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neo-culture-taste · 4 years

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Subscribe! - Say ‘Yes’ to Me

Pairing: Doyoung x Reader (fem)

Genre: AU, romance, comedy, fluff

Word count: 3706

Summary: A YouTube inspired drabble series where you and your boyfriend upload videos catering to the couple tag.

Author’s Note: Whoops! :p Had too much fun with this one. - D

For other members, see masterlist.

The video opened with Doyoung holding the camera as he checked himself out in the bathroom mirror. He stood there and messed with his hair for what seemed like forever, but was actually only a few seconds, until he was satisfied with the placements of the strands. He proceeded to smile into the lens, changing the angle of his head until he found the exact spot where he thought the right side of his face presented to be the most flattering. It was pointless since he looked good at every angle no matter which way he was facing.

"Hello, everyone," he greeted the audience. "The day has finally come for Y/N’s punishment, mwah ha ha." He added a maniacal laugh at the end as if he were some sort of super villain. "If you remember last week's video, Y/N lost the game and I asked you all to come up with a penalty for her. The highest voted comment was a challenge where she has to say 'yes' to me for 24 hours, which is perfect since she already has a hard time doing what I say in the first place. I know that's why you chose it. You all even added that if she doesn't comply with my wishes, then she gets an additional penalty at the end. You all want to see her suffer and that's truly messed up!" He laughed and then switched the camera to his other hand. "Y/N is still in bed, so let's go wake her up so we can start this challenge."

Doyoung walked to the bathroom door, opened it, and walked through it to reveal you snoozing comfortably in your shared bed. He walked over to the side of the bed and held the camera to your unsuspecting face. He patted you on the shoulder but you didn't budge so he tried it again. You stirred a little and mumbled something, but you still didn't open your eyes. He called your name and tapped you on your face before you finally opened your eyes to give your boyfriend your grouchiest of morning death glares, eliciting a breathy laugh from him behind the camera.

"What the *bleep* are you doing?" you asked him in your grogginess. It was easy to tell that you were not a morning person.

"Good morning, my love," he said, too cheerful for your current state of mind. "Do you remember what today is?"

You blinked slowly as you stared at your boyfriend with a blank expression. "Saturday?"

"Besides that."

You looked up at the ceiling as you tried to remember exactly what day it was. "June--"

"It's punishment day, Y/N," he said, cutting you off to quickly get to the point. Knowing you, you were going to try and go around the subject as long as you could.

"Ugh," you groaned and covered your face with the comforter.

"You have to do everything I ask you for the whole day."

"No," you said in defiance from beneath the cover.

"Luckily for you we haven't started yet." He pulled the cover away from your face then held the camera up so he appeared in the frame next to you. "My first order is for you to give me a kiss. Will you give me a kiss?"

You side eyed your boyfriend, suspicious of how easy of a request that was. Surely he wasn't going to be that nice for the whole day. You reluctantly agreed to kiss him and sat up on your forearms to kiss him on his lips.

"Thank you. Now," he lifted himself away from you to stand up straight again, "will you go make me breakfast?" See. You knew it wasn't going to stay easy.

"But you're the one that always makes breakfast. I don't think my cooking will be up to your standards," you explained to him with faux concern as you tried to talk your way out of doing it. "You should make it yourself."

Doyoung clicked his tongue behind his teeth. "Tch. Look at this woman. If you don't do what I ask, then you'll get a penalty added on at the end."

Your face twisted in disbelief. "But this is already a penalty! A punishment!"

Doyoung laughed at your comical facial expression. "Yeah, so don't make this worse for yourself."

"What's the penalty for not listening?"

"Nope. Not telling you."

"I'm not getting up until you tell me."

"The longer you lay there the more time will be added on to your penalty."

You groaned and flopped your upper body back down onto the bed. "Uuuuuugh, fine! You're annoying me! Yes, I'll make you breakfast. Now go away so I can brush my teeth in peace."

The scene changed to you standing in front of your kitchen counter that had an assortment of different ingredients set out on top of it. Doyoung had already set everything up for you to cook for him whether you obeyed him or not.

"I want you to make me strawberry pancakes. Will you do that without complaining?"

You rolled your eyes but smiled at his sass anyway. "Yes, I will. However…”

“Yes?”

“If I’m going to play this game, I will need you to start adding ‘please’ after every request.”

“Fine. I can do that.”

“Great.” You began putting the dry ingredients into one of the bowls, appreciative that he printed out the directions for you because you sure as hell didn't remember how to make pancakes from scratch. After whisking all of that together, it was time to do the same with the wet ingredients. But you didn't see a point in doing it in a separate bowl when you were just going to mix it all together anyway, so you decided to just put everything into the bowl with the dry stuff.

"Ah--" Doyoung suddenly interjected as soon as you put the liquid vanilla extract into the dry mixture.

"What?" you asked him even though you already knew exactly what he was going to say.

He brought the camera to look at the vanilla in the bowl then back out to look at the directions he printed out. "This didn't say to put that in there yet," he said then put the camera back onto you.

"I'm supposed to be listening to you, not a piece of paper," you sassed him then picked up the egg to break it.

Doyoung scoffed and began to roll his eyes until he saw what you were about to do with the egg. "Y/N, stop!"

"Why!"

"At least beat the egg before you put it in there."

"It's all going to be mixed anyway."

"Yeah, but it'll mix better if you--"

You lifted the egg then hit it on the side of the bowl.

"Don't you dare."

You brought your other hand up to break the egg open over the bowl.

"Y/N, I swear."

"My dearest Doyoung. I am making your breakfast like you asked of me," you said with a saccharine tone of voice. "So please back tf up off me."

Your boyfriend's lips rolled inward in annoyance even as he tried to suppress his smile. You loved giving him a hard time because the faces he made whenever you got on his nerves were so gosh darn cute. "And you're supposed to be doing what I say. I want you to mix the ingredients the correct way. Will you mix them like the directions say, please?"

You tilted your head to the side and smiled sweetly at him. "Of course I…won't!"

"No! Please no!”

You cracked open the egg and Doyoung zoomed the camera into the bowl as the yolk plopped unceremoniously on top of the other ingredients. He then sighed heavily and put the camera back onto you as you measured out the amount of milk you were going to put in next.

"That's ten seconds added onto your penalty," he reprimanded.

"Worth it." You winked at him and put the rest of the wet ingredients into the bowl and mixed everything together.

The next couple of clips were sped up as you went through the rest of the process of making the pancakes while Doyoung fussed at you for one reason or another. The video went back to regular speed as you put the last hot pancake onto a plate and drizzled strawberry syrup on top of the whole stack. You then served it to your boyfriend who was now waiting patiently for his breakfast at the table. He handed the camera to you and you focused it on him meticulously cutting into the pancakes with a fork and knife. He tasted his first piece and carefully chewed it as if he were a judge on a cooking show about to make his evaluation.

“You didn’t follow the directions word for word, but you still did a great job.”

“Duh. Because I’m awesome,” you said and Doyoung put another piece onto his fork and held it up for you to taste. You ate it and immediately hummed in satisfaction, quite proud of how delicious the food you made turned out to be. “Oh my gosh, I’m amazing.”

“Yes. You have pleased me,” your boyfriend said exaggeratedly proper. “You may go about your scheduled activities for the day until I am in need of your assistance again.”

You chuckled at the funny way he was speaking. “Yes, sir.” You leaned over to kiss him goodbye. Now your lips were covered in strawberry syrup.

The clip changed to early afternoon with Doyoung adjusting the camera on it’s mini tripod in front of the couch he was sitting on. He once again fiddled with the hair in front of his face like it actually did something before leaning back comfortably onto the couch.

“Y/N!” he called out to you requesting your presence.

“What!” your faint voice yelled back from the other side of the house.

“I desire cuddles!”

Skeptical of his intentions once again, you hesitated in responding. “That's it?”

“Will you come sit with me on the couch?” he asked you in the format related to the challenge.

“Will you come sit with me on the couch, what?”

He scoffed. “Will you come sit with me on the couch, please.”

You weighed out your options. So far he hadn’t asked you anything too physically demanding, and on any other day you’d use any excuse to snuggle up to your boyfriend. But today there was definitely going to be a twist added onto Doyoung’s so called ‘cuddles’. You reluctantly walked into the living room and Doyoung held his arms open wide upon your arrival. You sat down next to him and he wrapped his arms around you in a hug so tight you could barely move around. You knew he was up to something.

“How long are we going to stay like this?” you asked with your head against his shoulder.

“Until I’m ready to let go,” he said, then laid down on the couch so both of you were on your sides. “Are you comfortable?”

He knew damn well you weren’t comfortable. “No,” you answered him.

"That's time added on to your penalty." That sneaky fox!

“That doesn't count!" you protested.

“You're supposed to say yes to everything, remember?" you couldn’t see his face, but the camera caught the sly grin that spread across his lips.

"You set me up!"

“Hush, Y/N. Enjoy our time together.”

Wanting to get back at him, you maneuvered your arms the best you could to tickle his sides. He jerked in surprise and almost let go of you, but he held strong and somehow squeezed you even tighter.

“Don’t touch me. You’re not allowed to do that,” he said through clenched teeth as he squirmed around you.

“You can’t hold me like this and expect me not to touch you,” you said then wrapped your legs around his, binding him in place.

“Stop! Let me go,” he said in weak protest knowing his plan had backfired.

“I’ll let you go when you let me go.”

“You’re supposed to be listening to me!” he whined and you couldn't help but laugh at his dismay.

“You’re the one that wanted to cuddle.”

Doyoung released his hold around you in an attempt to push you away from him, but you had latched onto him like a baby koala and you didn’t plan on letting go any time soon. While he was trying to wrestle you off of him, the two of you ended up tumbling off of the couch, and the camera shook on its tripod when your bodies thudded to the floor. As the two of you laughed, Doyoung rolled over so you were on top of him while you continued to hold him tightly.

“Ten more seconds added. The length of your punishment is steadily increasing,” he said after catching his breath. The words appeared on the screen for your viewers since the two of you were no longer in the frame nor were you in a good range for the camera's microphone.

You smiled brightly at your boyfriend then kissed him before moving to snuggle your face into his chest. Once again you didn’t care how long your punishment ended up as long as you got to tease him and push his buttons. You didn't know how long the two of you were on the floor as you continued to give him a taste of his own medicine in the form of an overenthusiastic, loving embrace.

In the next scene, Doyoung brought you outside sometime in the evening and instructed you to wash his car. You look at him appalled and he simply handed you a bucket of soapy water and a big sponge before walking over and sitting down in the lawn chair he had set up prior in the garage. You grumbled to yourself about getting back at him then begrudgingly dunked the sponge into the bucket. At least he had said please this time without you asking. The video fast-forwarded through you soaping down his car and went back to normal speed when you picked up the water hose to rinse it off.

“You’re rinsing it off already?” Doyoung had been fiddling around on his phone the whole time and hadn’t realized how far you’d gotten in the cleaning and became skeptical of whether you half-assed it or not.

“Yes, my darling,” you answered him sarcastically as you began hosing the soap off of the car.

He got up from his seat and brought the camera over to inspect your car washing skills. You saw him walking behind you trying to find any spot that you might have missed and decided to splash him with the water on his ankles.

“Hey!” he skipped back and yelped in surprise.

“Hi,” you said with a cheeky grin and pointed the hose directly at him. “Go back to your chair and let me finish this in peace while I’m still deciding to listen to you,” you playfully threatened him.

“You won’t spray me while I’m holding the camera,” he taunted back at you.

“I have great aim.” You twisted the dial on the hose to the jet stream setting and readied your finger on the trigger as a warning. “Besides, we can buy a new one.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh sweetie, you know I will.”

There was a short moment of silence between you and your boyfriend before he turned around and quickly ran back to his seat in the garage. You smiled triumphantly and turned back to finish rinsing off the car. But you had forgotten to change the setting on the hose back to the shower stream, so when you sprayed the car at close range a lot of the water came splashing back onto you. You shrieked in surprise and took a step back but ended up slipping and falling into the wet grass of your lawn.

Although he was laughing at your expense, Doyoung still jumped up from his seat and ran over to you to see if you were okay. He laughed even harder when he saw that you were fine, but one side of your body was now covered in soap and mud.

“That’s what you get for being mean to me,” he said as he helped pull you up from the ground. He then used the clean side of your shirt to wipe the mud off of his hand.

“This is all your fault!”

“You’re the one that lost the game.”

“Man, I really like this shirt, too--” Suddenly, an idea to save your t-shirt from staining popped into your head. You bent over and grabbed the hose off the ground, made sure to change the setting back to the shower stream, then you used it to wash off all of the mud on your body.

“Oh, that’s pretty smart,” Doyoung commended your resourcefulness until he realized that you were purposely wetting your shirt and making it damn near see through as it clung tantalizingly to every curve of your torso. “Wait, Y/N. Ring that out so we don’t get demonetized.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion before you looked down at your wet shirt and realized what he was talking about. “This is going to get us demonetized?” you asked incredulously. You were still fully clothed. Just wet.

Doyoung nodded and moved the camera up and down to simulate it. And that was when you took notice of the way your boyfriend was staring at you and realized what was actually going on inside his head.

You put on a knowing smirk and placed a hand on your hip. “Are you just saying that because you don’t want the internet to see me looking so irresistibly sexy?”

Doyoung was silent as he shook his head and the camera from side to side.

“Are you also saying that because you don’t want our neighbors to see me like this either?”

He shook his head and the camera again.

“Are you lying to me right now?”

Caught in his ruse, Doyoung nodded and moved the camera up and down.

“Well, you haven’t even seen ‘sexy’ yet,” you said before hopping up to sit on the hood of his car and pose seductively as you sprayed the water directly onto your chest.

“Y/N, WHAT THE *BLEEP*! GET DOWN!” Your boyfriend sputtered as he spun around with the camera to see if any of your neighbors were outside or looking through their windows. He ran over to the faucet of the watering hose and turned off the water before running back to you and dragging you off the hood of his car and into the garage.

You were laughing your ass off at his reaction and told your viewers that you wished they could see how red his face had gotten but you knew he wasn’t going to show them how annoyed and embarrassed he was. After catching your breath, you tried to hug him to make it up to him but he took a step back to dodge your damp embrace.

“That's ten more seconds added onto your penalty.”

You giggled and whined for him to hug you, but he backed away again. “Doie!”

“Now go inside and take a shower.”

“Yes, sir~” you complied happily, ignoring his absent ‘please’. You were about to go into the house, but you didn’t want to make a mess on the floor. “I can’t go in with these wet clothes,” you told him.

Your boyfriend sighed. “You're right. Let me get you a towel--Y/N STOP!” Doyoung all but screeched when he saw you lifting up your wet t-shirt, ready to yank it off over your head.

The video changed to the next clip of Doyoung barging into your bedroom and announcing that it was time for your punishment. You sat up in the bed and inspected him as he sat on the bed next to you. He didn’t have anything in his hands other than the camera despite being in the kitchen for so long doing who knows what. You figured he was going to make you eat something, but alas, his hands were empty.

“I’m going to kiss you all over your face for a whole minute,” he told you as he sat the camera onto the nightstand and adjusted it so you both were in the frame.

“Why is that a punishment? Was that the best you could come up with?”

“Shush. You’ll see,” he said, then brought his face close to yours as he parted his lips and purposely breathed his rancid breath into your nostrils. It reeked of garlic and onions.

“Ew! Doyoung! What the hell!”

“I said shush!” he silenced you by grabbing the sides of your head and began peppering stinky kisses all over your face.

Your face was scrunched up in disgust, but you endured it by holding your breath for the entire sixty seconds of semi-delightful torture. When it got to the end of the minute, Doyoung ended your ‘punishment’ with an open mouthed kiss to your lips and you were indeed able to taste the offensive vegetables.

“Blegh!” you exclaimed after he let go of your head. “That was awful.”

“That was the point,” he said then pulled you into a one armed hug. “You did pretty okay today and got through it even though you struggled to follow directions.” Aw, he was being so nice saying that you only ‘struggled’ instead of not listening to him completely.

“Don’t worry I’m going to get you back for everything,” you said and kissed him on his cheek.

“Not unless you lose again and I’ll have to make a part two of this video.”

“Yeah right. You winning was a fluke. But I’m gonna getcha. When you least expect it. Don’t mess with team Y/N.”

He rolled his eyes before he addressed the audience. “Don’t forget to like, comment, and subscribe. And we’ll see you all next week.”

After he said his closing remarks he opened his mouth and huffed his hot breath in your face one last time, and the video cut out with you jerking violently away from him.

- D

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shockcity · 7 years

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Bagginshield #7 - baking

Rating: G Summary: for the 30 Day OTP Challenge. Bilbo brings a bit of the Shire to Erebor's kitchens. Consort!Bilbo. Fluff.

Note: this is so late and I'm sorry! Holidays ugh. But hey this is super long in comparison to the others! Woot. Now...prepare to be hunger-fied (???) by excessive descriptions of delicious baked goods! And consumed by fluff. There's a lot of sugar in this, people.

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For hobbits, the kitchen is a sacred place. It is not for guests to use, nor roam around in, nor snoop into (this includes a hobbit's pantry, which is doubly off-limits) and it isn't just a peculiar quirk, for there are sensible reasons for this rule. The most important one being that the kitchen itself serves as the birth place of their greatest accomplishment, and their most coveted gift: good food.

Breakfast. Second breakfast. Elevensies. Lunch. Tea. Dinner. Supper. And, of course, dessert.

Bilbo's speciality.

There are other logical justifications for the kitchen being verboten, which include overcrowding, the ever present threat of hyperactive faunts, and the unwanted opinions of every hobbit ever on how to make this or that. But mostly (and this was Bilbo's main argument) the kitchen was forbidden because gifts should be a surprise, and gifts of food especially.

Hobbits did not cook or bake like most races of Middle Earth. The privilege of luxury and abundance had allowed for the evolution of particular tastes and favorite foods. Elves, too, could afford to be picky; but they were creatures of moderation and preferred light and simple fair, saving their decadence for their painstaking artwork and long-winded music.

Cooking, and the mastery of it, was therefore a hobbit's area of expertise (not that anyone knew about it, for as unfriendly as hobbits were, they did not share their food with outsiders). The only race that had an inkling of their talents were the Rhûn traders from the far east, who once a year made the trek to Eriador with rare spices and extracts. The hobbits were their best customers, and usually purchased wares regardless of price, and so their patronage was worth the long, treacherous journey west.

But visiting only once a year meant that their stock of essentials like vanilla pods, cocao powder, ginger, cardamom, and cinnamon, etc etc. had to be stretched until the traders returned the next thrimidge. It was therefore common for hobbits to trade spices for favors, or give jars of it in thanks. Being frugal with precious ingredients was a constant struggle for hobbits, but Bilbo was one of the best at budgeting the use of his spices (though he was never happy about it). He was therefore ecstatic when the markets of Erebor finally reopened, and he saw that the Rhûn traders set up shop once a week. Bilbo could scarcely imagine so much excess.

"Have you ever seen anything like it?!" Bilbo exclaimed to Dori, throwing a hand out to encompass the entirety of the spice market.

"Yes," Nori answered instead. He was looking at Bilbo rather dubiously.

Dori was more on the same page. "Our spice markets were always the best in Rhovanion, historically," he said proudly. "And before that nasty business with King Thror all sorts of people would show up on highday to sell or buy – it seems that those golden days have finally returned."

They both sighed happily, and Nori turned around and left.

As they shopped, Bilbo managed to keep from purchasing every ingredient under the sun. For each spice he saw – both rare and common – corresponding recipes floated through his head and the phantom tastes and smells of the Shire were sweet on his tongue. How he missed that familiar food! And simply the act of baking, really. Feeling suddenly homesick, he told as much to Dori.

"But why don't you use the kitchens?" Dori responded, bemused. "You are free to make whatever you like, you know. The mountain is technically half yours."

Bilbo ignored that last part (because despite what people said, he was a husband, a reluctant advisor and an insufferable busybody – not a ruler) and peered at his friend skeptically.

"It isn't right, cooking in another's kitchen. I would never do anything so offensive as that."

"What nonsense is this?" Dori wanted to know. "We cooked in your kitchen the very night we met! Why– oh. Oh dear."

"Oh no, don't worry," Bilbo rushed to say, but Dori had caught on quickly, and was fast becoming inconsolable.

"We've committed a grave injustice!" he said, so loudly that a few dwarrow ambled over to gawk. "Whyever did you not say so? However did you forgive us? Oh, Mahal you should cut off our hands–"

"What? No." Bilbo shook off his confusion and touched Dori's shoulder gently. "How about I make you something in the kitchens, hmm? Then we'll call it even. Though we'll have to make sure it's alright with the head cook...."

"Stuff! Flima won't mind! Why, she'll be thrilled to learn some hobbit recipes!"

Bilbo didn't dare point out that in the Shire, the sharing of recipes was only done by close family members, and even then it sometimes went to a vote. Instead, he and Dori traipsed up and down the market, gathering everything from rock salt to chili powder. They bought bags of flour and sugar, fresh fruits, eggs, still-warm milk, and perfectly aged cheese. Bilbo even picked up a particularly well-made mixing bowl (though he would give anything for the old Baggins one) and a very expensive (but entirely worth it) bag of coffee beans.

"What will you make?" Dori asked him excitedly as they wheeled their purchases up to the royal kitchens.

"Hmm," said Bilbo, thoughtfully.

There was one more secret talent of the hobbits, but this was one that they were always eager to show off. Shirelings, and Bilbo in particular, had the ability to guess a person's favorite dessert if not the first time, then always the second, and with startling accuracy.

"You'll be a tart, I think," said Bilbo absently. He turned and looked Dori up and down. "Rhubarb."

Dori wasn't sure what this meant, but trusted that Bilbo would make him something that was, at least, edible.

It was much more than that, of course.

------

It turned out that the head cook did not mind at all if Bilbo used her kitchen. She also pointed out that it technically wasn't her kitchen at all, but rather Thorin's and therefore Bilbo's by proxy. This was gamely ignored. Flima herself was a brilliant cook, and Bilbo was truly happy to meet the dwarrowdam behind his daily meals. He mentioned to her that he would have come to meet her sooner, but hobbits simply did not go into kitchens that were not theirs, and her surprise prompted Bilbo to explain a bit about hobbit culture.

"It is our custom to give away gifts on our birth-days; like sweets, or trifles, or mathoms for the elder hobbits. I've always just given baked treats, which I'm proud to say were quite famous in the Shire," he explained.

His hands were busy whisking his flour mix of cinnamon and salt, before setting the bowl aside to take up the sugar and butter. The batch of cream cheese he had strained overnight was thick and rich, and as he added it to the bowl, Flima reached in with the tip of her finger and tasted a bit, humming in appreciation.

"Some hobbits specialize in different dishes. My mother could do anything with pastry, which she filled with meats, veg, and potatoes. She was particularly fond of stuffed mushrooms as well, but just couldn't cook them as well as my father. Now he knew the right way to cook mushrooms, let me tell you–"

Once his mixture was complete, Bilbo poured the batter into the pastry-lined pan and set to trimming the fresh rhubarb to arrange on the top of the tart. He chattered away as he worked, with Flima watching from across the tabletop and occasionally nibbling on some of his ingredients.

Initially, her presence caused him some discomfort. Only family remained in the kitchen while food was cooking, and even then, conversation was mostly saved for around the dinner table. Bilbo had fond memories of his mother and father cooking together, but this was normal by hobbit standards, considering they were married and had Bilbo to look after (it was an unwritten rule that faunts should learn their cooking and baking from their parents, so preparing meals often had educational purposes for those with children).

But Flima was not family; she was a stranger in a strange kingdom– so far away from the Shire and their customs. Perhaps the distance was part of why Bilbo didn't mind breaking the rules for Flima. Or perhaps he just liked her, and found that he really liked having company while he cooked. Whatever the reason, Bilbo's rhubarb tart came out more beautiful than it ever had, and it wasn't his imagination that Flima's presence was what made the difference.

"My word!" said Dori, when he came in to receive his gift. "It smells wonderful in here."

The sweet citrus scent of the rhubarb had taken over the kitchen, accompanied by the buttery smell of warm, fluffy pastry straight from the oven. Bilbo sprinkled powdered sugar over the top of the tart, before garnishing it with a few edible violets. He placed the dessert in front of a somewhat overwhelmed Dori, and waited.

Dori gathered a bit onto his spoon, before carefully popping it into his mouth. His face went slack with pleasure, and the ever eloquent and refined dwarf that Bilbo once knew completely disappeared as he said, "Mahal's sodding balls."

Bilbo grinned at him happily.

------

After that, Bilbo got his own corner of the kitchen, and then after that (read: when Thorin found out) a kitchen on the same floor as his rooms was built just for him (he was at first sad to leave Flima, but she simply delegated more work to her underlings and followed Bilbo upstairs). Dori was so impressed by Bilbo's tart that he demanded a variety of desserts in the days to follow. He was also quite shocked to find that though he adored the vanilla poached pears, and the lemon-raspberry tartlets Bilbo made, nothing surpassed the wonder and magnificence of that first rhubarb tart.

"But of course," Bilbo said when Dori complimented him. "Rhubarb tart is, after all, your favorite. Hobbits usually guess right on the first try anyway. Though Saradoc always succeeded in guessing correctly the second time...so often in fact that we all called him Second-try Saradoc, and you know, I think he purposely made a mistake on that first go just so he could keep the name, that charlatan–"

"What's this now?" Flima cut him off. "You can guess our favorites, can you? Alright, what am I then?"

Bilbo peered at her. "Chocolate ganache," he announced after only a moment of thought.

Of course, to prove it to her, he made a chocolate ganache. She paused on her first bite, before calmly staring up at Bilbo.

"I almost want to tease you and say that this isn't the best thing I've ever eaten in my life," she told him. "But I don't have it in me. Bilbo, this is the best thing I've ever eaten in my life."

For a while Bilbo's baking was a closely kept secret. He had his little corner of the kitchens and Dori and Flima as his very enthusiastic taste-testers. He made for them the traditional dishes of the Shire; everything from the fanciest desserts like meringue pies and the always important comfort foods, like sweet rolls (which were a favorite of faunts, especially).

"What are these again?" Flima had asked, eating two of his pastries at once.

"Cinnamon rolls," Bilbo told her. "Our little hobbits love them. They're mostly just made for children, though."

Occasionally Dwarrow would wander in and have a taste of whatever Bilbo was making (usually when he wasn't looking) but Bilbo didn't mind and they didn't bother him while he was baking, so he paid little attention either way. All was therefore peaceable and serene in the royal kitchens. Which didn't last of course, and it was Bilbo himself who revealed his gifts to the rest of the Company (and Erebor, in general) when his heartstrings were tugged by a certain mischievous dwarfling.

Now Bilbo wouldn't say it out loud, but there was a special place in his heart for Kili. The dwarf was trouble, and a bit lacking in common sense, but at heart Kili was a singularly kind and well-meaning person. He reminded Bilbo a lot of his little cousins back in the Shire, and Bilbo did miss them, so it was no wonder he'd sort of adopted Kili in their stead.

One day, when the dwarf was looking particularly down, Bilbo asked him what was wrong, and Kili very sorrowfully said that he was hungry. So Bilbo naturally whisked him off to the kitchen and made him his favorite dessert.

"W-what is this?" asked Kili, pausing for a moment. He'd been stuffing food into his face faster than anyone Bilbo had ever seen, and that included the time Rollo Boffin broke the record for the most turnovers eaten in twelve minutes. "It's...it's so good. Bilbo. Bilbo. What."

Bilbo laughed. "Chocolate. Just chocolate really. We call it a double chocolate cake in the Shire, though we rarely ever make it –we can't waste the cocoa powder, you see. But there seems to be a steady supply here in Erebor, so I've been making everything with chocolate lately. Do you like it – oof."

"Thank you," Kili said into his ear. He was holding Bilbo tight and didn't seem like he planning on letting go. "Thank you so much."

"Of course, Kili! My word, there's no need to fuss! I'm glad...hey!"

He could hear chewing close to his ear, and realized that though Kili was draped over Bilbo still, he hadn't exactly stopped eating. "Kili!"

After that, Kili told Fili and the both of them told everyone. Bilbo's corner of the kitchen was immediately besieged by the Company, who thought it was terribly unfair that Dori and Kili had got their own desserts before anyone else.

First in line had been Dwalin, who had merely stood silently in front of Bilbo's cooking counter with a betrayed look on his face.

"Oh, Dwalin, I'm sorry," Bilbo told him, twisting his hands. "But I have made you something already, you know. I baked it just this morning with you in mind."

He gestured to the taste-testing chair across from him and brought out Dwalin's dessert. On a large plate there was a good sized slab of some kind of cake bar, which was artfully covered in what looked like caramel sauce and sliced banana. Dwalin loved caramel. Dwalin loved banana. How did Bilbo know?

"What is it?" Dwalin asked, gazing at the dessert with ravenous wonder. It looked so gooey and rich and perfect that he was almost tempted not to eat it. Almost.

"We call it sticky toffee pudding," Bilbo explained, wiping his hands on a dish cloth. "But I've made it differently this time – it's more of a cookie bar than a cake."

"C-cookie?" Dwalin whispered.

Bilbo only smiled.

Next up was Ori, who Bilbo had the most fun baking for. Ori had an insatiable sweet tooth, and the more sugar something had the better. So Bilbo brought out an old Chubb rabble-rouser which called for Bilbo's favorite thing to make ever: ice cream.

Ice cream was not something dwarrow had ever come across, and its introduction into the kitchens of Erebor caused a stir like no other (the dwarf Bilbo had commissioned to build a churner for him had actually opened up a manufacturing business and was now disgustingly rich. And Bilbo, hailed as a hero for bringing this cold treat to Mahal's children, took no praise and stubbornly credited Ori's sweet tooth for its existence.)

Bilbo enlisted Kili and Fili's help in making the ice cream, and they hovered around him curiously as he worked. He started with egg yokes, salt, and three quarters of a cup of sugar (which Kili had tried to stick a wet finger in) all topped vanilla beans, which Bilbo quickly split and scraped. He then added milk and cream into a pan and put it on over the flame. After telling Fili to watch for the bubbles in the cream which said it was done, he moved to his mixing bowl and stirred the eggs, salt, sugar, and vanilla all together. Once the cream was ready, he poured some over the mixture to heat it up, whisking all the while. He put it on the hot stove to thicken up.

Bilbo summoned Kili over to the churner, having him lift it closer to the counter top. He then sent Kili and Fili down to the lower levels for the stored ice, something Bilbo reckoned would take them long enough that Bilbo could put together the other ingredients for Ori's dessert. He had already made the cake base, which consisted of squeezed oranges, flour, sugar, milk, and butter, and now took those three layers out of the pantry. Next he took his left over oranges and skinned them into thin strips, the peels curling over his hands as their heavenly citrus scent drifted into the air. He carefully preserved the peels in their little curls and turned toward the stove, where he had filled a pan with cool water. He added the orange skins in and left it to boil, before draining them of water. They went into a warm pot of syrup next, where they simmered until they became tender and sweet. Lastly, Bilbo rolled the pieces in sugar and allowed them to cool.

By this time Fili and Kili had returned with the ice. He directed them toward the churner and came over with his custard. They added the ice to the bucket and sprinkled rock salt over the top, before pouring the mixture into the middle canister. It was Fili and Kili's job, now, to start churning. Bilbo let them do it (and squabble about taking turns) as he popped over to make his icing and shave off bits of chocolate. He may have waited to handle the chocolate until Fili and Kili were properly distracted and so could not eat it all every time he turned his back. Maybe.

After about thirty minutes, Bilbo called the churning to a halt and examined their efforts. Inside the canister, thick creamy ice cream swirled around the mixing paddle, and Bilbo could even still smell the fresh vanilla beans. The boys peered into the bucket dubiously, but lifted it over to the counter without argument. There Bilbo began to layer the cake with the ice cream. Once he was finished, he quickly put the cake together and added the orange icing. Then he packed it into the cold box, which would be stored down below with the ice.

"But we aren't going to eat it now?" asked Kili, looking sad.

"No, it's got to freeze," Bilbo told them. Their sad faces made his mouth twitch. "Come now, no sulking. I've made you a giant cookie."

This perked them right up and Bilbo sat them down and went to Flima's ovens in the next room. Inside, a large chocolate cookie in a pan was just about finished baking. He took it out, checking to see that it was properly gooey, and lugged it over to the boys. Their eyes went wide when he set it down.

"Hold on a moment," said Bilbo. He grabbed up the left over ice cream and scooped it onto the cookie, where it began to melt slowly. He then added the shaved chocolate bits, before handing them both a spoon.

"Dig in."

Two very happy boys slouched through the corridors to their mother's rooms an hour later, pleased as punch and full to the brim.

"What's the matter with you?" Dis wanted to know.

But Fili and Kili only collapsed onto the floor, and said, "ice cream!" as if it explained everything. Which it did.

The next day, Bilbo put the final touches on the orange ice cream cake, adding the whipped cream and the candied peels, before presenting it to a stunned Ori. There also happened to be a few more bystanders this time, and all were gazing at Ori's dessert enviously. Ori's reaction to the ice cream was excessive and overjoyed, and soon 'gave us ice cream' was tacked onto Bilbo's deeds alongside 'escaped from Thranduil's dungeons', 'riddled with a dragon', and 'saved the king and then actually married him. Wow'.

From then on Bilbo's desserts were famous, and Bilbo did his best to show the other cooks how he created them, so other dwarrow besides the royals could enjoy it too. But each of the Company was still gifted with their own personalized favorites, which Bilbo always got right on the first try.

Admittedly, most of them were easy: Balin, who was an avid lover of all things apple, consumed Bilbo's almond and liqueur baked apples (à la mode) at a frankly alarming pace. Fili, who had cried over not getting to try Kili's double chocolate cake, actually preferred strawberry cream puffs. Their mother was, funnily enough, partial to chocolate strawberries dipped in cream and coconut, which fell somewhere in the middle.

Then there was Nori, who loved his chili pepper truffles, and Oin with his stout cake, and Gloin, who could not get enough of Bilbo's cinnamon pecan turnovers (his son, Gimli, was the only dwarf Bilbo knew that liked marmalade tarts, which was good, because Bilbo liked them too, and that meant all the more for them).

Bofur was keen on blueberry crumple with brown sugar and ginger, and Bombur was ever pleased with a large plate of sweet cheese rolls. Bifur almost ruined his streak, being that he did not like dessert at all, but Bilbo had noticed the dwarf's aversion to sweets and his preference for meat, and had made him sausage and onion pasties with a curried gravy instead.

Altogether Bilbo's desserts were a hit, and Bilbo himself was incandescently happy, for hobbits were never so pleased as when their food was properly appreciated. With his dwarrow fed and happy, and his brand new kitchen stocked with every ingredient imaginable, it seemed as though the future looked very bright for Bilbo Baggins.

All that was needed was the final touch, which was in the form of the perfect dessert for his husband, whom he had saved for the very last. So with love and care, Bilbo finally took to his ovens and his stove and his beautiful new kitchen and started on Thorin's cake.

He baked the three layers, combining his usual sugar, milk, egg, flour, etc. but this time with the addition of spiced cocoa powder and rich, dark coffee. He baked them until the middle was moist and crumbly, and the tops of the cake bounced when touched. He left the layers to cool and began to make his ice cream.

This time his ice cream was flavored with black cherry, and when finished it tasted as gently sweet and as sharply tart as he recalled from those summery days spent eating it in the Shire. He left it in the store room to keep frozen overnight and came back the next day prepared to continue. This would be the hard part, and Bilbo made sure that he had everything ready before he began. He cut the layers into different sized circles, before placing the smallest layer at the bottom of the bowl.

Next he took his ice cream and let it melt for a few minutes. Once it was softened enough, Bilbo beat the ice cream until it was perfect for spreading, and then added it to the bottom layer. He quickly covered it with the bigger layer and then wrapped it up tight and put it into the cold box. He did the same with the next tier, which joined its other half into the box, and then put everything into the cold store room. He left it there to freeze overnight.

The following day, Bilbo took the layers out and assembled them into a half circle. He left it in the cold box again, before setting out his ingredients for the meringue. First he made the sugar syrup, which he carefully heated up. He then added egg and salt to a large bowl, and whisked it together until it twirled into peaks. Next he slowly added in the sugar, and then the vanilla, whisking steadily until his mixture was a beautiful, glossy white. When he was finished, Bilbo took the cake out and gathered up his piping bag, removing the meringue from the bowl and into position. Going from the bottom to the top, he carefully created flower-like shapes, covering the entire cake with white topping. When he had finished, he put the cake back into the cold box and let it sit.

On the day that Bilbo was to present his cake to Thorin, he sternly requested that Thorin make a point of going to dinner that night. Flima happened to let slip to Kili about Thorin's cake, and he promptly went off to invite the entire company to dinner, so that they too could witness the unveiling of the secret dessert. Bilbo didn't usually mind an audience, but he felt oddly nervous about presenting this particular gift. Or...nervous about who it was for and whether or not he would like it, to be precise.

Just as dinner was ending, Bilbo whipped up the sauce and popped the cake into the oven to brown a little. The sauce consisted of cream, chocolate, syrup, and rum, and gave off a lovely scent as it heated. He poured the sauce into a serving dish and put aside a cup of rum, along with his tinder box. By then the cake was out and ready to serve immediately, and Bilbo checked to make sure it wasn't melted and took a deep breath. He walked into the dining room, and once the Company saw him they oohed and awed over the cake.

Bilbo placed it in front of Thorin, his expression anxious and hopeful, and his husband looked up at him with soft, affectionate eyes. "What have you made me, Bilbo?" he said softly.

"A c-cake," Bilbo stuttered humiliatingly. Thorin always did this to him. "A cake," he repeated firmly. "But there's more."

He took up his tinderbox and struck it, igniting the warm cup of rum. Thorin's eyebrows rose in shock, and Kili shouted excitedly. Bilbo poured the rum over the cake, which was soon covered in beautiful blue flames.

The company cheered, and Thorin laughed, and Bilbo, reassured, set about serving Thorin his very special cake.

The first bite was met with pleased noises, but Bilbo's eyes were on Thorin, who seemed to be enjoying his dessert quite a lot.

But.

It was only quite a lot.

"I love it," Thorin told him, holding onto his hand tightly. "You are a hobbit of many talents."

"Yes," said Bilbo, somewhat distractedly. He sat very close to Thorin for the rest of the night, watching his expression carefully. Thorin caught him looking a few times, and Bilbo was soundly kissed each time it happened.

Yet even his husband's soft and steadfast affection for him could not settle his turning stomach. For all that Thorin had enjoyed his dessert, it became apparent to Bilbo that he had, for the first time, gotten it wrong. For Thorin may have indeed loved Bilbo's cake, but...

...it wasn't his favorite.

-------

In the days after he presented the 'fire cake' (as the dwarrow were calling it), Bilbo took a break from baking. Flima was the first to notice his depressed mood, and persuaded him to accompany her on a walk outside the mountain. She claimed that he needed to be away from the kitchens for a while, and Bilbo did admittedly feel much better once out in the open air. It also took some convincing, but Bilbo eventually told her what was troubling him.

"But how could you tell it wasn't his favorite?" she asked when she'd heard everything.

Bilbo shrugged. "The same way I could tell that yours was chocolate ganache."

Flima hummed thoughtfully. "Well, couldn't you try again? I know it's...not what you wanted, and that you hobbits have a thing about food, but the King will enjoy anything you give him, you know. I think he just enjoys you in general."

"Don't tease," Bilbo grinned, but he sobered quickly. "I know he loves me. I know he'd love anything I put in front of him. But I feel like I missed something about him...that I don't know him as well as I thought I did. And I do feel hurt that he didn't like my gift as much as I wanted him to, however stupid that sounds."

He shook his head self-deprecatingly, casting her a fleeting, anxious glance. "I know it seems silly to a dwarf, Flima, but for hobbits.... Let's just say that if we weren't already married, my failure to pick the right dessert, well...it would be seen as a sign that we weren't meant to be together."

Flima was quiet for a moment, and Bilbo cast his eyes down at his feet.

Finally, she took a breath and said, "what a load of pig shit."

Bilbo's head popped up. "Sorry?"

"Come on, let's go back," she said, pushing him toward the mountain.

"B-but Flima!"

"No buts." She turned and pointed at him crossly. "You're going to bake him every dessert you know until he makes that face you're looking for, and when you see it I really hope you'll realize that it was there all along. But I won't hold my breath. Now let's go."

Bilbo let himself be pushed along, all the while considering Flima's words. He felt a new determination spread through him, and decided that he would overcome this setback and guess Thorin's favorite dessert correctly, and then he would succeed in making his husband happy... he would.

-------

Bilbo started with his second choice: the Banoffee pie. Bananas, toffee, nuts, cinnamon, and a side of vanilla ice cream. How could he go wrong?

"This is lovely, dearest, what is it?"

Failed again.

Bilbo stubbornly pressed on, this time making Thorin a gateau with chocolate, cherries, and a plethora of whipped cream.

"You're not going to finish it?" Bilbo asked, appalled.

"I'm just so full," said Thorin, patting his stomach. "I couldn't eat another bite."

Flima had barely kept him from crying his little heart out in the sweet smelling safety of the kitchens. But despite his third failure (third!) Bilbo decided not to give up just yet. He brought out his mental cookbook and buckled down, and every night Thorin was presented with something new.

Custard cream with a caramelized hard shell with berries and powdered sugar on top? No. Chocolate hazelnut crepe cake with raspberry sauce? Nope. Lemon cream sponge cake? Spiced citrus bundt? Apple pie? A trifle?! Nope. Sorry. Not having it. Wrong.

At his wit's end, Bilbo began to think that Thorin just didn't have a favorite dessert. Perhaps he was like Bifur, and preferred the savory over the sweet? Yet those meals failed to inspire as well, and after a while not even Flima's pep talks were working to keep him motivated. Bilbo fell into a sort of funk then, though he tried hard not to let it show.

Thorin noticed anyway, of course.

In the warm firelight of their rooms, Bilbo was slouched in his reading chair with an open book on his blanket-covered legs. He was not reading though; instead he sat deep in thought and stared into space. Thorin came in from the washroom, his braids out of their clasps and his long hair tumbling free. He stood in the doorway and simply stared at Bilbo.

"What?" Bilbo asked with a shy smile.

Thorin's expression, in that moment, was both fond and utterly content. He walked over to Bilbo and grabbed his hand, pulling him up without a word. Thorin lead them over to the long sofa and tucked them into a corner. He took the blanket Bilbo had dragged behind him and gently covered their legs. He put his arm around Bilbo, who rested his head on Thorin's chest with a sigh.

"What's wrong, my hobbit?" Thorin asked him softly. "Have I made you unhappy?"

Thorin already knew the answer to that question, and Bilbo firmly nudged him with his head as punishment. "Never," he denied. "I'm only being silly."

"You're never silly," Thorin retorted, managing to keep a straight face.

Bilbo smiled, listening to the rumbling of his husband's voice deep inside his chest. "I do love you," he announced. "And I am happy enough to be near you. I love you stupidly."

"Yes?"

"Yes." Bilbo shifted, and sighed again. "Tell me something. Tell me something secret about yourself, that no one else knows."

Thorin raised his eyebrows, but complied. "When I was little, I stole from my father."

Surprised, Bilbo looked up at him. "What did you take?"

"He owned a collection of fine gems, mined from Khazad Dum before it fell into darkness. There was one piece in particular that I was attracted to; an emerald, about the size of our acorn." Thorin gestured to the acorn Bilbo had taken from Beorn's garden. It sat on their mantelpiece, unplanted, for now.

"I wanted that emerald, Bilbo. At the time I even thought I wanted it more than anything. So I snuck into his rooms one day and took it. I stashed it in my dolek, with the other treasures I had gathered as a child, and I reasoned that my father would not notice. That he had many gems already, and so he would not care."

"Dolek?"

"Dolek, yes. Udolek – for a gift. Dwarrow collect stones and gems for their future lovers and friends, which are gifted when they wish to show interest in one another. It is an old custom which is now dying out. But when I was young, the dolek was very important, and what you chose to put inside of it was said to symbolize your future love."

Bilbo blinked a bit, rubbing his cheek against Thorin shirt. He was warm. "What happened to the emerald?"

"It was lost when the dragon came."

"Hmm."

They lay for a time, silent, pressed together and pensive – until Thorin suddenly inhaled somewhat anxiously.

"I wouldn't have given you that emerald, Bilbo," he said, face scrunched in a solemn frown. "It may have been meant for my spouse of the future, but you were not meant for it. You deserve more than a stolen relic of my father, or any simple gem or pretty bauble that perhaps would suit so many others. It would have been an insult to give it to you."

"Thorin...."

He stared at Bilbo tenderly. "But I cannot deny that I wish I had had a proper dolek for you, to show how much I wanted you. How much I still want you for all of my days."

Bilbo shook his head. "You're enough, Thorin. I don't need need anything else."

And that was when Bilbo understood what Flima was trying to say. How stupid he felt! And how relieved.... He turned his head and laughed into his husband's chest.

"What is so funny?" Thorin wanted to know, his lips twitching.

"Shall I tell you something you don't know about me?"

Thorin chuckled and humored him. "Go on, then."

He licked his lips, thinking for a moment of how to express what he wanted to say. "I am terribly stupid," he finally blurted, smiling. "I was all up in arms about you not having a favorite dessert, about my not guessing right the first time, that for a moment I doubted that we were meant for each other. Can you believe that? It's completely ridiculous!"

Thorin was frowning. "What do you mean I don't have a favorite dessert?"

Bilbo's smile wilted a bit. "So you do? Oh no, and I still haven't got it right?"

"Bilbo." Thorin sat up now. "That delicious fire cake was not the first time I ate your baking."

"What?" he squeaked, siting up too. "When was this?"

Thorin raised a shoulder. "I don't know, precisely. One day I was looking for you, and I found you in the kitchens. But you were baking, so I didn't want to bother you."

Bilbo recalled that in the early days when he'd been in the kitchens with Flima, there had been a number of dwarrow wandering in and out, and that many of them had taken bits of whatever he was making at the time.

"My word," he gasped, running a hand through his curly hair. "But what did you eat?"

"My favorite," Thorin said, a slow smile creeping onto his face. "Cinnamon rolls."

Bilbo gaped. "Cinnamon rolls."

"Yes," his husband grinned. "Cinnamon rolls."

Having no idea what to say to that, or if he should laugh or cry, Bilbo did a bit of both and tumbled into Thorin's chest. "So I did get it right."

"Yes, you did, beloved."

"I just didn't see it. Oh, drat."

Thorin ran his hands across Bilbo's cheeks, holding his head gently. "You can always make it for me again," he pointed out. "I'm not going anywhere, after all."

"That's true," Bilbo said. His husband kissed him, soft and sweet.

"You're enough too, Bilbo." Another sugared kiss on the side of his mouth. "You're all I could ever want."

"More than cinnamon rolls?" Bilbo whispered.

Thorin laughed a little, and tenderly kissed his forehead. "Much more than."

#30 day otp challenge #bagginshield #hobbit fic #bilbo is a cinnamon roll #hahahahah #did I really write a story about how much Thorin likes cinnamon rolls?#yes lol

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