#too much fodder (these images... nico and jack in the same building... nico in his sommelier era this summer... etc) for it not to be

[wymgreenteam]

https://www.tumblr.com/zeegras/730882872879267840

Can I tempt you with a Nico Hischier Baker!AU ?!?!

source

anon when i tell you i've been losing my mind over these images since yun sent me them yesterday, i mean it wholeheartedly... i had to go unearth the old cooking au i had buried in my drafts because of this new development... it's more of a celebrity chef nico and celebrity NOT chef jack au than a baker nico au specifically, but there is baking in there, i promise!! so no tempting needed haha :)

excerpts under the cut!

“This is a bad idea,” Cole says for the third time.

“Fuck you, this is a fantastic idea!” Trevor points a pinkie at him, the rest of the fingers on his hand preoccupied with holding his beer. “It’s like Worst Cooks In America but for celebrities!”

Jack’s smile drops. “It’s like what?”

“It’s one of the shows Jimmy likes to watch—“

“He’s not even American, Z, what the fuck?”

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, the fact that Jamie’s not American is the problem you have with this concept?”

“But I can cook!” Jack protests. Silence and four flat stares greet him. “I can! Guys, come on!”

“That,” Quinn starts, leaning back in his seat, “Is one thing I think we all can disagree with you on.”

Jack throws a wadded up napkin across the table at him, but it misses when Quinn ducks. Whatever.

————

“I don’t like how this started as cooking lessons but has slowly devolved into me being the fire safety marshal while you try and look at an egg without setting the smoke alarms off,” Nico muses, clearly trying to keep the smile off his face for the sake of Jack’s already fragile pride as he peeks over Jack’s shoulder.

“This is exactly how it was before you showed up… just minus the precautions,” Jack comments, looking forlornly at the egg that’s no more than a smoldering pile of crisp stuck to the bottom of the frying pan. He pokes at it sadly with a spatula, a pout making its way onto his lips. “There’s no hope for me.”

“And I’m beginning to think you might be right about that,” Nico mutters, shaking his head as he rolls up his sleeves. Before Jack can protest, he pats Jack's hip gently and says, “Move over and I’ll show you again, yeah? Try and pay attention this time.”

————

Jack heaves the door open, not thinking as he kicks off his shoes and they land next to a pair of sneakers that fit much larger feet than his own. He doesn’t notice the familiar, worn brown leather jacket hung up on the usually-empty hook as he shucks his suit jacket and loops it over his arm as he shuffles down the hallway into the kitchen. Frowning, he loosens his tie. He’d swear he turned these lights off before he left. It also smells really good, which is weird, because he hasn’t even ordered his takeout yet, and—

“There you are.”

Jack jumps, turning to see Nico standing in his kitchen, a towel tossed over his shoulder, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, smiling. “Nico?”

“It’s Wednesday,” Nico says, tilting his head to the pan on the stove that’s simmering with something thick and red-brown. That’s what smells so amazing.

“Oh, fuck, sorry, I—” Jack feels so frazzled all of a sudden, his days jumbling up in his head. How could he forget that it’s Wednesday? “I had a work thing and it ran late… I didn’t mean to leave you waiting, sorry.”

Nico shrugs. “No worries, things happen,” he says, turning back to the stove to stir the sauce. “You look nice, though.”

Jack feels his face heat through eight increasingly deep shades of red. He has to duck his head hastily, grateful that Nico’s back is still turned. “Uh— Thanks? You too?”

Nico just chuckles. It sounds so good, all warm and deep. Jack kind of wants to roll over and die.

————

Nico peeks up at Jack from his position between his legs, making deliberate eye contact as he bends one of Jack’s knees until it touches his chest, leaning forward to lick the line of honey from his sensitive inner thigh. Jack has to choke back an incredibly embarrassing sound when Nico stops to nibble a bruise at the juncture of his hip. He feels so deliciously stretched out and exposed, wrists still obediently pressed to the mattress above his head, and it doesn’t help that Nico’s looking at him like he wants to eat Jack alive.