#dottore is the type of person you are paired up with for a project and then ghosts you only to message you at 11:58pm before the project is

[gum-iie]

evil means paperwork

[scaranation]

Hello! I love your work and would like to request something.

Dottore with a S/O who loves baking and reader would always ask Dottore's clones if they would like to taste test her baking? Also reader owns a bakery shop in Shneznaya if possible as well. Have a good day and remember to take care of yourself :)

ahh thank you for this soft Dottore literally has my heart anyway I hope you enjoy !

༊*·˚ 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓

Pairing: Dottore x GN!reader

Content: fluff, drabble (oneshot)

You and Dottore had met when he’d placed an order at a random bakery on a whim, hoping for a hit of sugar after a long work day.

He’d continued to entertain you however, quickly becoming infatuated - and soon, you’d gone from exchanging pastries to exchanging vows.

The harbinger wasn’t necessarily bad at baking - rather, he preferred to watch you do it. To him, you simply looked so pretty with your focused expression.

Dottore was the type to mess up simple tasks on purpose sometimes just to make you correct him - oh no, he can’t use a rolling pin? Guess you’ll have to hold his hands and show him.

Dottore would spare no expense for you, and that included his clones. When he wasn’t there to spend afternoons baking with you, he made sure his segments adhered to your every demand.

The harbinger who struck fear into the hearts of countless innocents, preyed on the weak, and could sent people running with his name alone was standing in your kitchen. Well, multiple copies of him - all neatly lined up dressed in pink aprons with varying levels of eagerness.

“This is emasculating.” A younger segment complained, grumbling as he stared back at you.

“Masculinity is a social construct.” An older Dottore retorted, crossing his arms.

That was the thing with your lover’s clones - the younger versions were more impulsive, irritable and egotistical, whilst the older ones were much more agreeable. Especially when you’d assembled them for a baking project whilst the original Dottore was out on a mission.

“So, what did you summon us for?” Dottore’s eldest segment turned to you, adjusting the apron’s fit around his neck.

“I’m going to bake a korolevskiy cake for Zandik’s return, but I also need to continue serving customers. I’m short on staff at the moment, so…” You mumbled.

“Using us as free labour now…?” A younger Dottore snapped, but he was already rolling up his sleeves and striding to the sink to wash his hands. You smiled. Just like your husband, his variants had never been able to refuse your requests.

“I’ve laid out all the ingredients on the counter. I just need someone to whisk the eggs and sugar for now whilst I man the counter.” You gestured around the kitchen, before walking out into the front area of the bakery where a few customers were already waiting.

Running a bakery was therapeutic. Surrounded by the smell of flour, each idyllic day passed simply baking and conversing pleasantly with customers - usually regulars whom you’d gotten to know personally. As one of the few surviving shops in this particular district of Snezhnaya, it also helped that your partner happened to be a Fatui harbinger, meaning your bakery was protected at all times.

Often, Dottore’s clones would drop by under the pretence of ‘orders’ from him to check on you, but you always had a few extra pastries set aside for when they inevitably came in search of food. Of course, your lover himself also visited whenever he could within his schedule - although his presence usually scared off the other patrons.

After serving a few more customers, you ducked back into the kitchen to find the clones furiously huddled around a bowl, arguing.

“Why the fuck did you add the flour? We were only meant to whisk the eggs and sugar!”

“I thought the flour was the sugar, dammit!”

“It seems the Doctor forgot to give you eyes when you were created.”

“And he forgot to give you intelligence.”

You almost laughed at their tense expressions - this was likely the most focused they’d ever been. You doubted they even took their own Fatui duties as seriously, their lips now pressed into identical grim lines as they noticed your presence and panicked.

“We didn’t mean to mess it up, we swear.” One clone confessed.

“It’s alright, I was going to get you to add it anyway. Now we just need to add in the sour cream, vanilla, and baking soda.” You glanced briefly at the bowl’s contents to find it well-mixed. If the clones seemed to lack brain cells in the presence of you and each other, they certainly didn’t lack physical prowess - the sugar, flour and eggs had been whisked to a standard you doubted even Fontaine’s mechanical contraptions could match.

The clones heaved a sigh of relief at realising they hadn’t messed up your baking, and were eager to help the rest of the process, although you still had to dart between the counter and the kitchen before you finally closed your shop in the late afternoon. By this point, all the cake layers had been finished - all that was left was the assembling. You alternated between the chocolate and white layers, carefully finishing it with an extra buttercream layer.

You didn’t even notice the clones vacating the kitchen and a set of familiar footsteps returning as you fastened a cake ring around the base layer, nor did you feel the presence of the man leaning against the doorway as you placed the cake into the fridge.

“Did you miss me?” Dottore shedded his mask and placed it on the table, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as his hands found their way around your waist.

“When did you arrive? I was expecting you tomorrow.” You almost dropped the cake in surprise, turning your head to offer him a lazy kiss.

“I just couldn’t wait to see you, my love.” Your husband pressed you closer against him and chuckled at your flustered expression.

“Your cake isn’t finished yet.” You whined, although you turned and wrapped your arms around his neck regardless.

“How were my clones? Were they better baking assistants than me?” Dottore smiled.

“Nobody could be better than you.” You laughed.

“Of course.” The harbinger replied, although his gaze trailed down your face. Dottore leaned down and brought his lips to your cheek, where you realised there had been buttercream. He licked it, ignoring your embarrassed hits at his chest.

“Sweet.” He smirked, and you swore you fell for him again.

How unusual the two of you were, a baker and a harbinger - and yet somehow, it simply seemed to work.