#baker!techno x reader

Your eyes blink open taking in the sight of the white sheer curtains flowing softly in the warm breeze, the feel of the gentle cotton sheets against your body did nothing to pull you out of your hazy sleep.

Things you don’t remember, places you’ve never been, a true dream if you’ve ever had one full of fiction and mistrustful information. It could never be true so you don’t dwell on the fragments of you in the desert that are fracturing your already fragile state of mind.

Your delicious baker always tells you not to think too much, with everything you’ve been through all you should be doing is relaxing.

But what had you been through is the real question.

You breathe deeply taking in the breath taking smell of cinnamon sweet buns downstairs, ears twitching at what you think is the radio playing in the background. Someone muttering something about India, hotel alpha victor echo, hotel echo Romeo, you don’t know not paying attention to such frivolous matters.

Instead you roll over onto your side eyes going to the French doors that are open giving you a full view of the blue sky, sun shining but not high enough for it to be midday. You recon it’s nine, possibly ten. The smell of fresh cut grass tells you that Techno had been up since about six am to do all the chores before you could even offer.

He was very passionate about you finishing the last two books of your favourite series and you can’t do that if you’re distracting yourself with silly things like chores. His words, not yours.

Breathing deeply once more not wanting to spike your heart rate, somehow your man always knows. It’s rather strange but it’s another thing on the list of things you shouldn’t dwell on. Catching a wiff of rain in the air, you can tell that the vineyard, you have as your beautiful back garden, got the drink it desperately needed last night.

Finally thinking you’ve given your baker enough time to ice those sweet buns you pull yourself from the sheets however groggy, you manage to slip on a silk robe and stagger your way through your home.

Your kitchen was Techno’s pride and joy, besides you of course, he designed it and got some friends of his to help build it. It is the definition of a baker’s dream, equipped with a state of the art pizza oven and four electric ovens for his exquisite bakery dishes adding a crisp texture, to delightful cookies and puffs.

Your tired eyes scan the kitchen quickly latching onto the sight of sixteen sweet buns waiting for you. You pad over ready to reach for one of the freshly iced cinnamon buns only to be stopped by your baker.

“Ah ah ah, this first.” A smooth piece of golden honeycomb appears in front of your face instantly making you salivate. You take it putting it to your lips, taking small licks before sucking on an edge missing the way Techno groans under his breath.

“Take such good care of me.” You mumble mouth a little full, eyes fluttering shut with a soft hum.

“Won’t ever stop plum.” His lips skim your forehead. He’s so sweet and so sincere. He’s genuine and loving. Everything he is always is. Not even a hint of darkness swirling in his eyes. Not even a spec.

Gunshots and the smell of dusty sand echo through his senses as his darkening orbs dart around your face while you suck on the sweet honeycomb.

“How’d you sleep plum?” He asks an arm curling around your waist pulling you against his warm body. With no shirt covering his hairy chest and a bit of pudge from all the taste testing. Wearing a simple pair of basketball shorts you whimper at the feel of him pressed up against you.

You nod eyes still closed, taking more of the honeycomb into your mouth to suckle on laying your head on his chest too. “Maybe you could use a bit more of it hm?” He hums in your ear before sucking your earlobe into his mouth, raking his teeth over it. “I think that’s a good idea, why don’t we cuddle for a while hmm?”

It was thick and he felt disgusting, the smell of metal swirling with a hint of burnt flesh. Sweat dripped down his forehead letting him see how it changed colour once it mixed with the blood that covered him. The gun in his hand felt heavier, maybe it was the dehydration or maybe it was the blood on his hands.

His black boots were covered in sand, his shirt ripped and wrapped round his head to keep him a somewhat safe from the sun beating down on him. His kevlar was starting to stick to him with the amount of sweat that glazed his body.

He felt the incessant need to just stop, to drop everything and let the sand dunes swallow him whole instead of continuing to walk through the dessert.

Around thirty miles away you were facing an entirely different issue. Blood that was yours poured out from the bullet hole just above your hip.

“Son of a bitch.” You groaned looking down at the wound, your hand pressing against it firmly as you limped further into the dirt huts of an abandoned village. Your free hand scrambled to find something to help your wound. Anything.

Unfortunately you came up empty.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.” The curses kept coming the more the blood kept flowing. Your vision was beginning to blur, you knew you didn’t have long. Your head fell back against the solid dirt wall that’s when you tasted it. You began to taste blood. It was metallic and salty, it made you choke.

The dehydration and blood loss was really starting to set in now, a man had appeared in front of you. His clothes looked ripped and bloodied but you could still work out that it was a military uniform. His face was too blurry to see, you couldn’t make it out. It was like your eyes were going in and out of focus similar to a camera.

“Awesome,” you breathed coughing a little, “I’m hallucinating now. Cool.” You laughed but it turned into a cough which turned into a cry.

Soon hands were on your face, cupping it gently. “Une fleur fanée parmi une mer de fleurs.” The man said with pure disbelief in voice, nothing could mask the incredulity. “Que fais-tu ici?” He was breathless. Anguish in his squinting eyes, that studied your figure so attentively.

Your red hands came up to grab onto his wrists with all the strength you had left, you squeezed; hard. As hard as you could, your breathing becoming heavier. You groaned with each breath, trying to communicate to the blurry man.

“Quoi?” He asked raising his eyebrows, the two hairy lines becoming clearer before they got blurrier. “Pas de Français?” He inquired gently leaning forward slightly. God it felt like your whole body was burning, his knee pressing on the bullet hole was horrible. The pain spread from the area to the rest of your body.

The man jumped back just as you screeched in agony, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t see-“ his breath gets caught in his throat at the words, at the thought of you dying, “the blood.”

They were the last words you heard.

He got over his panic just in time to begin his search through the dirt village, he managed to find a small set of tongs, a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a bandage. His legs carried him back to where you were on the floor, your heart beat almost nonexistent.

He managed to get the bullet out, sanitise and bandage the wound. He knew that he would have to get it cauterised as soon as possible, but right now his priority was getting the both of you to safety. He would find out what had happened to you after that, he’d keep you by his side from now on so no one could ever hurt you again.

-

You watched him contently as he hummed a little tune, pulling the freshly baked plum tarts out of the oven. His hair tied up in a small bun, along with his apron he usually wears a cold expression unless you are around.

Right now with you sat on the big reading chair, his AC/DC shirt wrapped around your body. He can feel your eyes on him and he couldn’t be more at peace as he swirls the marshmallow around the purply blue tart.

“une belle fleur dans une mer de fleurs fanées.” His smile reaches his eyes and he looks so happy it makes you smile too.

You can’t tear your eyes away as he wiggles his butt to the song blaring on the radio, it’s one of his favourites so upbeat and happy that it instantly sets the mood upwards the moment it comes on.

You don’t remember the last time you weren’t happy, sometimes you get fragments of the memories in that desert. But you don’t remember it, almost like it’s been stripped away from your memory and replaced with him. Your baker.

“Tec?” He hums in acknowledgment to his name being called, “what are we having for dinner?” He nods toward the oven, you didn’t even notice the home made pizza cooking away nicely. He had popped it in there earlier while you were munching away on a piece of honeycomb he had given you, his eyes roaming your face as you nibbled the sweetness. The way your eyes drooped and head lulled back against the seat.

He sighs pushing his thoughts away, its what’s best he knows that. You nod going back to your book with a smile, he loves it. Loves that you smile all the time, loves that it’s because of him. He never wants to see you the way you were when he first found you. The blood pouring out of the wound, had now turned into a scar that he kissed every time he made his way in between your legs.

Techno doesn’t want to think about his time in the military, the nightmares of the things he did still haunt him. Yet one look at you and it all goes away. He couldn’t let you go after he first saw you, all the voices in his head vanished the moment he looked into your eyes. He had to have you.

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