ear. "whatever my puppy wants." you purred before helping him with his belt.

you giggle softly as he makes out with your neck as you help him out of his pants, his own hands tugging off your ruined panties and peeling off his shirt. he neeedily caotured you lips before you could look down to see his drooling cock.

a sharp gasp escaped you as he slowly pushed into you.

"m-maru-"

"shh, it'll be okay sweetheart, i'm sorry i couldn't h-help it..can i keep going?" he asked shakily, big eyes locked onto yours. you let out a shaky little noise as you nod your head, eyes locked onto how you too were connected. maybe this was mean of you but you didnt think he'd be..well..big..

at most average but with the way he was stretching you out? you were eating your damn words now, all of them lodged in your throat as he slowly sinks deeper into up until his mushroom tip kisses your sponge cervix. "h-how the fuck are you so huge mmmph.." you purred into his ear as he attacks your neck, teeth softly sinking into your neck as he sets a slow pace.

"you're so snug--god, you feel so much better than I imagined! wanna be balls deep inside ya for eternity. haahhh, keep squeezin' me like that sweet girl thatsss itt.." he blubbered against your ear, clutching you tighter. he felt like he couldn't breathe, his cock being squeezed tightly by your drooling cunt like it was determined to never let him go. you laughed between airy moans and squeals as the divot tip of his cock smooches your cervix effortlessly with each slow thrust.

"you're acting like a virgin.." you tease into his ear before softly nibbling at the shell of his ear. you feel him freeze inside you, burying his face deeper into your neck in embarrassment as he keens all sorts of apologies. "it's cute maru.." you soothe quietly. you gently cup his face, your soft hands lightly squishing his cheeks to make him gaze at you. "..are you?" you question. your heart nearly stops at the trails of tears on his flushed cheeks. you lovingly lean up to kiss them away from his cheeks as he nods quietly with jumbled apologies, as if he couldn't think with how overwhelmed he was feeling with how tightly you were wrapped around him.

"do you want me to take over?" you offer softly, running your hands up his back to soothe him and hoping to unravel his thoughts. he nods his head, sniffling quietly, refusing to meet your gaze from embarrassment. you softy kiss his lips, murmuring soft, encouraging words. "don't be embarrassed, i can teach you more later, okay? we can take things at your pace.." you murmur between loving kisses. "pull out f'me, okay?"

he shakily nods his head, his stomach tying in knots as he musters up the courage to dislodge from your velvety heaven on earth. he nearly whimpered at the cold feeling of being separated from you. the only thing he wanted was to be buried deep inside you and never leave. you smiled, softly kissing his lips.

you quickly tug him upstairs, leaving your clothes and his on the floor. your room was just above the bakery, and you wanted to let him be able to actually enjoy a comfortable first time..that wasn't in your bakery's kitchen. you eagerly kissed him all the way there before pushing him to lay flat on the bed. he props himself up on his elbows, watching as you crawl on top of him. he lies back down, his rough hands coming to your hips to steady you over his needy cock. "hurry, it felt so g-good being inside you baby.." he pleas, a hand leaving your hip and instead going to position his cock to nudge your fluttering entrance.

"quite impatient, aren't you..?" you taunt before kissing him deeply. once he was lost in the kiss, you slowly sink yourself down on his aching, drooling cock. he mewls into the kiss at the feeling of your slick, gummy walls fluttering hungrily around him, his hips having a mind of their own as he tried to shove more inches into you.

you pull away from the kiss with a cute squeal at how he filled you up to the hilt. hands quickly come to press down on his chest, as you finally manage to take all of his long, thick inches buried deep inside your smothering insides. you start a slow pace, slowly dragging yourself up and down his girth with a squelch, his hands tightening over your hips to drag you down all the way.

you lean down, moaning against his lips as he hisses all sorts of pleas for more. you smiled agaisnt his lips, your moans mingling with his before he captured them hungrily.

he wanted to consume you completely. bones and all. (bones and all reference hehe..)

your body was flush against his, slowly rolling your hips with a whimper as you feel him twitch hard inside you. your noises got whinier, not being able to help yourself. he muffled a loud moan as he desperately met your pace with uncorrelated feral thrusts up into you, making you crumble on top of him. your hands scramble to grip his own hands on your hands to try to slow down his suddenly mean hands that guide you to plummet down his cock with lewd wet slaps.

all the air was being punched out of your lungs as his hips smack against yours. with how he was acting while giving you head and that he was a virgin, you would've thought he'd be a whimpering mess and told you to take control, but this was a pleasant surprise..even though you would've liked riding him.

a loud moan escaped you as his drooling tip meanly kisses your cervix again and again with so much force you were bouncing away from how rough his thrusts were. you yelp as he hooks his arms under your knees, tugging you back to meet his thrust.

"ah! ah! s'too much--hah! mmm soo good f'me!" you whined out, throwing your head back, your pretty little neck exposed for his assault which he quickly took.

his sharp teeth nip at your sensitive spots determined to leave dark bruises while letting out a string of incoherent praises.

“feel so good, baby fuck.” he gasps out against your neck, licking a little bit of frosting that he had missed earlier. he moaned louder at the sweetness, eyes rolling back, and his hips stuttering as you clench tightly around him at the praise.

soft mewls and cries leave your lips as he drills into you needily like a dog in heat all while shaky praises fall from his lips, which now attached right below your ear. you’ve never felt so full in your life. strangely satisfied even.

"sweetheart ya gotta loosen up or m'gonna end up cumming i-inside of ya.." he slurs into your ear, wet slaps echoing throughout your empty bakery along with your embarrassingly loud moans and his own whimpers from the sensitivity. despite the roughness of his thrusts, rutting himself deeeeep inside you, he was still the same puppy like loser from before as your eyes barely manage to focus on his face.

he looked completely out of it, his mouth open, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, cheeks all flushed, and his eyes half lidded and hungry. you felt every twitch inside your gummy walls every time you sink yourself on his veiny, twitching cock. you cried out as his hand came down to rub quick, messy circles to your sodden clit as he drills into you from below. “f-fuck im gonna cum im gonna cum I’m gonna cum!” he whines out, speeding up, making you scream as he ferally ruts into you despite you trying to take control.

you were turned to nothing but mush on top of him, not even being able to move yourself anymore, now that he was the one controlling your every move. you wail, all high-pitched and filled with pleasure as he buries himself to the hilt. he bites down on your shoulder as he milks himself and rides out both of your highs.

he softly kisses your cheeks and all those nasty bites he had inflicted on your neck. once your breathing finally calms down, he rolls you onto your back so he is now on top of you.

"can we go again?" he pleads quietly, his cock still hard inside you, his milky cum leaking out of you.

it was going to be a long night..