#loaf is all you knead

[edgeofn1ght]

Anakin Skywalker is a very talented baker who co-owns a very popular bakery with his mom. Customers and croissants come and go each day, and Anakin bakes and bakes and never pays much attention -- this is his mother's dream. Until one day a very handsome man stops at their store front to gaze at their display, and Anakin is never the same.

I signed up for the @ficwip 5k in an effort to challenge myself to write less than 5,000 words! So here is another entry into my bakery au, from Anakin's POV. It's not necessary to read the Dough or Doughnut, There Is No Rye first, but I wanted to include the link anyway. 😊🍞

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getting together • obikin • 4.5k words • read on ao3 instead

In the wee hours of the morning, as Anakin mixed, proved, rolled, and laminated, he told himself over and over again, ‘This is worth it. This is worth it. I’m doing a good thing. For my home, for Ahsoka, for my mom .’  But as he pushed the sticky dough back and forth across the cool metal table at 4am, he couldn’t help but ask himself WHY. 

His mother, Shmi, told him time and time again he shouldn’t listen to his brain between the hours of 9pm and 5am (Ahsoka told him he should never listen to it), but that was easier said than done.  But when the answer to 'why' always came back to his mom, he thought it was worth listening to. 

Shmi was a gifted and adventurous baker, and had been baking as long as he could remember. She talked often of opening her own bakery but never knew how to make it happen. And after all she had been through in her life, Anakin wanted to make that happen for her. So when he got older, he looked into it. 

They opened Ryes & Shine two years previous and as time went on, the small bakery increased in popularity, thanks to their dedication, hard work, and Shmi’s amazing bakes. The baguettes, bagels, focaccia, and loaves of different breads they baked fresh almost every morning were nearly gone by the afternoon. And if not then, then almost certainly the next morning.  Eventually it became too much work for just the two of them, so they hired Ahsoka Tano, a young university student who went to school nearby, and who very excitedly told them she had been baking for fun since she was 4. Her excitement and joy was so contagious, Shmi hired her on the spot, even without any professional experience. So she became Anakin’s apprentice. 

And today she was late.

Anakin and Shmi could fill the display window alone, they’d done it many times, but with dough needing to go in the oven, come out of the oven, cooled, wrapped, and everything else, they were spread a bit thin when she wasn’t around.  Fifteen more minutes went by and she finally appeared in a rush, flying into the shop, tearing off all her winter layers and apologizing profusely the entire time. Mostly to Shmi. Because she knew Shmi would forgive her anything. Anakin? Well, the jury was still out. 

But she got to work quickly, helping them finish all the morning tasks before they opened.  As she stood at the window rearranging the displays, she suddenly shouted. 

“THERE HE IS!” 

“Shit!” Anakin yelled as he dropped the basket of freshly-wrapped mini packets of sweet buns. He looked on in horror as the shiny cellophane scattered every which way behind the counter. He scowled at his young apprentice. “Ahsoka!”

She grimaced then giggled as she placed the last loaves of French bread in the basket in the window. 

“He probably heard you,” Anakin said exasperatedly as the sweet buns were forgotten and he made his way towards the window. “You’re so loud .” 

The man with the gold-red beard stood to the right of the window, bent slightly at the waist, very intently staring at their display. His lips moved almost imperceptibly as he read the display cards all handwritten by Ahsoka each morning. Anakin wondered to himself if this would be the day he came inside. 

“You’re staring , Skyguy,” Ahsoka said with a grin as she elbowed him and walked away from the window. 

“Why are all the buns on the floor??” Anakin and Ahsoka jerkily turned towards Shmi, who stood at the far end of the counter with her hands on her hips. 

Anakin sighed as he knelt to quickly pick them all up. His mother didn’t need to know he was shirking his duties to pine after some random guy he didn’t know who happened to walk by their shop every morning for the past two weeks. NOT that Anakin noticed such things… (he told himself unconvincingly). But he DID notice the man never came inside. 

And that would have to change. 

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And change it did. 

That morning they were busy, like most mornings, but today it felt different. More demanding, more harried, and sometimes frantic. Thankfully Shmi and Ahsoka had been more than willing to man the front counter while Anakin busily cranked out loaf after loaf, mixing, proving, baking, proving again, as well as creating the cold butter layers for tomorrow’s flaky croissants and pastries. It was hard work, but that they were constantly busy made it worth it. 

The buzzer on the large oven rang signaling the end of the bake for the latest batch of baguettes. He’d lost count long ago at how many of the medium-sized loaves he churned out in a day, but as long as he made them, people would buy them. They were one of the most popular items, gone almost as soon as he made it to the floor with the tray.  Anakin took out the three trays and placed them on the large kitchen island to cool as he busied himself checking on other dough. It had been a while since he’d looked in a mirror – or had a bathroom break, if he was honest – but he was sure he was covered in flour like always. And even though it was cold outside, back in the kitchen, he could work up a sweat like no place else. 

After letting the bread cool, Anakin piled three trays worth of baguettes on top of one tray then headed out to restock.  A quick glance at the lobby showed a crowded space and a long line, but his mom and Ahsoka were doing their best to move people through. They’d been so busy all morning, he hoped they had at least already made their daily sales total.  Anakin squeezed past the two women with the tray and made his way to the display. He smiled to himself as he put the loaves out into the basket in the window, listening to Ahsoka as she deftly, efficiently, and kindly took care of all their customers. 

He loved the sound of the busy bakery – there was a comfort in it. 

Rising above the din today was a gently lilting accent coming from the other side of the counter. It wasn’t too often that he heard an English accent in their store, but it was a soothing tenor, and it would be nice if he could focus on just the sound of that particular man’s voice.  But Ahsoka… 

“Anakin! A baguette!”

He startled out of his reverie and grabbed a paper sleeve and slipped one of the fresh loaves in. He didn’t know why she felt she had to yell at him. If she'd just ask nicely … He laid the baguette on the counter with a grunt and pursed his lips, turning away from Ahsoka and her customer so he could finish his task. He tried to tune her out as she ran her mouth, but it wasn’t so easy as she could be quite loud. However, he secretly admired her ability to become friends with everyone (even if he couldn’t understand how she did it). His method had always been just to let the people pay and go. 

“He’s 24 years old, an amazing baker…” he suddenly heard Ahsoka say, then she trailed off again when the customers got slightly louder. He angled his body to hear her better because surely she wasn’t… 

Because HE was 24 years old. And a baker.  But amazing ?? That would be a new adjective for Ahsoka. 

“My name is Ahsoka and I'm pretty much his best friend,” she continued to chatter as she finished the transaction. “Like, anything you want to know about him, I could tell you. Even things you don’t think of! Like how he’s single and really loves–” 

“Snips!” Anakin turned then walked over to stand next to his very chatty and oversharing coworker, ready to give her a tongue lashing when he finally looked up. The man from outside. The man with the beautiful beard. He suddenly heard nothing but white noise. 

He tried hard to school his features and must have been doing well because the man seemed rather timid. But then the man smiled. 

Oh no. 

It was just a small thing as the man looked down at his purchased items on the counter, so small Anakin almost missed it. 

Oh no. He was so much more handsome than he had been outside just looking in the window. But h e had FINALLY come inside the shop.  And Anakin had frozen up. 

He spared a single glance for the man – it was all he could do since he was stunned into silence – and headed back to the kitchen.  Be cool, don’t run, don’t RUN. 

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Anakin took a few moments to collect his thoughts, then berated himself for completely missing his chance. As if he really had a chance. He knew nothing at all about the man, and he’d only been inside ONCE. He’d probably never come in again now that Ahsoka had probably talked his ear off and most likely said something cheeky about Anakin.  He dropped his head against the wall and closed his eyes. 

“You BLEW it!” Ahsoka fussed as she burst through the kitchen door. Anakin immediately went into an attack stance in his surprise, which the young girl mirrored then laughed. “It’s just me, Skyguy… my goodness, you’re jumpy.” 

“Yeah! Well!” He pushed himself off the wall and headed back towards the oven where another timer went off. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that! I could have had a knife or something.” 

Ahsoka laughed again. “Anyway, I know you’re avoiding the topic now. I was trying to HELP you! He’s never going to come back in here because you threw his baguette at him!” 

Anakin scoffed as he removed the last batch of baguettes from the oven. “I did not throw anything!” That would be the last thing he would say on it, then, if he ignored her, eventually she’d go away.  Except Ahsoka rarely behaved like a normal person would. 

“He seems really nice! He’s got a great accent. I noticed him watching you. I know he’ll be back for more, I just know it.”  

There was no way she could know that. He probably really had blown it. He uncovered a bowl of dough that had doubled in size in the proving. He punched it down with much joy. 

“And I gave him your schedule and your number!”

“You what!?” Anakin stopped and looked up. “I should fire you!”

The infuriating child giggled again as she left Anakin with his thoughts and dough in the kitchen.

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A week and a half went by before Anakin wanted to crawl into a hole again. 

Abnormally busy Saturday mornings called for bakers to find new and clever ways to keep their stock going, so Anakin wasn’t always afforded the opportunity to ‘camp out’ in the kitchen and ‘hide away from the customers’ (Ahsoka’s words).  In the first morning rush, they’d managed to clean off the counter space between the cash register and the window, so Anakin used the long stretch of cool marble to make a batch of fresh rolls and loaves. The counter was a mess of white flour and small lumps of dough as Anakin rolled and stretched and pulled the dough.  Though he was rather on display working here like this, he actually found he didn’t mind it too much – the work and steady stream of customers kept him in an oddly good mood for once. 

He looked up to check the line once more and there he was. Baguette Guy, which Ahsoka had “affectionately” named the man after his first purchase in their shop. Several days went by before he even learned the man’s actual name – Obi-Wan . 

He had apparently come in once when Anakin was quite busy, and no one even thought to come and interrupt. He might have yelled about it initially at the time, but another glimpse of the man would have made all things right. The worst part was that Obi-Wan had apparently even met his mother on that visit. Anakin wanted to crawl into a hole thinking about the conversations they probably had. Embarrassing ones.

But now Obi-Wan was here again, and Anakin was sweaty and most likely covered in flour. Perfect .  

“Baguette guy!” Ahsoka called as Obi-Wan stepped to the counter and chuckled – it was such a lovely sound to Anakin’s ears. 

“I guess that’s my name now, is it?” 

“Those are the rules,” Ahsoka smiled. “You are what you eat. Hey, how’d you like that focaccia?”  Anakin could give her one thing – she was a friendly and knowledgeable salesperson. She could probably have the rest of today’s focaccia sold to this one man today. 

Obi-Wan finally replied, “It was amazing, actually.”

“That’s Skyguy’s own recipe!” 

Maybe if he focused on the dough, they would all go away.

“Skyguy?” Obi-Wan waited for an explanation, but before he could say anything else, Ahsoka chimed in again. 

“Skyguy is Skywalker over here,” she said as she hooked a thumb in his direction. 

“Skywalker…”

Anakin had to look up again. He supposed he already wasted enough time NOT looking at the beautiful man. 

“That’s me,” he said, resigned to his fate. Suddenly Obi-Wan’s eyebrows did a thing – a frowny, furrow-y thing. 

“Did you know you’ve got…” Obi-Wan gestured at his own face. “A bit of flour just there?” 

ShitshitshitSHIT. Anakin’s gloved hand flew to his face and rubbed at his jaw. 

“No, other side… there, no…” Obi-Wan attempted to direct as Anakin clearly was not following. It seemed that no matter what part of his face he touched, it was not right. Or else, he just had that much flour on his face.  If he could crawl into a hole, or just disappear behind the counter, that’d be great. But Ahsoka – the traitor – seemed to be having a grand time at his expense. 

He huffed, “Ahsoka, help a bestie out here?” How dare she act like she was doing him a favor when she left him hanging in such a way!

Then it got worse. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he watched Ahsoka lick her thumb then reach out and rub it along his jaw in the one spot he clearly had missed.

“Ew, Snips!” He reeled back. “Don’t put your spit on me!” 

Next, Ahsoka smirked and he just knew that was going to hate whatever was going to come out of her mouth next. 

“I bet you wouldn’t say that to Obi-Wan.” He could feel his cheeks heating and he knew it wasn’t from the warmth of the shop.  She turned back to Obi-Wan – the incredibly handsome customer that Anakin had been pining after for weeks – and put back on her best customer service voice and smile. “Anyway, what can I get for you?” 

Obi-Wan seemed stunned, and who could blame him after that little display? “Oh, right, yes, the reason for my visit… still have any brioche?” If Anakin could get what he wanted quickly, then he could get him out of here quickly and berate Ahsoka quicker. 

“You’re in luck!” He said before Ahsoka could say one more thing. He walked to the window and grabbed the last one. “Last loaf.” 

“Wonderful,” Obi-Wan smiled and Anakin wanted to melt. He had to hold himself together. 

“You better use some of this to make French toast,” Ahsoka added. “I’m telling you, best stuff you’ll ever have in your life. Unless you somehow manage to screw it up.” 

Luckily Obi-Wan chuckled instead of stomping out of the shop. He'd be well within his rights after she just insulted him . “Well, I certainly hope not, but that’s good to hear because that was my intention. Going home to make it right now.”

Ahsoka smiled and clapped her hands, completely oblivious to the daggers Anakin was shooting out of his eyes. "Excellent."

She finished the transaction and Anakin got back to the bread. That's why he was here – bread. Not the thought of brioche French toast for breakfast in a handsome man's apartment, made by the aforementioned handsome man on a lazy weekend morning.  Just when he thought he was in the clear, in the safety of his own daydreams, she spoke again. 

"You know, Anakin lives upstairs over the shop."

"Snips!" He glared at her. Obi-Wan meanwhile was clearly trying to suppress laughter. Anakin could not be more embarrassed. 

"What!? You do!" She cried in defense.

"Yeah but you don't have to tell… strangers where I live!" He gestured at Baguette Guy on the other side of the counter. "No offense."

Obi-Wan shook his head, "None taken, I assure you."

"This isn't a stranger! It's Obi-Wan, Baguette Guy!" She cried again. That sinkhole under the city could swallow him up any day now. He'd be surprised if Obi-Wan ever came back now after Ahsoka's lack of decorum.  "Anyway, that'll be 3.75," she said then leaned over the counter to whisper something Anakin couldn't hear. He knew it was nothing but trouble.

"Uh, well, thanks," Obi-Wan said as he paid and left. 

Anakin forlornly watched him walk out of the shop, sure he'd never return now. He turned to his evil apprentice, "You're gonna pay for that."

Ahsoka's eyes widened for just a second before a smug grin spread across her face. "You can't kill me in front of all these witnesses."

"Next!" She shouted and turned away.

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“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?” Ahsoka asked as she flattened her buttery square of dough. 

Anakin looked up to find her watching him with that same self-satisfied smile she had been wearing for weeks. He regretted long ago ever expressing any interest in the stranger who passed by their shop every day.  But the thing was… if Obi-Wan actually did dare to ever come back into their shop, Anakin would have to finally say something to the man. 

“Thinking about whom ?” He replied and continued to roll out the dough. 

“ ThInKiNg AbOuT wHoM? ” She mocked with a laugh. “You know exactly WHOM.

“Why don’t you concern yourself with–” Anakin stopped mid-sentence when the kitchen door swung open and in walked his mother… and Obi-Wan. 

“Good morning,” he said with a smile and a small wave. 

“Hello,” Anakin said, maybe almost too quickly, and turned back to his task. He was here. He actually came back. 

“You get to see us in action!” Ahsoka smiled.

“He asked what laminating was, so I brought him here to see,” Shmi said as she headed back out front. “It doesn’t hurt to show him!”

Anakin’s brain was pinging back and forth, trying desperately to think of something to say. Maybe if he just continued laminating he would either magically come up with something. Or it was more likely that Obi-Wan would actually get bored and leave. (He hoped he wouldn’t.)

“So you see, Anakin put a large slab of butter in there then folded the dough over it then rolled it again,” Ahsoka explained and Anakin worked. “You do this numerous times, turning the dough and folding it and chilling it, and you’re incorporating the butter each time and that’s what gives the croissants their many buttery layers!”

Anakin was almost proud – she actually had been listening to him.

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said with a nod. “I never knew that’s how they did that. I never looked it up.”

“You were meant to find us so we could tell you,” Ahsoka said as she folded the edges of her own dough.

Anakin didn’t believe much in soulmates or people being ‘meant’ to find each other, but he supposed there was always time to change one’s mind. 

“Did you like the brioche?” Score one point for remembering to speak.

“Oh yes, it made a wonderful French toast, just like you said, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan smiled.

“I’m always right,” she replied. “Just like how I’m right about you and Anakin–”

“Snips!” Anakin shouted. “I hear mom calling for you.”

Ahsoka furrowed her brow. “I didn’t…” She paused and her expression changed immediately back to smugness. “Oh yes, I see.”

Anakin narrowed his eyes, “You see nothing, now, don’t keep her waiting.” Maybe with Ahsoka out of the way, breathing down his neck and waiting for Anakin to make any move at all… maybe he could find room to actually breathe. 

“Whatever you say, Skyguy! I’ll leave you and Obi-Wan alone,” she said very pointedly as she practically skipped out of the kitchen. 

They were finally, truly alone. 

“Don’t mind–” 

“Would you like–”

They both started their next sentence at the same time then laughed at the gaffe.

“Apologies, you first,” Obi-Wan said as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Perhaps he was as nervous as Anakin felt? 

He put down his rolling pin and leaned against the table. “No, actually, you first. What were you going to ask?” 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan chuckled weakly. “It’s not important.” 

Anakin arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure that’s not true. What were you going to ask?” 

Something soft fluttered in Anakin’s chest as he watched Obi-Wan flex and crack his knuckles – a sure sign of nerves. His cheeks were also slightly flushed. It was probably just the heat of the kitchen, but Anakin preferred to believe otherwise.

“Well…” Obi-Wan stammered. “I was just… well, I was just wondering if you’d–”

“Yes!” Anakin said quickly, interrupting Obi-Wan. He didn’t need him to finish. He was taking his own leap now. 

Obi-Wan laughed. “You don’t even know what I wanted to ask!” 

Anakin walked around the table towards where Obi-Wan stood. He wiped his floury, buttery hands down his apron. He wasn’t as big a mess as usual, but it was more than he’d like when he was actually alone with Obi-Wan for the first time.  He imagined this moment going so much differently from this.  He stopped a few feet away then leaned against the table then folded his arms across his chest. It was now or never.

“Then if I am so mistaken, ask what you wanted to ask.” He didn’t know where this nerve came from.

“Would you like to go out to dinner sometime?” Obi-Wan asked with a gentle smile. Force, he was a handsome man , and Anakin was a goner. 

Anakin grinned. “Like I said… yes.” 

Obi-Wan barely had time to smile himself before Ahsoka and Shmi burst into the kitchen. 

“Finally!!” Ahsoka sighed and rolled her eyes. Shmi stood behind the girl smiling.

Anakin threw up his hands in a huff. “Can’t I have one moment alone!?”

“You can have a whole night alone,” Ahsoka said as she waggled her eyebrows. “With Obi-Wan!”  The poor man sputtered then tried to pass it off as clearing his throat. At least his mother laughed. 

“Well, then,” Obi-Wan said as he began to put his scarf back on, trying to recover from Ahsoka's cheekiness. “Can I come pick you up at say, 7pm? I know where you live.” Maybe Ahsoka actually did a good thing telling Obi-Wan where he lived. Even if he had still been a stranger at the time.

In another fit of boldness, Anakin reached out and helped rearrange Obi-Wan’s scarf. “Yes, you can,” he smiled as he smoothed down the knitted wool. But he froze when Obi-Wan reached up and touched his chin, most likely wiping away some rogue flour. Anakin didn’t even care anymore. His teeth could be full of spinach at this point, and he wouldn’t care. 

“Did you two already forget we were in here?” Ahsoka huffed. 

“Why are you still in here? Aren’t there customers or something?” Anakin waved his hands dismissively. She was like an annoying fly buzzing around at this point.  Shmi was even chuckling as she pulled Ahsoka out of the kitchen, finally leaving him and Obi-Wan alone again. 

“So…” Obi-Wan started with a small grin. “How long?” 

“How long?” Anakin was slightly confused.

“How long have you been sitting on ‘yes’?” he asked. 

“Since the first time I saw you.” At Anakin’s response, Obi-Wan’s eyebrows shot up. Clearly he had not been expecting that answer.

“When I came in for the baguette?” 

“No, the first time I saw you,” Anakin replied as he took a step closer.  He reached out and grabbed the lapels of Obi-Wan’s coat, rubbing his fingers along the heavy wool. “I guess you were on your way to work, but you stopped – only for a minute. You stood there and just stared at the window, like you were enchanted by whatever you saw.”

Obi-Wan thought for a moment then spoke again. “Anakin, that was the very first day I came by this shop. That’s been weeks!” 

Anakin looked up with a grin then shrugged. “You didn’t stop. Then suddenly you did.”

“Oh, Anakin…” 

What Anakin wouldn’t give to hear his name from that mouth for the rest of his life. 

“Anyway, I’d very much like to kiss you now.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes widened slightly. “Before our first date?” 

“Before our first date,” Anakin replied, tugging on Obi-Wan’s coat and pulling him closer. Their lips met in a tender kiss, and Anakin resisted the urge to moan as he felt Obi-Wan’s arms slip around his waist. He could most certainly get used to this. 

When they finally broke apart, Anakin laughed at the state of Obi-Wan’s torso. “Oops…” His coat was covered in a fine dusting of flour from when he had pulled Anakin close. 

“I can’t really walk into work like this. They’ll be able to guess immediately why I’m late.”

“Don’t go in at all,” Anakin brushed down the front of Obi-Wan’s coat. Mostly to get the flour off, but maybe also to feel the solid body underneath. “Stay here and let us teach you how to make some bread.” For as long as we both shall live.  

“I guess that sounds… loafly to me,” Obi-Wan said with a wink.

Anakin groaned as he dropped his head back, “Don’t make me rethink this date already.” He was trying to play it cool, but he couldn’t believe the pun. Maybe Obi-Wan was a bigger dork than he anticipated. 

Obi-Wan removed his coat and scarf again. “I thought you’d like that.”

Anakin walked across the room and found another apron, then brought it back and slipped it over Obi-Wan’s head and around his neck. The man’s cheeks were tinged pink, much to Anakin’s delight. 

“Ok, fine, I loved it…” He smiled as he tied the string around Obi-Wan’s waist.

Obi-Wan’s smile was lovely and infectious. Anakin couldn’t stop smiling at how this day was going nothing like he expected… and it was oh-so-much better. 

“Ok, well, get those cute buns over here and let’s make loaf,” Anakin groaned inwardly at his own terrible puns, but Obi-Wan seemed to love them. And that was all that mattered. 

He was half in love with the man already. 

[kitten1618x]

For @chocolateghost xoxo ❤️

It’s Friday, I’m in love

When Sansa seeks out her neighbor and long-time nemesis Jon Targaryen as an unlikely ally for help in winning over the guy of her dreams—namely, handsome, charming Harry Hardyng—she doesn’t expect for the guy in question to change.

But it’s not long before she starts to wonder… is what she thought she wanted, really what she should have been looking for in the first place?

By the time Sansa takes her seat in Mrs. Mordane’s first-period history class, the debate raging in her brain has reached epic proportions, and full-on madness is beginning to set in. There is simply no other excuse for the ludicrous plan currently forming in her brain.

It’s so unlike her too, but maybe that’s why it’s suddenly so easy to flip open her notebook and scratch a quick and very ambiguous note to the boy sitting two seats behind her and to the right.

Nevermind that despite being her next-door neighbor since the dawn of time, the two of them have actively gone out of their way to avoid one another—trading only the occasional insult or side-eye. Nevermind that he’ll probably just turn her down, make fun of her and then tell the very boy she’s hoping to impress what a pathetic loser she is.

And yet, here she is, about to give him the power to humiliate her straight into hiding, should he be so inclined. But she can overthink it—and that—and then spiral into full-blown panic mode later… Right? Right.

Folding her note neatly in half, and then again, Sansa quickly scrawls Jon’s name on the corner and passes it in his direction before she can lose her nerve.

There’s no turning back now.

Read it here.

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

oh my god i figured it out

okay so it took an accident of me not checking on it, but I FINALLY figured out why I wasn't getting enough loft on my bread:

I was NOT giving enough time for yeast/bacteria production.

So if I do my other bread recipe's 4 hour levain development, then follow the pullman's recipe and do about an hour and a half initial rise (with stretch and folds) with a one hour final rest and rise, I get something like this:

okay that rose in the oven but like. not a whole lot, yknow?

tried again, a little longer on the levain, but this time I tried to do the final rest/rise in the fridge overnight like when you have an overnight ferment on a classic sourdough

oh that's a lot better! but the recipe is for a PULLMAN'S loaf, it should be square as possible, am I using enough ingredients?

NO I WAS. I JUST WASNT GIVING ALL THE TIMES ENOUGH TIME

this time I let the levain (40-50g starter, 35g whole wheat flour, 35g AP flour, 70 mL water) develop for like six and a half hours in a proofer or a slightly warmed oven.

pour levain into a stand mixer if you've got one, bowl if you dont. Mix in sugar (35g) and warm water (400mL). Let that sit for the usual half hour in proofer.

add flour (600ish grams total, i often do about a third whole wheat to two thirds AP), 5g salt, 80-90g fat of choice (butter, margarine, etc). I put it in the stand mixer for around 10 minutes on low. (this is a REALLY old stand mixer so it CAN go real slow- do 7-8 min on lowest setting on a modern mixer, 15 min if you wanna do a hand knead)

cover and put in proofer. As usual I did 4 stretch and folds at half hour intervals, but on the final interval I forgot about the timer- it was left in the bowl for around a full hour after the last fold rather than the planned half hour.

by the time I checked on it, it rose WAY more than i was expecting it to. Decided to roll with it (lol), greased the pullman's pan (butter if no one's allergic, margarine otherwise), flattened, rolled up the dough, plopped it in and slid on the lid.

Did the final rest for two full hours in proofing temps, then baked at 350-60ish for a half hour with the lid slid on, 15 min with the lid off.

so, all in all: the ideal loaf of pullman's sourdough starts when you wake up and comes out around dark lunch.

not practical but hey! an interesting study to be sure

[hildergard]

Could you do something where Aemond is already married/betrothed to a highborn lady that’s been approved by Alicent and Otto but he has a relationship with a low born woman (a brothel worker or any lowborn really) and once he becomes Prince Regent he starts bringing her around the castle, giving her a room to herself, treating her better than how a lowborn should be treated in Alicent and Ottos eyes and they don’t like it but Aemond doesn’t care.

MINE TO PROTECT ★ AEMOND TARGARYEN

PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Lowborn!Reader

TAGS | Suggestive content, swearing, possessive behaviour, classism

WORDCOUNT | 4k

NOTE | I have seen a lot of fanfictions where the Reader is a brothel worker so I made her a baker instead. I hope that's alright with you! Thank you so much for this great request! I had so much fun writing it <333

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

In the seedy streets of Flea Bottom, rumours travelled in a precise order, memorised by all.

A Lord, drunk with lust, would disclose the Crown’s secrets to a simpering whore, who would be quick⏤once the gold dragons were in her purse⏤to repeat what she had just heard, noble semen still running down her thighs. The other, much less wealthy, customers would then talk about it loudly in bars, attracting the attention of patrons who, once sober, had only to spread the news.

Today, the rumour burst into your little shop when Old Gerald came through the door, looking for his daily loaf of bread. 

 “Prince Aemond’s been made Regent," he said. 

For a second, you did not move. The dough fell on wood. Your floured hands remained stuck in the sticky, flabby mixture. It would have to be kneaded again. The sight of your dirty fingers woke you from your torpor. You gripped the towel from your apron and wiped your palms roughly before turning your back on your customer⏤less to get the fresh loaves of bread out of the oven than to regain your composure.

He had done it. 

Your shovel rasped against the burning slab of clay and peeled off the loaves. 

A few days earlier, when night had enveloped the citizens of King's Landing in its thick cloak, he had told you of his plans and dreams⏤the two were always intertwined, for Aemond Targaryen provoked fate rather than waited for it. His touch had done nothing to soften the brutality of his words. Sordid tales of fire and blood, the kind that filled the tomes of the Citadel. 

Even the Targaryens could not play with fire indefinitely. Aemond rose in the flames. For how much longer? You had protested, your voice hoarse from the moans he had managed to draw from your throat, but he would have none of it and simply told you to trust him, as if all this were far too complicated for you. 

And perhaps that was the case, for what did you know of war and power?

“What about his Majesty?" you asked.

Old Gerald tossed you three coppers, which you pocketed, before handing you a thick piece of cloth. 

“They say he perished in dragonfire. Seems Targaryens are closer to men, after all. With all this quarrel for t'throne, it were inevitable. And, let me tell you, it'll happen again. Today, a brother sits on t'throne. Tomorrow, it'll be an uncle or a sister. Things like that never end.”

You carefully wrapped the golden loaf in the cloth. 

“Wi' Rhaenyra in Dragonstone and his brother's heir dead, he’ll no doubt be crowned King. And the Lady Baratheon, Queen.”

You winced at the name but immediately hid your reaction with a tight smile. Gerald, bless him, took no notice of your torment. You handed the loaf of bread to the old cobbler, who nodded at you and returned to his shoes. 

The rumour ran on and kept you thinking all day. You burnt a dozen loaves of bread, spilt two sacks of flour and forgot to deliver her apple pies to Dorthy Porter, making you lose a silver stag and a customer.

When the key finally turned in the lock of the shop and cut you off from the rest of the world, your shoulders slumped. The sun and all its problems gave way to the moon. Under its silvery eyes, other rumours would no doubt spread but you did not wish to hear them. You longed for your straw mattress and the comfort of your dreams⏤perhaps your love would visit you there, also freed from the pressure the Gods were piling on his shoulders. 

Tiredness weakened your knees⏤you dragged your body more than you climbed the stairs to your modest bedroom. In the middle of the room, the bed and its pillow stretched out its arms to you. You let yourself fall into the feathery embrace and closed your eyes for a moment, praying to the Gods that you would find sleep easily. 

They ignored you. 

The doorbell rang. 

Your eyelids struggled to open. Sleep paralysed them⏤it clutched at your eyelashes and tried to keep them closed but you fought the temptation and, at last, gazed into the dim light of the room. Another series of blows, more hurried, struck against the wood. The whole  shop seemed to shake. 

“I’m coming, I'm coming…” you mumbled. 

You gasped as two members of the Kingsguard appeared on your doorstep, their cloaks far too white to be dragged through the muddy streets of Flea Bottom. 

“The Prince Regent, His Highness Aemond Targaryen, summons you.”

They did not care for your reply and seized you. You protested, demanded to be told the reason for this summon, but nothing would do. The guards dragged you like a rag doll through the streets of King's Landing, indifferent to your screams and struggle. Above and around you, the candlelight in the windows intensified. Some people poked their heads out to watch the racket. You lowered your chin and remained silent, but the damage had been done. 

Already, rumours were spreading. The baker had been arrested. What had she done? Who would make their bread from now on?  

The dizzy shadow of the Red Keep loomed larger and larger. Just the outline of it made your skin crawl. For the first time, you would be treading on the floor of Kings and Queens. You were being plunged headfirst into this unknown, powerful and dangerous place, populated by men and women who despised people like you. One of the guards tightened his grip around your arm. You yelped. Why were they taking you there? Aemond always came to you, not the other way round. 

Did someone know? You blanched. Impossible, you thought immediately. You had been cautious. 

But what if... What if someone had seen you, despite all your precautions? 

 Were they taking you to the Keep to put you to the sword?  

 A flash of fear stabbed you in the guts.  

You finally passed through the large gates of the castle. They were still open, yet, no one was in the courtyard. The swords were resting on the workbenches and the horses were asleep. Only a few guards patrolled the ramparts, their heads turned skywards in search of a dragon. 

“Hurry up, girl. The Prince is waiting.”

A solitary, proud figure emerged at the top of the stairs, in front of the entrance. His long white hair fluttered in the wind and the bluish moonlight accentuated his strict features and pale complexion. The mere sight of his face reassured you. You defied the guards and walked towards him. 

His rough hand⏤hardened by duty and war⏤gripped yours before thin lips kissed it. The Prince pulled you towards him. Your heart slowed as his familiar scent enveloped you and your shoulders relaxed. For a second, you surrendered to the comfort of his warmth and love. The smell of musk and leather soothed your body, but your head kept its wits about it.

“What's happening, Aemond?”

He closed his eye as his name fell from your lips and smiled. His hand came down and grasped your waist in a possessive embrace. You leaned into the touch. 

“There are rumours that Aegon–”

You squeaked. His fingers had dug painfully into your flesh at his brother's name. 

The mere mention of him brought back painful and humiliating memories, which your lover had confided to you, his head on your pillow. Even today, the wounds had not healed. They continued to transpire in every aspect of his life. You are the only thing he has not stolen from me, he had told you one night. Saying that name was like throwing his past back in his face and breaking your promise. He'll never succeed, you had replied, but today, Aegon was on your mind. What did his wound mean for the Crown, for you?

“Is it true?" you managed to articulate. 

“The Council has made me Regent," he nodded. “We will not need to hide any longer, my love.”

“What do you mean?”

But Aemond did not answer you. He smiled, tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and let his fingers brush your neck. With a nod, the kingsguards left. The clink of their armour echoed for long seconds, but the din faded with the tenderness of his gestures. His finger traced the veins in your chest. They led him to your breasts, hidden by your dress. Aemond grunted⏤terribly offended by this affront⏤and pulled at the fabric but it held on. 

Claere Linstar's work was reknown throughout Flea Bottom. You could not find a better weaver⏤today, you were thankful for the two silver stags you had spent. The garment would become the guarantor of your dignity, the bulwark against your desire. 

When you realised that your Prince was not going to answer your question, you took a step back. His hand fell limply between the two of you as a brief look of pain clouded his face. 

“Aemond?”

He straightened up and held out his hand to you. 

“Follow me.”

The labyrinthine corridors made your head spin. You lost count of the turns you took, the staircases you climbed and the alcoves you passed. The beauty of the mouldings and frescoes drew admiring sighs from you several times, but Aemond did not care. He walked past them without giving them a second glance. He's used to all this, you reminded yourself. People of his rank bathed in this luxury and grandeur since birth.  

On the way, maids dressed in red and white stopped at your sight. Their gaze fell on your face, on your body, on your hand locked in the Prince's... Your cheeks heated and you tried to pull away, but Aemond tightened his grip. Out of habit, his thumb caressed your skin. This time, his touch only made you tense. You bowed your head, ashamed. 

They knew. 

The thought stayed with you. 

You only lifted your head when Aemond stopped in front of an ornate door. The mouldings curved into flowers and birds⏤an ode to spring and renewal. Your eyes swept the decor, stopped on a bush of camellias and, finally, met the Prince's satisfied gaze. 

“We've arrived," he announced. 

Aemond opened the door with a confident gesture. Inside, an immense room stretched out and seemed to never end. Wealth oozed out of every corner, from the four-poster bed to the dressing table adorned with sapphires. On the wall, frescoes of flowers had been painted to match the powder pink drapes⏤an explosion of colour that turned drab the corridors you had been raving about just a few minutes before. 

“Is it to your taste?”

You turned back to Aemond. Although his chin was up and his back was straight⏤proud as ever⏤red bloomed on his cheeks. Your lover seemed embarrassed, a far cry from his usual composure. Almost timidly, his hand sought yours. He couldn't help it, you realised. His fingers always found yours⏤skin against skin to find what he had been deprived of all his childhood. 

“I don't know anyone who wouldn't like it," you replied.

“Hmm. Good.”

He pulled you to him. His hands went down to your buttocks and pressed you against his chest. Your pelvises collided. Suddenly, the room made sense. You let yourself drown in these familiar gestures. Your hand caressed his muscular shoulders, moved up to his jaw and brushed against his lips. Aemond kissed the pad of your thumb before replacing it with your lips. Soon, the wet sound of saliva echoed through the room. The sweet melody ignited a fire in your lower abdomen and moved down between your thighs. 

Your hand resumed tracing arabesques on your lover's smooth skin. It stopped at the buttons on his doublet and hastily undid them before wandering lower and lower…

Aemond stopped you before you could take him in your hand. His hand grabbed yours. He kissed your palm and pressed it against his cheek. 

“These will be your quarters.”

The fire went out, leaving you frozen with shock. Your heart skipped a beat. 

“What do you mean?" you asked breathlessly.

“Now that I am Regent, we will not have to hide any more.” 

A new glare lit up his eye. Purple turned black and made you shiver. Flames seemed to dance in his pupil, crushing all remains of the second son he had once been. That Aemond was dead. In his place was a Regent who thought himself above laws and men.  

“It's not proper, Aemond," you tried to protest. “If it gets out that I'm here... If the Dowager Queen or the Hand–”

“They have no say in the matter. My word is law now.”

 “If you want me here… Perhaps I could serve the Crown, join the kitchens. Anything but that, Aemond," you said, gesturing to those quarters, far too luxurious for someone of your breeding. 

“You do not belong in the fucking kitchens," he scoffed. “No. You will be by my side, as my equal.”

“You're engaged," you retorted. “The Lady Baratheon won't take kindly to my presence here. You nobles can make Small Folk disappear in a blink of an eye and no one would notice or care.”

Alira Merchin's story was remembered as a cautionary tale for young girls naive enough to think love could conquer blood. The fable was classic⏤hundreds of similar romances filled libraries, and perhaps it was these very ones that had encouraged the girl to seduce the heir of House Harte. The man fell in love and made the pretty merchant his lover. 

This did not please his wife, the daughter of Lord Chelsted. 

She got rid of the merchant with disconcerting ease. The poor girl was found trampled by horses in white and green bards. That day, Lord Harte lost his true love and spent the rest of his life suffering the consequences of his betrayal. 

Your heart dropped. What would happen to you if you tickled the stag? Ours if the Fury. Their motto was an ode to their rage, to their thirst for violence. If Floris Baratheon found out that Prince Aemond was bedding you... and in the Keep nonetheless…

The storm would come for you and you would perish in its eye. 

“It's not a good idea, Aemond," you finally said. 

“Do not fret, my love. Nothing will happen to you as long as I am here to protect you.”

The Prince pulled you into bed. 

Your protests died on your lips, muffled by moans and the exquisite feel of his skin against yours. 

Your fingers tightened around your thighs. The soap made your skin slippery but did nothing to wash away the shame that had been clinging to it for days. It colonised your flesh and left it tainted, eating away at your muscles and weighing down your heart. 

On the first day, after a passionate night, maids had arrived to prepare you, but you refused their care. You were no Lady. You had bathed alone all your life and would continue to do so. More than anything, you wanted to escape their watchful eyes, which would no doubt have noticed the hickeys on your chest and thighs. 

You did not know how rumours got around in the Keep, but you were sure that they first burgeoned on the maids’ lips. They blossomed as quickly as in Flea Bottom⏤the inquisitive nature of man was innate⏤, but it would not be Old Gerald getting wind of it. No. The stakes were much higher in these parts, and the consequences even more dire. 

The door to your quarters stood in the way of the horror surely awaiting you, but for how much longer? 

Your hands massaged your calf, hoping to rediscover a cherished routine. You longed for the feel of dough beneath your fingers. What would become of your shop? Would you have to sell it? Maybe someone had already moved in⏤abandoned houses never stayed so for long in Flea Bottom, the cradle of the poor and the homeless. 

You could not cherish the roof above your head, yet, you supposed you had to learn to appreciate it. Aemond did not seem eager to let you go.  

Aemond. 

Every day, the sun tore him away from you. His hours were devoted to the Small Council and military strategies, only half of which you understood when he explained them to you. Your Prince needed to talk, to get rid of the weight that was arching his back. You became the shoulder on which he rested, the ear into which he poured his doubts, the flesh in which he forgot himself. 

“I wish to be with you every hour of the day, to attach myself to your side, but the Gods will only grant me this pleasure when I win this war. I am fighting for you⏤for us,” he had told you. 

The moon brought him back into your arms. Every night, without exception, he would cross the threshold of the door and wrap you in a reassuring embrace. His arms would block out your gloomy thoughts and chase away shame and regret⏤all seemed worth it if it kept him close to you. The stars looked down on your love. When the bells rang the hour of the owl, you indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, whispered sweet nothings or simply enjoyed the peaceful silence that the other's presence guaranteed. Sometimes, Aemond, lying on the bed with your head on his stomach, would read you stories with his hand buried in your hair. 

And then, the hour of the Nightingale would sound, its tranquillity burning away in the first rays of sunlight. The enchanted interlude would close and you would spend the day dreaming of a life where sun and duty did not separate you. 

Shame would reappear, its weight with it, and fear⏤tangible and vibrant⏤would turn your stomach. 

The spectre of Floris Baratheon never left you. It haunted you. In the frescoes of camellias on the wall. In the bouquets of flowers dotting your quarters. In the venison served for dinner. The tales of her beauty reached you and left you bitter, but what they said about her quiet authority made your blood run cold. 

She would come for you. 

The Lady Baratheon occupied all your thoughts, so much so that you forgot about another much more dangerous threat. 

One day, Alicent Hightower stalked into your room. 

You dropped your embroidery in your lap and hastily sat up. The needle fell to the floor with a disturbing chime. The bell was tolling⏤this farce had gone on far too long and it would now end. 

The Dowager Queen dropped a small leather bag on the table. Its contents clinked and masked your gasping breath for a second. Your heart was pounding against your temples. Soon, the air would run out. Already your throat was closing up and you were struggling to swallow. 

“What is it?" you asked weakly. 

“Five thousand gold dragons. Enough to buy you a new life, far from the Keep, far from Westeros.”

Away from my son, she meant. 

“I won't leave Aemond.”

He needs me, you thought. 

“The Prince Regent does not need you," the Queen scoffed as if she could heard your mind. “He is engaged. Or have you forgotten that? Whoring yourself in the way you do… It would appear so. Have you thought about the repercussions of your actions when people find out about you? The risks it means for Aemond? Your very presence here jeopardises this entire war.”

“I have tried to–”

“He does not love you, you fool. He just wants a cunt to fuck without having to spend a single penny.”

You recoiled, surprised to hear the famously pious queen speak so vulgarly. 

War transformed souls. It made them ugly. Alicent Hightower’s wide eyes and pursed lips twisted her face into a terrifying expression. 

She sighed and, for a moment, her features became those of a compassionate woman. 

“I don't know what… hold my son has over you," she continued in a calmer voice, “but you seem smart enough to understand this will end badly. You must leave. Take the gold and let us be done with this farce.”

The door slammed against the wall before you could even consider the proposal. 

Aemond reached your side with a confident stride. 

“What's going on here? Mother?”

When the latter did not answer, he looked to you for answers. You lowered your head, unable to bear the look of concern in his purple eye any longer. 

It fell lower, onto the table and the leather purse.  

“What is the meaning of this?” he raised his voice. 

Silence stretched before Alicent Hightower relented. 

“You cannot… support a lowborn in such manners, Aemond. The girl must go.”

The Prince ignored his mother and took you in his arms. His nose nestled under your ear as his hands buried themselves in your hair. He guided your head into his neck and whispered comforting words, which you could not hear. You did not care. His familiar scent embraced you and brought tears to the corners of your eyes. They wet your cheeks and his collar. 

You should never have come here. 

“Out.”

His mother protested. 

“Imagine the shame for your future wife, the Lady Baratheon! For her house! If we lose Storm's End because of... because of this w–” 

“Hold your tongue and leave.”

“Aemond, if you do this, we are lost!”

“Get out!”

Footsteps retreated. A door slammed. Aemond sighed. His hand drew abstract symbols on the back of your head for a moment before encouraging you to look at him. 

“Oh, my love," he said, seeing your misty eyes. “All is well now. She will not hurt you any more.”

The danger you had put yourself in was greater than you had thought. Fear dried your mouth and exhausted your words. You stammered a few excuses before taking a deep breath. Your Prince's fingers did not weaken. They continued to comfort you and, at last, gave you the courage you needed to finally speak. 

“Maybe I should return to Flea Bottom. I–” 

“No," Aemond’s voice cracked. 

His hands framed your face and pulled you closer until your noses were touching. 

“You are not leaving me.”

His lips were harsh, covering every inch of your skin. He kissed the bridge of your nose, your warm cheekbones, your wet eyelids. Tears ran aground in the cracks of his lips and dried up under his exquisite tenderness. No beauty spot, no eyelash, was spared. His lips erased his mother's words and the doubts in your heart. 

“You belong here, with me. I do not care for blood or war. I only wish for your love.”

Aemond filled the space between your mouths. His hands reached down and grasped your breast. He feasted on your lips and the taste of them like a hungry man. Tingles caressed your spine and tickled your lower abdomen. You rolled your hips, searching for his, but your lover pulled away.

You didn't want him to stop. 

The Prince shushed your complaints and pushed you to the bed. Your back bounced on the goose feather mattress. Eager to feel his skin against yours, you sat up and tried to pull him to you, but Aemond took a step back. A petty smile stretched his lips as he heard you whimper. He ignored you and stood silent, admiring you. His eyes, now black, gazed down at your body, contemplating its shape and softness.

“Aemond, please…”

Your lover grabbed an ankle and kissed it. You moaned. He moved up your calf, caressing your knee and digging his fingers into your thighs before spreading them apart. His teeth nipped at the flesh, which his tongue immediately soothed. Your breathing quickened and breathy moans fell from your swollen lips, intoxicated by his touch. He skipped over your dripping cunt, his hands grazing your hips and sides.  

Suddenly, Aemond stopped touching you, placed a farewell kiss on your belly and sat up on his elbows. 

“I will take care of everything, my love. You will never have to fear for your life. It is mine to cherish, mine to love, mine to protect," he said before reaching up to capture your lips with his. “Mine.”

“I love you," you sighed. 

Aemond smiled, as he did every time the words fell from your lips. One could not get used to the sweetness of love. It forever stirred the heart and soothed the soul. Your Prince placed a chaste kiss on your lips before moving down and disappearing between your thighs. 

His words vanished in desire and pleasure. You forgot them the next day, when the hour of the Nightingale struck.  

You should have known that Aemond Targaryen would keep his promise.

Three days later, the Lady Baratheon was found dead in the Kingswood, impaled on a stag's antlers. 

[waitimcomingtoo]

Sugar And Spice

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x reader

Synopsis: Peeta gets jealous when a guy keeps coming into the bakery to flirt with you

Masterlist

“Can you watch the bakery for a second while I frost a cake?”

“I can do it but I have to warn you. I’m super charming so we’re probably gonna get a bunch of customers and sell out immediately.” You said and held up your hands in defense. Peeta couldn’t help but smile as he watched you tie an apron around your waist. Something about you wearing something that had his last name on it made you even more endearing. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking about his best friend like that, but he couldn’t help it.

“I don’t doubt your charm but we haven’t had any customers all day.” He reminded you.

“That’s because you’ve been keeping me in the back. Go frost your cake. This place will be packed when you return. Just watch”. You said and shooed him okay.

“Okay.” He replied sarcastically.

You were only alone in the bakery for a few minutes before someone came in. It was a guy around your age wearing a hard helmet so you could only assume he was a coal miner.

“Hello.” He smiled at you as he walked up the counter.

“Hello.” You replied. “Welcome to Mellark Bakery.”

“Do you guys sell bread?” He asked you.

“Here? At the bakery?” You asked and stepped to the side to give him a full view of all the baskets of bread behind you.

“Okay, it was a dumb question.” He admitted.

“It’s okay. It’s probably the only question you can ask that I could actually answer. I just learned what yeast was a little while ago.”

“Oh, so you don’t usually work here?”

“I don’t. My best friends family owns the place. But his brother gave his mom a cold and then the whole family caught it. I’m just filling in until they’re better.” You explained.

“That’s a shame. I thought I’d have two reasons to come in here now.” The boy said with a coy smile.

“Two reasons?”

“For delicious bread and a chance to see the pretty girl working the counter.” He replied. You raised your eyebrows in surprise at his flirting before smiling. You’d never had a boy flirt with you so boldly so it made you feel good.

“Well, thanks. How can I help you?” You asked him.

“My mother sent me to get that brown bread but I keep forgetting the name of it.”

“Isn’t all bread brown?”

“Well, yes.” He realized. “But she said this one is browner than the others.”

“I actually think I know what you’re talking about. Is it pumpernickel?” You asked and pulled out a loaf of pumpernickel bread.

“Yes! That’s the one. Look at you being smart. I’ll take a loaf of that.” The boy said. You didn’t really like the way he acted like it was shocking you’d say something smart but you didn’t say anything.

“Surely. Anything else I get you?” You asked as you handed him the wrapped up loaf.

“How about your name?” He smiled as he handed you the money.

“It’s Y/n. You?” You said through a nervous laugh. You weren’t entirely sure you liked the attention anymore.

“Hi. I’m Lycan.” He said and extended his hand.

“Nice to meet you, Lycan.” You smiled politely and shook his hand.

“It is nice, isn’t it? Will you be filling in all week?”

“Most likely.” You told him.

“Then I’ll be back. Thanks for the help.” He winked at you just as Peeta came out from the back. He saw the much taller and stronger looking Lycan leaving the bakery and stopped in his tracks.

“No problem.” You called after him. Peeta caught the way Lycan’s eyes lingered on you after he left the shop and he didn’t like it. He got a weird feeling in his stomach when he noticed that you were flustered.

“Who was that?” Peeta asked.

“That was Lycan. And he bought the last loaf of pumpernickel so we knead to make more. And that was a baking pun, by the way. But it would’ve worked better on paper.”

“Oh. Do you always learn the customers names?” Peeta asked as the weird feeling in his stomach grew. He was feeling jealous already and now that he knew you learned that guys name, it was even worse.

“Not always.” You shrugged. “But he asked my name so I asked his.”

“He asked your name? That was nice of him.” Peeta said through a forced smile. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that you had caught the attention of the attractive stranger. Maybe because you’d caught Peeta’s attention years ago but still hadn’t noticed.

“Yeah. I guess he was nice. He called me pretty.” You said and looked at Peeta as if you were expecting him to disagree with that statement. Peeta clenched his jaw but kept a straight face.

“You are pretty.” He insisted. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I don’t know. I guess because no one’s ever just called me pretty before. Except maybe my mother. But I’ve never heard it from a boy. It was kinda, I don’t know, nice.” You said as you stared out the window. Peeta was kicking himself for never vocalizing how beautiful he found you because now you had to cling to the compliment of a stranger.

“I think you’re pretty.” Peeta said quietly. Your head turned to Peeta and you had a surprised smile on your face. Peeta turned a deep red as he waited for your answer.

“You’re pretty pretty yourself, blondie.” You replied as you passed by him. You started to rearrange some of the baked goods but Peeta was still hung up on this stranger who called you pretty.

“Did you like that guy?” Peeta asked you and feared for the answer.

“I don’t know.” You shrugged. “It was nice to be noticed. But I don’t him enough to know if I like him.”

“Right.” He nodded and desperately tried to take his mind off it. You noticed the far off look in Peeta’s eye but didn’t understand what was bothering him.

“So how’s your cake?” You asked.

“Not good. I made the frosting a weird color. Can you go look at it and tell me if I should scrap it or not?”

“Sure. But if you go check on it later and there’s a piece missing, it wasn’t me.” You teased.

“Very funny.” He said sarcastically.

“I know, right?” You laughed and went to the back. Peeta laughed as well but his smile quickly dropped when the door to the bakery opened. Lycan walked back in and Peeta gulped. He’d only seen him through the window before so now he got to see just how tall and handsome this guy was. Peeta nervously fumbled with the tie on his apron and felt a little insecure to be wearing it when this guy was covering in soot and dirt from being down in the mines.

“Hi. How can I help you?” Peeta asked him. Lycan was visibly disappointed to see Peeta there and was ignoring him as he looked around the bakery for you.

“What happened to the girl that was working here just a few minutes ago?” Lycan asked.

“Who’s asking?” Peeta asked without dropping his cheery smile. Lycan looked Peeta up and down and scoffed a little.

“I am.” He replied. “I wanted to ask her where she lives.”

“Why would you want to know that?” Peeta frowned.

“So I could see her again. I was planning on stopping by sometime. I figured she’d like that.” Lycan answered with a smug expression.

“Well I know her well enough to know she wouldn’t want me telling a stranger where she lives so…” Peeta trailed off and let Lycan fill in the blank.

“Hm. You must be the friend she mentioned. I guess I’ll just have to ask her myself. But why don’t you do me a favor and tell her I stopped by?”

“Surely.” Peeta replied. Lycan recognized the same word you had used and narrowed his eyes at Peeta.

“Thanks, baker boy. Bye.” Lycan smirked and left the bakery. Peeta blinked in surprise at the unexpected rude tone. If he was feeling insecure before, he was feeling even worse now that Lycan made it obvious that he looked down on him.

“Who was that?” You asked when you came out from the back.

“No one.” Peeta lied. “How’s the cake?”

“I actually like the grey color. You should leave it as it is.” You told him.

“But it was supposed to be a wedding cake. Won’t the customer be mad?”

“If I was getting married and my cake was baked by you, I wouldn’t care what it looked like because I would already know it was delicious. But you don’t have to worry about that because the cake looked great. Your cakes always look great. You’re the best cake decorator I know. So stop worrying about it.” You said and playfully smacked his chest.

“I’m the only cake decorator you know.” He said with a shy smile.

“That may be true.” You agreed. “But even if I knew more, you’d still be the best. You’re an artist. All your cakes are lovely. I promise.”

“Thanks for saying that.” He blushed. “We can have a grey cake at our wedding then.”

“Oh? Our wedding?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Your wedding.” He quickly corrected. “I meant your wedding. I will make you a grey cake for your wedding.”

“What if my groom wants a white cake?”

“He’ll want whatever you want.” Peeta said confidently.

“What makes you so sure?” You asked skeptically.

“Just a guess.” He said quickly. He wasn’t about to tell you that if he was the groom, you’d get whatever and however many cakes you wanted.

“Well he better. My mother is already on me about finding someone and settling down. That’s all she thinks I’m gonna be apparently. A wife.” You said with a roll of your eyes.

“Oh, yeah? Is there anyone in particular you’re thinking of?” Peeta asked without looking at you.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be against running off and eloping with you to get her off my back.” You joked. Peeta blushed at the joke and hoped there was some truth to it.

“Or maybe I’ll just marry this Lycan guy to shut her up.” You added, making Peeta’s smile drop. He was definitely jealous now and it was only gonna get worse.

The next day, you went to the bakery again and helped Peeta run the shop. He had you handling the customers while he stayed in the back to bake. Even though you had said it as a joke, you actually were bringing in a lot of customers and selling through baked goods fast. Unfortunately, you brought in Peeta’s least favorite customer.

“Oh no.” Peeta said when he saw Lycan through the windows.

“What?” You asked just as the door opened.

“Hello again.” Lycan greeted you and didn’t acknowledge Peeta in any way.

“Oh, hi, Lycan. What can I get for you today?” You asked him.

“How about you get me your favorite thing in the shop?” He asked with that smug look Peeta hated. Peeta rolled his eyes at the lack of manners but held his tongue.

“Well, that’s hard to pick. Peeta bakes everything and it’s all delicious. He’s an amazing baker.” You said and patted Peeta’s back. Peeta and Lycan made eye contact and gave each other tight smiles.

“Oh, so this is your friend who runs the bakery? Did he tell you I stopped by yesterday to see you?” Lycan asked knowing full well Peeta didn’t mention it. You looked at Peeta in surprise and Peeta gave you a sheepish smile.

“Must’ve forgotten to mention that.” He said quietly.

“Right.” You laughed awkwardly. “Well, I love the cinnamon buns Peeta makes. And we just frosted some so I’ll go grab one from the back.”

You went to the back to grab a cinnamon bun, leaving Peeta and Lycan alone together. Peeta kept his eyes down as Lycan stared at him with a smug expression.

“So how come you had her running the shop all alone yesterday?” Lycan asked with judgement in his voice.

“She was fine. She was only alone for a few minutes but she would’ve been perfectly capable of running the shop all day. She’s great at this stuff. She’s better than me and I grew up in this bakery.” Peeta defended you.

“I could tell.” Lycan snorted. “But running a business is no place for a lady. She should’ve been doing the baking while you handled the customers. A girl like that should be able to sit still and look pretty while you man the place, you know what I mean?”

“Um, no, I don’t know what you mean.” Peeta smiled tightly. “She’s not the type to sit still but you wouldn’t know that because you don’t know her. And we “manned”the shop together all day. I just happened to be in the back decorating the cakes when you came in.”

“Oh, so you make all these? Where did you learn how to do that?” Lycan asked with a condescending smile as he looked at the cakes on display.

“My mother taught me.” Peeta said quietly.

“Oh, I see. My mother taught me that a man’s job involves getting your hands dirty but hey, what does she know?” Lycan shrugged.

“Clearly not how to teach her son manners.” Peeta mumbled. You came out from the back and Peeta relaxed.

“Here. One hot cinnamon bun.” You smiled kindly and handed the treat to Lycan.

“Thank you. It looks almost as good as you do.” He said with a much kinder tone than he had given Peeta.

“Oh. Thank you.” You laughed in surprise and looked over at Peeta. Peeta was too busy staring daggers at Lycan to notice.

“See you tomorrow?” Lycan asked you.

“See you then.” You waved as he left the shop. Once he was gone again, Peeta could finally breathe.

“I don’t like that guy.” Peeta shook his head.

“What? Why not? He’s so nice.” You said. As much as Peeta disliked that guy, he wasn’t about to burst your bubble and tell you Lycan had implied you could not and should not run the bakery by yourself.

“He’s too nice.” Peeta insisted. “And I don’t like the way he was looking at you.”

“How was he looking at me?” You frowned.

“The same way every guy looks at you. Only he looks dumb enough to try something.” Peeta mumbled. You let out a laugh and Peeta was confused.

“What?” He wondered.

“Nothing. I’ve just never heard you call someone dumb before. Here I was thinking you were all sunshine and flowers.” You shrugged with an amused smile.

“I can be tough. You don’t think I can be tough?”

“Well, I’m sure you can be. I’ve just never seen it. I’ve only ever seen your good side.”

“I can be tough. I can be a real tough guy.” Peeta insisted but it sounded unnatural coming out of his mouth.

“Okay, tough guy.” You chuckled. “Show me what you got.”

“What do you mean?”

“Say something mean about me.” You said and gestured towards yourself.

“What? I would never do that.” He laughed but meant it.

“I knew it. You’re too sweet. You don’t have a mean bone in your body. You’re all sugar.” You said and squeezed his arm. Peeta blushed at the contact and felt a little better about himself.

“Here’s something mean. That guy just tracked mud all over the floors. Why are coal miners so messy?” He scoffed and grabbed the mop.

“Maybe because they’re in dirty mines all day? Just a thought.” You teased as Peeta cleaned the floor.

“This is just gross.” Peeta huffed. “And did you see his hands? They were filthy.”

“I didn’t notice them.” You shrugged.

“Yeah, cause you were too busy flirting.” Peeta grumbled.

“Flirting?” You laughed. “I was not flirting with that guy.”

“Yes you were. I’ve never seen you bat your eyelashes like that before. And when’s the last time you warmed something up for a customer? You did that to flirt.” He half joked, half meant entirely.

“That wasn’t me flirting. I was just blinking because of all the dust he brought in.” You said simply. Peeta stopped mopping and looked up to see if you were serious.

“You really weren’t flirting with him?” Peeta asked hopefully.

“With a stranger? Who do you think I am?” You scoffed and grabbed the mop from him. You cleaned up the rest of the mud tracks before handing the mop back.

“Okay.” Peeta smiled. “Good.”

“Why’s that good? You didn’t want me to be flirting with him?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Psh. No. I don’t care who you flirt with.” Peeta quickly explained but even he didn’t believe it.

“Don’t you?” You asked and took a step towards him.

“I don’t.” He gulped.

“All right then.” You smiled sadly and went back behind the counter. Peeta looked over at you and wondered if you had wanted him to say that he didn’t want you flirting with anyone else.

The next day, Peeta was hesitant to leave you alone in the bakery in case Lycan came back to ask you out. If he actually made a move on you, Peeta knew he didn’t stand a chance. There weren’t a whole lot of options for dating in your district so if he asked you out, you’d probably say yes. But Peeta couldn’t stay in the front forever and eventually had to go to the back to frost cakes. And as soon as he was gone, the wolves descended.

“Good morning.” Lycan greeted as he came into the bakery. Your heart started to beat faster when he came in but it wasn’t from excitement. His presence was starting to make you anxious and you didn’t know if you liked the attention anymore.

“Good morning. What will it be today?” You asked politely.

“Some more pumpernickel please. But only half a loaf. I had some of my worker friends over last night and we went through it. We just get so hungry being down in the mines all day. You know how real men’s work is. It’s brutal but hey, someone’s gotta do it.” Lycan shrugged and leaned on the counters that you had just cleaned.

“Right.” You said sarcastically. “Anything else?”

“A smile. From you.” Lycan added. You gave him a tight smile back and realized you really didn’t like the attention. At least, not from him.

“Have a great day.” He said as you handed him the loaf and he handed you the money.

“Thanks. You too.”

“I already did. Because I got to see you.” Lycan said and pointed to you. You forced a smile back and watched as he tracked mud on the floor as he left. Peeta came out from the back a little while later and saw the mud.

“I see Lycan returned.” He said stiffly.

“He sure did.” You replied. Peeta rolled his eyes and grabbed the mop before looking at you.

“Don’t give me that look.” You laughed. “It’s not my fault Mr. Muddy Boots keeps coming in here.”

“Yes it is. I heard him telling you to smile. He likes you.” Peeta mumbled and mopped the floor. His jealousy was back and in full force so he kept his head down.

“Maybe he was just being friendly.”

“But he wasn’t being friendly to me. Only you.” Peeta pointed out.

“Okay, true. But that still doesn’t mean anything. He might just want to be friends.”

“No way. No guy wants to be just friends with a girl as interesting and funny as you.”

“What about you? You just want to be friends, don’t you?” You asked and smiled at his words but he didn’t see it. He was too busy keeping his head down so you couldn’t see how much he was blushing over what you asked.

“There. Finally clean. But if he comes in here and gets the floors muddy one more time, I’m gonna ban him from the bakery.” Peeta said to change the subject.

“Maybe he’s had enough of your baked goods and won’t come in anymore.” You shrugged.

“He’ll be back. Although he might stop buying things and just start coming in to stare at you.” Peeta grumbled, making you laugh. When your laughter died down, you thought about what it would mean if this guy actually wanted to be more than friends.

“Do you actually think he likes me?” You asked quietly.

“Of course he does. And I can’t blame him. But I can be annoyed about how often he comes in here.” Peeta said and continued to avoid eye contact with you.

“But him coming in here means you get more customers.” You reminded him. “And what do you mean you can’t blame him?”

“Him coming in here means I have to look at his dumb face while he bumbles around and tries to flirt with you. All while making the bakery muddy. I wouldn’t mind losing him as a customer.” Peeta replied and conveniently ignored the second half of what you said.

“Well we should probably bake another loaf of pumpernickel in case he comes in tomorrow.” You shrugged and started to gather the ingredients. Peeta froze and watched you tie on an apron as jealousy burned a hole inside him.

“What?” You asked when you saw Peeta’s face.

“You want him to come back?” Peeta asked in a soft voice.

“I didn’t say that. But if he does, which I’m assuming he will, we should have bread for him.”

Peeta was quiet again for a minute as he looked at you. He didn’t think you liked this guy back until he watched you gathering ingredients to make something specifically for him.

“Do you, um, do you like him back or something?” Peeta asked you. He didn’t sound angry or anything, just sad.

“What I like is earning money. Which customers bring in. Customers like Lycan.” You said and headed to the back where the oven was.

“Fine. But just don’t bake that with love, okay?” Peeta called after you. He heard you laugh and felt a little better because it reminded him that no one made you laugh quite like he did.

“I’ll try.” You called back.

The next day, Peeta was ready for anything. He asked you to bake some muffins in the back while he dealt with the customers during the evening rush. He had made it through almost the entire day before he saw Lycan coming in to the bakery. He looked around for you as soon as he walked in before walking up the counter.

“How can I help you?” Peeta asked with a forced smile.

“Actually, I was hoping Y/n could help me. She here?” Lycan asked and peered behind the counter.

“She’s busy with the baking in the back.”

“Really? I thought frosting cakes was your job? Tell me, how do you make them look so pretty?” Lycan asked in a mocking tone.

“It takes a steady hand. And a clean one.” Peeta said as his eyes dropped to Lycans dirt covered hands.

“These are workers hands. But you wouldn’t know anything about that would you, baker boy?” Lycan said in a low voice as he leaned on the counter. Peeta gulped but was determined to stand his ground.

“I know about hard work. Just because my work is different from yours doesn’t mean it’s any less important.” He replied.

“Are you serious?” Lycan laughed. “I risk my life everyday to get the coal that you use to bake your pretty little cakes. You’re not important. I mean, your work isn’t important. I know that, and she knows that.” Lycan whispered so only Peeta could hear. His words were getting to Peeta and he wasn’t feeling as confident as before.

“She’d never go for you.” Peeta said quietly.

“What other choice does she have? You?” Lycan scoffed. “I asked around about the two of you, you know. Everyone had the same thing to say. That the bakers boy absolutely adores her but isn’t man enough to do anything about it.”

“I could do something about it.” Peeta insisted.

“Oh really? Then why haven’t you?” Lycan asked him. Peeta opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He had no answer to give.

“That’s what I thought.” Lycan snickered. “She’d never go for you either.”

Peeta looked down at the ground and believed what Lycan was saying. You came out from the back and immediately sensed the awkward tension. You first noticed Peeta’s sad expression and then Lycan’s smug smirk.

“Oh, hi Lycan. Back so soon?” You asked as you looked between the boys and tried to figure out what had just happened between them.

“I just needed to get some bread. And seeing your pretty face never hurts.” Lycan said and switched to a nice smile.

“Aw, thanks.” You said with a fake smile.

“You know, being a coal miner is really dangerous. Nothing like the easy job this guy has.” Lycan said and nodded towards Peeta. “When the boys and I go down into the mines, we never know if we’re gonna get to come back out. So I try to take a minute and appreciate the beautiful things in life as much as I can. And that includes you.”

“Aw, thanks.” You repeated in the same uncomfortable tone. Peeta looked up and saw that Lycan was staring at him with a puffed up smile. In other words, he thought he ate that.

“See you around, doll.” Lycan winked at you before leaving the shop.

“That was painful.” You said once he was gone.

“For us both.” Peeta mumbled.

“I think you were right. I think he may be more than just friendly.” You laughed nervously.

“What gave it away?” Peeta smiled sarcastically.

“I just don’t understand what he wants from me. I don’t even know what to say when he talks like that.” You said and grimaced at the memory of his little speech.

“He probably wants a wife. And he wants you to say it can be you.”

“A wife?” You laughed in shock. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“But he wants to. That’s why he keeps coming in here. He probably wanted to ask you out today but wouldn’t with me in here.”

“Well I wouldn’t say yes even if he did. So there’s nothing to worry about.” You shrugged.

“Don’t tell me there’s nothing to worry about.” Peeta snapped. You were both surprised by his tone and stood in awkward silence following his exclamation. Peeta was too embarrassed to look at you so he kept his head down and played with the ties in his apron. He heard your footsteps coming over to him and suddenly, you were lifting his chin to get him to look at you.

“What’s this about?” You asked quietly. Peeta sighed and looked to the side.

“He works in the mines and risks his life. I work in a bakery and decorate cakes. He’s covered in soot and dirt and I end the day covered in flour and sugar.”

“So?” You laughed.

“So, he’s a real man.” Peeta insisted. “And that’s what you deserve.”

“Do you think I don’t see you as a real man?” You asked and wrapped your arms around Peeta’s neck. He turned bright red and finally looked at you.

“Look at me. And look at him. We’re not the same.” Peeta said softly.

“Just because he works down there and you work up here doesn’t make you any less of a man.” You assured him.

“It feels like it does. Especially when…”

“When what?” You asked when Peeta trailed off.

“When I thought you liked him. I assumed he caught your attention because he’s all big and tough and I’m just…soft.” He shrugged and gave you an embarrassed smile.

“He caught my attention because he’s annoying and dirty. And I happen to like that you’re soft.” You told him.

“You do?” Peeta asked skeptically.

“Of course I do. I like that you never have a mean thing to say about anybody. I like that you decorate cakes and smell like cinnamon all the time. And I like that you stop to pick flowers that you like. But you know what I don’t like?”

“What?”

“That guy. I don’t like how he thinks I shouldn’t run the shop by myself. I don’t like how he can’t compliment me on anything but my looks. I don’t like how he thinks his job makes him superior to us. And I don’t like that he made you feel bad about yourself.” You said. Peeta looked into your eyes and saw how serious you were. A smile tugged at his lips as he believed that he didn’t have anything to worry about.

“He made fun of my cake decorating.” Peeta added with a coy smile.

“What? Now that’s too far. Let’s ban him.” You played along. Peeta laughed and pulled you into a hug.

“I never want you to think you’re not good enough ever again, okay?” You said as you rubbed his back.

“Okay.” Peeta reluctantly replied. You pulled out of the hug and rubbed his shoulders.

“If he comes in here again, I’ll tell him to back off. Of both of us.” You assured Peeta.

“Good. Because I’m not much of a fighter.” He said through a relieved laugh.

“I know. You’re a lover. Thats what I love about you.” You told him and went to go clean the counter. Peeta watched you for a minute with a content smile on his face.

“It is?” He asked in a soft voice.

“Amongst other things, but yes.” You replied.

“There are a lot of things I love about you too.” Peeta said without looking at you.

“Are there?” You asked with piqued interest.

“Of course. Dozens of things.”

“Dozens?” You pretended to gasp and looked over at him.

“Uh huh. A bakers dozen.” He replied with a coy smile.

“Hey.” You laughed. “Baking humor is my thing.”

“I know, I know. But I think that’s another reason Lycan bothered me so much. I thought he was gonna take you away before I got a chance to tell you any of them.” Peeta said simply. Your expression changed but he didn’t catch it as he went to change the sign on the door from “open” to “closed”.

“Well. It’s quitting time.” Peeta sighed and looked the front door.

“Right. We should go.”

The next day, Lycan came in bright and early in the morning. He was the first customer and walked in before you had even arrived yet. Peeta gulped when he saw him and hoped you’d get to the bakery as soon as possible. Then he remembered what you had said about what you loved about him and felt a little braver.

“Hey, Peeta. Just you today?” Lycan asked in a condescending voice.

“For now.” Peeta answered calmly.

“These are nice. You pick them yourself?” Lycan asked as he flicked one of the flowers Peeta had in a vase on the counter.

“As a matter of fact, yes. I did.”

“I thought so. Just when I thought you couldn’t get anymore pathetic. It’s no wonder Y/n doesn’t want you.” Lucan snorted. He hadn’t heard you entering the bakery from the back so when you appeared behind the counter where Peeta was, he gulped.

“Oh, hi, Y/n. Good morning.” He said nervously and hoped you hadn’t heard what he just said. You gave Lycan a big smile before turning to Peeta.

“Good morning.” You greeted Peeta before pulling him into a long kiss. Peeta was stiff with shock at first but then kissed you back as his hands found their place on your waist. Lycan watched this with a dropped jaw and angrily cleared his throat when he felt like it was going on too long. You pulled out of the kiss with a big smile and patted Peeta’s red cheek.

“Sorry about that.” You chuckled as you wrapped an arm around Peeta’s shoulders. Peeta and Lycan were both silent as they processed what had happened. You made your choice loud and clear to the both of them and they were both too stunned to speak. Peeta finally smiled and took one of the flowers out of the vase to place behind your ear as a little thank you. You smiled in appreciation before looking at Lycan.

“So.” You shrugged. “What can we get you?”

Tag List 🥖

@ilovetoomanymen @kittimbo @sipsthecoffee @ohmyhuenings @

@ilykitwalker @mayemperess @scenesofobx

[copperbadge]

This is not to sniff at packaged food in any way, because cheap, uniform, nutritious, premade food is important and necessary. And despite what your local tiktok orthorexic may tell you, packaged food is still capable of providing solid nutrition.

That said, I've been making my own bread for about twenty years, and for the last ten or so it has often been easier to make bread than buy it, solely because I don't need to leave the house to do so, and I live alone so a decent loaf can last me a good ten days. Being able to make ones own bread in this modern era is a product of privilege -- the resources to buy the ingredients (especially high quality flour, not cheap), the time and space to bake, the stamina to knead or equipment to make kneading easier -- my breads improved a lot when I got a good stand mixer, and those aren't cheap. But also, to make a decent edible boule you can get by with flour, water, yeast, salt, and time. Throw in a little oil and you can make pizza crust; add in kneading and a bit of sugar and you have bagels.

It did somewhat change how I eat, because homemade bread is often a little difficult to make a sandwich with, but I was never a huge fan of sandos anyway. These days I often don't even make loaves -- I make rolls or bagels, or flatbreads.

But all of this is to say that because I'm now accustomed to eating my own bread, which is necessarily small-batch and produced without stabilizers that make commercial bread so soft and uniform, I am starting to struggle when I do buy bread because the flavor and texture often feel off. It's not that it's objectively bad food, but it's very different from what I'm used to, which is unpleasant. I've been aware of the issue for a while but previously even if the bread wasn't as good to me as my own, it was edible and convenient, so it was fine. Making your own hot dog buns is a pain in the ass.

I just bought a loaf of Italian bread, reasonably fresh, a brand I used to eat regularly, because I wasn't feeling up to baking anything. I've been making toast with it mostly. But yesterday morning -- admittedly while dealing with some nausea -- I bit into a sandwich I'd made with it (cashew butter and strawberry jam) and thought, "this feels like eating upholstery fabric."

I haven't been able to eat any more of it since. The soft, dense texture, the specific preservative flavor, the mouthfeel. I tried to eat some toast just now and had to spit it out because it felt like buttered brocade and I started to gag. I'm kind of mad about it, honestly.

The bread won't go to waste -- if I can't eat the rest of the bag I'll dry it out and crush it for breadcrumbs for fried chicken or a panade -- but it's both sad and funny that I have functionally baked myself into a corner where packaged bread is no longer even an option.

It feels like I'm becoming one of the middle-aged eccentrics I used to know when I was a kid -- older people or couples in my church, sometimes parents of my school friends, who were just kind of oddballs, hippie leftovers, what I still think of as Berkeley Weirdos (affectionate) even though Berkeley has long since gentrified. The lady who didn't have a functional oven or stove because she ate raw vegan or the family that converted their old station wagon to biofuel but kept the rear-facing back seats with no seatbelts and would give us death-defying rides to the community pool in them. I'm already growing my own basil because I eat an unlikely amount of pesto for one person. My signature potluck dishes are kiwi dip or egg-free meringues.

I don't mind, exactly. I loved the Berkeley Weirdos and the community they built for us kids. But it's definitely not a place I imagined ending up.

[swordsandholly]

Across The Way

Ch. 2: And So It Begins

Retired!Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader

MDNI

Ao3 | Previous - Next

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: You go to Scotland with high hopes for your future. After all, you have the bakery you always dreamed of and a whole new life to live. Plus, the men who own the butcher’s shop across the street seem nice.

A/N: I got this out a lot faster than I thought I would. Hopefully my work doesn’t get too insane and I can get the next out in a timely manner - it’s going to be a bigger one!

“You were right.” Simon carefully cuts through the loaf with a serrated knife. He’s never lost his skill with them, despite their uses becoming increasingly more domestic over the years. It’s charming, in a way - the juxtaposition of where they started and where they are now.

“Right about whit?” Johnny asks.

“She is a pretty little thing.”

“Donnae tell me I need tae be worried about ye sneakin’ off at work.” He jokes. Simon would never, of course, but it’s fun to see the way his cheeks heat up at the implication. Without his mask he wears every expression with reckless abandon.

Simon settles his large frame into the seat across from Johnny at the dining table. It’s small, they don’t need much. The chairs always creak under Simon’s weight in an almost threatening fashion. He pushes a plate with two pieces of the bread and some eggs over to Johnny. There’s an odd tug in his chest when he picks up the slice - an urge to be gentle as he spreads butter over it. Gentility is not a compulsion he feels often.

“S’good.” Simon mutters around his bite.

Johnny nods along after taking one himself. There’s love in it - he can tell. A piece carefully crafted with only absolute perfection in mind. How strange that food can carry such a feeling.

“Was a wee bit worried we’d be stuck across from the nicest, worst baker in the world.” He mutters.

Simon huffs out a half laugh.

~~~

Your first week goes by in a blur. For a small town they sure do manage to keep you busy. It’s good, you remind yourself. Better than none. If you keep it up at this rate you’ll be able to hire help by the end of the summer quarter.

By Monday, the first day of your “weekend”, you’re overdone. Head dizzy and body exhausted, you spend the day in bed. It’s a gratifying exhaustion, one you hope to build more of a tolerance for. As of now, though, you elect to remain deeply buried under the covers.

When you wake for a second time the sun is already near setting again. The entirety of Monday slunk by with you in bed. You grumble to yourself angrily like an old man. You wanted to unpack today - to at least get your clothes and kitchen items put away.

“Stupid.” You grouse. At least you still have time to shower, you suppose.

As you stand the world blacks out for a moment, your body swaying in place. You allow yourself to fall back on the bed, sitting while your vision slowly comes back into focus. Blinking away black dots and off squiggles that dance across your eyes. On attempt number two you manage it, making your way to the bathroom.

The work is worth it. The pain is worth it.

This is what you always wanted, after all.

You are happy. You can feel it in your bones. They’re lighter than they used to be - your whole body thrums with excited energy even as you have to lower yourself with the upmost care into the shower seat. Even as you have to scrape one of the cheap fold out chairs you managed to get over to the stove while you cook a late night dinner. Thank god for low counters.

When you were arranging your schedule it took a while to get it perfected. To compensate for your body you have to have time to rest and be able to do a lot of baking preparation before the work week starts. Monday and Tuesday are for rest. Wednesdays are for prep. The shop is closed but you’re in the back working your ass off mixing and kneading and shaping doughs. As well as practicing new recipes you want to add to the store’s line up eventually. Your goal is to sell American biscuits, preferably in batches of six, but those take a lot of work and don’t keep as long. They’ll have to wait until you have hired help.

It’s all chance and whatever you can manage to make happen. You learned to be okay with that, though.

You’ve got plenty of spoons, you tell yourself. Just need to use them wisely.

When you finally close the fridge, now fully stocked with dough ready to proof and bake, you check the clock. It’s still the early afternoon. You finished sooner than you assumed you might. The thought makes you giddy - makes you feel accomplished.

It makes you feel normal.

As you exit into the warm spring sun you take a moment. Ever since you arrived you haven’t been able to just stop. To just take everything in - let the foreign air fill your lungs and the aura of the town sink into your bones.

It’s a lovely little main street that you’re located on. The building to your left is a large family owned pharmacy (very convenient for you) and to your right is an empty brick building. It looks like a former post office, but from what you know the current post office is a few blocks down beside the grocers. It’s quaint, the lot of it.

Your eyes settle on the shop across from yours housed in a simple brick building painted white. The upstairs is an apartment much like yours, you think, but from what you know it currently remains empty. The sign above the door reads A Cut Above the Rest. You wonder if that was Simon or Johnny’s doing.

Would it be weird to go in? You suppose not, after all they came to yours. It’s only fair you give them some patronage as well. Plus you need to ask how the bread was. Hopefully they liked it - you realized halfway through the night that you didn’t even ask if they like sourdough before shoving it into their hands.

That thought kept you up later than you’d like to admit.

You look both ways down the street. This particular spot doesn’t have a crosswalk but the road is so dead even when the downtown is busy you figure it’s worth risking. The lack of danger doesn’t stop you from fast-walking across, though.

The shop’s old-fashioned door bell chimes prettily as you push it open. For a butcher it smells extremely clean - almost clinical. It’s small, with an L shaped display counter and a register at the end nearest the door. Packages of sausage links and the like hang on displays across the back wall. Beside the wooden saloon doors that lead behind the counter is a little dog bed with a very well crafted name plate reading Riley hanging right above it.

So cute.

“Afternoon.” Simon appears from the back, wiping his hands on a rag. You jump a little, so lost in taking in your surroundings you forgot what you came here for.

“H-hi!” You smile. You forgot how intimidating Simon is. His gaze levels you - pins you underneath him like a fly under a swatter. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic. “I thought I’d come check your shop out and ask how the bread was?”

“It was good.” He replies bluntly. Totally monotone. The corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly. You decide that’s it’s a smile - whether that’s the reality of his expression or not.

“It’s really nice in here.” You look around. There isn’t much for decoration. The walls are too covered in menus and diagrams of cuts to leave room for anything extra. There’s a shelf of odds and ends opposite the main counter full of high end mustards and condiments. Little things to go with whatever you could think to make out of the varieties of meat they offer.

“Thanks.” Simon nods. “One moment.”

You watch with curiosity and a slight frown as he makes his way into the back. He almost has to duck under the doorway. Old buildings with low ceilings and all that. The place definitely wasn’t made with a six foot plus behemoth in mind. You continue to look around, rocking back and forth on your heels. They have a perfect score on their inspectors plaque. You might not know Simon well, but he seems the type to be absolutely precise about everything. The score doesn’t surprise you.

Yours is almost perfect - some rules are different here than in the US. Next time, you swear you’ll get it top notch! You look across the street at your shop. You wonder if you made the wrong choice with The Honey Bun. It’s bit much now that you see it from afar but it still makes you smile. That’s what matters, you guess.

Simon comes back out with a small, nicely wrapped package. “You don’t ‘ave any dietary restrictions d’you?”

You shake your head and he pushes the package toward you. Your eyes widen - it’s a great cut of high end beef. Like, really good beef as far as you know. Something you’d never be able to afford even if your business wasn’t brand new. You stare between Simon and the little pack in your hands. “Th-this is so nice but I-“

“It’s only fair.” He cuts you off. “Neighbors, yeah?”

You can’t help the grin that splits your face, eyes misting up despite yourself. Kindness has not been a constant in your life - more of a rarity. Something you had to claw and fight to earn. Being given it so freely but such a taciturn man has you reeling just a bit.

“Thank you… I’ve got to head back but, uh, thank you. Really.” You press the small package to your chest. “Tell Johnny I said hi?”

“Course.” He nods.

“Thanks again!” You grin, giving a little two finger salute before practically skipping all the way back into your dingy little apartment. Happily, you pack away the meat to use later. It’s too nice to just make any dish out of - best to save it for a special occasion. Your first gift in your new life. Best to savor it.

~~~

“Afternoon, bonnie.” Johnny appears in your doorway while you sweep up from the Saturday rush, bell chiming upon his entrance. “Hope I’m not a bother.”

“Not at all.” You smile, resting the broom on the counter. “Hello to you as well, Miss Riley.”

She huffs out a quiet bark in reply, sitting dutifully at Johnny’s feet. You don’t have much experience with service dogs - other than the well known rule not to pet them while they’re working. They were always too expensive for you to get and your condition wasn’t labeled serious enough to warrant financial aid. (Despite the fact that you can, and have, passed out and hit your head on something hard.)

“Can I get you something?” You ask.

“Och, I’m a’right. Just wanted tae stop by an’ say hello before headin’ home.” He gives you that dashing, bright grin. “Simon always kicks me out of the shop at close.”

“He doesn’t need help?” You ask. Surely cleaning up a butchers shop is a huge task. You have your work cut out for you with all the flower - you can’t imagine cleaning that amount of blood and mess.

Johnny shrugs. “The cleaning chemicals trigger my migraines.”

You hum. “Well, you’re always welcome to stop by. Actually,” you turn on your heel, “I’ve got somethin’ I’d like you to try, if you want.”

“Never one to say no to food. Especially from a pretty girl.” Johnny says as he follows. He tells Riley to stay in front and she listens - the perfect little lady that she is. You nearly trip at his comment, keeping your back turned so that he hopefully doesn’t see the heat spreading from your face and down your neck.

“I-it’s, uh, you ever had American biscuits?” You ask, praying he doesn’t notice the shake in your voice. You have to get on your tip toes to reach the small basket you made the day prior - carefully lowering it and pulling back the gingham cloth you wrapped them in.

An image of home.

“Aye, had them once on a layover at some chain diner.” He nods. “Donnae think they were fresh, though.”

“Well these are proper biscuits.” You carefully cut one in half with ease. “Sometime I’ll have to make you some gravy to go with.”

“Yer gonnae make us fat, hen.” Johnny chuckles.

“There are worse things to be.” The words come out more defensive than you would have liked. An automatic mechanism - a harshness you've honed over the years.

You hate how easily you wield it, sometimes.

Johnny leans forward over the table, a furrow in his brow. “I dinnae mean-“

“Here.” You cut him off and hold out the biscuit on a napkin, smothered with butter in the middle.

Johnny lets your interruption go. Probably happy for an out. He takes the fluffy baked good slowly, cupping it in his large hand with care. You wonder if he always does that, touches things with such gentle love. Is it learned? Is it just natural to him? Does he touch Simon like that? Gentle caresses?

What’s that like?

Johnny takes a massive, enthusiastic bite. Somehow his blue eyes manage to sparkle even more, grinning as he chews. “Sh’gew!”

You laugh at his attempt to talk around the food. “Glad you like it.”

He swallows roughly. A full body gulp. “Why’d ye start bakin’ anyway?”

“My grandparents raised me.” You fold the biscuits back up in their little basket. “My grandma taught me how. She was the best in town - won the pie contest almost every year.”

“Tha’s lovely.” The smile he gives you is so genuine it makes your chest constrict.

“Mean old bat but she could beat anyone in the kitchen.” You laugh. “We swore she had some kinda magic. Like a green thumb but for cooking.”

“My mum’s like tha’. Can make anythin’ out of nothin’.” He nods along.

You fall into an easy back and forth - never breaching anything deeper than the most surface level of content as he eats. It’s manageable. Johnny doesn’t push and neither do you.

Riley barks from the front of the shop.

“Och, tha’s my queue.” Johnny brushes off his hands and checks the front of his shirt for crumbs. “Take care, aye?”

You smile. “You too.”

~~~

Johnny’s words keep ringing in your ears. You don’t know why. It’s nothing special. There’s no reason to attach to them. You raise a hand to wipe off the fog and stare in the small mirror hung above your bathroom sink.

Pretty girl.

You scoff. You’re not a pretty girl. You’ve never been a pretty girl. Fat girl. Stupid girl. Sick girl. Tired girl. Sad girl.

That last one you’ve heard more than anything else. Out of all the descriptors of you it stands out as the most used. By everyone from teachers to your own family. Always just a sad, sad girl.

You got it from your mom, they’d say. It’s not like you would ever know.

You rip your eyes away from the mirror and try to let the thoughts melt away as you sink into the comfort of your blankets. Those thoughts live back on the other side of the Atlantic. They don’t get to follow you here.

[hookedonhuge]

Coach's Special Massage

Getting your big, beefy pecs groped by your coach was not how you imagined your Tuesday night. 

You were the star player of your team. You were a natural born athlete and you had the body to match it. Every muscle in your body was huge; balloons of cements that were hard as steel and looked ready to burst. It was all thanks to your dedicated exercise routine that you followed religiously for years on end.

But one day, your coach approached you and insisted that you needed a massage therapy session. Something about trying to alleviate your stress after the scandal that came to light. Something about cheating on your girlfriend with other girls. No clue which ones they were talking about. The number ‘three’ kept coming up but your team and coach must have known it was way more than that. 

To be honest, you weren’t stressed one bit, but you weren’t going to turn down a massage, that is, until you found out that it was your coach giving you the massage and not some hot masseuse. Of course, he didn’t tell you that until you were already lying down on the massage table fully naked except for a small towel that barely covered your large package. You protested but your coach was stern, he was, after all, the only person you ever listened to (and that was only some of the time). His deep voice was commanding yet calming, just the right combination to be able to get you to give up the argument. You supposed your muscles needed a good cooldown after your killer workout that day anyway.

You had never met anyone as strong as yourself, and were certain you never would. However, coach was actually quite strong too, and it was perhaps why you showed at least a little bit of respect towards him. However, having your chest fondled by his large, calloused hands was quite the role reversal for you. He pressed deep into your muscle tissue with his thick fingers, uncovering all sorts of knots in your expansive chest. It hurt but it felt amazing. 

After coach had given your pecs a thorough rub down, he moved onto your giant tree-trunk legs. It was when he was massaging your inner thigh that coach pressed down on a particularly sensitive spot in your muscles that made you wince in pain. For the first time during the session you opened your eyes and you met coach’s firm gaze by accident. Sweat dripped from his prominent brow and he was panting from exertion. You never realised how big he was. Those veiny arms, those meaty pecs, those sculpted abs, he was just a coach but he could have passed as an olympian. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that someone as strong as coach was needed to give someone as big as you a proper massage. 

Coach continued to knead your thighs like dough. He was able to make your hard muscles soft, as if he was unlocking some hidden strength inside of them that made them expand. Like a loaf of bread rising in an oven, your muscles were becoming large and fluffy in response to coach’s special massage.

He continued working his magic on your body, as he did his hands made their way further up your inner thigh. Coach’s intensity never waned and his forceful and methodical strokes continued to cause you pain. It was a beautiful, deep, healing pain that exposed a feeling of vulnerableness that was buried within you. It was uncomfortable to feel that vulnerability yet as soon as his fingers released their tight bind a reassuring warmth flooded in to replace it. That cycle of comfort and discomfort, it was overwhelming and at the same time made you completely content. 

By this point, coach was completely in control of you. You anxiously anticipated his every touch, your entire being yearning for his return whenever his hands left your body. Your emotions were connected to his fingers, as if he were a puppet master, and he graciously continued to pull your strings instead of leaving you hanging.

As coach’s hands made their way up even further up your thigh, they reached parts of your muscles that were unbearably tender. Having those spots massaged, it made your skin glisten with sweat and it laboured your breath. You felt like you were burning; you were hot, coach was hot, it was all hot. It wasn’t just hot, it was sensual.

You hadn’t realised, but the towel that was covering your crotch was ever so slowly being lifted up by some great force underneath. It was only when it slid down and landed on your impeccably toned lower abdomen that it dawned on you the effect that coach’s massage was having. 

“It’s only natural.” Coach said to you in a hushed tone. “Nothing to be ashamed of.” It was all the reassurance you needed at that moment. Coach’s hands were so far up your thighs that they were almost brushing against your heavy balls. His massage was reaching a new level of pain, and to accompany it was an equal level of pleasure.

When coach’s knuckle grazed the underside of one of your nuts, it was as if a circuit had been completed. You were electrified. The feeling of pressure on your deep muscle tissue, the feeling of the humid air blowing across your nipples, the feeling of coach’s sweat falling from his face onto your sculpted abs; it was all too much. Your manhood pointed directly to the ceiling, now displaying the full extent of its impressive length and girth.

Coach grabbed it.

His hand, a man’s hand, grasped firmly onto the base of your shaft. It was heaven. Heaven for a sinner. That’s what made it so great. The fact that it was wrong, all wrong, but right, undoubtedly right. Boiling hot skin against boiling hot skin. The fires of hell met the fires of hell, and it was heaven.

He was so slow at first. He wanted you to feel every crease and callus on his hand. Enough time for you to understand the anatomy of his hand; understand the size, power and function of each muscle in it. You learnt how each tiny pore on his palm absorbed sweat and the amazing texture it created. You might have failed biology in the past but at this moment you understood it all.

Then it got faster. It started at the head, the head that was sensitive, swollen, and begging for release. Then down every countless inch, tracking along the thick, serpentine vein that ran its length. Finally, it slammed into the base, pummelling into the spongy balls below and sprang all the way back up. It was one step performed one after the other, and it was also all at once.

Then it got even faster. It was a whole body experience. All the training, all those years in the gym, it led up to that moment. Every muscle working in unison to stop you from exploding. Your breath stopped. Your thoughts stopped. Coach stopped.

The massage resumed. It was his other hand now, and it was your balls. Your balls that were completely filled to the brim, so much so that the skin had no ability to stretch any further. Yet, coach still massaged. He pressed, he squeezed. His thumb glided to one side and the mass displaced into the other side. He was an expert.

“Your past.” His voice. Deep, calming, instructive. His words were all you needed. “Can’t be forgiven, but we can move on from that.” He tightened his grip on your balls. “You are far too good to give up on.” He started stroking the length of your shaft again. “So let’s just put all this girl stuff behind us.” He started slowly. “Instead, focus on your team. Your team of men.” Then he picked up his pace. “Men. Strong men, like me and you.” It became faster. “Men who will support you, fill all your needs.” And faster. “All your desires.” You couldn’t hold it in much longer. “Men.” You were on the very edge of your climax. “Just men.”

For the first time in your life you moaned. You moaned loud and shamelessly. It was completely contrary to the person you were before. Luckily, the person you were before is gone. When you erupted like a volcano, like a burst pipe, like a fire hydrant; nothing was left behind. Your brain had melted into a white, creamy liquid and it was shot out of you. Then it rained back down on you like a tropical shower; hot, humid, and sticky.

You were on a better path now. A path towards becoming a bigger person, both morally and physically. It was all thanks to him. Coach. He showed you the power of men that you foolishly thought you already had. You learnt that night the power of men coming together, and what a wonderful feeling it is.

[mingoooossii]

Best Male wife.

Mingyu x reader

Synopsis: just a drabble with baker!Mingyu<33

Warnings: fluff, kisses, reader and gyu share food??(nothing freaky i promise), maybe a bit suggestive towards the end?? Not really(you blink you'll miss it, probably) and baker Mingyu!!

A/n: cooked this up a few hrs before my exam haha... I'm going to fail. But anyways Mingyu best wife fr🤧🤧

Svt masterlist.

The calm buzz of the coffee machine filled the kitchen as Mingyu, flour-dusted and focused, engrossed in kneading the dough. As he deftly shaped a loaf, he heard a familiar voice.

"Best male wife in the world, huh?" You teased, your voice dripping with amusement. You leaned against the counter, your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Mingyu looked up, a light blush spreading across his cheeks.

The apron, a vibrant pink with the words "Best Male Wife" embroidered in bold, was a gift from you, a joke you bought on a whim. You hadn't expected him to actually wear it, let alone take it seriously. But there he was, the epitome of domestic bliss, happily baking away.

"Don't judge me," he protested, a slight pout appearing on his lips. "It's actually quite comfortable."

He then chuckled, patting his hands, a dusting of flour escaping. "And...i guess you can say I have a reputation to uphold."

You rolled your eyes playfully, your heart melting at his easygoing nature. You leaned against the counter, watching him. "What are you going to bake?"

He turned back to the dough, transferring it to a pot, a smile playing on his lips. "Strawberry shortcake," he replied, his voice playful. "I found a new recipe recently."

"Strawberries..." You trailed off, noticing the bowl of plump, ruby-red strawberries on the counter beside him. Tempting.

Before he could respond, you reached for the bowl, plucking a particularly ripe strawberry and popping it into your mouth, smiling, tasting the sweet, tangy flavor.

Mingyu couldn't resist returning the smile. He moved closer, his gaze fixed on you. "Care to share?" he murmured, his tone soft and inviting.

Before you had a chance to respond, he bent down and bit into the strawberry, his lips lingering against yours for just a heartbeat longer.

Your cheeks flushed a rosy hue as he pulled away, your eyes wide with surprise. He couldn't resist teasing you. "What? You didn't think I'd let you have all the fun, did you?"

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "You're so annoying," you said, playfully swatting at his arm.

Mingyu leaned in again, his lips a breath away from yours, his strong arms pinning you against the counter. "Maybe a little," he admitted, his voice low and husky. "But I'm also very hungry."

You giggled, your heart racing. As he leaned in for another kiss, you closed your eyes, relishing the sweet flavor of strawberries and the even sweeter essence of his affection.

[dduane]

Peter Mum's Soda Bread Recipe

With work around here the way it is at the moment, most likely EuropeanCuisines.com won't be up again until the end of the year. (shrug) Such is life.

With that in mind, here per @the-book-of-night-with-moon 's request is the famous soda bread recipe that brought people to the site again and again for a couple of decades. If the recipe below seems very plain, that's because the way soda bread is done in North America and elsewhere in the world is not how everyday soda bread's made in Ireland. No fruit, no sugar—except for an optional spoonful if the baker likes it: I omit it—no nuts or other similar addenda: nothing but flour, salt, soda and (ideally) buttermilk. (Breads here that do have fruit and whatnot are referred to as "tea breads" or "fruit soda".)

The ingredients:

450 g / 1 lb / approximately 3 1/4 cups flour (either cake flour or all-purpose)

Optional: 1 teaspoon sugar

1 teaspoon salt

1 teaspoon bicarbonate of soda

Between 300-350 ml / approx 10-12 fluid ounces buttermilk, sour / soured milk, or plain ("sweet") milk, to mix

If you're using plain milk, add 1 teaspoon of baking powder to the dry ingredients. This is perfectly legit; lots of professional bakers in Ireland do their soda bread this way, without the buttermilk and with additional raising ingredients besides baking soda.

So: preheat your oven to 200C / 400F. Meanwhile, mix the dry ingredients together well in a good-sized bowl, and then add the liquid and mix everything together. Like this:

That raggedy texture you see in the middle of the video is exactly what you want, and part of the secret of getting soda bread to rise properly. You have to get the loaf done as quickly as you can, so that the rise in the oven is maximized; and with minimum handling. This isn't a bread that needs to be kneaded. Just get it into a soft, mostly-cohesive lump as quickly and gently as you can, and shape it into a round about an inch to an inch and a half thick.

Finally have ready a really sharp knife to do that final cross-cut, which allows the loaf to spread and rise fully. Be careful to slice, not press. You don't have to cut incredibly deep: from a third to halfway down the round is plenty. ...There's endless online lore about how this is supposed to let the fairies out. Fond as I am of fairies, I prefer to think of it as letting the chemistry and physics out. (shrug) To each their own.

As soon as the oven's come up to heat, shove the loaf into the center of the oven on a nonstick baking sheet—I used a silicone mat here, but more for the look of the thing than any real concern about the loaf sticking—and bake it for 40 minutes. When you're done, it should look something like the one in the picture at the top of the post. It'll be easier to eat if you let it cool down most of the way; and a lot easier to slice if you put it in a paper or plastic bag overnight.

Anyway, tomorrow, so @petermorwood won't sulk, I'll make soda bread in the farl style instead of the above style that some of the locals call "cake". Farl's done on a griddle and cut into quarters for baking, and its geometry makes it uniquely suited (as Peter's father used to say) for eating large amounts of butter without a spoon. :)

ETA: attn @middleagedandoutoftouch: Check out the gluten-free soda bread from Ballymaloe. ...And there seem to be quite a few more of them out there: try this Google search.

[peetaslefttoe]

@dumbpuss

Peeta x Fem! Reader. Maybe they’re at the bakery? Like you know he’s teaching reader how to bake and how to knead bread and it’s all sensual. The reader and him are together but because of his games things have been like really stiff between them? You can go wild with the details!

warnings: p in v, slight choking, AFAB reader

summary: request above 🫶

author’s note: ahhh thank you for the request i love this idea, i hope i did it justice <33

Masterlist pinned xx

The sweet aroma of flour and cinnamon filled your nose. Peeta stood beside you wrapped in an apron, he’s hands preparing ingredients from memory. You finally got this time to be alone with him. Things had been tense between you two since his return from the arena and this was just what you needed. You sit on the wooden counter top beside him while he works on a loaf.

“Okay, so now that we’ve made the dough, you need to knead it out,” he patted your waist urging you to jump down. You stood between his warm arms watching his hands carefully. He massaged the dough, rolling it under his strong hands. You felt a warmth growing in your stomach, his steady hands against the palpable dough and his torso supporting your back. You leaned back into his heat looking up at him.

“The dough darling, look back at the dough,” he smirked noticing the way you looked at him. You obliged looking down once more. You couldn’t help your thoughts wandering looking at his large hands. Imagining them around your neck, his comforting touch all over your body, his skilled fingers working into you. After what felt like ages he had molded the dough onto a sheet.

“Okay, now we put it in the oven, just turn the heat up,” you turned the dial all the way. “Perfect,” his praise brought fire to your cheeks. You stood back admiring his handwork as he placed the loaf into the burning oven, shutting the metal door behind it. He turned back to the counter patting the wood in front of him expectantly. You hopped up sitting down and looking into his big hazel eyes. He placed his muscled arms on either side of your hips.

“You’re not very discreet sweet girl,” he whispered, brushing your hair behind your ears.

“What’do you mean?” you asked, your voice breaking when you felt his splayed hand on your lower back.

“What were you thinking about Y/N?” he smirked at you cheekily.

“The bread…?” you replied shakily, his hands coming to rest on your hips.

“Ah ah, don’t be sassy with me sweetheart, tell me what you were thinking about,” he said lowly, maintins eye contact.

“Your… hands,” you finally said looking down at your lap. He tilted your chin back up, looking you in your eyes.

“Mhm and what were my hands doing?” he pushed further.

“Touching me…” you whimpered, his hands dipping down to run along the waistband of your skirt.

“Like this?” Peeta whispered, before cupping your face and kissing you gently. He pulled you closer deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing into your mouth. He wound his hands into your hair tugging gently making you whimper.

“I wanted us to have a nice date after all the time apart, but your obsession with my hands is driving me crazy Y/N,” Peeta finally gasped out through the kiss. You leaned back capturing pointer figure in your mouth.

“Peeta,” you moaned against his hand, suckling on his finger.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, his dominant facade fading away with the dance of your tongue on his fingers.

“Peeta, please, fuck me,” you whispered, kissing his hand and dragging your fingers up his back. He untied his apron and reached for his belt buckle. You stopped him, pushing his hands out of the way and undoing it for him. You pulled his pants and boxers down, his hard cock slapped against his toned torso. He gathered up your skirt holding it firmly at your waist. He hooked his fingers into your panties teasingly, he dragged them slowly down your thighs.

“Peeta please, I need you,” you groaned begging him to move faster. He removed your underwear completely before lifting your legs so your feet were on the counter, spreading you for him.

“My hands really made you this wet darling?” he said smugly. You whined bucking towards him. He smirked up at you and ran his hand through your soaked folds.

“Peeta,” you whimpered.

“What’s wrong sweet girl? I thought you liked these hands?” he teases you further, circling your clit.

“Peeta! Please stop teasing, fuck me please,” you begged shamelessly for his cock. He stood, pressing a kiss to your lips before turning his attention to your neck suckling and nibbling on the exposed skin. Just as you were about to open your mouth and beg him once again you feel him start to push into you. His thick dick enters you inch by inch. You wrap your arms around him tightly adjusting to his size.

“Just breath sweetheart,” he whispers. “Tell me when I can move,” he presses a gentle kiss to your temple. You breath for a few moments before you nod against his chest signalling him. Sometimes the way Peeta switches from his sweet passionate self to confident and dominate surprises you. One second ago he was kissing you gently checking that you were okay the next he has you pinned to the counter, his hand firmly around your neck. You moan loudly as he squeezes your throat tightly while ramming into your wet cunt.

“This is what you wanted isn’t it, you wanted my hands wrapped around your throat didn’t you?”

“Yesss,” you gasp through his rough strokes.

“That’s my girl, taking me so well aren’t you?” he gruffly speaks your praise. He drills into you, the bakery filling with the sound of your skin meeting. He moves the hand around your neck onto the counter beside your head for support with the other he dips his fingers into your empty mouth. Without pause you pull his warm hand into your mouth, suckling and licking his finger tips. He grips your jaw tightly with his thumb while you drool onto your chin and along his wrist. You moaned around his fingers feeling tension build in your core.

“You’re close aren’t you? Cum for me, please Y/N, cum all over me,” you whine at his words thrusting against his dick. With his words the heat inside you snaps flooding you with euphoria. Your pussy clenches around his thick cock, he whimpers, slumping over you while he wildly fucks your pulsing hole, filling you with his warm cum. He slows his thrusts riding his high while you embrace him, stroking his blonde hair.

[wonbokkies]

☆ so sweet.

pairing. lee minho x gn reader.

content / warnings. established relationship, fluff, descriptions of menstrual cycle.

word count. 823

synopsis. it's your time of the month, minho and his kitties are there to comfort you.

★ chus note. enjoy A Very. self-indulgent fic . . ( ꈍ ᵕ ꈍ )

you were laying down in the comfort of your warm mattress, huffing a quiet sigh while having a heat pad over your aching lower abdomen to lessen the occasional throbbing sensation within. you couldn’t bring yourself to properly sit upright, feeling too fatigued to do much.

the various sounds of meows and purrs was all you could hear, along with the soft rustle of the bedsheets. the random show that you were previously watching to distract yourself on the television now long forgotten, left as noise to fill the silence.

“soonie.. doongie, dori-ah..” you quietly cooed at the active cats before wincing, another wave of cramps hitting you after trying to prop yourself up onto your elbow, quietly groaning.

you could see soonie’s head and his flickering ears over the curve of your thigh, his nose nudging against the skin. doongie being comfortably curled up beside your hip, little paws lightly massaging your aching belly. dori loafing over your chest, blocking most of your view as he contently purrs above you. they seemed more clingy than usual.

you carefully raise a hand and softly caressing the kitten laid atop of you. the pad of your thumb brushes against his fluffy forehead as you softly murmur. “my little babies.”

suddenly, notifications start going off beside you, extending an arm over dori’s laying form without disturbing his relaxation and grasping onto your vibrating phone. you turn the device on and a familiar contact name catches your eye, swiping your thumb up.

hi my darling

im almost home now with the things you asked for

a little smile tugs on the corners of your lips as you read his messages. your fingers tap along the keyboard, sending him quick responses.

thank you min

the kitties miss you

and i miss you too

drive safely

after tapping send, your arm falls back to your side and the device slips out of your grasp, onto the bedcovers. maybe because it was that time of the month, or maybe because of the felines surrounding you and the soothing sounds of their purrs, your eyelids start to droop.

☆★☆

feeling the bed dipping beside you and a gentle pair of hands along your lower abdomen as you start to wake up (you didn’t even realize that you’ve even fell asleep), fingers kneading against the clothed area. “..minho?” bleary eyed, quickly blinking and glancing up at the person who is staring fondly down at you. “how long have you been home?” your voice dry, raspy from your rest.

minho’s eyes avert away to glance at the ticking clock on the wall. “about an hour ago.” he quickly looks back at you, speaking in that tone he only uses with his kittens and you while tilting his head to the side. “how are you feeling, hm?”

you realize the lack of a fluffy, little furball on your chest as you lazily stretch your arms out, dori has moved elsewhere in the room, same with the other two cats. the heat pad you previously had over your stomach has disappeared too, even the television you accidentally left on turned off, the work of lee minho.

“i’m doing okay.. better at least.” your words were soft spoken falling from your lips, still a bit sleepy. “you should’ve woken me up, min.”

minho shakes his head, “you needed that rest, pretty.” the smile never leaving his lips, his fingers moving to intertwine with yours. “oh— and the things you wanted.. i stored them in the cupboard beneath the sink.”

you slightly lean upwards, minho lowers to meet your lips and you’re able to press a soft peck to the corner of his curved mouth. “thank you, you’re so sweet.” 

he only sweetly hums, grinning against your lips while his free hand lightly pats your stomach. minho looks at you affectionately before you’re hearing the bedroom door creak open, light peeking into the dimmed room. separate padding of paws against the wooden floors entering in, the noises of mews and trills nearing closer.

soonie jumps onto the mattress, he makes his way across the bedsheets and beside your leg, rubbing his fuzzy, little head against the flesh. doongie and dori follow suit, the two felines snuggling around you, purring. the grey kitty pawing at your lower abdomen like minho, as if playing with a yarnball.

“do they know?” you questionably asked minho while watching the purring cats fondly, stroking dori’s twitching ears. “before you came home, doong—doong was massaging me just like how you do.. the cats are even more touchy than usual.”

“well, somewhat. they’re able to smell it.” minho spoke as he softly chuckled, petting doongie’s head and the cat gladly nuzzles into his touch, meowing happily. “they just want to make you feel better.”

“aww. . that’s so sweet of them.” you murmured, before your smile quickly falters and staring at the man with a flummoxed expression. “what— wait, they're able to smell it?”

© wonbokkies on tumblr. please do not copy, repost, or plagiarize any of our works.

[citruslullabies]

Catnap X introverted ! Fox smiling critter! Reader

Though unlike catnap they take it to another means of extreme, it's not by any means that they're shy it's just they go by any means to isolate themselves because they're not used to such an outgoing environment.

I guess since both of them are introverted and won't make any means of initiation, let's say that both of them find themselves going to the same spot they use to hide from people not knowing the other uses it time by time.

They get used to each other (involuntarily) because it's the only hiding spot that none of the other critters are aware of, so they have to tolerate each others presence and what if catnap gets interested in reader because of how enigmatic they are and maybe even get a lil crush on them :3

Awh, cute!

Trigger warnings: none

Romantic/platonic: a lil bit of both

Requested by: anonymous :3

Category: fluff

Ship (romantic or platonic): Catnap x introverted!fox!reader

Word count: 440

Hiding From You, Only to Hide With You

Foxes were normally very outgoing, much like dogs or pet birds. But you were a bit different, being considered the ‘hidden smiling critter’ from your shyness. The others never saw you, maybe a glimpse but if they somehow remembered your name despite never seeing you and then try to talk to you, you'll run and hide.

You were laying down in your little hidey hole, it was small but big enough for at least three of you. It was cozy and warm, and isolated. It was your refuge from the world.. or, well was until you opened your eyes and saw a certain feline staring at you with confusion as he had one foot in as if he was going to get in with you. “What are you doing here? Uh..” he thought for a moment, trying to remember your name.

“I'm just hiding.” You mumbled, the words having lost all meaning through your barely parting lips while almost too quiet for him to hear. You noticed how he forgot your name and after some thought, you answered with the same amount of timidness if not more. “(Y/n)..”

He nodded and hummed, before getting in the hidey hole. “Well, scoot over.” He said before kneading the ground beneath him, purring as he loafed and prepared for a nap. You awkwardly stared at him and thought about if you should stay or if you should go, but ultimately decided to stay due to no other hiding spot being oblivious to the others.

And it just kept happening time and time again after that. After maybe the fifth repeat, you two finally started talking. With catnap initiating of course because he didn't like basically sleeping next to some person he didn't know. So he asked the basic questions and answered for himself, but he found it strange how shy you were.

On the seventh time, he was almost excited to see if you were there. Which you were. He crawled inside and happily snuggled up, purring and even nuzzling his head against the crook of your neck and head. His ears twitched and his tail gently swayed about. “Do you just like..

Live here?” He asked with curiosity, slightly joking but at the same time not.

You shook your head, speaking up softly. Your speech was still quiet but it felt like with every interaction it slowly grew louder. “Well, no.. but I like to lay here.. it's nice and cozy, and away from everybody..” you murmured, just slightly above a whisper but loud enough for him to hear. He thought about that and nodded with a smile.

“Well, not everybody.”

Thanks for requesting!

[taelophone]

Fresh Linen૮ ․ ․ ྀིა₊⊹

Joost Klein x Reader! TWs: RPF, the softest romance ever!! I made Joost after lucky blue lol W/C: 3,604! A/N: Reader is implied to be something other than white, but its not major. + Some music I found that really matches the vibe methinks!! <3

When Joost first garnered fame, he could never imagine slowing down anytime soon. He was like a rolling boulder ; starting off slow and inexperienced with his rough, jagged edges. But now he’s been rolling for years, refining himself into a smooth stone down the hill.

He said all his life that he had a pretty good idea of things he liked and didn’t like. Kids, cats, feet, all of those icky things.

But here he was, slouched in an ivory arm chair as he brushed his daughter, Adessa’s hair. His life had managed to compress itself down into a tiny, squirming little baby and rest itself on his knees.

You smiled to yourself, lying down on the couch opposite of Joost as you watched him experience pure unbridled adoration. “You’re gonna look sooooooo pretty, Dessie!” He cooed, gently working the bristles of the brush through the long, chocolate brown curls.

He took his time, gently working his fingers through the soft hair before using two blue rubber bands to tie it into two sleek twin pigtails. He fluffed her hair out a little, smiling eagerly as Adessa giggled, clearly excited to see how her hair turned out. 

You loved seeing Joost dote on your baby girl. When you first started dating, he was very firm about not wanting any type of children. But Adessa managed to have him wrapped around her little finger.

“Daddy, why do I have to brush my hair?” Adessa asked, squirming around slightly as Joost struggled to tie the little lace bows around each pigtail.

“So it won’t get all tangled and messy.” He hummed, gently tying the last bow.

You smiled, watching as Adessa began to ramble Joost’s ears off with her little voice. Joost seemed to cling to every single word, leaning forward in his chair and placing his hands on his knees as he nodded. “Ja, natuurlijk.”

“I’m gonna make some bread, do you two wanna help?” You offered, standing up from the couch. “We haveeee...4 hours before we head to the park, so that’s enough time to make a loaf and lunch.” You smiled.

“Yes, I can help!” Joost smiled, standing up slowly from the arm chair as to not knock Adessa off of his knees. “Des, wil je brood maken?” Joost asked, scooping Adessa up from under her shoulders and tossing her up in the air.

Adessa shrieked and giggled, eagerly lifting her arms up as she nodded. “Ja! I wanna help mommy!” She beamed.

You smiled, making your way into the cozy little kitchen, Joost following behind you with Adessa in his arms. You got everything you’d need to make your bread and laid it out on the counter in front of the window.

Joost sat Adessa down on the kitchen counter, leaning against it as well as he watched you set everything up to make sure it would take as little time as possible. 

“I’m…not a good cook.” He chuckled, grabbing the measuring cups and spoons for you in a heartbeat.

“I know, Joost. That’s why I said help.” You giggled, setting the large bowl next to Adessa, who kicked her little legs back and forth off the counter.

“Alright, Dessa! I’m gonna let you pour the dry ingredients in the bowl and mix, okay?” You murmured, filling each measuring cup with its corresponding dry ingredients, and handing them to Adessa one by one.

You supervised her carefully, admiring her with a soft smile as she carefully added the flour, sugar, salt, and dry yeast to the bowl.

“Do I mix now?” She asked, staring up at you with her electric blue eyes. She was such a cute girl, with those beautiful pools of blue she had inherited from her dad. But of course, you could see yourself in her face as well.

“Yep! Daddy’s gonna help me add the water, and then we can all knead the dough together!” You explained, handing Joost the one cup, and half cup measuring cups.

“Could you fill these with warm water, my love?” You smiled, turning your head to face him.

He nodded, taking the cups from your hands and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Yes, baby.” He hummed, filling the cups with warm water and adding them to the bowl of dry ingredients.

“Alright, you two,” you began, stepping in front of Joost as you picked up the silicone scraping spatula, scraping the dry ingredients off the sides of the bowl. 

“There’s a certain way to mix bread. You don’t just go in an aggressive circle,” you showed, aggressively mixing the flour and water together. “Nah. You kind of like…fold it in. Stay from the bottom, and bring in to the top til’ it’s all combined.” You nodded.

“I wanna try!” Adessa gasped, immediately grinning ear to ear as she clasped her hands together in wonder.

“Of course you can!” You smiled, sliding the bowl over to her and handing her the spatula.

She did her best to mix, trying to copy the motions you showed her earlier as her brows furrowed in concentration.

You smiled, placing your hand over Joost’s as he leaned down, leaning his head on your shoulder and placed his hands on your hips.

“I love you.” He murmured, pecking the side of your head.

You smiled, leaning your head against his lovingly. “I love you too.” You hummed, holding his hand gently.

You chattered away with Joost and Adessa, finishing up with mixing the dough before dusting the counter with flour and tranferring the slightly sticky dough onto the powdered, sleek, and wooden surface.

“Alright, cover your hands in flour, and then you kinda just…knead it. Don’t be too hard, but don’t be scared of it.” You explained, kneading the dough gently.

You let Adessa try, letting her smack and poke the dough while she snickered and chuckled.

“Joost, roll up your sleeves and knead this for me please.” You requested, watching as Adessa hopped off the counter to go play her iPad. 

He nodded, reluctantly pulling himself away from you and rolling up the sleeves on his white collared shirt. “How do I do it again…” he snickered. “Show me.”

You sighed, smiling softly as you pushed him aside gently with your hip. “Like this,” you instructed, kneading the dough again.

He nodded, shifting behind you again and placing his hands over yours, kneading the dough with you as he hummed quietly to himself.

You kept going until the dough was smooth and matte, grabbing the little baking tin and slotting it into the pan and scoring a little heart into the surface.

“All done!” You smiled, holding up the pan to get a better look.

“You want any herbs on the top, baby?” You asked, craning your head upwards so you could look at him.

He brushed his hands off with the kitchen towel before placing them on the counter on either side of you. “Maybe some sage and rosemary.” He smiled, nodding subtly.

You nodded, slowly pulling away from him to find the sage and rosemary, plucking them from the fridge. You gently sprinkled the herbs on top of the bread before drizzling a little bit of olive oil on top and sprinkling a bit of black pepper as well.

“Put this in the oven for me?” You smiled, handing him the pan. 

He smiled, taking the pan from your hands and walking over to the already preheated oven. He swung open the oven door, wincing slightly at the gust of heat before gently sliding it onto the bottom of the rack.

“There you go, babe.” He smiled, his cheeks going a rosy pink from simply gazing in your direction. “I’ll go get Dessa dressed, and you can do whatever you want.” He smiled, whisking his way over to you, placing a kiss on your cheek and making his way to Adessa in the living room.

You smiled, feeling your sensitive little heart clench and vibrate at how he loved you so gently. Ever since you met Joost, he treated you like the most precious of gems. He wanted to make things easy for you; to dote on and pamper you like you were his most prized possession.

In Joost’s eyes, you and Adessa were his heart walking around outside of his body. When humans first thought of the word love, they described it as an attempt feeling of deep affection. But when Joost thought of love, he thought of laying down with you and Dess, listening to your soft snores as time passed you by second after second.

It was those painfully slow days that reminded him that love has no time limit. Even when he was long gone and miles underneath the earths crust, his spirit would make sure the sun kept shining and the earth kept spinning for his baby girl.

You used the time Joost gave you to prep a small breakfast and pack a little snack bag for Adessa, knowing she would ultimately be hungry after playing in the park. After you finished that task, you tugged your sleeves down on your sweater, fixing your  jeans and leaning against the counter to have a sparkling water.

Joost and Adessa emerged mere minutes later, with your daughter now in a blue and white gingham dress and frilly white socks and cute little Mary Jane’s.

“Mommy, look!” She beamed, running up to you eagerly to show off her outfit. She did a fast little spin, grinning from ear to ear as she gazed up at you for approval.

You gasped, making sure to set down your can before kneeling down to be eye level with her. “You look so pretty, Dessa!” You cooed, giving her a big hug and peppering her face with kisses.

She giggled uncontrollably, trying to push your face away and squirming away from your love attack. 

You sat her back down, giving her one last kiss before patting her head gently. “Daddy did a great job.” You nodded, looking over at Joost and smiling.

He nodded back at you, giving you a thumbs up and blowing you a brief kiss.

What a cute nerd.

You stood up, standing in the kitchen and watching as Joost walked over towards you.

“I made you guys a little charcuterie board.” You smiled, gently wrapping your arms around Joost’s neck as he held your waist and gazed into your eyes.

“Oh thank you, mijn liefste!” He smiled, turning his head briefly to munch on some blueberries. “You’re so sweet, I don’t deserve you.” He mumbled, resting his head on yours.

“Not true!” You fake-gasped. “You’re the best, too.”

“…we the best music..” he whispered, immediately giggling after. 

“Bye.” You giggled, moving to walk away from him, only for him to pull you back gently.

“No, dance with me.” He pouted, swaying with you slowly in the kitchen.

“You’re so corny!” You giggled, swaying with him as well.

“People are afraid to be corny, but I was born on the cob.” He recited, chuckling in your ear. You could really see where Adessa got her laugh from whenever Joost giggled. You recognized that ‘hehehe’ anywhere.

“Daddy?” A little voice asked, Adessa staring up at you with her big round eyes.

“Yes, little one?” He hummed, still swaying with you as he glanced at Adessa.

“Are you and mommy in loooove?” She asked, leaning forward and smiling at the two of you.

“Of course! I’d move planets for your mama.” He nodded.

You snickered, smiling just a little harder at his shameless admission.

“And I would for you, too.” Joost smiled.

Adessa nodded, clinging onto Joost’s leg as she giggled. She couldn’t understand slow dancing, but she wanted to be included in anything her parents did. So she danced along with the two of you, eagerly twirling around beside you.

You smiled, watching her with nothing but love. 

“Jojo?” You hummed, resting your hands on either side of his neck gently.

“Ja?” He smiled.

“You wanna watch a movie after we take Dess to the park?” You muttered, pecking his neck gently.

He smiled, stopping in the middle of the kitchen floor before walking you back into the counter and setting you down on top of the smooth wood. 

“Of course.” He smiled, resting his head on your shoulder.

You stayed together in the kitchen for an hour or two, chatting away with each other happily about anything and everything until the oven dinged, prompting Joost to remove the fresh loaf with your pink little oven mitts.

“The bread is finished!” He smiled, placing it on the table.

“Great! Thanks.” You cheered, hopping off the counter to stare at the loaf. You fought off both Adessa and Joost, desperately trying to explain that the bread needs to cool before you cut or eat it.

“Mommy it’s ok, the bread won’t know!” Adessa grinned, standing on her tip toes in an attempt to see above the counter. Joost scooped her up, setting her down on the counter beside him as he admired the fresh baked loaf as well.

“It looks very good! Good job.” He praised, giving Adessa an approving high five. She nodded firmly, crossing her arms at her job well done before suddenly gasping.

“Mommy helped, too! Say good job to mommy!” She squeaked, pointing a finger at you.

He giggled, turning over to you and smiling.

“Thank youuu, amazing beautiful great gorgeous fiancée!” He beamed. 

“You’re welcome!” You chirped, kissing his cheek. “Alright, we can head to the park while that cools.” You nodded, heading into the living room to slide on your shoes and grab your keys.

Adessa followed behind, smiling happily as she toddled behind you, grabbing onto your fingers as she followed you out the door.

“Kom op, papa!” She called, turning her head around to pout at Joost, who was tying his shoes.

“Yeah, hurry up grandpa!” You teased, putting your hand on your hip. “You’d really make a child wait to go play at the park?” You snickered, watching as Adessa mirrored your pose.

Joost looked up, raising an eyebrow at the two of you as the picture finally panned out. He saw just how alike you and Adessa were, and suddenly all the noise in his head stopped. He was happy where he was, and couldn’t ask for anything more.

“Hold on, I’m done I’m done!” He giggled, stumbling out the door behind the both of you and closing the door.

“You got some flour on your nose.” You chuckled. “Coke allegations pending.” You whispered, motioning to the upper bridge of his nose.

He laughed, quickly clearing the flour away from his face.

“I’m not Charli.” He giggled, following behind you and Adessa closely.

“Are you sure? You seem to be bumpin’ that…” you joked.

“Nee, nee nee nee! I’m not.” He giggled.

You walked in the warm sunlight towards the park, taking steady breaths of fresh air as you admired the beautiful scenery.

The Netherlands was a bit of a change from the atmosphere you grew up with, but more grass was definitely a plus.

When you made it to the park, Adessa had set off to go play with the other kids in the grass.

You smiled, wrapping an arm around Joost’s arm and walking with him through the grass. Since Friesland was really small in retrospect, you had no doubt people recognized him, but you were grateful nobody made the move to bother or approach you with your child.

“I never thought I’d be getting married soon…” Joost suddenly blurted, holding your hand gently.

“I know, this all feels so unreal to me.” You smiled.

“I used to just say I was ok with my bloodline stopping at me…and now look, I’m engaged with a daughter.” He giggled.

“Nobody knows where they’ll end up, and that’s ok.” You shrugged, allowing Joost to pull you down and sitting in the grass with him, just far enough to supervise Adessa.

He nodded, smiling softly as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. 

You stayed at the park for a good hour, running around with Adessa in the grass as she chased you with a magical leaf that would make you go “boom!”

“Alright, Dessa, let’s go home and have some lunch, okay?” You smiled, scooping her up and spinning her around. 

She nodded, wrapping her arms around your neck as she waved bye to her park friends.

The walk back was relatively quiet, and you could tell that Adessa had fallen asleep. You chuckled, gently shaking her awake so she could stay up long enough to eat, have a quick little bath and then go to sleep later.

“Here, I got her.” Joost murmured, gently taking her from your arms. You smiled, thanking him wordlessly as you reached the front door and pushed it open.

You sat your bag and keys down on the side table, slipping your shoes off by the door and heading into the kitchen. You made a quick little sandwich for Adessa with some smoked turkey, Swiss cheese, pickles, lettuce, tomato, and red onion. What a non-picky baby.

You headed into the living room, handing the sandwich to a very sleepy looking Adessa whose head kept drooping onto her dad’s shoulder. Joost chuckled, watching as she perked up momentarily to eat her food.

“I like your bread, mommy.” She murmured, finishing up her sandwich with a little smile.

“Thank you!” You smiled, patting her head softly. “Im glad you like it. I made it with lots of love, just for you!” You explained, booping her little nose. 

She smiled, leaving the crusts on her plate and placing it down on the coffee table. “All done.” She murmured, rubbing her eyes as she leaned on Joost’s shoulder again.

Joost sat up slowly, ensuring she wouldn’t fall over on the couch before picking her up. “Bed time!” He beamed, dancing and twirling up the stairs with Adessa.

“I got her, just go get comfy!” He smiled, turning back to you briefly before disappearing upstairs. 

You cheered quietly, quickly setting up downstairs for movie night. You laid out the blankets, snacks, and drinks before shuffling upstairs to your shared room to change into some pajamas.

You decided on a matching pair of pink fuzzy shorts and a pink fuzzy hoodie. You glanced in the mirror, smoothing out the hoodie delicately and making sure you looked ok, even thought you knew Joost wouldn’t care even if you didn’t, because in his words “it’s okay to not be okay.”

You smiled, giggling at yourself briefly before making your way to the bathroom to check on the two of them, only to see a tub overflowing with bubbles and an Adessa with a soapy Mohawk.

“What the actual hell, Joost.” You murmured, eyes widening at the height the bubbles had managed to somehow reach. Adessa was lost in the midst of it, blue eyes just barely visible through the forest of bubbles.

Joost smiled, instantly freezing in place before slowly turning to you.

“Hello!!” He waved, slowly putting down the bubble bath solution.

“How much of that did you use!” You half-chuckled, half-scoffed, watching as the blue coloring practically spilled over the floor.

“Mommy it’s okay, I’m the bubble princess!” Adessa giggled, raising her arms up through the hoard of suds.

You sighed, but smiled softly. The cleanup would eat you the fuck alive, sure, but at least she was happy.

“Of course, sweetie.” You giggled, heading back out the bathroom slowly. You retreated downstairs to the couch, taking in the warm, orange-y yellow lighting that consumed the room. It reminded you of fall, with the sweet spices and crisp days that brought you so much joy.

You waited for no more than 5 minutes on the couch before the little pitter patter of feet came down the stairs. 

“Mommy!” The little voice whispered from the top of the stairs. “You gotta come say goodnight to me!”

You chuckled, standing up from the couch and jogging over to her. “Of course I do! C’mon!” You whispered, heading upstairs to her all pink princess themed bedroom.

Even though she had sworn her allegiance to nothing but pink time and time again, she still had the cover art for her dad’s beloved albums up on the wall next to her bed, courtesy of her father.

She scurried into bed, giggling as Joost pecked her little forehead gently. He had to completely sit down to be close to her bed, which was almost comical to see, but you didn’t wanna laugh at how massive he was just yet.

“Alright, goodnight sweetie.” You whispered, gently tying a little scarf around her head so her hair wouldn’t look crazy in the morning. “I love you!” You cooed, peppering her face with kisses.

She giggled, leaning up to kiss your nose before laying back down and rubbing her eyes. “I love you too…” she murmured, trying her best to keep her eyes open as she watched you and Joost turn off the lights and slowly leave.

You closed the door behind you two, smiling at Joost before giggling and scurrying down the steps like eager children. You crashed onto the couch together, cuddling up as Joost snatched the remote off the armrest and turned on the TV.

“This parenting shit is easy. W’s in the chat.” He giggled, pulling you as close as he could.

“I don’t know about easy, but you’re definitely a great dad!” You smiled, resting your hand on his chest.

He rolled his eyes, snickering quietly as he kissed your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

©Taelophone<33

[luvnami]

i genuinely don't know what overcame me when i wrote this. but here, have modern!au sanemi baking with reader. hopefully you think it's funny, because i'll feel less braindead

baking together is not romantic. the idea itself is cute. execution of said idea, however, leaves much to be desired. 

“sanemi,” you begin, because names are always a good place to start, “this tastes like ass.”

before you is a comically flat loaf of bread. the crumb is incredibly dense (if it can even be called a crumb at all), the crust is as hard as a rock, and you’re pretty sure the yeast packet you used was expired.

you don’t know why you thought that baking bread was an easy process, considering that both you and shinazugawa are amateur bakers. you know how to cook, sure. baking, on the other hand, comparatively seems like rocket science. 

shinazugawa stares at the fruit of his labour on the kitchen counter. he raps his knuckles on the crust once, then twice. it sounds like he’s knocking on a brick. 

“jesus fucking christ,” he mutters. 

his arms are sore from kneading the dough. you had quickly grown tired of it, learning that reaching that perfect ‘gluten window’ was harder than it seemed, so you left it to your boyfriend with his big, strong biceps. surely all those hours in the gym must amount to something, right? it also gave you an excuse to gawk at him, in your extra pink apron and his forearms flexing with each knead. 

your apartment’s kitchen is now littered with baking utensils. you’ll find flour in the strangest places for the next two months, but that’s a problem for future you to deal with.

“well, that was a bust. what do we do with this?” you sigh, crossing your arms. 

shinazugawa sucks on his teeth. he was planning to make something edible for dinner out of the bread, but that’s clearly out of the question now. 

“fuck this. we’re getting takeout. we can feed the bread to, i don’t know, the pigeons at the park.”

“the pigeons? what if they choke and die! babe, this isn’t even bread. it’s an abomination.”

“fuck the pigeons.”

you gawk at shinazugawa. he’s serious. he’s going to feed the pigeons your failed gluten creation and newsflash: you’re getting arrested for killing the pigeon population at your local park. it’s a life sentence. you’ll never make it out alive. even if you do, the pigeons will send their strongest army to peck you to death. 

“babe! the pigeons! you can’t just say that!” you cry out. 

you lunge at shinazugawa and start weakly beating at his chest. he snorts. okay, maybe don’t fuck the pigeons. he catches you and squeezes you tight against him, ignoring your appeals to him to maybe care about the birds a bit more (he could give less of a fuck about them, though. damned things had a knack for assaulting him for his snacks). 

you’re both covered in flour, wearing matching aprons, and you’re all pressed up against him. next time, maybe you’ll start with cookies first. shinazugawa makes a mental note of that. 

“c’mon, we’ll order your favourite.”

your eyes sparkle. you momentarily forget about the pigeons. 

“really?”

shinazugawa melts a little when you look up at him, eyes wide and expectant. how can he say no? thank god for failed bread and stray birds. 

he kisses your forehead.

“of course.”

[chipsinsalsa]

Bakers Boy

Peeta x FemReader

Plot: What happens when you decide to go into the Bakery shop of the boy you have a crush on?

A/N: I’m sorry if a lot of it is in accurate or if the fanfic is not that good and has typos. First time on tumblr! And I also haven’t written anything in a while but if you guys like it my requests are open! 🤘

contains: smut, praise (reader receiving),fem reader!,character aged up

Truth be told you never even dared to go near the bakery of District 12.

You had always heard stories from the kids at school about the mean old hag that worked there, the baker's wife. And that alone made you avoid it at all costs. But something tempted you to get closer for in that same Bakery, worked the boy you had a crush on. You didn't know his name but something about him made you want to know more.

One day when you had just returned from selling a few of your cheese at the Hob. You walked past the bakery shop as usual and couldn't help but take in the smell of the sweet bread and its irresistible warmth drawing you in. You decided to glance into the window and there the golden locks of the young boy at work captured your eye.

So you decided to go in.

You opened the door to the sound of a bell ringing. Immediately the boy put the doe he was kneading down and turned to face you. He dusted himself off on his apron and headed up to the counter

“Hello Ms what can I get for you today” He spoke. His powdery hands caught your attention, and you couldn't help but imagine how soft they were. How warm they would feel after having been near the oven all day. He noticed you were distracted and waved his hand near your face. “Ms?”

“um- I apologize I must have spaced out, could I just get a loaf of bread” You spoke embarrassed.

The boy smiled kindly and nodded, "Of course, we have a few different types of bread. Would you like a plain white loaf or something with a bit more flavor like our honey wheat or sourdough?"

You considered the options for a moment before deciding. "I think something sweet so the Honey Wheat sounds lovely, what do I owe you?”

The boy quickly wrapped up the bread and handed it to you. "It's on the house"

"Are you sure? I can pay for it." He smiled, "Absolutely. I like to treat our first-time customers to a free loaf of bread. Consider it a welcome gift."

“Oh..thank you” You looked at the nametag on his apron “Peeta”

“Of course, what's your name?” He asked curiously.

“y/n” It took a moment but a confused look crossed your face when you realized what he said. “Wait..how do you know I haven't been here before? ” He circled the counter walking over to you. You began to take some steps back trying to keep your distance but eventually hitting the wall.

“Well, the truth is” He began to speak. “I've seen you before”

You furrowed your brow in confusion. "You've seen me before? Where?"

Peeta smiled, "Every day after school you walk home past the Bakery. I've never seen you come in before though. Your always so tense.”

You were surprised and a bit embarrassed that someone had been paying attention to you, "Is it that obvious?"

He shrugged, "I wouldn't say it's obvious, but I do notice things. I like to think I have a good sense of people. And I can tell that you're not a big fan of my mother. But don't worry, she's not here right now. You're safe."

You laughed nervously, "I didn't mean to offend you”

Peeta waved his hand, "It's alright. My mother can be a bit intimidating sometimes, she seems to take her job very seriously." He paused for a moment before continuing, "If you don't mind me asking, what made you decide to come in today?"

“You” was the first thing you wanted to say but then thought about it for a split second. You looked down at the loaf of bread in your hands, "Honestly, it was the smell of your bread. It was too good to resist." you lied.

The boy grinned, "Ah, yes. The smell of fresh bread can be quite tempting cant it”

He began to walk even closer as you nodded nervously in response. “However” He began to speak “I believe my bread may not have been the only reason you came in today,” He said as his eyes began to scan you. Your heart racing. You knew you couldn't stay another second near him. “I think… I should head home now”

As you turned to leave, Peeta reached out and gently grabbed your arm. "Wait," he said softly, "It's just” He took a breath “I like you...I know that sounds weird but I've seen you stare at me from the window before and hoped one day you would come in. And now that you have I dont want to let you go so easily.”

You were immobile. Before you could even think his lips slowly pressed against yours. The heat of his body now becoming more apparent. You felt his hands rise to grab your hair running his fingers through it pulling you in more. His lips tasted like sweet honey, soft like his touch. You couldn't move.

He finally pulled back the both of you gasping for air.

He glanced at you while panting and feeling his chest rise. “I'm sorry, but I just had to kiss you. At least once.”

You kissed him in return.

Immediately he understood grabbing the loaf from your hands and setting it to the side. Breaking the kiss for a moment only to grab the sign on the door that read “OPEN” and turning it over. “I know I've only ever seen you through the window but you dont understand how badly I dreamt about this” He spoke as he picked you up quickly placing you on the counter.

You felt his hands explore your body, running up and down your back and sliding over your hips.

You let out a small moan, and he pulled back to look at you, a smirk on his face. "Such a sweet girl" he spoke his voice low. You felt a flush rising to your cheeks.

He leaned in to kiss you again, and this time his hands moved lower, grazing over your thighs. You felt a shiver run through you, and you knew that you wanted more. Without thinking, you reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

The boy responded eagerly, pressing his body against yours and deepening the kiss. You could feel his hardening bulge pressing against your thigh, and you moaned softly, feeling a surge of desire wash over you.

“I think I might have something a little sweeter for you in the back,” He said smirking as he picked you up again taking you to the back of the bakery.

He carried you to a pile of flour sacks stacked on the floor laying you down. “I know this isn't the most ideal place but know at any moment you can say no” He spoke almost expecting you to say so. His hand brushing your hair to the side.

“Never,” You said as you grabbed his neck pulling him on top of you. He smirked as he began to kiss you again. His kiss trailed to your cheek down to your neck. You felt his teeth sink into you as you let out another moan. “Fuck.. you're so fucking good” He whimpered while still trailing his kisses. You felt his hips bucking into your thigh. You could sense his desperation and how hard he was trying to take things slow.

He finally reached your chest. He looked up at you his eyes like a puppy waiting for his treat. “May I pretty girl.”

You nodded as he began to take your shirt off. You helped by untying your bra. The warm air of the Bakery oven hit your chest immediately once it was off but not as warm as the eager boy's tongue now pressing on your tender breast. His tongue lightly sucking while it brushed against your nipple. His moans sending vibrations through your body. His other hand running through your back bringing you closer to him. He took his mouth off your breast leaving kisses as he made his way down your stomach. “If I knew you tasted this good I would have kissed you as soon as you came in.” He whispered smirking between a kiss.

Before you even noticed he pulled your pants off, grabbed your thighs, and threw your legs over his broad shoulders. He lightly squeezed your thighs before placing his fingers on your covered clit. Making you shudder right away. “So wet already Princess?”

You couldn't take it anymore. “Peeta please-” You whimpered desperately needing him inside you.

“I guess I'm not the only desperate one,” He smirked as he undid his apron tossing it to the side. And for the first time, you noticed just how built he was. His arms barely fit his white shirt. He unbuckled his pants and slid them off along with his underwear. He groaned as his cock was exposed. You gulped at the sight just thinking about it being inside you. “I promise to take it slow,” He said as he cupped your face making sure you felt safe. He took one more look at you.

“Beautiful,” He whispered.

His eyes traced every inch of you as if making sure to engrave it in his memory. He placed his fingers on your panties again slowly pushing them to the side. He began to slide into you. You tried your best to hold back your moans placing your palm over your mouth to suppress them. He noticed and immediately took it away. “No I want to hear you” he spoke “I want to hear just how good I make you feel” His command alone made you let out the moan you so desperately held back.

You grabbed his hair pulling him deeper into you making him whine. “Faster-” Was all you could let out before he increased his speed sending you over the edge. His whimpers now sounded like pleads as he called your name. His cock warming you up from the inside as he thrusted. His rhythm reminding you of the number of times you could have been absolutely fucked by him if only you had just taken more than a peak when walking past the shop.

“Your so fucking tight princess “ He moaned out “You dont know how much I wanted this” His thrusts now going as fast as they could. You whined as you felt your body getting closer. “Peeta I think I'm going to -”

He placed his lips onto yours kissing you roughly as he whimpered into your mouth suppressing your moans. You couldn't hold back anymore. You felt your body contract as you came.

His dick still sliding in and out of you. But with a final buck of his hips, you felt as he came inside you. The both of you breaking the kiss as you panted letting out the last moans. He pulled out laying next to you.

He ran his fingers through your cheek, kissing your forehead.

“I knew you tasted just as sweet as you looked”