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writingouthere · 2 months

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exboyfriend!Sukuna x f!reader.

cw: smut, outdoor sex, angst, controlling behavior.

Your date was a disappointment.

The guy wasn't an asshole or anything, but at some point he'd talked about cryptocurrency for ten minutes straight without you saying a word and there was no coming back from that.

"I had a great time," he tells you as you stand on the subway platform after finally escaping the restaurant. You nod noncommittally and wonder if this is the part where he asks for your number. You're calculating the risk/reward of giving him a fake number and having him potentially call it while you're still right in front of him when you hear a familiar laugh from behind you.

"I doubt it," the voice says and you close your eyes. Maybe if you wish hard enough you can develop teleportation and not have to deal with this.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" your date asks, his voice only wavering a little as he looks at your ex-boyfriend. Honestly, you admire him. The sight of the tall, heavily tattooed (alleged) criminal was usually enough to make people cross the street to avoid him but not this accountant? Investment baker? Dentist? Fuck, he'd talked about his job for thirty minutes and you had not been listening. You would have guilty if you weren't actively judging him for not even noticing your lack of engagement.

Whatever, he probably wasn't brave, he was probably just an idiot.

Sukuna seemed to agree as he laughed again and put his hand on your shoulder.

"I'm her boyfriend."

Your date looked at him, looked at you, and seemed to be weighing if this was worth one mediocre date. He seemed frozen for a second until Sukuna took a step forward and the guy's previously dormant survival instincts seemed to awaken and he booked it down the train platform.

Once he was out of sight, you took Sukuna's hand and dropped it off your shoulder like a fallen leaf that had got stuck on your jacket.

"Are you following me, now?" You wouldn't have put it past him. You turn to face your ex who looks not only unrepentant for his little routine but vindicated. Or maybe he just looks vindictive, you can never tell.

"Are you going on dates with any loser that asks?" He tosses back and you roll your eyes.

"You didn't even meet him."

"So, he wasn't a loser? And you weren't deciding if it was worth giving him a fake number and having him call you right then?"

You hated that he knew you so well.

"He seemed the type to call," you concede and Sukuna scoffs.

"Absolutely, that fucker is. Women have been giving that dumb fuck fake numbers since he was begging for them with his little Nokia flip phone."

"Is Nokia still a thing?" you ask and Sukuna glares at you.

"Do I look like Google to you? Hey, don't try to district me, princess. We were talking about how you seem to have gotten it into your mind that you can cheat on me with any guy with a pulse."

"I'm not cheating on, we're not together," you tell him as your train pulls up. You don't bother protesting as he follows you on it, even though you know the old apartment you used to share is in the other direction from your new place.

"The fuck we're not," he seethes. The other riders look at you and you see one or two guys deciding if it's worth trying to get involved but you're more concerned about the teenage girl who looks ready to fight this asshole for you. God, you loved women.

"You're making a scene," you tell him and he looks ready to make the scene Oscar worthy before you give him the look that used to make him not call your friends' babies ugly when you went to birthday parties.

"Where can we talk then?"

"I'm not taking you to my place," you say and he sucks his teeth.

"Then let's go home."

"You mean to your home."

Sukuna looks furious but you're not in the mood. You had just spent the past two hours on a terrible date, which made you think about how dating was just going to be like this until you found a new boyfriend or gave up, which then made you think about your break up and how up until a few months ago, you thought you would never go on a first date with anyone ever again.

You hated that Sukuna had put you here and you hated that you still loved him.

"I'm not leaving until we talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about."

You're so tired, Sukuna is so close and it's been so long since you got to smell him or feel his warmth. Your apartment was still barely furnished but everything in it was new and it still didn't feel like home. The one sweatshirt of his you'd let yourself take had stopped carrying his scent weeks ago, and just being close to him now, it made something in you relax. Like you were finally home.

"There fucking is," he hisses and now he's so close you can make out the scar on his jaw and the fullness of his lips. You used to tease him that you'd never met a man whose lips were as soft as his. He may have looked like tough shit, but you would never catch him out of the house without lotion and chapstick.

You wondered if he was still using the cherry chapstick you had bought him at the grocery store the week before you'd broken up.

"Are you going to marry me? Are you going to give me a baby?"

"Princess-"

"Then there's nothing to talk about," you say and you thank whoever's watching that the train is pulling up to your stop. You get off and Sukuna is right on your heels.

"You don't even want those things right now, why the fuck does it even matter?"

"I want them eventually and if you're not willing to give them to me, then I just don't think I need to keep wasting my time."

You're roughly dragged into a nearby alley and tossed against a brick wall. Sukuna's hand cups the back of your head, taking the force of the slam and you hate that he watches out for you even when he's being a controlling jackass.

"Being with me is wasting your time? Who the fuck do you think you are?"

"Not your girlfriend," you snap back. "Let go, I want to go home."

"Fuck you," he tells you and you're about ready to fight him, grown scary man or not when he leans down and his lips are on yours.

They taste like cherry chapstick.

His hand on the back of your head tightens, his thumb pressing against your neck and making you shiver. His other hand is pressed tight to your jaw and when you gasp against his mouth, he presses down as if he can hold you open and consume you so you can't leave him again.

His muscled thigh is in between yours and you can feel the rough texture of his jeans, the same pair he wore to work, the same pair you'd put through the washing machine a thousand times, rub against where your legs are only covered in tights. The shorter than usual skirt meant to entice your date, and instead it was being taken advantage of by your ex-boyfriend.

Sukuna let go of your face so he could put his hand underneath the fabric of your skirt.

"New outfit?" He teases as his hand slides to the top of your tights.

"Got it for my date," you snap and he growls at you before he rips the seams of your tights. Before you can complain, he's dragging them down your thighs and diving into your panties so he can get to your cunt. The underwear is new too and a pained noise leaves you at the sensation of them snapping against your inner thigh, both at the pain and the thought of how much they cost.

"I still have those blue ones you like at home, the ones you wore for my birthday last year," he tells you as he slides his finger down the seam of your cunt. You're wet and it annoys you because orgasming has been a bitch to achieve since you had to start giving them to yourself again.

"You can keep them," you tell him and he bites your lower lip between his teeth, they'd always felt too sharp for a man and you know you're a twitch or a less than playful nibble away from a busted lip.

"They're not really up for wearing anymore anyway."

You want to ask him what he means by that as he kisses down your neck and thrusts one finger into you, the slide almost unholy.

"So fucking wet, your cunt was always better at talking than you were."

The sensation of being filled even though it's not enough it's not enough begins to itch at your need to be satisfied as your mind fills in the gaps of his previous words.

You can imagine Sukuna in the bed you used to share, the dark blue sheets and the comforter covered in a black pattern that had reminded you of the marks that covered his body. One hand holding your favorite pair of panties and the other his big cock, that sometimes you missed even more than him.

Did he use the panties to jerk off with, the fabric just an expensive tissue for his cum? Did he hold them to his nose and pretend he could still smell your pussy on them in the bed that used to smell like both of you? You had tried watching porn and reading smut, the stuff you had relied on before you were together, and nothing compared to what it felt like to come from his fingers, his tongue, his cock.

The only times you had touched yourself when you were together were when Sukuna had wanted to watch, his commentary pushing you to the edge. He had always known what to say.

Good girl, now try two fingers for me. Not enough? Do you need my cock? Fucking slutty princess, eh?

No matter how demeaning his words were, you had never felt true shame because his desire for you was always apparent. Sukuna never held back praise where he felt it was deserved, and he had always been quick to let you know that what you were doing was pleasing him.

"Pay attention to me, princess. I'd hate to think I was boring you." The words are laced with cruelty and the added pressure of a second figure is harsh, too soon, and still not enough.

The hand in your hair tightens, but the grip still careful not to mess it up beyond repair. Something you'd been adamant about in the beginning days of your relationship. The gentleness of it, of him, makes you cry out.

Since Sukuna was the only one who still seemed cognizant of how you were in an alley, only a right turn from being on a public sidewalk, he was quick to catch your moan in his mouth. Nearly purring in reply, a ridiculous thing for a ridiculous man to do.

"Fuck, that's it. No one else can make you feel like this, this cunt is fucking mine."

"Yes," you hiss out in agreement. Pleased with your concession, Sukuna's thumb swipes over your clit as he continues his punishing rhythm with his fingers. You can hear how wet you are as it echoes off the brick around you. Even though it's cold outside, you feel almost too hot between the warmth of his body shielding yours from the world around you and the heat that's continuing to build up in your core.

"So close, I know you are. Beg me, princess and I might let you come," he whispers in your ear and you would feel embarrassed of the whine you let out if you weren't so close.

"Please, Sukuna. Please, let me come!"

"I don't know. Not sure if I should reward you since you've apparently being going around giving this pussy to fucking anyone."

You shake your head. "No, I haven't slept with anyone since we broke up."

Sukuna kisses you so hard, you're grateful for the hand behind your head because you know his knuckles must be bruised from the force he kisses you with. Sukuna pulls back, a string of saliva connecting his lips to yours and you hate that you find that hot. That this whole thing is hot.

For a second, the softness in his eyes takes your breath away and you almost forget about where you are and what you're doing and why it's the worst idea you've ever had. He's just Sukuna, the love of your life and you miss him so much.

You think he might say something crazy like he loves you or even propose but then the softness is gone and he just grins at you.

"Alright, come then, you've earned it."

With permission granted, Sukuna focuses his attention on your clit in just that way you like in the way that only someone who's done this hundreds of times could do. He's definitely leaving hickies around your collarbone and neck, but for now they feel good and when you come, you bite your lip knowing it will be bruised. A reminder of how you're an idiot when you look at it in the mirror tomorrow.

Still soft with your orgasm, you reach down to return the favor but Sukuna grabs your hand.

"I'm not walking around with cum in my jeans," he tells you, kissing your palm. Typical of him, to end something crass with something sweet. You sigh as he puts you back down on the ground. You pull up what remains of your tights, the fabric uncomfortable on your quickly drying thighs. Your ripped panties lie on the ground and Sukuna looks at them forlornly before shaking his head, dirty alleyway panties apparently being too much even for him.

Sukuna grabs the bag you'd dropped when he'd kissed you and gestures for you to exit the alley. A few passersby give you strange looks but you figure if you were going to be arrested for public indecency, it would have happened already.

"I guess we're going to mine," you say. "I live like another two blocks this way."

"I know," Sukuna says already heading that way.

You blow a piece of hair out of your eye. "Of course you do."

When Sukuna actually types in the passcode to your building you almost lose it, but you're tired and honestly you had kind of expected to just come home to him already in your apartment at some point. Sukuna had never been great at respecting boundaries. Or the law.

You unlock the door to your apartment, it takes everything in you not to ask if he already has a key. You don't want to know. He follows you in and the two of you sit at the dingy two person table you have set up by one of the only windows.

"Cozy."

"Fuck you." He smirks in that way that has always made you want to punch him and you're reminded that you're currently wearing shredded tights.

"Sukuna, you wanted to talk. So talk."

The smirk leaves his face and he looks at his nails, pressing his thumb against the one on his pointer finger and then looking through the 'o' formed there. "You left."

"I did."

He looks at you. "Why?"

"You know why," you say, tired again.

"Sure, you want to get married at some point. You want a baby at some point. I don't see what that has to do with us, right now."

"Because right now leads to that some point. It doesn't just happen. There are things I want, that are important to me. If they're not important to you, then I need to find someone who has the same priorities as me."

"Because I'm not your priority," he says and this is the rehash of an argument you'd had a thousand times. Sukuna was selfish and possessiveness and while that had always granted you a certain security, it had also been a chain you'd constantly worn around your ankle. You weren't going to defend your time at work or with friends to your boyfriend. That belonged to a different time, to different women and it had been a nonnegotiable early in your relationship that he figure that shit out with himself.

"Sukuna, I love you but I'm not going to give up what I want for my future because you don't want it. You don't have to want it, in fact I appreciate that you've been honest about it-"

"So appreciative, you left me," the words are almost snarled and you sigh.

"That's not fair. You can't be mad I want something else, the same way I'm not mad that you want something else. It's not a character flaw to not want to get married, or to not what kids. It just means you have a person out there for you who shares that view. Because it's not me."

"Why can't it be enough to just have a life with the two of us?"

"It's not about whether or it's enough, it's about me wanting something else."

There's a pause. Sukuna claws at the dents already in your battered table and deepens the grooves as you try not to flinch at the sound of his nails bearing down on wood.

Finally, he responds. "You know, I spent my childhood, my teens and a lot of adulthood raising Yuuji because our piece of shit parents couldn't be bothered and let me tell you. It's fucking hard. It is constant and they need so much for you. I didn't do anything but work and watch him for almost two decades and I don't want to do that again. I want my own life."

"I understand," you tell him. "That was a lot, even if you did a great thing by taking him in."

"It wasn't because I was nice. You seem to be forgetting that I'm a murderer. And you want me to fucking watch Bluey with some brat."

"You may not be nice but you do right by the people you care about. I also don't think you've murdered a baby, it would probably be okay."

"That's more incidental than a conscience choice," he says and you know he has to hear how ridiculous he sounds.

"Alright. I respect your decision but for what it's worth, we're not kids anymore and you wouldn't be doing this alone. I think Yuuji turned out pretty great because he had you, and I think any kid of our would be lucky to have you as a dad."

"You would really do all that with me," he says and his voice is as close to wonderous as you've ever heard it. "You really are a lost cause."

You try not to react, remind yourself that this is always how Sukuna responds to affection. He'd laughed at you the first time you'd told him you loved him. You'd punched him and broken your hand on his chin. He'd told you he loved you in the ER as the attendant resetting your hand looked on in horror.

"I think that's enough for today. Thanks for stopping by and for the orgasm, appreciate it," you say, rising from the chair. You walk the short trip to your door and open it. "Hope you have a safe trip home."

Sukuna stays seated. "That's it?"

"Yeah, Sukuna, that's it."

"And if I said I could do this, I could give you those things."

You think about it and look him over. How his hands twitch as if only his ego is preventing them from clenching. The clear trauma that was informing his previous stance.

"I'd say take some time and maybe talk to someone. I don't want to do this with someone who can just bring themselves to bear it. I want them to be as excited as me."

"That's asking for a lot from a guy."

"But someone will do it." Sukuna looks angry again and when he steps in your space, you push him gently away with your hand. He goes to hold it and even the familiar scrape of his calluses against your skin can't make you waver.

"Bye, Sukuna."

Sukuna looks at you, waiting for you to give in you know but you won't.

He leaves without another word.

When the door to the stairwell slams shut, you finally let yourself cry.

----------

It's been a month since you've seen Sukuna and you're on another date.

The guy is unoffensive. He gave you a hug when you met up and he'd made a joke about the plethora of other couples at the restaurant. You two started playing a game where you tried to guess how many dates each couple had been on?

"Three, she's finally figured out she can't put up with how he chews no matter how nicely coiffed his hair is," your date says as you take another sip of your drink.

"That's a second date, his chewing is a commit or quit type of deal and she looks ready to go. Bet they didn't eat together on their first date."

"Is he telling the plot to Dune, he has not stopped talking since we sat down," he says and you giggle despite yourself.

You've just started on the couple both looking determinedly at their phones by the window when your phone rings.

"Sorry, I need to take this," you say and he smiles.

"No worries, I'll let you know how many times she misses her mouth while looking at her phone."

You wave as you go to stand outside. You take a deep breath and then answer.

"Hey."

"Hey, princess. Bad time?"

"No, just, what do you want?"

"Well, I'm planning this first date with this girl and I'm having trouble figuring out how to explain something."

You want to throw up, what kind of test is this?

"What do you want to say?"

"Well, I've heard that it's important to be straightforward with your intentions, so you don't waste anyone's time."

"And what are your intentions?" You manage to spit out and he laughs, his smugness almost seeping out the phone.

"Well not anytime soon, but eventually I think I'd like a little brat. You know, prove to Yuuji that he wasn't a fluke."

You heart is pounding and you hate him. You love him.

"Uh huh."

"And I guess it would probably be easier to do that if we just got married. You know, taxes, healthcare, I still don't have healthcare but my wife will and I've heard you can add people to that."

"This proposal is the fucking worst one I've ever heard," you say, trying to ignore the fact you are now crying in front of a restaurant. People walk by giving you pitying looks, probably think you got stood up.

"It's not a proposal, it's a framing of intent."

"Why do you talk like such an old man, we are almost the same age?"

"Why do you talk like such a brat?"

"You know-"

"Probably," he says and you laugh despite yourself.

"So when is this date?"

"Tonight," he says. "You can wear that dress you're wearing, it looks perfect on you."

"Are you fucking here, you creep?"

"That's no way to talk to your future husband and no. That place is a shithole, I'm at our usual."

"Good, I've missed it. No one makes my drink the way I like it," you tell him and he hums.

"Well, it will be waiting for you when you get here. So get here soon."

"Alright, I'll see you soon."

Sukuna hangs up and you stand there. There's a perfectly nice guy inside. One who makes you laugh and who maybe one day you could grow to love.

But there's another guy across town who is sitting at your favorite restaurant, ordering your favorite drink. His lips taste like the organic chapstick, he claims to be too tacky to be worth wearing but keeps it in his pocket anyway. He built all your furniture and let you paint your bathroom green even though you live in a rental. He's held your hair back when you were sick and cleaned it up even as he bitched at you for the mess and done a rather cruel impression of you retching.

There's another guy that you love.

So you go back into the restaurant to tell your perfectly nice date that something has come up.

Maybe you're a fool, but what else could you do?

Maybe this will be a series, idk. Being an adult is weird. This is def ooc but you know, let me work through things and call them fiction. That's what this account is for.

#jjk sukuna #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna x reader #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk #sukuna

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luviestarz · 7 months

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lee haechan fic recs!

❤︎ I LIKE YOU (I DO) (L.DH) - @domjaehyun (stoner!haechan just wants you to know how much he likes you.)

❤︎ paperclip - @smileysuh (yandere, ex bf! hyuck)

❤︎ My Boy. - @prodbymaui (A series of failed relationships and you were this near of giving up on love. But then here comes little Donghyuck and his persistence. Maybe-- he was the one fated to you, after all.)

❤︎ kiss it better - @yeow6n (haechan gets hurt but you know that with him it’s not going to be as simple as putting a band-aid on it)

❤︎ sugar, butter, & the royal crown - L.DH - @haechwrites (prince donghyuck only has one princess on his mind, but she's not actually a princess. she's just the royal baker's granddaughter.)

❤︎ bus stop - @ooshu (haechan rides the bus. you hop on the same ride. minutes later, you two were a couple. he never questioned why.)

❤︎ strawberries & cigarettes - @hyudior (the art school's play is in two days and you're running out of time to put everything together since your known enemy lee donghyuck decided that the rehearsal day was the perfect day to release a launch party for his new album.)

❤︎ >> take my breath - @hyuckwrlds

❤︎ moles ♡‧₊˚ lee haechan - @sleeping-sirens (you read something on the internet that made you feel jealous of a person you didn’t even know but haechan knows just how to reassure you.)

❤︎ haechan — gold-skinned, eager baby - @hyuckmov (he used to be able to hide it. he used to be fine with glancing at you, habitually flicking his eyes to your chest when you would walk into the room or snuggle up to him. but now he’s totally fucked, because he thinks he’s developed some sort of addiction.)

❤︎ eyes tell - @tonicandjins (donghyuck has been trying to confess his feelings to you. third time's the charm, he thinks.)

❤︎ going below zero | l.dh - @cherryeoniis (Considering how much Haechan makes it his personal mission to antagonize you at work, it seems like a rather cruel twist of fate that the both of you have been side by side since middle school, the only consolation being that his office is a different floor from yours. But if there’s a saying about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, your attitude with him might just be the opposite, and it’ll take a family ski holiday to find out.)

❤︎ take my breath. - @sixzeroes (lee donghyuck did not believe in ‘love at first sight.’ key word: did. he does now, but only because you happened to fall into his arms on the icy road in the narrow streets. you’re going to render him breathless from the countless times your smile takes his breath away.)

❤︎ ice cream thief [ l.dh ] - @tddyhyck (someone has been eating haechan's favorite ice cream so he decides to put a hidden camera in the kitchen and living room thinking it's a shared space it shouldn't invade anyone's privacy... right?)

❤︎ tease | lee haechan - @hyuckiefluff (Playing spin the bottle definitely wasn't what you had envisioned for your first college party. And the last person you expected to see was Lee Haechan. But life has a funny way of throwing surprises at you, and this time it came in the form of the bottle landing on some drunk dude who dared you to kiss Haechan.)

❤︎ 𝟏𝟎 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ¹⁸⁺ - @goldyeokki (you and lee donghyuck both get along like oil and water. if it were up to you, you would be going about your days without even breathing in his direction. unfortunately you're in the same friend group and you have to tolerate each other. as handsome or attractive as people claim him to be, you hate his guts. there's so many reasons why you hate him, so why do you get butterflies in your stomach when he's near?)

❤︎ high (with my lover) [m] – l.dh - @yeonghosins (y/n smokes up with donghyuck for the first time)

❤︎ what the puck! - @choerrypuffs (you hit the university’s star hockey player with your car. shenanigans (and maybe even a little romance) ensue.)

❤︎ double take | l.dh - @cherryeoniis (friends to lovers, highschool au, slowburn, fluff, angst)

❤︎ Your Red Lipstick || L.DH - @ihaechans (Kisses, kisses, kisses. That’s all your boyfriend wants. When you refuse to give him the one thing he craves, he won’t leave you alone, begging and begging until you give in.)

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beskarandblasters · 5 months

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Bluffing Season

Enemies to Lovers!Frankie Morales x F!Reader

Main Masterlist | Frankie Morales Masterlist

Author’s note: Ya know like “cuffing season” lmao!! Thank you to @pascalispretty, @fhatbhabie, and @hyzer34 for beta reading! 🤍

Summary: Frankie Morales is your next door neighbor of the worst kind. To put it simply, you two can’t stand each other. But when his girlfriend breaks up with him right before the holidays he asks you to be his fake date for Christmas, not wanting to go home to his family single yet again. You reluctantly say yes and as you spend time with him you realize he’s not as terrible as you once thought.

Word count: 14.6k (what the fuck lol)

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, reader is a baker, two years post Triple Frontier, slow burn, enemies to lovers, fake dating, jealousy, made up lore for Frankie/his family tree, reader lowkey got mommy issues (just a shitty family in general), drinking, mentions of drugs, food/eating, Frankie describing his trauma, some Spanish used, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, cream pie, pet names (cariño), sort of ambiguous time skips, Frankie is either a Libra or a Scorpio!!, no use of y/n

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

Late October

Beep Beep Beep

Ugh. Another shit start to your day with shit sleep as per usual. Running your own bakery means a lot of early mornings. Normally you don’t mind waking up early since you love what you do. You bought a new house on Magnolia Drive eight months ago which made your commute to the bakery much shorter. However… Your realtor neglected to tell you that it came with the worst neighbor on the face of the Earth. His name is Frankie and you can’t stand him. When you first moved in, he seemed normal, an ex-military, single guy living on his own. The deception didn’t last long, though. Because after about two weeks of living next to him, the shitstorm commenced. And now you wished you picked literally any other house in this city. His friends are at his house all the time, one of them always blocking your driveway with their pickup truck. They stay until at least four in the morning, blasting music when Frankie knows you have to work early the next day. He’s probably the worst neighbor in the entire state of Florida.

You’re getting in your car to start your morning commute for work when Frankie is grabbing the morning paper from his mailbox. You physically recoil when you see him. There’s a harsh line of demarcation separating your lawn from his because he cuts his grass once in a blue moon. It’s such an eyesore.

“Have you thought about, I don’t know, cutting your lawn?” you ask before shutting your car door.

He shoots you the middle finger and mouths something you can’t hear. You roll down the window for him to take a few steps closer to your car and repeat, “Stop feeding the fucking stray cats.”

Okay, maybe you aren’t the perfect neighbor either. But doesn’t he deserve it anyway?

“Bite me,” you respond, rolling your eyes and backing out of your driveway.

He rolls his eyes, too, and storms off. You giggle to yourself, feeling proud that you got a rise out of him. If he’s going to piss you off the least you could do is return the favor.

Work is fine, a little busier than normal. But the afternoon exhaustion is hitting. You can’t wait to go home, take a shower, and maybe get some sleep before Frankie’s friends come over. It’s Friday and they’ll be even more unruly than they normally are during the week. Don’t they have lives? Or like… a fucking family to go home to?? Probably not if they’re hanging out with the likes of him.

But alas, it’s finally time to go home. You close up the bakery and get in your car to drive back, excited to just melt into the couch for a few hours. As you turn onto your street you see that Frankie’s driveway is empty, for now, that is. He’s not outside, either. So that means you get to just slip inside your house without a hostile interaction for once. Score!

You pull into your driveway, get out of your car, and start walking towards your front door when a disgruntled voice stops you dead in your tracks.

“Hey!”

Not again.

“What do you want now?” you say, whipping around and using the bitchiest voice you can muster.

“Cut your fucking tree,” Frankie says, holding up a lemon.

…Is he fucking for real?

You have a lemon tree at the edge of your backyard and a few branches hang over the fence and into Frankie’s yard. You never thought to trim it because you assumed you were doing something nice for him, letting him have some of the lemons. But no, apparently he wants to complain about free fruit.

“You’re complaining about… free fruit?”

He stutters a bit, tripping on his words as if he just realized how stupid he sounds.

“I guess not.”

“That’s what I thought,” you say, turning and heading into your house.

The fucking nerve of that man.

The rest of the night is pretty uneventful aside from a bitter man complaining about free fruit. You hear Frankie’s friends next door and grumble to yourself. How do they have the energy to party every single day of the week? You turn in early and do your best to ignore how loud they are, getting ready for another busy day at the bakery. Tomorrow’s Saturday, the busiest day of the week, and you need to be well rested. Well rested as you can be with all the noise from next door.

The morning’s been typical so far; wake up feeling exhausted, argue with Frankie in the driveway, drive to work, open the bakery; and the usual stuff. It isn’t until halfway through your business hours that something… interesting happens. A woman enters the shop and browses the cakes in your display case.

“I’d like to get some writing on a cake.”

“Sure! Which one would you like?”

“That one,” she says, pointing to one on the bottom, a vanilla cake with vanilla buttercream and strawberries in the middle.

“Okay,” you say, grabbing it out of the case and taking it to your decorating table, “What would you like it to say?”

“Well, it’s for my boyfriend, Frankie so I’d like it to say “Happy birthday, Franklin” with a fish. I guess his nickname was catfish in the military.”

You know for a fact this is for Frankie because of the nickname. You’ve heard his friends screaming it next door when they’re drunk. But you also know for a fact his name is not Franklin, it’s Francisco. You didn’t have to ask him or anything, Amazon has delivered some of his packages to your house in the past by mistake. So this is fucking hilarious.

“Any specific color for the writing?” you ask, stifling a chuckle.

“Black is fine.”

You get to work on the writing and have mixed feelings. It’s kinda shitty that his own girlfriend doesn’t know his full name. And it’s also shitty that he’s going to have a birthday cake at his party with the wrong name on it. You should feel bad but… Nah, this guy sucks.

You glance over at his girlfriend before moving on to the fish. Although she clearly doesn’t know her boyfriend that well at all, you can’t deny that she’s beautiful. And all of a sudden you’re feeling… jealous? Wait, why are you getting jealous of her? For a guy you can’t even stand?

You gotta finish decorating this cake and get her out of here so you can try to deal with your conflicting feelings. You package the cake back up and walk it to the counter to cash her out.

“Okay, your total is fifty-three forty-nine. Cash or card?”

“Card,” she says, tapping it on the counter.

The receipt prints out of the machine for her to sign but before you hand it to her you look at the name printed on the bottom; Heather Ryan.

“Okay, just need your signature and then you’re all set!”

She signs her name on the receipt and slides it back to you.

“It looks great! Thank you so much!” she says before grabbing the cake and leaving.

Now that she’s gone you can process your weird and sudden emotions. You didn’t know he had a girlfriend and to be honest, it kind of surprises you that he has one in the first place considering his… lifestyle. But why are you jealous? He’s the worst.

Although… When you first moved in, you did think he was kinda cute before he showed his true colors. He got you with his curly brown hair peeking out underneath his hat but the attraction didn’t last long. Once his antic began, the attraction dissipated.

…Or so you thought.

Stop it, you tell yourself. He has made your life hell for the better part of a year.

You bury down your weird and confusing feelings for now, trying to continue the rest of the day as normal. The rest of the day is pretty uneventful and soon enough five o’clock rolls around. Just as you’re locking up the bakery, you get a text from your friend, Ally.

Hey, bestieee!! Drinks tonight?

You know what, why not?

You respond with:

Oooh, what time and where?

You get in your car and drive home, excited to have something to look forward to tonight. And at least you’ll be gone for some of Frankie’s antics. As you pull into your driveway you notice his friends aren’t there yet, all the better for you. You check your phone and Ally says;

7:30. Let’s go to the Harp tonight!! I’ll meet you there.

She’s referring to a bar downtown but to you, it honestly doesn’t matter where you go. You need to blow off some steam and work through your weird feelings with your friend, get her opinion on this random burst of jealousy you’re feeling.

You take a shower, change into a skirt and fitted tee, and do your makeup before getting ready to leave. Just to find one of Frankie’s friends blocking your driveway, of course. Why wouldn’t they do this shit on the one night you have plans?

Nah, this isn’t going to fly. You gotta say something. You march right over to his door and judging by the noise coming from inside, his birthday party is tonight. Alright, maybe you won’t be a huge bitch about this right now. Especially when you know how his birthday cake turned out…

You knock and someone other than Frankie answers the door. You recognize him as one of Frankie’s friends but you can put a name to his face.

“Oh, shit! Neighbor girl is here!” he says, calling out to Frankie over his shoulder.

Before you can ask him about the truck blocking your driveway he says, “I’m Benny. Come on in!”

Yeah, he’s clearly drunk. Whatever this will be quick. You reluctantly step inside and look around. You’ve never actually been inside Frankie’s house before. It’s honestly nicer than you expected considering his lifestyle and the way he keeps his lawn. You’re standing in his living room with Frankie and three other men. You’re feeling anxious all of a sudden but you don’t show it. Who knows what Frankie said about you to these guys?

“Look who it is, Fish!” Benny says, putting a hand on your shoulder.

“Guys, this is my neighbor,” Frankie says. He looks a little… nervous? You’ve never seen him like this before.

“I’m Santiago,” a man with dark hair says, shaking your hand.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, forcing a fake smile.

“And this is Will,” Santiago continues, gesturing to a man with short blond hair.

“You got anyone else coming, Fish?” Santiago asks, turning towards Frankie, “What about Heather?”

“Uh, she’s not coming.”

“Shit, man. Is everything alright?”

“We’re fine. But actually, can you help me with something in the kitchen?” Frankie asks, making eye contact with you. He looks bothered, like there’s something he wants to say but isn’t letting it come out.

“Sure,” you reply, following him to the kitchen where he opens the refrigerator. The cake is sitting on the shelf in its box and your stomach drops. Poor guy.

He grabs the cake from the refrigerator and sets it on the kitchen counter.

“Can you help fix this? She put the wrong name,” he says, opening the lid to reveal the cake you decorated earlier today.

“I can try. Can you get me a butter knife?”

He opens his silverware drawer and hands you a knife.

“Well, I think I can smear out the name and make a swirly pattern around the happy birthday?”

“Whatever you have to do,” he says softly.

You take the knife and swipe away the “Franklin”, making a tie-dye design on the cake but stopping at the fish.

“You want me to leave the fish?”

“Nah, scrap it. Catfish is pretty much the only thing she knew about me anyway,” he says dejectedly.

“Right…” you respond awkwardly, swiping away your hard work from earlier. You can only assume he doesn’t know this birthday cake is from your bakery. But you fix the cake the best you can so it just says “Happy Birthday” with a swirly design.

“That better?”

“Yes. Thank you,” he says, letting out a sigh, “I just didn’t want them to see it.”

“I get that-”

“Let’s get this fucking party started!” Benny says, entering the kitchen and slamming a six-pack of beer on the counter.

“Oh, actually I have to go-” you start.

“What?? No way, you gotta stay,” Benny says, putting an arm around your shoulders.

You could stay and just cancel your plans with Ally. But this is Frankie’s birthday party and you weren’t exactly invited. And you’re both aware of how much you painfully dislike each other. You look at Frankie, searching his eyes for an indication of how he’s feeling.

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” he says softly.

“Are you sure? I don’t wanna impose.”

“Nooo, stay,” Benny says, looking at you with a wide grin on his face.

“By all means,” Frankie says.

“Fuck yeah,” Benny says, “Can I get you a drink? We have all sorts of shit.”

“Hard cider?”

“A woman with taste. I like it,” he says, removing the arm around your shoulders and opening the refrigerator.

You pull out your phone to text Ally. It has to be something inconspicuous. She knows you hate Frankie with a passion so you can’t exactly say you’re partying with him and his friends right now. Maybe just lie and say you’re sick?

You do exactly that, saying your stomach is bothering you. Just as you press send, Benny’s hanging you your hard cider. And now it’s just the three of you in Frankie’s kitchen, standing around awkwardly.

“I have some of the MMA guys coming, too. That alright?” Benny says.

“Fine with me. The more the merrier,” Frankie smiles. But the smile seems forced.

Just Frankie says that there’s a knock on the door and it’s the guys Benny was referring to. A handful of men pile into Frankie’s living room with Will and Santiago, and now you’re the only girl here. And also sort of regretting your decision to cancel on Ally.

“Let me introduce to you some of my friends!” Benny says cheerfully, grabbing your hand and leading you back to the living room. You exchange hello’s with Benny’s friends, a group of four guys whose names you can’t really be bothered to remember.

Soon enough the folding table is pulled out and all of the guys are playing beer pong. You decide to just stand and watch, sipping your drink and keeping to yourself… except for Benny, who has been by your side all night. At first, it was kind of annoying but now that you’re talking to him he’s actually pretty cute. Or it’s just the alcohol talking.

“Can I get you another drink?” he asks when yours is empty.

“Sure,” you smile, handing the empty bottle to him.

Now that you’re alone for a moment your eyes are scanning the room again, and they lock eyes with Frankie, who’s playing beer pong but not really paying attention. Benny comes back with your drink, handing it to you and leaning against the wall with his arm raised over his head.

“Frankie never mentioned just how gorgeous you are.”

“Oh! Thank you,” you respond, caught you off guard. You’re feeling awkward, not knowing what to say back so your eyes are searching the room again. And once again, they lock with Frankie’s, whose eyes are… angry? But why is he angry? Is he… jealous? Nah, no way. He has a girlfriend. But she’s also proved herself to be shitty. And besides that, you two hate each other. Unless… you really don’t?

You decide to do a little experiment. Benny is super hot, but maybe you could turn up the flirting a bit and see just how jealous Frankie gets.

And that’s exactly what you do. You’re laughing at all Benny’s jokes, falling for every cheesy pickup line, doing the thing where you look from his eyes, down to his lips, and back up to his eyes, literally anything to flirt. And even though it’s for an experiment, you’re having fun and you could actually see yourself maybe liking Benny.

You look over at Frankie, and to your surprise (and also delight?), he’s looking directly at you. His eyes are almost pleading with you. But at the end of the day, you don’t owe him anything. And he’s taken. So why stop all the fun?

“I just can’t believe this is the first time we’re meeting,” Benny says, shaking his head.

“I didn’t know Frankie had such nice friends!” you respond.

Benny leans a little closer to you, his eyes fixed on your lips. Oh shit, is he really gonna kiss you? Right here? Right now? In front of everyone?

But also… why not?

You lean forward more too, inching closer and closing the gap between you two. Just as your lips are about to meet, Santiago shouts, “Jesus, Fish! What are you doing?!”

You pull away from each other and look at what’s going on. It seems that Frankie royally screwed up the round of beer pong because he and Santiago just lost.

“Alright, alright. Don’t yell at the birthday boy,” Will laughs.

Santiago sighs and says, “Best two out of three?”

The other men shrug but Frankie excuses himself, saying, “I need another drink.”

You can’t help but feel like that was your fault. Shit, maybe Frankie does have some sort of crush on you? Because why else would he get jealous over his friend flirting with you? Wouldn’t he want that to happen, as a means of burying the hatchet between you two?

“I have to use the bathroom,” you say to Benny.

“Down the hall on your right,” he says.

You set your drink down on the coffee table and walk through the kitchen, but before you head to the bathroom you take a look at Frankie, who’s sipping a beer and looking at his birthday cake. A look of confusion and uncertainty on his face. You just can’t help but feel bad for him in some sort of weird way. But there’s also a nagging feeling deep down inside you that’s telling you that you shouldn’t feel bad for him. This guy has been nothing but a complete asshole to you. Why do you care so much about his feelings?

You head down to the bathroom and pull out your phone. There’s a text from Ally and thankfully she wasn’t upset about the plans getting canceled. But you look at the time and decide, you should just go home. Besides, it’s getting a little boring watching the men play beer pong and you’re running out of things to talk about with Benny.

You head back into the living room and say to Benny, “I think I’m gonna head home.”

“Aw, okay. I’ll catch you later. But maybe you can come to one of my matches sometime?”

“I’d like that,” you smile.

You poke your head into the kitchen and tell Frankie you’re leaving.

“Happy birthday by the way,” you say.

He nods and waves his hand a little before you bid your goodbyes to everyone else and walk next door. And the only thought on your mind is… What the hell just happened?

You flop down on your couch and the room feels like it’s spinning, your mind swirling with all sorts of thoughts and emotions. You’re feeling a weird mix of confusion, pity, and also… apathy? You run through the basics:

1. Frankie’s girlfriend sucks.

2. It’s shitty that his birthday cake was messed up.

3. You really don’t mind Benny at all and can see yourself liking him.

4. At the end of the day, Frankie is still an asshole.

And that trumps everything else, no matter how bad you feel for him.

Mid-December

Several weeks have gone by and you haven’t seen much of Frankie, or his friends for that matter. Lately, it feels like you've been living at the bakery twenty-four-seven. Especially since Thanksgiving just ended. But that also means you’re heading into another busy season; Christmas time.

The holidays are your least favorite time of year. But running your own bakery means that you get to keep busy during the holidays. It’s always the perfect excuse for when your mother calls and asks why you’re not coming home for Thanksgiving or Christmas. You can usually get out of one and not the other. This year you skipped Thanksgiving so you’ll be due home for Christmas… unless you can think of another excuse to stay home again. But then you’ll get another phone call from your father claiming that “you’re breaking your mother’s heart” or whatever.

From what you can tell, Frankie stayed home for Thanksgiving, too. Though you don’t know if his family is around here or not. His friends didn’t come over for Thanksgiving so you assume they were with their own families respectively. And you’re not really sure what happened with his girlfriend. So the two of you were just… alone that day. For some reason, the thought makes you kind of… sad? But like you told yourself weeks ago, don’t feel bad for Frankie, like at all.

But now that you’re thinking of Frankie… he’s been his typical self, but maybe scaled back a bit? His lawn hasn’t been cut in God knows how long and his friends still come over to party here and there. But it’s definitely been a lot less than usual. Maybe the holidays are tough for him, too.

Just as you’re leaving to go open the bakery the week before Christmas, you get a phone call from your mom. You sigh and roll your eyes because you already know what this is about. And you’ve been dreading this phone call since Thanksgiving.

“Yes, mom?” you say as you answer the phone.

“Is that any way to answer a phone call from your mother?” she says. God, you can already feel the judgment and disappointment seeping from her voice, even over the phone.

“Ah, sorry Mom. How are you?”

“I’m just calling to see if we can expect you home for Christmas this year.”

“Uhh-”

“You know, since you broke your mother’s heart and didn’t come home for Thanksgiving.”

“I think.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, I’ve just been really busy, uh, with the bakery and all.”

“That’s always the excuse. I’m getting sick of your shit. I need a straight answer as to whether or not you’ll be home for Christmas now.”

As you open your mouth to respond, probably with some poorly thought-out rebuttal since you’re so heated, you spot Frankie walking across his lawn toward you. Perfect escape from this phone call maybe?

“Shit sorry Mom. Gotta go. My neighbor’s coming up to me.”

As you pull the phone away from your ear and hang up, you hear your mom’s angry protests. But you’re too focused on Frankie to care. Because what could he want with you now? You haven’t done anything to piss him off lately. That you can remember anyway…

“Hey,” he says with a shaky breath.

“Hi,” you say awkwardly.

“I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Okay…”

“Feel free to say no because it’s weird but I don’t know what else to do. And I’m sorry to drop this on you but-”

“Spit it out.”

“Will you come home with me for Christmas as my date? It would be fake, of course.”

Oh. You definitely weren’t expecting that to be the favor he needed. And for some reason him adding in “it would be fake, of course” is so funny. It’s so funny that you actually burst out into a fit of laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“You’re not being serious.”

“I am.”

“But… why?”

“My girlfriend broke up with me right before Thanksgiving.”

“Let me get this straight. She put the wrong name on your birthday cake and you let her break up with you first?”

“It’s not funny.”

“I know it’s not.”

“So, you’ll help me?”

“Why can’t you just go home alone?”

“Because I can’t go home for another holiday alone. I already skipped Thanksgiving. My family’s always pestering me about settling down and I can’t take it anymore.”

“What’s in it for me?” you sigh.

“Uh, you don’t have to go home to your shitty family? I mean I’m just assuming from that phone call you just had.”

“Yeah and instead I get to go home to yours?”

“My family’s not shitty. They’re nothing like me.”

You can’t lie to yourself and say that the offer isn’t tempting. Because as soon as you mention the word “boyfriend” to your mother she’ll be all over it. Like Frankie’s family, your mom’s been pestering you to settle down, too. If you offer her some sort of crumb to give her the indication that you’re finally “settling down” maybe she’ll leave you alone for once.

“Just think about it,” Frankie says while you’re contemplating his offer to himself.

He turns to walk back to his house but you stop him before he goes anywhere.

“Wait!”

He turns around to face you again with a hopeful look in his eye. You can’t believe you’re actually agreeing to this.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess it beats going home to my family.”

“Thank you,” he says, pulling you in for a hug.

“Alright, the fake relationship hasn’t started yet,” you say, wincing at his embrace.

“Shit, you’re right,” he says, pulling away.

“How long are we there?”

“From the twenty-third until New Year’s. That okay with you? I know you have the bakery and all…”

It’s a little earlier than you prefer to close and it’s quite a long time to be gone but you suppose you can make do. Maybe you can catch a short flight home if you need to be back to the bakery by then?

“Yeah, fine with me. Where does your family live?”

“Savannah, Georgia.”

Oof, five hours in Frankie’s truck, just the two of you… But it’s worth it.

“Okay,” you sigh.

“Great. Thank you so much. We’ll leave around ten, okay?”

“Alright. Sounds like a plan.”

“Oh, one more thing. Can you bake something?”

You let out a sigh. “Yeah, sure. I’ll think of what to make.”

“Thanks again,” he says, putting his hands together like he’s praying before turning and walking back to his house. You’re left in your driveway questioning all your life choices that led up to this moment. But now you get to call your mom and tell her about this mysterious boyfriend you just happened upon.

You get in the car to leave for work and call your mom again, making sure to act a bit more pleasant this time.

“Hello?”

“Hey, mom,” you say, putting on your cheeriest voice.

“What happened with your neighbor?”

“Oh, nothing. He just had a package for me. Got delivered to his house by accident.”

“Oh, okay. So are you coming home for Christmas or what?”

“Actually, I’m not. I’m sorry. But I have a good reason?”

“And that is?”

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s family’s Christmas.”

“Boyfriend? You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend.”

“Uhh, it’s sort of new.”

“What’s his name?”

“Frankie.”

“Well, don’t fuck this one up. I want to meet him after Christmas, okay?”

Classic mom. She always has to make this about how much you suck.

“Of course. I’ll talk to you later, though. I gotta go open up the bakery.”

“Alright. Love you, bye.”

“Love you, too. Bye.”

That’s the best phone call you’ve had with your mom in a while. Maybe pretending to date Frankie will be a good thing?

It’s time to go. You're dressed in a comfy outfit for the drive. Everything’s packed and ready to go. You decided to make lemon bars from the lemon tree in your backyard. They’re packed away neatly in your to-go container. You head outside with all of your bags and Frankie meets you in your hard to help you.

“Jesus, did you pack the kitchen sink, too?”

“Wow, you’re so funny,” you say, rolling your eyes.

You’re already questioning why you said yes to this. But then your mother’s nagging voice is deep in the back of your mind.

It’s better than going home, you tell yourself.

You get into the passenger seat and Frankie backs out of the driveway. You look at his lawn out the window as you leave. Still not cut, of course.

For the first thirty minutes of the drive, it’s painfully silent. Until Frankie says, “You let me know if you need to stop to pee or something.”

“Okay…” you say awkwardly.

Another fifteen minutes goes by and he breaks the silence again.

“You know, if we want to sell this we have to act like a real couple.”

You were dreading this conversation.

“Yeah…”

“For one, we’ll probably gonna be sharing a bed.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And we have to act like we somewhat like each other when we’re not alone.”

“I know,” you sigh.

“Think you can do that?”

“I said yes to this, didn’t I?”

“Right…”

You can’t sit through another uncomfortable silence again. You’ve still got like four more hours of this drive to go.

“I guess we have to get to know each other.”

“Right. So what do you do? Oh fuck, I know you have the bakery but I meant tell me about it.”

“Uhh, right. I opened it four years ago. I just make desserts, like pastries and shit.”

“Gotcha.”

“What about you?”

“I used to be in the Army, specifically the Delta Force.”

“Oh, wow. How long were you in the Army?”

“I joined right after I got out of high school.”

“Long time,” you comment, “When did you leave?”

“About three years ago. I was just a pilot for a while.”

“Gotcha. What do you do now?”

“Not much. I’ve been living off my pension for the past two years after some shit happened.”

“We don’t have to talk about-”

“Our friend passed.”

“Oh, Frankie. I’m sorry.”

He says nothing more and you’re so curious for more information but you don’t want to pry either. It falls silent again and then you decide to pry for more information about a less heavy topic.

“So… if you don’t mind me asking, what happened with your girlfriend?”

“She broke up with me two days before Thanksgiving.”

“That’s rough. What did you tell your family?”

“I pretended I was sick.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“Don’t be. I probably should’ve ended things a while ago. I don’t think she had any idea about who I really am.”

“Right.”

“She didn’t even know my full name.”

The cake that you made.

“Yeah…”

“She put the wrong name and didn’t even get a cake I like.”

“About that.”

“Hm?”

“Do you know where she got that cake from?”

“No.”

“She came to my store.”

“…Did you know it was the wrong name?”

“Well yes, but what was I supposed to say? She’s the customer. I can't correct her. I just have to write what she ordered.”

“I know…” he sighs.

“Regardless, it doesn’t change the fact that she was the wrong person for you, okay?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I felt bad making it.”

“You did?”

“I mean, it’s kinda shitty if your girlfriend doesn’t know your name, right?” You chuckle.

“Right again,” he nods, looking over at you from the driver's seat.

“So what kind of cake do you like then?” you ask.

“Chocolate. I’m a simple guy.”

“Noted. So now I know Frankie Morales used to be in the Army, used to be a pilot, and likes chocolate cake. Anything else I need to know?”

“That about sums me up I guess.”

“Oh, come on! There’s more to you than that. What do you like to do for fun? Besides partying.”

“Oh, uh, I like to play poker with my friends. I’m into cars. And we’ll go support Benny at some of his matches. That’s pretty much all I do these days.”

“And also not cutting your lawn.”

“Listen-”

“And complaining about free fruit,” you tease.

“Alright, alright. I know I haven’t been the best neighbor in the past.”

“Uh-huh,” you say sarcastically.

“I guess after what happened I went down a spiral. And I was just… selfish for a while. Only caring about what I wanted to do and not thinking how it affects others.”

“That’s fair. You went through something traumatic.”

He opens his mouth to say something else but no words come out. It feels like he’s hiding something or not telling the full truth. And he wants to tell you, but he feels just can’t, that you’re not ready for that just yet.

It’s silent again and this time you find yourself dozing off with your cheek pressed up against the cool glass window. Somehow you’re able to fall asleep to Frankie’s music that he put on to fill the silence. You recognize it’s a Tom Petty song, but as you’re trying to put your finger on just what song it is, sleep fully overtakes you.

You were only out for about an hour and a half. It’s hard to sleep for long periods in a truck. As you open your eyes and stretch a little, Frankie says, “Wake up, sleepyhead. You’re officially the worst co-pilot in the world.”

“Whatever,” you say sarcastically, also while stifling back a yawn.

“I’m just teasing. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

“It’s fine. I probably shouldn’t sleep for too long anyway. It’ll mess up my sleep schedule.”

“Oof, my sleep schedule is pretty fucked up.”

You glare at him from the passenger seat. But he doesn’t get why, looking at you and going “What?” with a shrug.

“I noticed,” you say coldly.

Everyone knows the best time to air your grievances with each other is when you’re trapped in a moving vehicle together!

“Okay… Why do you seem mad?”

“You and your friends are just… loud.”

“Oh.”

“And I have to be up early in the mornings to open the store.”

“Oh,” he says again like the realization is hitting him.

“It’s alright…” you say awkwardly, even though it’s not.

“It’s not alright. I wasn’t being considerate.”

“I know, but I didn’t say anything either.”

“You sure said something about my lawn,” he teases.

“Because it’s a fucking eyesore, Francisco!”

“Be honest. You just wanted to see me mowing the lawn with my shirt off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t lie! I saw the way you looked at me when you first moved in.”

“Oh, shut up!” you say, playfully slapping him on the arm.

“You’re not denying it,” he says with a smirk.

“Yeah, yeah whatever. Maybe I thought you were cute when I first moved in. Didn’t last long, though.”

“I know,” he sighs, “I’m trying to be better. Ironically enough I think Heather dumping me was what I needed.”

“I think so, too.”

Before either of you can say anything else, Frankie’s passing a sign indicating there’s a rest stop ahead.

“Can we stop? I have to pee,” you say.

“Sure thing,” he says, pulling off the highway and into the rest stop parking lot.

“Meet you back here?” you say, opening the door.

“I’ll go with you. All sorts of seedy characters hang out at rest stops,” he says, getting out of the car and walking around to your side.

He helps you get out of the truck and walks inside with you, placing a hand on the small on your back as you cross the parking lot. His head’s in a constant swivel, eyes scanning the crowd for any signs of trouble.

“I think I’ll take it from here,” you say, stopping in front of the women’s restroom.

“I’ll be waiting here,” he nods.

You nod back and look at what he’s wearing; a burgundy t-shirt with a black zip-up sweatshirt, gray sweatpants, and of course the Standard Oil cap. Now that you’re starting to see Frankie for who he really is… you don’t mind him at all? Seven months ago you never thought this would’ve happened, that you’d actually be civil with him. Maybe you just had to give him a chance.

You do your business and walk back out to the lobby to meet Frankie. He’s on high alert, standing stiff as a board and taking in all of his surroundings. Until he sees you and his face lights up.

“I got us some stuff for the road!” he says cheerfully, holding up a plastic bag.

You look inside the bag and “some stuff” was an understatement. It looks like Frankie bought out the entire store. There are bottles of water, soda, different kinds of chips, candy, and gum- you name it, he bought it.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked. So I just got a few different things,” he says, most likely noticing how wide your eyes got.

“Thanks, Frankie. That was sweet of you.”

“Do you need anything else before we get back on the road?”

“I think I’m all set,” you nod.

You walk back to the truck with him and he does the same thing he did before, placing a hand on your back as you cross the parking lot. He opens your door for you and you take the bag from him once you’re settled in your seat. He gets back into the driver seat and soon enough, you’re back on the road.

“So I should probably prepare you for meeting my family,” he says, reaching for a Slim Jim in the bag.

“Oh god, why?”

“They’re not bad. They’re just… a lot? But they mean well.”

“Okay.”

“So you have my mother, Rosa, and my father Francisco Sr. But he passed away when I was twenty.”

“I’m sorry, Frankie.”

“Don’t be. It was a long time ago. I have three older sisters.”

“You’re the baby of the family?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Nothing. It just tracks.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, thanks. My sisters are Ria, Isabel, and Laura. Ria is married to Emmanuel and they have two kids, Luna and Camila. They’re college-aged. And then Isabel is with her wife, Aurora.”

“Okay,” you respond, mentally trying to keep track of all this.

“And then Laura is married to Rafael and they have three kids, Sofia, Anthony, and Marcelo. Sofia is twelve. I think Anthony’s nine or ten. And Marcelo is four. He’s my favorite.”

“Frankie! You’re not supposed to have favorites.”

“It’s not like I tell them that. I also have two aunts, Aunt Linda and Aunt Maggie. They’re my mother’s sisters. And then my Uncle Tommy, he’s my dad’s brother. And then there’s Cousin Ben, he’s Tommy’s son, around my age.”

You’re doing mental gymnastics, trying to memorize everyone’s names, ages, and who they’re married to.

“Got all that?” Frankie says with a smirk, noticing the puzzled expression on your face.

“I think so?”

“Don’t worry. Everyone will introduce themselves when we get there. They’re not gonna leave you alone so sorry about that in advance.”

“It’s alright. It beats going home to my family.”

“What are they like? I’m assuming they’re… not good if you don’t want to go home for the holidays.”

“Yeah, you’ve got it pretty much. My mom is super overbearing and nitpicking. I can’t do anything, or wear anything, or even say anything without her giving her two cents. My dad just sits there and lets her spew her bullshit without a filter. And then my younger sister, Erica, is just… perfect. She can’t do anything wrong in their eyes.”

“That sounds tough.”

“It is. I stopped going home for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. I try to just do one each year but I can’t take it anymore.”

“I understand,” Frankie says softly.

“My sister’s in medical school to be a cardiologist. So to my parents, running a bakery just doesn’t compare.”

“That’s stupid. Don’t they know how hard it is to run your own business?”

“No, and they probably don’t care to be honest.”

“I’m really sorry.”

“It’s alright. Thanks for getting me a way out of Christmas this year, though.”

“Of course. You’re doing me a big favor.”

The rest of the drive goes smoothly and eventually, you’re pulling into Frankie’s parents' house in Savannah. The second Frankie’s truck is in the driveway, an older woman, probably his mother, is running out of the front door and into the driveway. He parks the truck and you get out to meet her. She immediately pulls Frankie into a big hug.

“My baby’s home!!,” she says, embracing him and placing her hands on the back of his head.

“You and that damn hat,” she says, “You have such beautiful hair, mijo. Why do you hide it?”

“You know I like the hat, Ma.”

She pulls away and her eyes are immediately on you. You’re nervous about her first impression of you, even though you’re not even Frankie’s girlfriend. But she thinks you are and you need to play the part.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” she says, pulling into a hug, too. She gives the best hugs, rubbing your back and swaying just a little, even though you just met.

“I want you to be comfortable here, okay? My house is your house,” she says, pulling back and grabbing your hands.

“Thank you so much for having me in your home, Mrs. Morales,” you smile.

“Please! Call me Rosa. Let Francisco get the bags and we’ll go inside, yeah?”

“Okay,” you nod, following her inside the house.

It’s a beautiful home, decorated to the nines with the Christmas spirit. She leads you to her living film where there are pictures of everyone Frankie mentioned on the way here. On the coffee table, there’s one of Frankie’s parents with him and his sisters. You can really see the resemblance there between him and his mom. They have the same warm brown eyes and dimples.

“You have a beautiful home, Rosa,” you tell her, sitting on the couch next to her.

“Thank you, honey,” she says, “Tell me about yourself. It’s so hard to get Francisco on the phone these days. I feel like I know nothing about you.”

“I live in Tampa like Frankie. We don’t live too far from each other And I run a bakery.”

“Wow, good for you. It’s hard running your own business. Your parents must be very proud.”

“They are,” you say, lying through your teeth.

“How has my son been? He’s been a little off since he lost Tom in Colombia two years ago. He’s not doing drugs again, is he?”

“Oh! No, to my knowledge, he isn’t?” you respond, stumbling over your words. That was a lot of information to take in, most of it Frankie hasn’t told you about yet.

“That’s good,” she sighs, “I worry about him.”

“I get it. But I think he’s on an upward trajectory.”

“Thank you, honey. I know he’s a lot to put up with.”

Frankie meets you in the living room and plops down on an armchair across from the couch, letting out an exasperated sigh.

“Tired?” you chuckle.

“Yeah,” he pants, “Someone had to pack everything they own and the kitchen sink, too.”

“Francisco! You grew up with all women. Don’t you know this is how we are?” his mother says.

“Yeah, Frankie,” you add sarcastically.

“You two are gonna be the death of me,” he says, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes.

“Where did you put the lemon bars?”

“In the refrigerator.”

“You made lemon bars? Francisco told me you liked to bake.”

“Yeah!” you say, turning towards her again, “I didn’t want to come empty-handed.”

“Why don’t you both help me prepare dinner for tomorrow night? After you rest, of course. You had a long drive.”

“Oh, yeah. I need a nap,” Frankie says, getting up from the chair and heading up the stairs.

“Get some rest, honey,” she says, gesturing towards the stairs.

“Okay,” you say, feeling a little awkward that you’re supposed to just go lay in a bed with Frankie.

Frankie’s waiting for you at the top of the stairs, smiling down at you. For some reason the sight makes your heart skip a beat. You meet him upstairs and he leads you to his childhood bedroom. His walls are blue and his bookshelves are filled with baseball trophies from when he was a kid up until high school. There are a few car posters scattered on his ealls. The bags are at the foot of his bed that’s tucked away in the corner of his room and thankfully, it’s not a twin-sized bed. Across the room is his desk, a few comic books stacked in a messy pile like he never left.

“This is my room,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the space around him.

“Cute,” you say, walking around and eyeing some of the stuff he has on his shelves. There’s a picture in a frame of Frankie as a kid with presumably his father right after one of his baseball games. He was a cute kid, wearing a toothy grin with some holes for the baby teeth he lost.

“That’s my dad,” he says, noticing you looking at the picture.

“Now that I’m looking at him, I can’t tell who you look like more,” you comment.

“Definitely my dad,” he says.

You turn to look at him and realize he’s right. A lot of his facial features match his father’s, but his eyes- those are his mother’s.

“Are you tired?” he asks.

“A little,” you yawn.

“I don’t have to sleep in bed with you,” he says quickly.

“I thought you said we were going to? You know, to keep up appearances or something,” you say, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

“Oh, right. Just making sure.”

He takes off his sweatshirt and his hat, his curls matted down from wearing it on his head all day. He sets them down on the desk and walks over to the bed, pulling back the comforter and slipping in between the sheets. He moves to the side closest to the wall, letting you have the outside and the wall with the outlet to charge your phone like a true gentleman. You crawl in beside him, lying down side by side, mere inches from each other.

“You don’t sleep naked, do you?”

He doesn’t say anything at first and you take that as a yes.

“…I won’t while we’re home.”

“Cool,” you say awkwardly, rolling on your side and closing your eyes.

“Goodnight?” he says.

“It’s just a nap, but sure. Goodnight, Frankie,” you chuckle.

…You do your best to fall asleep but to be honest, you’re freezing. You don’t really get why. You’re only a few hours north and Georgia doesn’t typically get too cold. Unless his mom has the air on or a window open; something. That doesn’t make sense, though. Don’t elderly people keep their houses entirely too hot?

“You’re shivering,” Frankie says, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“What? No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. I can see you shaking.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t have to be cold.”

“What’s your solution then?”

“I could tell my mom to adjust the-”

“No, do not do that.”

“Or there’s the other option.”

“Uh huh…”

“I could hold you.”

“…You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind.��

“…Fine.”

You feel him scooch closer to you and all of a sudden his warm chest is pressed up against your back. The comforter lifts for a second before his muscular arm wraps around you, pulling you even closer towards him. You’re immediately feeling warmer. He’s like a human space heater or something.

“Better?”

“Y-Yeah. Thank you.”

As much as you hate to admit it, you’re much more comfortable now. However, there is one thing that’s keeping you from falling asleep. And that’s Frankie’s bulge presses right up against your ass.

…You don’t hate it, though. If anything it makes you feel… good? Knowing that you have that effect on him. Maybe he really was jealous weeks ago at his birthday party. All of this begs the question; when did his feelings for you begin?

Lost in thought and enveloped in Frankie’s body heat, you drift off to sleep.

You wake up an hour or so later to the doorbell ringing. Frankie wakes up, too, stretching and removing the arm that was slung over your waist. You already miss its absence.

Frankie’s mom is talking to someone at the door. And it sounds like she’s talking to… a pizza delivery guy?

Frankie rolls onto his back, stretching again and yawning. You fall onto your back, too, lying side by side.

“I think she ordered pizza,” Frankie says sleepily.

“That was nice of her.”

“Just so we don’t have to worry about making dinner tonight while we prepare tomorrow’s.”

“Make sense,” you reply, rolling out of bed and stretching once your feet hit the floor.

“Did you sleep well?” Frankie asks, sitting at the edge.

“I did. Thanks for keeping me warm.”

“You’re welcome but it wasn’t all for you, though.”

“Oh?” you ask, wondering if he could be referring to the hard-on he had while holding you…

“Yeah, I can’t sleep next to you if you’re shaking like a leaf.”

You roll your eyes and he chuckles, leading you down the hallway and down the stairs, straight into the kitchen where the pizza awaits.

“Dinner’s here!” Rosa says cheerfully, gesturing to the pizza boxes on the counter, “There’s a salad and garlic bread, too.”

“Thanks, Ma,” Frankie says, grabbing a plate from the cabinet and handing it to you.

“Thank you,” you say, “Are you sure you don’t want anything towards it?”

“Nonsense! When you’re in my house, I take care of you,” she says, waving you off.

A saint of a woman she is. Frankie’s lucky to have a mother like her. The three of you sit at the kitchen counter eating while Rosa talks about what Christmas Eve dinner will be.

“So tonight we’ll prepare the pasteles. And tomorrow we’ll do the rice and beans. Ria is bringing rolls. Laura’s bringing salad. And Isabel’s bringing flan.”

“Ooh, I love flan. I can make gingerbread cookies for Christmas Day, too,” you say, finishing your slice of pizza.

“Thank you, honey. We’ll have a great time tomorrow. And you’ll get to meet all of Frankie’s sisters.”

“How exciting,” you say looking over at Frankie.

“Frankie’s the baby of the family,” his mother says.

“I could tell,” you snicker.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“You just have little brother energy,” you shrug.

“What about you, dear?” his mom asks.

“It’s just me and my sister. I’m the oldest.”

“Well you have older sister energy, so how about that?”

“So I’m wiser and more responsible?”

“Whatever,” Frankie sighs.

“It’s true, Francisco. You can ask Ria.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll get right on that,” he says sarcastically, taking all your plates to the sink.

You clean up from dinner with Frankie before preparing the pasteles. You’re standing at the kitchen island, stuffing the pasteles and listening to Rosa tell stories about Frankie when he was a kid.

“He was my toughest kid to potty train,” she says, shaking her head.

“Mom!” Frankie says, shooting daggers at her with his glare.

“What? You were. And I have the pictures to prove it. For the first two years, you would only use the training potty. I’ll bring out the photo albums tomorrow.”

“No,” Frankie says quickly.

“Oh yes,” you laugh.

“Ughhh,” Frankie sighs while you and Rosa share a laugh.

Soon enough all of the pasteles are prepped for tomorrow and the kitchen is clean again.

“Thank you both for helping me. Now get some sleep! You’ll need all the energy you can get to deal with this family.”

“Goodnight, Ma,” Frankie says, heading towards the stairs.

“Goodnight. Thank you again for everything,” you say to her.

“Of course, honey. See you in the morning!” she says.

As you’re heading up the stairs, she calls out to Frankie, “Francisco! Make sure you show her where the fresh towels are!”

“I will, Ma,” Frankie says, calling down the stairwell.

“You want to shower?”

Before you can respond he quickly adds, “Not with me of course.”

“I know,” you snort, “But sure. Where’s the bathroom?”

He leads you down the hallway and stops at a door on the right, opening to reveal a linen closet.

“Towels are here. Bathroom’s over here,” he says, pointing to a door directly across from the linen closet.

“Thanks,” you tell him, grabbing a towel and heading to the shower. You shut the door behind you and now that you’re alone for once, you let your mind wander…

What happened in Colombia? And what sort of drugs was Frankie on?

You turn on the shower and strip, letting the hot water run down your body as you think about all the possibilities. He did say he lost a friend. Maybe that’s what happened in Colombia. But that doesn’t explain the drugs.

A knock on the door brings you back to reality.

“Can I come in?” Frankie asks.

“Uhh-”

“I just have to brush my teeth. I won’t look.”

“I guess.”

He opens the door and enters the bathroom, keeping his word and looking away from the shower curtain. In fact, he looks at anything else in the bathroom but the shower curtain, picking up a bottle of Tylenol from the medicine cabinet and reading the warnings. You poke your head out of the shower, watching as he brushes his teeth and reads the label on the bottle. And there’s something so… cute about it, so endearing. And now that you think about it, you wouldn’t particularly mind if he saw you in the shower. You can’t believe you’re actually admitting this to yourself.

But before you know it he spits the sink and rinses his mouth, exiting the bathroom and leaving you with your confusing feelings yet again. You finish your shower and dry off, thinking about his mysterious past again. All of this strange information begs the question… What was he doing in Colombia in the first place? Does he have some dark secrets he’s hiding? And if so, how could he be so cute?

You look at the toilet and see that Frankie also brought you your pajamas, flannel Christmas pants, a short-sleeved shirt, and a pair of lacy underwear…

That means he went through your bag, which should make you mad but the fact he decided to bring you your pajamas so you didn’t have to walk down the cold hallway sopping wet is adorable.

You’ll ask him about his past later you decide. For now, he’s your cute pretend boyfriend and you’re going to live in that fantasy for a while.

Once you’re dry and dressed, you hang your towel up on a hook and walk back to Frankie’s room, where he’s tucked into bed waiting for you. You crawl into bed beside him, lying down on your side and feeling his warm embrace again. His arm returns around your waist and soon enough you’re falling asleep, comforted by his warmth and his scent.

The smell of food cooking downstairs wafts up to Frankie’s room, pleasantly waking you up. Frankie’s lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with his hands folded neatly on his tummy.

You roll over and ask, “You okay?”

“Me? Oh yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m just nervous.”

“Nervous for what? Your family sounds awesome.”

“They are. They can just be overwhelming, I guess.”

“I get it. It’ll be fine, though. Like you said, I don’t think they’ll leave me alone.”

“Right,” he says, shaking his head, “It’s stupid. Today’s gonna be fun.”

“Wanna help me with the gingerbread cookies?” you say, getting out of bed and stretching once your feet hit the floor.

“Sure,” he says, sitting at the edge and yawning, “Do you need to get anything for them?”

“I could just DoorDash some stuff. I don’t want to raid your mom’s kitchen.”

“Ah, she won’t mind. Let’s go downstairs.”

He stands up and stretches, the short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing lifting a little and exposing some of his tummy. His flannel pajama pants are hanging low on his hips and he’s got a little bed-head going on, his curls slightly matted in the back. God, he’s just so… cute. You can’t deny it any longer. As much as you don’t want it to be true, Frankie Morales is a cute man.

You follow him downstairs to the kitchen where his mother is cooking away, stirring different pots and pans on the stove.

“Good morning you two,” she smiles.

“Good morning,” you respond, “It smells amazing down here.”

“Thank you, honey.”

“Ma, I think we’re going to make the gingerbread cookies if we won’t be in your way.”

“Go ahead! By all means. Maybe you can decorate them with the kids tonight?”

“Good idea! Do you need me to get anything from the store?”

“Nonsense! I should have everything you need.”

“Told you,” Frankie says, opening a cabinet and looking through the shelves with you.

To your surprise, she has everything you need for the cookies. And as you sit down at the dining room table Frankie says, “This kitchen is always fully stocked.”

As you roll the dough you think about tonight, meeting the rest of Frankie’s family. You’re excited to meet them but you’re also wondering what you should wear. You packed a few different options for outfits because every family’s vibe is different. Your family tends to lean more formal when it comes to holidays but Frankie’s family could be the complete opposite.

“Frankie?” you ask, cutting the gingerbread men out with a cookie cutter.

“Yeah?”

“What does your family wear on Christmas? Like do they dress up?”

“Oh, we abandoned trying to look nice a long time ago. Especially once my sisters started having kids.”

“Oh, okay. So don’t dress up?”

“Nah.”

That makes you feel at least a little relieved. For some reason, you’re dying for them to like you. And you don’t even get why. You’re not Frankie’s girlfriend. There’s a large chance you’ll never see them again after you leave and go back to Florida.

Once the cookies are on the trays, you pop them in the oven and set a timer on your phone. Rosa’s just about finished with dinner for tonight and Frankie’s cleaning up the mess from the cookies. You look at the clock on the stove and ask, “What time is everyone coming?”

“Around five or so.”

It’s already two-thirty now. You should probably get ready soon, in case Rosa and Frankie need the shower.

“I’ll pull the cookies out if you want to go get ready,” Frankie says as if he read your mind.

“Oh okay, thanks. Fifteen more minutes.”

“Gotcha,” he says, leaning against the counter beside the stove.

You go upstairs and into Frankie’s room, going over all of your outfit choices in your head. You decide to wear option 3, light wash jeans and an emerald green sweater, nothing too fancy. You grab your clothes and your makeup and head to the bathroom, taking extra time to get ready. The timer on your phone for the cookies goes off and you hope Frankie remembers to take them out. You continue your shower, anxiously thinking about meeting the rest of his family.

Eventually, as you’re dressed and putting on your makeup, Frankie knocks on the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Go ahead,” you say, leaning forward toward the mirror and putting on your mascara.

He opens the door and looks at you, practically bent over the sink.

“You look…”

“Huh?” you, turning your head towards him.

“You look nice,” he says, eyes wide.

“Thanks. I’m almost done and then the bathroom’s all yours.”

“No rush. Take your time.”

You finish your makeup and gather all your stuff, leaving him in the bathroom and heading back to his room. You plop your stuff down on his bed and think of what to do next. Might as well make yourself useful while he’s showering and get the icing bags ready for the gingerbread cookies. You head back down to the kitchen, where Rosa’s sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.

“You look beautiful, honey,” she says.

“Thank you,” you say, sitting down across from her.

“Francisco’s in the shower?”

“Yes, he is. I think I’m going to get the icing bags ready for the cookies if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” she says, springing up from her chair and rifling through the kitchen cabinets.

She pulls out an electric mixer, confectioners sugar, and food coloring, setting them down on the table.

“Milk’s in the refrigerator and let me get you some Ziploc bags…” she says, reaching into the cabinet again.

“Thanks,” you say, getting to work on the icing while she sits across the counter and watches.

“I know I’ve just met you but I want to say thank you, for taking care of my son,” she says.

“Of course,” you smile, scooping icing into the ziploc bag for makeshift piping bags.

“He hasn’t been the same since Tom died. But now that he’s here, it’s like he’s his old self again.”

Tom. There’s that name again. You have to know what happened if you’re going to keep up this charade. This is the second time she’s mentioned it and you’re playing along like you know what happened. It’s bound to come up again.

“I’m glad he’s doing much better,” you say, adding food coloring to the bags.

Eventually, you hear the water turn off which means Frankie must be getting out of the shower. Rosa gets up from her stool and says, “Well now that Francisco’s finally done, I guess I’ll go shower. I’m sure he left me no hot water.”

You two share a laugh and she heads up the stairs. You’re left alone with your thoughts until Frankie comes back downstairs again. So for now, in the fleeting moments of solitude, you think of ways to ask Frankie about his past that don’t sound completely insensitive. You could ask him under the guise of just trying to keep the charade going. This whole thing was his idea. He’d have to understand, right?

“Hey,” he says, snapping you from your thoughts. You didn’t even notice him coming downstairs.

“Hi.”

“These look good. The kids will have fun decorating them.”

“I hope so,” you say.

You’re both just standing awkwardly in the kitchen, not saying a word. You think to yourself that maybe now would be the best time to ask, in case you need this information for tonight to go smoothly.

You open your mouth to ask, “What happened in Colombia?” but you’re interrupted by the front door opening.

“Feliz Navidad!” a woman’s voice shouts. You’re assuming it’s one of Frankie’s sisters or aunts.

He pokes his head down the hallway and shouts, “Ria!”

You glance over at the clock and she’s early. Frankie looks over at you and says, “She’s always early.”

“She’s the oldest?”

He nods. It makes sense.

She comes into the kitchen and pulls Frankie into a big hug. She looks like a younger version of Rosa, a little bit shorter than Frankie. Her husband and kids pile in behind her, her girls hugging Frankie and her husband shaking his hand.

“So nice of you to show up for Christmas. Not battling some mysterious illness this time, huh?” she teases.

“I’m not lying! I was really sick.”

You’re standing there awkwardly in the kitchen, not trying to interrupt the family reunion. It isn’t until one of Ria’s daughters looks over at you and asks, “Who’s this?” that your presence is acknowledged.

Frankie walks over to you and snakes an arm around your waist, proudly saying, “This is my girlfriend!” followed by your name.

“Nice to meet you!” Ria says, “It’s been such a long time since Francisco’s brought a girl home!”

This is the second family member to refer to him as Francisco and now you’re wondering if you should be doing the same. Before you can continue she motions her daughters over and says, “This is Luna and Camila. Luna’s in her junior year of college and my Camila’s a senior in high school!”

“Exciting times for both of you,” you comment, not really knowing what to say.

But Ria continues anyway. “And this is my husband, Emmanuel,” she says, gesturing to her husband in the corner. He seems like the quiet type, letting his wife do all the talking in social situations.

“Where’s Ma?” Ria asks Frankie.

“In the shower. Are the others on their way?”

“Laura’s almost here. Isabel and Roro will probably be late as per usual. Will you grab the rolls out of the car?”

Emmanuel nods, again not saying much of a word at all before heading out to the car in the driveway. Ria and the girls take off their coats, hanging them on a coat rack by the front door. While Luna and Camila retreat to the living room, Ria takes the rolls from Emmanuel and puts them in the drawer underneath the oven, putting them on a low setting to keep the rolls warm until dinner starts. Soon enough, you’re all sitting in the living room together, awkwardly exchanging glances and waiting for either Rosa to come downstairs or for someone else to arrive.

And for a while, it feels like the front door doesn’t close, a slew of family members coming in left and right. First, it was Aunt Maggie. Then it was Laura with her husband, Rafael, and their kids, Sofia, Anthony (who insists you call him Tony), and Marcelo, Frankie’s favorite. And Frankie wasn’t lying about Marcelo being his favorite, his eyes practically lit up the moment Laura walked in the door, carrying him on her hip. After Laura’s family, Uncle Tommy and Cousin Ben came. Frankie’s arm around your waist tightened when Ben looked you up and down which made your heart do somersaults. Aunt Linda followed soon after. And finally, last but not least, Isabel and Aurora (who goes by Roro) arrived.

Somewhere in between all of the commotion Rosa returned downstairs. And you’re left with your head spinning, trying to keep track of everyone’s names and trying to make a good first impression. And you think you succeeded? Laura and her kids are really nice. Marcelo’s been hanging off you and Frankie since he set foot in the door. Isabel is definitely the coolest Morales sister out of the three of them. You don’t really have any complaints about Frankie’s aunts. And Uncle Tommy’s been dozing off on the couch, reminding everyone to wake him up when it’s time for dinner. You don’t mind Ben at all but he definitely has a little crush on you. You don’t spend too much time talking to him, just enough to learn he teaches high school English.

You also noticed that Isabel, Roro, Uncle Tommy, Ben, and his brother-in-law all call him Frankie and not Francisco. But his mom, Ria, Aunt Maggie, and Aunt Linda call him Francisco. And to the nieces and nephews, he’s Uncle Frankie of course.

Eventually, Rosa announces that it’s time for dinner. Frankie and Ben set up a small folding table for the kids, except for Marcelo who sits on Laura’s lap. You sit in between Frankie and Isabel. Rosa sits at the head of the table and before everyone digs in she says, “Now who would like to say grace?”

“I will,” Tony says, raising his hand from the kids' table.

“Go ahead,” Rosa says.

“Grace. Okay, we’re done. Let’s eat, everybody!”

Everyone shares a laugh and Rosa decides, “You know what? It’s good enough for me!”

The rest of Christmas Eve goes smoothly. After dinner, you help the adults clean up before bringing out the gingerbread cookies to decorate. All of the kids, even Luna and Camila, sit around the table with you, decorating the cookies with your makeshift piping bags. Ria takes a picture of you guys, brows furrowed in concentration as you all try to make the cookies absolutely perfect.

“Aren’t you gonna do one?” you ask Frankie, who’s standing beside you and watching.

“Sure,” he says, pulling up a chair.

He grabs a gingerbread woman and begins to draw a face on her. But before he’s done he gives her a frown and angry eyebrows, holding it up and saying, “Look! It’s you when I don’t mow the lawn!”

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, grabbing your own gingerbread man and giving him not only angry eyebrows but a yellow blob in his hand.

“Look! It’s you when you complain about free lemons.”

The kids laugh even though they don’t know the full context of the joke. But once the last cookie is decorated, people begin to head out, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas and saying goodnight. Once the main level is cleaned up you and Frankie say goodnight to his mom. She tells you that Christmas dinner is at Ria’s and that it starts at two.

With that, you’re off to bed, returning to your rightful place of being spooned by Frankie. And for once, the two of you are alone again. Your mind goes back to Tom, what happened in Colombia, and Frankie’s drug addiction. You’re just gonna do it, rip the bandaid off

“Frankie?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Well, earlier your mom was talking about your friend Tom and what happened in Colombia… I know it’s not really my business but should I know what happened? You know to keep up the act-”

He sighs and you fear you’ve overstepped.

“I figured it was going to come up sooner or later.”

He pulls away to rest on his back, staring at the ceiling and recounting what happened. You lie on your back, too, looking over at him as he begins his story.

“A few years ago, I developed a really bad addiction to coke. And it cost me almost everything. I lost my pilot's license. Santiago approached me, Tom, Will, and Benny about going to Colombia to steal money from this drug lord, Lorea.”

“I see,” you comment, letting him continue.

“It seemed appealing at the time. I needed the money, you know?”

“I get it,” you say softly.

“The mission was a fucking shitshow. We took fucking two hundred and fifty million dollars and lost all of it. It was too heavy for the helicopter so we crash-landed in a cocaine farm. They thought we were DEA and Tom killed some of them. So then we had to pay them as some kind of reparation. We went through the Andes on mules and two of the villagers followed us. One of them shot Tom and we had to carry him, the rest of the money through the mountains. When we finally reached the coast, the getaway boat was there waiting for us but the town was filled whatever was left of Lorea’s crew. There was no way we could carry all that cash with Tom’s body and make it to the boat without being killed. So we had to dump most of it down a fucking ravine.”

He’s getting more and more upset as he tells his story. And you feel guilty you even asked in the first place. He didn’t need to tell you all the details. He could’ve said his friend Tom died on a military mission in Colombia and that would’ve been enough to quell your curiosity.

“Somehow we made it to the boat, but not without a fucking car chase and shootouts. By the end, we were left with a little over one million dollars each, but we decided to give it all to Tom’s family,” he says, finishing with a deep breath.

You roll onto your side and look over at him. He’s not crying but you can tell he’s visibly upset, his eyes misty.

“Thanks for sharing that with me. I know it’s hard to recount a traumatic experience like that.”

“It’s okay. Figured you should probably know. My family thinks it was some sort of mission for the Army, not that we went rogue. I don’t want them to know the true nature of what it was… greed.”

“Understandable.”

“So after all that I came home with a dead friend and no money.”

“I guess the overgrown lawn and the constant partying make sense now.”

That actually gets him to laugh.

“I guess it does,” he chuckles, “But thanks for putting up with me.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“And thanks for coming here and doing this for me. That happened two years ago and my family has been worried sick about me since. Whenever my mom calls me I just… I just lie. I think if she saw how I was doing now it would break her heart. But here with you, she thinks you’re like my saving grace.”

You don’t say anything because you really don’t know what to say. It’s nice his mother feels that way, but it’s all a lie.

“I know that was a lot…” he says.

“You’re okay. I’m here to listen,” you reassure him.

“You should probably get some sleep. You’ll need all the energy you can get to deal with my family for another day.”

“Okay,” you sigh, rolling over to your other side. Frankie spoons you again like he always does. This time you don’t feel something hard against your lower back, instead you feel Frankie’s breath by your ear.

“Thank you,” he whispers, holding you a little tighter as he falls asleep.

You wake up to Frankie still holding you just as tight. You’ve never had a Christmas like this, one so peaceful.

And then it hits you… it’s Christmas. Which means you need presents, something you completely forgot all about. You were too wrapped up in pretending to be Frankie’s girlfriend.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah?”

Has he been awake this whole time? And still holding you just as tight…

Whatever, worry about that later.

“I forget to get everyone fucking presents.”

“Already took care of it.”

“Really?”

“Mhm,” he says, propping his elbow on the pillow and looking down at you, “You’ve never met them before. How could you get presents for people you don’t even know?”

“Right,” you say, lying on your back.

“Merry Christmas,” he smiles.

“Merry Christmas,” you respond.

“Let’s go exchange with my mom.”

You roll out of bed first and let him grab the presents from his suitcase.

“What did I get her?”

“A sweater. It’s her favorite color.”

“Ooh, good idea.”

He hands you the present and it’s wrapped like a typical guy would wrap it.

“I’m telling her you wrapped it.”

“Oh, she’ll be able to tell,” he laughs.

You follow him down the stairs where his mother is sitting on the couch watching a Hallmark movie. She smiles and wishes you a Merry Christmas when she sees you, grabbing presents from under the tree.

You give her the present “you” got her and she clocks Frankie’s wrapping job right away.

“I can tell Francisco wrapped this,” she chuckles, unwrapping the gift and opening the box. She tells you she loves it and pulls you in for a big hug. Even though you didn’t actually buy the gift, you can’t help but appreciate the sense of approval. Your mom would’ve criticized whatever you got her, no matter how great the gift was.

Rosa got Frankie a wallet with his initials engraved in the leather. She got you an apron with your name embroidered on it. Both presents were very thoughtful and as she’s pulling out the photo albums like she promised the other day, Frankie whispers in your ear, “She’s big on getting things personalized.”

The three of you spend the rest of the morning looking at photo albums until it’s time to get ready to go to Ria’s. For once, Frankie can’t wait to jump in the shower, anything to get away from the “embarrassing” pictures his mom is showing you.

Once the three of you are ready you drive to Ria’s in Frankie’s truck, with the gifts piled in the back seat. He parks on the street and you head inside to the already bustling house. Everyone shouts “Feliz Navidad” as you’re taking off your shoes before joining them at the table.

The menu for Christmas dinner is empanadillas, tostones, pernil, and arroz con gandules. And for dessert, there’s tembleque, the gingerbread cookies you and the kids decorated, and of course, the lemon bars.

Christmas Day goes even better than Christmas Eve. All of the presents got for you to give to his family were a hit, but not without a sly comment from Frankie.

“You know… She did have some help,” he says with a smirk and a wink.

That earned him a smack on the arm.

Eventually, the evening is winding down. The kids are sitting under the tree playing with their toys and the adults are scattered around the house. For once, there’s no one paying attention to you two.

“Come with me,” Frankie says, getting off the couch and grabbing his coat.

“Where are we going?”

“For a walk,” he says.

You follow him to the front door, slipping on your shoes and coat. The two of you walk side by side on the sidewalk. It’s silent between you two but it’s a comfortable silence. But as you stop underneath a streetlamp, Frankie says, “I have something for you.”

“Frankie! You didn’t have to.”

“No, I really did. And I wanted to. It’s not just a Christmas present but it’s also a thank you for doing this for me… And also an apology for being a shitty neighbor,” he chuckles.

He pulls out a box from his coat pocket and hands it to you. You lift the lid to reveal a gold chain with a pendant, and a lemon stamped into the metal.

“Aw, Frankie… This is so sweet.”

“Look at the back,” he says softly.

You flip over the pendant and engraved on the back is your street name, Magnolia Drive. You look back at Frankie and his face is nervous, as if he’s waiting for your approval. His brow furrowed, his face dimly lit under the streetlamp, and his curls peeking out under his stupid fucking hat. All you can do at that moment is kiss him. He’s shocked for a second but it doesn’t take long for him to melt into your touch and wrap his arms around you.

He pulls away for a second to ask, “I take it you like it?”

“I love it, Frankie,” you nod, leaning in for a kiss again.

And for a moment you two stay there, holding each other under the streetlamp on Christmas night.

“I didn’t get you a present,” you admit, resting your head against his chest.

“You already did. You did me a huge favor. It’s a lot to deal with my family.”

“I didn't just deal with them. I liked being with them.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, like you said before, they’re nothing like you.”

“Shut up,” he says, pulling you in for another kiss.

After a while he says, “We should probably get back.”

You nod and follow him back to Ria’s house where you bid your goodbyes to everyone and head back to Rosa’s for the night. She turns in early and now it’s just you and Frankie alone again. But being alone with him feels different this time. Not only because you just kissed but also because you think… you have feelings for him. Maybe it’s the holiday spirit talking or how vulnerable he was last night, but you have to admit to yourself that Frankie Morales is not only a cute man but a man you misjudged this whole time.

Once you’re back upstairs to Frankie’s room, you’re sitting side by side on his bed. The silence is back and you’re wondering if you shouldn’t have kissed him earlier. Maybe all you are to him is someone who did him a favor, someone who’s just his neighbor and nothing more.

“I’m sorry about the kiss. I-”

“You’re sorry?”

“Well yeah, I-”

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long, cariño.”

“How long?”

“Soon after you moved in next door.”

“Really? I thought you hated me.”

“No, I never did. I just liked pushing your buttons. You’re cute when you’re irritated.”

Your brain is short-circuiting, in disbelief at what he’s saying.

“Even when you were with Heather?”

“Mhm.”

“Is that why you were so jealous of Benny at your birthday party?”

“...Maybe,”

“Mmm, you’re cute when you’re jealous,” you say, leaning in for another kiss.

This time the kiss is needier, and more passionate, like you can’t get enough of each other’s touch, scent, and taste. His hands caress either side of your face as his body leans into you more, coaxing you to lie down on his bed. His mouth leaves yours, trailing along your jawline and down your neck. Your breath hitches as he nips at your skin, immediately licking the bruised skin afterward. He moves down lower, lips moving along your collarbone, until he’s completely kneeling on the floor in front of his bed. His hands hook around the waistband of your pants, sliding them off in one clean motion before going to remove your panties.

“Frankie?” you ask, resting on your elbows and looking down at him.

“Yeah?”

“What about like… your mom?”

“She sleeps like a rock,” he says bluntly, returning to what he was doing before.

He pulls off your panties and spreads your legs, looking at how wet your cunt is already.

“Mm, so wet for me, cariño,” he muses, his warm breath tickling your core.

Before you can respond, he licks one long, slow stripe up your cunt, sending a shiver up your spine.

“Fuck, Frankie,” you breathe out, eliciting a chuckle from him.

He goes back in for another, licking up and down your entrance slow, enough to drive you crazy. And then, he moves to your clit, tongue swirling around it as your back arches up off the bed. He hooks his arms around your thighs, keeping you in place as he gets to work, nose grinding against your clit while his tongue licks your cunt. It doesn’t take long for you to cum, his face taught against your cunt as you do so.

Once you’re done, he rests his head against your inner thigh, admitting the mess he just made. The lower half of his face is soaked, his patchy facial hair glistening. He returns back to your cunt for one more lap of his tongue, just to taste you one more time before rising from the floor and taking off his clothes. You sit up and take off your sweater and your bra, tossing them on the floor and lying back down. You inch up a little higher on the bed to make room for him as he hovers over you.

“I have a confession to make,” he says, looking down at you with a sly grin.

“Oh??”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen you naked.”

“Uhh-”

“Your bathroom window faces mine.”

“...It does?”

“Mhm. Saw you drying off one day.”

“Oh yeah? And then what?”

He bends down and whispers in your ear, “Jerked off in the shower to the thought of you.”

Your whole body shudders.

“Touch me, Frankie, please,” you whine.

“Are you begging, cariño?”

“Fuck. Yes, I am,” you whimper.

“Good girl,” he whispers in your ear, his hand caressing the outline of your breast before moving to your nipple. His other hand gathers some of your releases and strokes his cock, getting extra hard before sliding inside you, all while he plays with your nipple. You gasp at the sensation, feeling his length stretch your walls; feeling like you’re being split apart.

“You can take it,” he softly commands, bringing his face away from your ear and looking into your eyes again. He studies the expression on your face; the open mouth and the tears in the corners of your eyes, and his lips curve into a smirk. He draws his hips back and thrusts into you again, your cunt feeling completely full. Your soft moans are like music to his ears but he needs to hear more, not necessarily more sounds but a confession from you, too.

“Be honest, cariño. You’ve thought about fucking me too, haven’t you?”

It’s actually insane that this is the same sweet man who gave you the most thoughtful Christmas present earlier tonight. The same man who confessed to jerking off in the shower after seeing you naked.

“Y-yes…” you confess.

“What was that? Didn’t hear you,” he says as his hand to your other breast, taking your nipple in between his fingertips.

“Fuck, Frankie yes, I’ve thought about it.”

“When?” he presses further, keeping the same pace with his thrusts.

“All the time. Even when you piss me off.”

“Knew it,” he teases, slamming his hips back into you. He rests his elbows on the other side of your head, face to face with you as he fucks you relentlessly.

“Frankie, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper.

“Let me feel it, cariño,” he says, studying your face again.

You close your eyes as you cum but that just won’t do for him. He wants you to look directly into the eyes of the man who made a mess of you.

“Look at me,” he softly commands.

You open your eyes, locking with his as you cum around his cock, feeling your walls flutter and pulsate in rhythmic patterns.

“Good girl,” he praises, thrusting into you one final time before coming, too. He paints your insides with his cum before pulling out of you and lying down on the bed. You roll over and situate yourself in the crook of his neck, resting your hand on his chest.

“You’re amazing,” he says, taking the his hat off his head and propping it on the bed post before wrapping his arm around you. There’s his sweet side again.

“I can’t believe you saw me naked,” you tease, still sort of in disbelief.

“Two times now. It’s a Christmas miracle,” he jokes.

You have to agree with him. He feels you twitch against him and he whispers, “Goodnight. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” you whisper back, letting sleep consume you.

New Year’s Eve

You’re spending New Year’s Eve at a bar with some of Frankie’s friends from high school. Ever since the night you got together, you’ve been leaning into the girlfriend role more, feeling like it’s not a charade anymore. Frankie doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he welcomes it. This is what the two of you wanted all along, even if both of you didn’t know it.

You’re watching the ball drop in New York City on the TV at the bar with Frankie’s arm snaked around your waist. As the clock strikes midnight, you kiss, feeling like you’re starting the year off right for once.

“Look at you,” you whisper against his lips, “Ending the year in a fake relationship and starting the new year in a real one.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” he whispers back.

Tag list: @wannab-urs @noxturnalpascal @hiddenbabynyc @littlegrungegirlaf @hyzer34 @catchallfangirl @pamasaur @paleidiot @runningmom94 @butiknewyoudlinger @sydneyinacoma @yorksgirl @wilderwizard @hnt-escape @axshadows @fanficlover1414 @lavema @yazsos @tarot-freader @dundienominee @pedropascalfan221 @khindahra @janaispunk @tuquoquebrute @perotovar @clawdee @immarocketman @whoreofabuckethead @grogusmum @idungoofed @fluffygoffpanda @meveispunk @beefrobeefcal @magpiepillsjunior @pr0ximamidnight @elvinaa @survivingandenduring @lincolndjarin @missladym1981 @heavennumber2 @covetyou @anoverwhelmingdin @hellfire-state-of-mind @joels-shitty-puns @stevie75

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #francisco morales #frankie catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction

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murdockparker · 23 days

Text

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say.

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed.

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by.

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise.

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?”

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?”

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion.

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.”

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more.

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct.

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.”

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room.

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it.

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process.

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—”

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze.

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.”

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal.

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display.

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter.

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door.

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon.

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—”

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask.

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say.

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish.

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly.

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered.

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck.

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water.

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face.

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out.

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward.

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed.

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above.

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said.

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—”

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother.

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—”

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?”

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain.

Rain.

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting.

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in.

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise.

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…”

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely.

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—”

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified.

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience.

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this.

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him.

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again.

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while.

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter.

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray.

“You look radiant,�� he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have.

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #this is a doozy and i am sorry #but only a little bit!!!

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strawberriescherrieskiwi · 10 months

Text

His Muse

Anon requests:

N/A

Wordcount: 2.9K+

Masterlist

Description: Willy had a setback and feeling defeat, luckily he can come home to his Flossy who always knows how to cheer him up. He couldn’t have asked for a better muse.

A/N: So no one asked this, but I saw the trailer and had to write this. It’s started sad but it has a happy ending. And can I just saw how excited I am for this film and Willy looks so happy, insane and I can’t want to see more of him. Also this is set in London in the 20s roughly.

Warning: Fluff, Angst, Smut, frantic and manic Wonka, slight talk of misogyny. pregnant reader.

Willy sighed as he walked down the street. His hat was tucked under his arm and his head was angled towards the ground. He didn’t like being defeated, being so bumped out, and hopeless, but that was exactly how he was feeling right now.

He has been denied again on a loan to open his own chocolate shop. He worked hard on this batch of chocolate and the bakers just laughed at him without even tasting it. How was he supposed to open his shop if they refused to take his product? He needed a shop to sell candy, but couldn’t get a shop without selling candy, but it was illegal to sell candy without a shop.

It was enough to make his head spin and not in a good way. He gnawed on his bottom lip until the pain and too much. Maybe it was time for him to give up on his pointless goal. Maybe he would get a normal job, he could be like his father and be a dentist, it would help his family.

At the thought of his family, he felt his eyes fill with tears. He would come home to his love a disappoint again. He never understood how she could stand by him when he offered no help to the family.

His sweet love, his candy cane, his chocolate delight, his muse. He sniffled as his home came into view. If you could call it that. It was a tiny home with barely enough room for a bedroom, bathroom, tiny kitchen, and a little basement area he’s been using as a workshop.

He wiped his eyes as he opened the front door of the home. “Flossy, I’m home,” he said with less excitement than you are used to.

You were standing at the stove making soup. You both have been eating a lot of soup these days but you never complained. You always smiled and said that soup was your favorite food, next to his sweets.

Willy made his way over to you, putting his hat on the rack along with his coat before wrapping his arms around your waist. He squeezed you softly and pressed a kiss to the back of your head.

“Rough day?” You asked softly. Your voice was like angels singing to Willy. He would listen to you and never tire of it. He often joked he wishes he could bottle up your voice and add it to his recipes to make his candy even sweeter.

“Rough day,” he repeated sadly.

Turning down the stove, you turned to face your husband. You’ve seen just about every side of Willy. His angry side, his happy side, his frantic and mad side, but you never seen him like this. Defeated with sad hidden green eyes. They normally shined like emeralds and danced with ideas, love, and wonder; But now they were dull, lifeless, and full of fear.

You cuffed his face. “My sweet Willy, what’s wrong my love?” You said.

He leaned into your touch, clothing his eyes briefly before they opened again. Willy grabbed your hands and kissed your left palm then your right. Determination filled his eyes as he looked back at you, but he still smiled sadly.

“I have been thinking,” he started walking away from you to set at one of the two mix-match chairs at your table.

“Oh,” you said wiping your hands on your apron and turning back to the soup, adding a bit more seasoning.

“Yes, I think we should turn the basement into the baby’s room. The babe can not stay in our room with us or at least not forever. I know the house is small so that is the best decision.”

Your furrowed your brows and glanced at him over your shoulder. “I don’t think the babe should be sleeping in your workshop.”

“Ah, but it won’t be my workshop. It will just be the babe's room. Maybe I can go tomorrow and see about getting some paint to paint a little mural for our little gumdrop.”

“Willy what about your work? Where will you do that?”

“In an office of course. I will get a job like a normal husband and work in an office. And after saving we can move to a better place.”

You sighed, turning to face your husband. Your hand fell to your small bump. You were barely showing with you been just over 3 months along. You walked to your husband, staring to kneel in front of him when he gave a shout and quickly got up and ushered you into his seat and he kneeled in front of you.

You smiled at his antics, patting his curls lovingly. He beamed up at you at your affection. A bit of light came back to his eyes, but still, the dark cloud lingered. Your smile turned sad. “Willy my love, if I want a normal husband, I would have married one of the men my father wanted me to,” you started, cupping his face.

“Why didn’t you? You could have had a better life?” he asked, he begin fiddling with the bottom of your apron.

“Because-” you turned his face towards yours. “-having a life with more money does not mean having a better life. I am happy with you, I love you, Willy Wonka.”

“I’m a failure,” he said, dropping his head to your lap. “I am a failure as a husband, as a businessman, as a chocolatier, I will be a failure as a father as well.” His tears fell heavily from his eyes.

“You are not a failure in any sense of the world, my love. You are brilliant, wonderful, and the kindest man I know. You had a setback. You are only a failure if you give up.”

“I must. I must. Our family needs more than what little I am able to earn. You have already lost two jobs because of me,” he sobbed into your legs.

Your first job once you married was at a local candy shop. With Willy actively trying to pursue the same business, your former boss, Arthur Slugworth, thought it was best you leave the shop.

Last month you lost your job waitressing when your boss learned of your pregnancy, stating it was for your own good to be home, nesting, and waiting for the birth. “Willy. I did not lose my job because of you. I lost my job because of other people’s issues. I have been having fun doing work with Mrs. Jonerson, learning the ends and out of the seamstress business. You know I always wanted to make clothes.”

He sniffled and nodded, turning his wet face toward you. “You made my lucky coat. I love it. It seems like home and made with love from my Flossy.”

You smiled back at him, wiping under his eyes. “Yes made with all the love in the world from your Flossy. Your Flossy who believes in you. Who knows you will have the biggest chocolate factory one day and your ideas and candy will reach all over the world.”

“It is a child’s dream.”

“It is your dream,” you stated. Not going to let him give up on the thing that makes him happiest.

“And what about your dream? You didn’t want this for your life. You deserve the world,” he said, hopelessly as he dramatically threw himself off of your legs and onto the floor.

He was spread out on the floor like a starfish and you giggled softly as you got on the floor and sat in his lap. His hands came up to grab your hips, but other than that, he didn’t move. “My world is you, my little dramatic chocolatier, our baby, and our lives. I want nothing more than that.”

Willy's eyes blinked at you in confusion, but wonder and love was creeping back into his gaze. “You must have a dream, you like designing is that not your dream?”

“When we met. We talked about dreams. How everything good in this world started with a dream. You said your mother used to tell you that and I thought it was perfect. I said my dream was to make clothes to make people happy, to fill them with love. I wanted my clothes to mean something to someone. Well, you wear my clothes, our child will wear my clothes, that is enough for me. My world will wear my clothes and love them, there is nothing more filling than that.”

Willy sat up slowly, pulling you tighter against him. “So your dream is to make clothes for our family?”

“Yes, or it used to be. Your dream is to make the world happy. To spread love and cheer through making your candy. And I love that dream, it has become my dream as well. My dream is for you to have your dream. Dreams are important. Do not give up.”

Willy cupped your face and kissed you deeply. “I love love love you, My Flossy. My sweet sweet Candy Floss,” he said, kissing all over your face frantically. “You are right? I can not give up. Giving up is not an option.” He kissed you once more, exploring your mouth with excitement.

He stood up with you in his arms. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and legs around his waist. He placed you on the counter and begin taking your clothes off your body. “Giving up is not the Wonka way. We will change the world with chocolate. With your clothing and my creation, we will add whimsy to the world.”

“There is the Willy, I know and love,” you said, pulling his clothes off and running your hands along his skin, loving being so close to him.

He shivered and grabbed your hips pulling you close as he sunk into you all at once. You winced slightly. “Willy. You are quite big remember to go slow,” you laughed, slapping his shoulder.

He blushed leaning down to capture your lips in an apology kiss. “I am sorry, Flossy. I just get so excited to be inside of you. I tend to lose my head.”

You kiss back, digging your fingers into his curls. “It is okay, I like your excitement, I love your cock and I love you,” you said, moaning as he pulled back out and then slammed back into you.

“Chocolate pudding you feel amazing,” he groaned, pistoling his hips quicker, spreading your legs wider so he could get deeper inside of you. “I want to live right here, between your legs.”

“Yeah? I would be so sore and drunk on your cock, my love,” you said, rocking against him. The things in the cabinet above your head started to shake and you were slightly worried something would fall on you, but also you were rather get hit than ask him to stop. “Please, Willy,” you begged.

“You beg, you know you never have to beg from your husband. All I am and have is yours,” he said, kissing along your neck, sucking in marks. “Shall I make a candy that feels like this? Feelings like being so deep inside of you. Like we are one?”

“I don’t think the public would be a fan of such a sexual chocolate flavor or feeling,” you moaned tugging his hair.

He whimpered at the pull of his hair, his cock throbbed and you knew he was close. “I suppose you are right, but maybe I can make a batch for just us,” he mused, biting into your neck as he lost his rhythm and cum painted your insides.

“Razzles, Flossy,” he moaned.

Willy’s hand came between your bodies stroking along your clit with his long and skillful fingers. You tightened around his cock and pulled harder on his hair as you came, fireworks dancing between your eyes.

Willy kissed your shoulders, moving to your breasts, and then back up to your lips. You kissed him back tiredly. He wrapped his arm around your waist and carried you to the bedroom and laid you down.

He left to get a washing cloth and cleaned you softly. “An orgasm feeling chocolate is a no-go as well?” He asked, putting a nightdress on you.

You laughed shaking your head as you fixed the dress once it was on you. “No, I don’t think so. Well, unless it is the feelings but not inducing one.”

His eyes lit up. “You are a genius my flossy,” he said, kissing you quickly. Then he leaned down and kiss your stomach. “And you, my gumdrop, will be sweet as sugar like your mother.”

“And father,” you added, smiling softly, getting up from the bed. “The soup is probably cold,” you said with a slight pout.

“It is alright,” he smiled, kissing your pout.

“But it was your favorite and you had a bad day.”

“And you have made it much better. I feel rejuvenated. I feel alive. I have so many ideas, I must go work on,” he said, bouncing up and out of the room.

You followed after him, though you walked, but couldn’t help but be happy to see him back to his old self. “Do not work too hard, Mr. Wonka. Your wife would like to have dinner with you when it is warm.”

“Working too hard is in my blood, but I’ll be back to eat with my sweetest of sweets,” he said, bouncing back to your side. He grabbed your waist, dipping you and kissing you until your vision blurred from lack of oxygen.

When he left you up, he spun you a few times and you fell into his chest. “Willy you will be the death of me,” you said, shaking your head and patting his curls as you untangled yourself from him and went to the stove.

“Nonsense. Never. I would never dream of being the death of the one that breathes life into me,” he wrapped himself around you, but you swatted him away.

“Work Willy, work,” you reminded him laughing.

“Another round is out of the question them?” He asked, his hands moving to pull your dress up.

You laughed. “Another round can wait. You, my genius chocolatier need to work, and I need to warm the soup and my privates need a break.”

“Ah, right again. I will work and give you a break, but,” He pressed himself against you and whispered in your ear. “Tonight you will have no break. Tomorrow you’ll be sore. Maybe I’ll work on a candy to relieve pain for my sweet,”

You flushed. “Willy Wonka, enough,” you said, trying to slow down your racing heart.

He chuckled, pressing another kiss to your cheek. “I do love seeing you like this, I will hurry back to return to you.”

“Do not rush. It seems I will need all the respite I can get.”

His laughter echoed around your small home as he opened the door to the basement and disappeared inside.

30 minutes later you poured the soup into two bowls, toasted some bread, and made your way down the ladder to get into Willy’s shop. You were silent as you walked, but it wouldn’t have made a difference as he was buzzing around the room with his notepad writing down things, mumbling to himself, and grabbing ingredients.

You watched him for a few minutes before shaking your head and setting the bowls down on one of the tables and making your way over to him, grabbing his hand as he buzzed by. He stopped at once blinking at you as if unsure if he was seeing you or not.

You couldn’t help but laugh, it was the same look he gave you in the morning as he was coming out of dreamland. “Darling are you back with me,” you said, patting his curls.

His eyes roamed over your face for a few seconds before he smiled softly and goofily his eyes glowing with wonder. “There is the woman I love most. My forever muse, the love of my life,” he said wrapping his arms around your waist picking you up and spinning you both. “After our talk, I’ve come up with 16 new ideas and I know they won’t be able to ignore me anymore,” He said with wide eyes.

You allowed him to spin you around before, tapping his shoulder. “You’re making me dizzy, Willy,” you said and he quickly set you on your feet.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, smothering you in kisses but you just shook your head and kissed his nose.

“I am excited to hear all your new ideas,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the small table.

“And taste them right? You are my favorite taste tester,” he added.

You didn’t point out that you were his only one. “Of course, I haven’t had a bad piece of candy from you ever. I am always eager to try me,” you said, setting the bowl down in front of him.

He crossed his legs and pulled the bowl into his lap. “And that is why I could never be more grateful to you. For putting up with my antics.”

“Your antics are my favorite part of you, Willy. There is never a dull moment in this house,” you said.

Willy grinned widely at your comment. “I am glad. Life is more enjoyable with excitement, don’t you agree?”

You nodded grabbing your own bowl of soup. “Yes, I agree. Now tell me about these ideas.”

Taglist.

@gatoenlaciudad

@iloveneilperry

@valencia-rou

@s-we-e-t-t-ea

@robertpattins0nswh0re

#timothée chalamet #timothee chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet imagines #timothee chalamet x reader #timothee x reader #wonka #willy wonka fics #willy wonka x reader #timothee chalamet smut

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magnetic-rose · 1 year

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if you loved episode 3 of tlou you really should listen to the official podcast with troy baker, craig mazin and neil druckmann because there’s SO much! here’s some of my favorite things said on the podcast:

- joel stacking rocks was to show that he missed and mourned tess. in that moment he was saying “i’m sorry, i blew it, i lost you.”

- in the beginning of the episode ellie told joel tess’ death wasn’t her fault but deep down she does feel like it was her fault.

- ellie admires joel because he protected her multiple times and as a child she has a desire for a parental figure to protect her.

- frank realized bill was gay pretty much as soon as he got out of the hole and saw how bill was looking at him. bill’s taking in how handsome frank is and “frank’s brain is incredibly attuned to that.” that’s why frank was smiling.

- frank realized bill was gay fast, but he realized he wanted bill when bill was playing the piano and singing linda ronstadt.

- it took them a while to find long long time by linda ronstadt but they always intended the song for bill to sing to be about a long love that was forever unrequited. “it was very important that the lyrics were someone saying ‘everyone tells me that it’s okay, that love will find me [...],’ no it doesn’t, no it’s not, and the person that i long for from afar - i’m gonna love them basically forever in the most unrequited manner.”

- it was important that frank immediately knew bill’s sexuality because frank SAW bill, because bill had completely buried his sexuality but frank saw through him.

- frank originally was trying to see what he could get out of bill (like a free lunch) but the more time they spent together, the more he went “oh, this is a beautiful person.”

- “there is two ways of loving things. frank wants to love outwards - he is sun, he is light. he wants to make things beautiful around him, he wants to care for bill, he wants to revitalize the streets so it’s not just this mausoleum bill lives in, and he wants to have friends. he wants to share what they have. and bill wants to put an electrified fence around them that is guarded by an additional layer of flame-throwing gas pipes and no one can show up ever because he must protect frank from the world... and as it turns out, both of those loved are required but one of those loves is likely to give you in trouble more than the other.”

- when frank put his finger on the furniture piece and saw how dusty it was, he realized what his purpose could be in bill’s life. bill can protect them, but frank can nurture their home.

- when bill apologizes to frank for growing old fast, it’s because he’s afraid of frank being left alone. “look at this beautiful man and the beautiful things that he does, and what is bill’s contribution? bill doesn’t grow strawberries. bill’s contribution is to keep frank alive. but bill is already afraid that he’s going to fail and that is a fear that joel has because he has that fear through experience [of losing his daughter.]“

- bill and joel understand each other and that they’re purpose is to protect others. they don’t care about their own lives.

- on their last day together, bill decided very early that he was going to die as well.

- the gun that ellie takes belonged to frank.

- that letter bill wrote reminded joel that he failed to protect both sarah and tess. the letter underscores for him that no matter how hard he tries, he can’t protect the people that he cares about. but now he has ellie to protect.

#tlou #the last of us #bill tlou #frank tlou #billfrank #joel miller #ellie williams #tess servopoulos

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jjunieworld · 4 months

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the great bake off! ༘ ˚· 🍞 𓂅

read part two here ⇢ spilt milk ⋆｡˚

pairing: choi soobin x gn!reader

genre: fluff, strangers to lovers, bakery au, baker!soobin and non-baker!reader, “competing”, slight banter, brief mention of blood, some sexual innuendos, soobin is super shy

synopsis: after getting fired from your job as a pizza delivery driver, you’re in desperate need to find a new job before you get kicked out of your apartment. that’s when you hear about the local bakery looking for employees. thinking, “why not? i’ve worked with dough before!”, you apply and actually get the job. that’s when you and the son of the bakery’s owner decide that it would be fun to compete to see who can make the most baked goods for a prize.

word count: 8.6k┊part two┊masterlist

a/n: i’m a little late, but thank you all so much for 100 followers! here’s a little treat (lmao) expressing my gratitude! finally joining everyone in making a baker!soobin fic lmao… i got carried away so this is pretty long. i don’t even think it counts as a oneshot anymore but i hope you enjoy :) shoutout to the lovely @jjunberry for the florist!sunoo agenda ❀

“and don’t come back!” yelled the manager of the job you just got fired from. you took your apron and hat off and threw them on the ground in front of the establishment. you scoffed loudly, noticing the passing stares of the people walking outside and the judging ones of the customers inside.

“wouldn’t fucking dream of it!” you yelled back. the manager stepped back out of the doorframe, eyes wide, lip curled, and brows scrunched ready to retort. you cut him off with a middle finger and turned, angrily walking away to where your car was.

you didn’t need that stupid pizza delivery job anyways. half the time you weren’t even delivering pizzas because of how shitty they tasted. which wasn’t a fault of you, but a fault of your manager, who was also the owner.

majority of the time he had you in the back doing his job, making the pizzas, while he sat in the break room watching alpha male videos on his phone.

you slammed your door shut and rubbed at your temples. you had a tension headache and you couldn’t think.

“fuck!” you yelled loudly. what are you going to do now? you need a job so you can pay the rent of your shitty overpriced apartment. and you just knew you weren’t getting your last paycheck from your ex-manager.

sighing, you pull out of the parking lot next to the pizza place and head back to your apartment. you desperately needed a shower and to start job hunting as soon as possible.

you push open the door of your apartment and take a look around, thankful that you cleaned before you left. it was small, but it was home.

after your shower, you got a call from your best friend.

“what a fucking asshole!” sunoo exclaimed. you propped your phone up on the roll of paper towels as you began making something to eat. “but now you can come work with me!”

your face scrunched up. “i’d rather get evicted. love you though!” sunoo was a florist. there wasn’t anything wrong with that, but you could barely tell a daisy apart from a daffodil. and the thought of being surrounded by a bunch of different flower smells gave you another headache.

sunoo rolled his eyes. “fine then!” on your phone screen he raised his hands up and took a step back from the camera. “be broke then! don’t come crying to me when you’re out on the streets in the pouring rain waiting on a miracle when i’m offering you one right now!” you laughed at him.

“whatever! working with you is my last option though.” you put a pot of water on the stove for ramen. you really didn’t feel like making something elaborate after the day you had. “help me, sunoo! start listing off available jobs!”

he raised his eyebrow at you, “what makes you think i know what jobs are available and what jobs aren’t? go on google!” you rolled your eyes at him. he chuckled at you. “i did hear that that bakery downtown was looking for new employees, though.”

you raised your eyebrows at him, an ‘i told you so!’ smile on your face. he just rolled his eyes at you. “are they? i’ll have to call them. that’s a job for tomorrow y/n, though. i am so fucking tired.”

“i’d be tired too if i acted like a menace everyday,” sunoo replied. you shot him a look. “i do not act like a menace!”

“this is your second job in like three months… who are you? trish from austin and ally?” you gasped, putting a hand to your chest in somewhat fake shock. at least trish got a new job easily. it took you forever to find that pizza place job, and even longer for you to actually start working. you very nearly actually almost did get evicted if sunoo hadn’t stepped in and helped you.

“goodbye! i love you!” you said and leaned on the counter towards the counter. sunoo gave the camera a kiss and you jumped away in mock disgust. “bye, i love you!”

you ended your call and sat down to eat the ramen you made. sighing, you shoveled the noodles into your mouth. you really hoped that you got hired at this bakery. you didn’t know what you were gonna do if you don’t.

the next day you were up bright and early in the morning ready to call the bakery. you scoured google to see what the number was and after a couple misdirects you finally found it. your hands shook slightly as you pressed the phone to your ear and listened to the rings.

“hello, nap of a star bakery! if you are calling for a custom pie, orders will be pushed until next week!” a deep voice said over the line. your eyebrows raised slightly in shock and you hesitated for a moment as you thought of your next words.

“hello! i was actually calling to ask if you were hiring,” you replied. there was slight shuffling on the phone. “hello! yes, we are! have you picked up an application from the bakery? i can also email you a pdf version of it if you choose.”

you thought for a moment. it couldn’t hurt to go down and actually check the place out before deciding to work there. you did not need another repeat of the arcade job again.

“that’s okay! i can come down to the bakery for it!” the voice gave you an, “okay, have a good day!” and you hung up the phone after repeating them. you got your things together and left your apartment.

it took you a good minute to find the bakery. sunoo even had to text you directions. you recalled that the bakery was new and local. it was tucked away in between two buildings on the corner of the street. you parked your car and stepped your way towards the door.

the bell above the door rang as you pushed it open and stepped inside. behind the counter, a very tall dark-haired guy stood covered in flour rolling dough in a bowl. his head snapped up at the sound and a friendly smile plastered on his face. he pulled the gloves off and sat them next to the bowl. then he came up to where the cash register and a monitor were.

“hello! how may i help you?” he asked, rolling up his falling sleeves.

you took a look around the establishment. it was actually very nice. behind him, a chalkboard of everything their selling was written in an array of different colors. different baked goods were on display under the counter where the guy stood. there was also a door behind him to the back. natural light filtered in from the big windows at the front of the shop, highlighting the light minty colored walls and hanging stars. wooden tables and chairs with quilted seat covers tied to them were scattered around the open space. the overhead lighting was subtle and not harsh like so many other bakeries were. all in all, the bakery was very cozy.

“hi,” you smiled, “i called here not too long ago. about the applications?” his face lit up in realization and his mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. he started to move around the counter.

“ah, yes! the applications! i can get you a pen if you want to fill it out here?” he asked as he grabbed the application from one of the tables near the door and turned to hand it to you. “assuming you brought your resume…” he then trailed off, a shy smile on his lips.

thankfully you did bring your resume. you took the application from him. “i did, actually, thank you!” he nodded slightly to himself and he walked back over to the counter and grabbed a pen from a cup next to the keyboard. he handed that to you as well. “here you go!”

you sat at one of the tables a little ways away from the counter. customers began filing in for orders as you filled the application out. all the motion was distracting you and you couldn’t help watching the dark-haired guy work.

he seemed to move fluidly from taking an order, pressing it all into the monitor, and either retrieving it from the back or display. you didn’t even realize he was also making more things while taking and completing orders until you saw him furiously trying to get the flour off himself when there were no customers around. you giggle lowly to yourself and finally finished filling the application out.

his back was turned to you as you walked up to the counter. he was still trying to get the flour off of him but was spreading it all over his clothes and apron instead. “uh, i finished the application,” you said softly. he jumped and quickly turned to you, an embarrassed smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

you stacked your resume with the application and handed it to him with the pen on top. he took it from you and sat it next to the keyboard.

you got the chance to get a look at his name tag attached to his brown and mint apron. the pretty signature with a shooting star next to it told you that his name was soobin. you got a good look at his face. he was quite pretty, even covered in flour.

he laid his hands flat on the counter and leaned towards you slightly. “okay, so your application will get registered and we should be with you within the week!” he told you, giving you another friendly smile. you returned it. “thank you!”

“have a good day!” you shot his words back to him and left the bakery, making your way to your car.

it was torture waiting for the email to know if you got the job or not. you were sitting in the chair behind the counter at chaconne, the flower shop that sunoo worked at, eyes glued to your phone as you kept refreshing your inbox.

“refreshing your inbox every five seconds isn’t going to make the email appear faster.” sunoo said as he arranged different flowers into a bouquet.

you sighed and slouched in the chair. you guess he was right. it’s only been a couple of days and it seemed like soobin was the only employee.

after sunoo wrapped the flowers and tied it off, he turned to you. today was a slow day in the shop, hence why you were behind the counter. not that sunoo’s boss minded, mrs. jeon loves you.

“so… anyone cute working at the bakery?” he asked, smirking. you looked up from your phone and chuckled. “there’s only one employee, at least i think. he was cute, in fact!” you replied. sunoo’s face lit up.

you tilted your head at him, you knew that look. that was his matchmaking look. “absolutely not,” you quickly said before he could open his mouth. “i need to keep this job if i do get it.” he brought his shoulders up.

“it’s gonna happen anyways. what else are the both of you to do in there together except get to know each other?” he brought his shoulders down and then leaned towards you, eyes wide. “what’s his personality like, tell me! he’s a baker right? duh, of course he is. i bet he’s a softie.” sunoo started rambling, mainly to himself.

you held your hands up. “woah, i met him for a total of like twenty minutes. i don’t have that information.” sunoo sighed and turned back around as customers entered.

you kept refreshing your phone, making small talk with sunoo as he made more bouquets. suddenly, you heard a ‘ping!’ sound and your eyes snapped to your phone to see the notification. “oh my god! it’s from the bakery!” you exclaimed. sunoo came over to you and leaned down next to you to see your phone. “well open it!”

you did just that and almost screamed from excitement had it not been for sunoo covering your mouth and looking around the shop at the lingering customers. “i’m not gonna get evicted!” you exclaimed and sunoo laughed as he rang up another customer.

it was your first day of working at nap of a star bakery and you were standing next to soobin and the owner of the bakery as your training started. it turns out that soobin was the son of the owner, and so far it was just the two of them at the shop. well, now the three of you.

“i’m so thankful you put in an application, y/n dear. it’s been difficult running the bakery with just my boy. your extra hands are very welcome!” mrs. choi told you, smiling warmly. you noticed the light blush across soobin’s cheeks as he rubbed his hand over his face. you smiled warmly at mrs. choi, “i’m very thankful you decided to hire me!”

she put you and soobin to work in the back room, starting on the goods, as she dealt with the customers up front. soobin began showing you how to make the dough for snickerdoodles. you stood side by side in your matching aprons and gloves.

“you want to make sure that you add enough flour so the consistency isn’t super sticky.” soobin said as he showed you the amount of flour to put into it. you let out a brief laugh.

“this isn’t my first time baking, i got this.” you gave him a confident smile. he raised his eyebrows.

“okay then… all you!” he took a step back from the bowl and you took one towards it.

you made snickerdoodles before. at least, you think you did. they were a pretty popular cookie to make, surely you’ve made them at least once in your life before. you cracked the eggs soobin had put out into the bowl. soobin had already added the butter, so it was up to you to figure out the rest of the ingredients.

thinking of what usually goes into cookies, you started reaching for different things. you eyeballed the amount you put in.

“oh! that’s not— you should really measure the ingredients!” soobin suddenly exclaimed. you felt his watchful eyes on you as you worked. you waved a hand behind you. you had this.

once you got all the ingredients in, you dug your gloved hands in and started mixing. there was sputtering from soobin behind you, but you ignored him. the dough was really sticky, so you took soobin’s words from earlier and reached for the flour.

the flour suddenly quickly poured out from the bag, way too much of it falling into the bowl. “oops!” you muttered, setting the bag back down, getting sticky dough everywhere. you dug your hands in again and started mixing until the dough was firm. you picked some up and rolled it into a small ball, then dipped the outside of the ball into the sugar and cinnamon mixture soobin has already set out.

you continued the process a few more times, struggling with the crumbling dough, until you filled the pan. you peeled off your gloves and picked the pan up, walking over to where the stoves were, a dumbfounded soobin trailing behind you.

mrs. choi popped her head in from the door and asked you both how it was going. you both turned. “it’s going great!” you beamed, pan still in hand. she gave you both a satisfied smile and went back to the front.

you put the pan of cookies in the oven. setting it to 415° you thought aloud at the amount of minutes you should set the timer for. “i think ten minutes should be good. or maybe fifteen? i’ll do fifteen just to be sure!”

once that was all settled, you dusted off your apron and turned to soobin, who was staring at you with wide eyes and mouth agape. “see, i told you. i got this! so what’s next?” your question must’ve snapped him out of his daze.

“oh— uh… you know— let’s just wait until the cookies are done. then we’ll continue.” he stuttered. you shrugged, stepping away from the stoves to get new gloves.

the timer dinged and you grabbed an oven mitt to take the pan of cookies out of the oven. you sat the pan on the cooling rack as you turned the oven off. soobin came near you and leaned over the freshly baked cookies, inspecting them. they were a pretty deep golden brown.

he grabbed the nearby metal spatula and went to lift one of the cookies to look under it. the cookie completely crumbled as he did. the inside was burnt. your mouth dropped in shock.

soobin looked over to you, his hand with the spatula still hanging in the air. he straightened, “so… let me show you how to actually make snickerdoodles. so that they don’t turn out like… this.” he motioned with the spatula to your failed cookies.

you nodded and couldn’t help but laugh. soobin hesitated before joining in with you. “this was a disaster, i’m sorry.” you said, covering your mouth. soobin took another look at the cookies before throwing them away in the nearby trash can. he looked back to you, “are you sure you’ve baked before?”

an embarrassed smile spread on your face. “no, not really. i mean i’ve made those cookies from the packages where you just have to add water…” soobin gave you a bemused look. he shook his head slightly and motioned you over to where the ingredients were.

standing next to him, he began guiding you on how to actually make snickerdoodles, you following his instructions. when you were about to do something wrong, like stick your gloved hands in the bowl to mix the dough again, he would stop you and tell you how to actually do it. “instead of mixing it with your hands, you want to take this—“ he held up a straight spatula “—and fold the dough instead.” soobin demonstrated for you as he spoke.

you nodded, following along. soobin stopped his motions and handed you the spatula. you took it from him and picked up from where he left off, folding the dough. once everything was mixed, soobin softly clapped. you laughed in amusement.

he pointed to the dough, “see how it’s not super sticky and not as firm and crumbly as yours was? that’s the consistency you want. this is the consistency that you’ll mainly be working towards when baking anything.” he picked up a small amount of dough and began rolling it between his hands. you copied his actions, and then rolled the ball into the sugar and cinnamon mixture.

after filling the pan, once again, soobin took the pan over to the oven and placed it inside. he turned to you, a reassuring smile on his face. “you don’t want to put it on too high or keep the cookies in for too long.” he put the oven on 350° and set the timer for 8 minutes.

“if you feel like maybe they’ve been in for too long, then you can go ahead and check them. i usually use a toothpick and the spatula to check the consistency and to make sure the bottom isn’t burnt.” soobin said. he did just that and backed away, his mouth forming a satisfied grin. nodding, you took in all the information he had just taught you.

that’s how the rest of your shift went. soobin walking you through how to make various baked goods. once you felt like you could start working on your own, soobin would move on to work on something else. here and there he would give you his input, and you’d apply it to whatever you were making. you and soobin made small talk as you worked, getting to know each other until it was time for you to start cleaning up.

you were absolutely covered in flour and dried dough. thankfully, once you and soobin we’re done with one baked good, you would clean whatever you used and the area before starting the next thing. so it wasn’t as messy as you were initially expecting the end of the day to be. you stripped your gloves off and threw them into the trash, soobin doing the same.

the two of you stood at the sink, him washing the dishes and you drying and putting them away. “i have an idea,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you. soobin looked over to you, shaking his head a little to get their hair out of his eyes. he raised an eyebrow in question. “tomorrow we should see who can make the most stuff. like a competition! we can compete and whoever makes the most goods at the end of the week can win a prize or something! i don’t know, we can workshop the idea.” you exclaimed, you gave him a big hopeful smile as you rinsed and dried the dish he handed you.

“compete?” he asked. you nodded. he hummed as he thought. “okay! how are we gonna tally up points?” you put the whisk back in the drawer as you thought.

“each baked good can be a certain amount of points! like cakes and pies are three, pastries and cupcakes are two, and cookies and whatever else are one?” you looked at him, head tilted. “we can keep track on the chalkboard!” you then pointed over to the chalkboard next to where the door to the front of the bakery was. right now, it had a half erased list of what the two of you needed to make on it.

“okay!” soobin smiled. “let’s do it!” you squealed a little and ran over to the chalkboard, erasing the list on it. “hey! you’re suppose to be helping me wash dishes!” soobin laughed. you ignored him as you wrote.

on the chalkboard you wrote soobin and y/n in capital letters, drawing a line between your names and under them so it formed a table. “today doesn’t count since i was learning.” you spoke, placing the piece of chalk back on the little rack and turning to him. he looked back at you as he washed the dishes, grinning. you returned to his side and rinsed the dishes that he piled up.

“it’s on!” you said and glanced over to him. he laughed and shook his head. “in your wildest dreams.”

sunday rolled around quite fast and the bake off competition between you and soobin was at an all time high. currently, soobin was winning with a total of sixty-seven points. you were close behind him with sixty-six points. you were rushing to finish the cookies you were making for another point. the timer on the oven sounded off and you jumped in excitement, pulling out the freshly baked perfect cookies.

“another point for me!” you exclaimed, walking over to the chalkboard and adding a tally under your name. you turned to soobin with a wide grin. “now we’re tied!”

“because you keep cheating! all you’ve been doing the whole day is making cookies!” soobin spoke as he frosted a cake order meant for a birthday. on the top, the cake read “happy birthday honey!” with yellow and orange swirls and hearts. your grin widen and you gave a smug shrug. “step your cookies up before you crumble!”

soobin playfully scoffed at you and went back to adding intricate tubing to the cake. you leaned over it, watching him work. “i would be ahead of you right now if you didn’t take all the cakes and pies.” you mumbled, loud enough for him to hear. he chuckled at you, staring over at you for a brief second.

“i’ll let you have the next one,” soobin said softly. he added the last bit of tubing on the cake before the door to the front opened. mrs. choi came in with a small piece of paper in hand. you and soobin turned towards her in unison.

“another order for one of our famous blueberry pies!” mrs. choi exclaimed as she wiggled the paper. she pinned it on the cork board next to the chalkboard with your scores and went back up to the front.

you and soobin looked back to each other, frozen. you saw the gears in his brain turning as you stared into his eyes. in the short week you’ve gotten to know him and the competition you’ve both started, you learned to read the look in his eyes when he’s up to something. narrowing your eyes slightly, you shifted your body ever so subtly to the cork board just in case you needed to make a break for it. a slight smile tugged at the corners of soobin’s mouth.

“it’s all you,” he said lowly. your eyes narrowed further and cautiously you took a step, eyes locked on him. taking another, and another until you reached the cork board, you let your eyes slip from him and his wide smile. the bag of frosting still in his hand.

snatching the piece of paper, your eyes scoured over it hungrily, taking in all of the information. a mischievous smile spread across your lips as you read further and saw that the order also called for four blueberry and lemon puffed pastries. you were so winning this battle.

you felt a breath on your neck and turned to see soobin looming over you. you quickly pressed the paper to your chest and faced him, a gasp escaping your lips.

“cheater! you said you were gonna give me this one!” an amused smile took over your mischievous one. soobin held a cake box, cake inside, in his arms. he lifted his shoulders, a laugh shaking them.

“you were taking too long for it to be a simple blueberry pie.” soobin set the cake box on the table by the door to the front. he then put a finger to his lips and tapped it cartoonishly, eyes looking up to the ceiling as he hummed. “and did i say i was going to give you this one?” you nodded quickly.

“i lied,” soobin said. he then dashed to the table where the ingredients were. you dashed after him, trying to start the pie before he did.

the two of you moved frantically around the large kitchen, running into each other and stumbling over things sitting on the floor. you quickly whisked together cornstarch and sugar as you ran to the fridge. pushing soobin out the way with your hip and spilling a little bit of the mixture over you, you retrieved the fresh blueberries with your free hand and ran over to the stove.

soobin already had a saucepan on the stove ready with the heat on. water and lemon juice already inside. you tipped the cornstarch and sugar mixture inside as well, half of it landing on the stove top rather than in the pan. you grabbed the spoon next to the stove and began furiously mixing before you felt hands around your hips. soobin pulled you away from the stove and to the side as he snatched the spoon from your hands and started mixing himself.

a giggle escaped your lips as you turned back to the ingredients table and finished the dough he started. it was already done since it had been refrigerated yesterday. you grabbed the rolling pin and flattened the dough out, making sure to flour the surfaces so the dough doesn’t stick. saving enough of the dough for the lattice of the pie, you pressed the remaining dough into a pie plate that you quickly grabbed. you then trimmed and fluted the edges.

you ran to get a circular knife. soobin must’ve finally noticed that you weren’t hovering around him and turned to see what you were doing, a confident smile on his lips. the smile dropped when he saw that you already had the base of the pie ready. soobin dropped the spoon on the counter next to the stove and dashed to where you were cutting strips into dough.

soobin tried to push you out the way with his hip but you dug your feet into ground and pushed him back. you started cutting the dough faster, the strips coming out sloppy and uneven. majority of them weren’t even the same length.

“accept defeat!” you laughed as you moved soobin’s prying hands away from the dough. the kitchen was filled with laughs and soobin poked a finger into your side, making you jump. “not when i’m so close to glory!”

“let me have this like you said you would!” you exclaimed. you were coming up on the last strips that you needed for the pie. it was hard to cut the dough when soobin kept grabbing at it. giggling, you pressed the circular knife back into the dough moving hurriedly when you got another shove from soobin’s hip.

the circular knife suddenly nicked your finger and you jumped back, dropping the knife, as blood began flowing from the wound. you both freeze and suddenly soobin is grabbing your hand with the bloody finger.

unconsciously, soobin puts your bloody finger in his mouth. all movements freeze as you stare at each other with wide eyes. not even breathing could be heard. the two of you are covered in various different ingredients and the kitchen around you is a mess.

soobin slowly takes your finger out of his mouth, his eyes widening by the second. your heart starts to beat rapidly at the exchange. heat warms up your face in full force and you can see the redness creep up from the back of soobin’s neck.

“oh my god…” soobin finally says. he’s still holding your hand, but, thanks to him the blood is no longer flowing. “oh my god! i’m so sorry, y/n! that was a force of habit.” soobin repeats. you let out an anxious giggle.

“you usually put people’s bloody fingers in your mouth?” you ask teasingly. his cheeks are a deep pink and you giggle at the sight. your heart seems to be beating faster and faster with each passing moment. soobin breaks away from your gaze with great effort, embarrassment written clearly all over his features. the tension between you is high and you start to sweat in your loose clothes and apron.

“i’m so so sorry, i really did not mean to do that,” soobin says lowly. you break into a fit of giggles, amused by the whole thing. slowly, soobin joins you with hesitant chuckles. soon you’re both doubled over, stomachs hurting from laughing so hard.

you’re holding onto the table for support when soobin speaks again. “maybe… we should take a breather…” he trails and you nod in agreement, holding your stomach slightly. soobin takes your hand softly and leads you to the sink where the first aid is. he motions for you to wash your hands. as you wash them, he pulls out a bandaid and begins opening it. once your hands are dry, he gently takes them and wraps the bandaid around the shallow wound on your finger.

soobin smiles shyly at you, his hands still holding yours. “y’know what… you can have the pie.” the blush on his cheeks has spread to his whole face as he spoke. you giggle and nod, “yeah, i would like that.” soobin’s face lights up in sudden realization.

“oh my god! the pie!” he turns to the stove, letting go of your hands, as he runs over to it. he takes the saucepan with the blueberry filling off the heated burner and puts it on one of the ones that’s turned off. you jog over to him, you both inspect the filling as he takes the spoon and mixes it. it was a little thicker than you both intended, but it was fine. you look at each other and start laughing.

“here, you finish the pie, and i’ll start cleaning up. we both look like a mess.” soobin hands you the spoon with a grin and you take it. he tried wiping some of the flour off of him to no avail as he walked over to the ingredients table.

by the time the blueberry filling has cooled, soobin has cleaned the majority of the kitchen. you bring the pan with the filling over to the pie plate and pour it inside the crust, saving the remaining for the pastries. soobin had already gotten the pastries ready for you, so you used the remaining filling for them.

the lattice for the top of the pie came out shotty at best, but it wouldn’t matter once it baked. you put both the pie and the pastries into their own oven and set them to cook. you turned to soobin to see he was about to start washing the dishes.

“i’ll wash them,” you said. he’s basically cleaned the whole kitchen, it was the least you can do. you washed and dried the dishes, putting them back in their respective places. you leaned back onto the counter near the ovens next to soobin.

soobin had updated the chalkboard, adding his three points for the cake he made and your seven points for the pie and pastries. he bumped your shoulder with his. “you won,” he said softly. soobin then grinned and added, “this week.” you chuckled at him, turning to him slightly.

“so what’s my prize?” you asked. the two of you hadn’t actually come up with what the prize would be. you’ve both been too focused on making the baked goods to actually win. soobin’s eyes wided a fraction, blush once again reddening his cheeks slightly. “what do you want?”

you faced forward again as you thought about it. “i don’t know… what are you willing to give me?” soobin’s blush deepens, but you aren’t facing him to notice. after a moment with no answer, you looked over to him, awaiting an answer. his head is angled down and it’s subtly tilted away from you.

soobin let’s out a cough and wipes his face before looking back up at you. “uh— what— um… how about i bake you anything of your choosing?” he sputters. you smile at him, “anything? even if it’s difficult?” soobin playfully scoffed and waved a hand in the air before crossing his arms over his chest.

“nothing is too difficult for me! it can be anything! cake, pie, pastry, cookie, bread, whatever. puffed, filled, turnovers, upside down, layered, anything. whatever you choose!” you thought for a moment, then smiled warmly at him. “what about blueberry bread?” you asked. “but, like really fancy… in honor of my first win and for many to come!”

he laughed at the smirk on your face. “done! when do you want it?” you shrugged at him, “whenever you have the time.” he nodded, more to himself than to you.

you were excited to see how soobin made the blueberry bread. you giggled at the thought of him giving you a fancy set up for something as simple as bread. nodding back to him anyway, the two of you made your way to the front of the bakery to end your shift.

sunoo had an eyebrow raised as you recalled the previous day’s events. he was half listening to your rambling and half paying attention to the customer he was checking out.

“and then,” you said, literally sitting on the edge of your seat, “he put my finger in his mouth!” sunoo whipped around to face you, eyes wide. the customer, who was starting to walk away, froze in their spot, also staring widely at you. “i know,” you nodded.

“he didn’t mean to… he said it was a force of habit, but still. like what? my heart was beating so fast, sunoo, you don’t even understand!” you continued. the customer gave you a wide playful smile and a thumbs up before exiting the shop. sunoo gasped as he took your hands.

sunoo looked at the fresh bandaid on your finger intensely. he then leaned back and looked at you, a knowing smirk on his lips. “what did i say, y/n! what did i say!” he teased. “and what happened after that? you started taking off each other’s clothes?” your face heated.

“no! we went back to baking!” you smacked his arm. sunoo sighed loudly. “lame! you should’ve told him to fill something else.” he gave you a wink as another customer came in.

you covered your flushed face with your hands. “sunoo!” you harshly whispered. he just laughed at you.

when you went into the bakery for your shift that day, you were surprised to see that soobin had already prepared your prize. in the back, the ingredients table was decorated with a flowery tablecloth. there was a pretty lace doily under where the plate of blueberry bread sat. candles were lit and there was a small note that read: for the talented y/n y/l/n in a bold cursive font.

soobin then came up to you, he was dressed very nicely with a button up shirt tucked into black slacks. there was a matching black tie tied around his neck. he held a metal plate with a tea towel and wrapped silverware on it in one hand, the other arm pressed behind his back.

“for you, my dear.” he held the metal plate towards you in a bow. you let out a small laugh at the whole scene as you took the contents from the plate. heart skipping a beat. just then did you realize that soobin had drawn a cartoonish mustache on his upper lip. loud belly laughs erupted from you and you leaned against the table for support. “the mustache?” you managed to breathe out, it being followed by another fit of laughter.

soobin joined you, relaxing his stiff stance. he sat the metal plate on the table. “you said make it fancy! i made it fancy!” you giggled and nodded, “you sure did!” he motioned towards the blueberry bread with a white gloved hand. you had to stifle your laugh at it.

“well? go on and try it!” you smiled at him and grabbed the knife from the wrapped silverware he had given you. you cut a slice of blueberry bread off the loaf and sat it on the awaiting plate next to it. grabbing your fork, you waved it in the air with a giggle and then used it to grab a piece of the bread. you ate the piece and thought for a moment as you swallowed it.

“wow!” you said as you grabbed another piece, “this is delicious!” soobin smirked smugly and raised his hands. “what can i say? i’m actually gordon ramsey.” you choked a little on the bread as you erupted into laughter. “sure…” you trailed playfully.

it’s been a little over a month since you’ve started working at nap of a star bakery, and it has been the best job you’ve ever had thus far. the little competition between you and soobin had turned from small battles to a full blown war. the two of you were baking so much to garner extra points that the bakery had a bunch of overstock and mrs. choi had to tell you both to slow down.

in that time, you and soobin have grown closer than ever. “i’m starting to feel replaced,” sunoo had said to you the other day, after telling him how soobin cheated to win that week. the competition had gotten so serious between the two of you that you were now competing to see who was the better baker. you even brought sunoo to the bakery a couple of times to be the judge.

you and soobin were once again frantically running around the kitchen, this time fighting over who gets to bake the wedding cake a customer ordered. you held a large plastic tray in your hands, running over to the ingredients table when your foot caught on a bag of flour and you and the plastic tray suddenly went flying. hands quickly caught your waist and steadied you before any real damage could happen. the tray made a loud noise as it landed on the ground, startling you more.

you breathed heavily in shock as you turned to look at soobin, your eyes wide. “woah,” you said. you both broke out into laughter. “jesus, y/n, you almost just saw the light.” soobin’s hands were still on your waist as you turned to face him fully. “thankfully you were here!”

soobin removed his hands and your waist felt cold without them. “maybe we should just work together on this one…” he trailed as he looked around the mess of the kitchen. “i mean, this is someone’s wedding cake after all.” you nodded in agreement, chuckling a little. he smiled warmly at you.

reaching up to his face, you giggled, “you have flour on your nose.” you purposely wiped flour on him and he scrunched his nose a little, a small grin on his lips. soobin takes his flour covered hands and wipes them across your cheeks. “you have flour on your cheeks,” he says. you raise your eyebrows as you look at him.

the two of you are laughing softly as you stare at each other. you dip your hands into the flour sitting on the table and cup both of soobin’s cheeks with your hands. this is a side game you and soobin have started recently, going up to each other with flour and saying that the other has flour on them. it makes even more of a mess, and mrs. choi is always surprised to see you when you go back to the front of the bakery, but it’s fun.

you’ve been secretly drawing hearts with flour on him and giggling at his confused stare when you wouldn’t tell him what you drew. it was always in a place he couldn’t see or reach.

“can you guess what i’m about to say?” you ask him. you feel his cheeks lift into a smile and see his dimples pop out. he starts laughing, “you have flour on your cheeks?” giggling at him, you squeeze his face a little.

“you have flour on your cheeks.”

you’re mere inches away from each other. somehow, soobin’s hands have found their way back to your waist and you’re both giggling as you stare into each other’s eyes. once the giggles subside and nothing but smiles are left, you notice an emotion you can’t figure out swirl in soobin’s eyes.

your heart is beating rapidly in your chest as you realize your sudden closeness and you watch as soobin’s eyes briefly flicker down to your lips. inhaling, you decide to just go for it and act on your emotions. you bring your lips to soobin’s, pressing them together softly. his hands tighten slightly at your waist as he kisses you back.

the kiss is slow and intimate. for a while now you’ve been crushing on him, ever since the day he made you that blueberry bread as a prize. sunoo has teased you mercilessly about it, calling himself cupid even though he had no hand in your blossoming feelings. the times when you brought him to the bakery to judge, he would drop not so subtle hints about your crush. you had to always give him a harsh glare over soobin’s shoulder.

your arms wrapped around soobin’s neck, pulling him closer to you as the kiss deepened. your bodies were pressed up against each other. pulling away from the kiss slightly, you tried to breathe. your breath lightly fanned his cheek, lifting some of the flour off of it. soobin leaned towards you and kissed you passionately, his arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

when you broke apart, you both were breathing heavily, lips plumped at the sudden exchange. you smiled a little, “i’ve been waiting for you to do that.” soobin chuckled. “i’m sorry i didn’t do it sooner.” you both leaned in for another kiss but jumped apart when you heard the door to the front open.

mrs. choi took one good look at the two of you and shook her head in amusement. “how the two of you always manage to get covered in so much flour always amuses me!” she held up two small pieces of paper. “more orders! business is booming!” she laughed and the two of you awkwardly joined her. once she left, you and soobin looked at each other and started to laugh. you were absolutely covered in flour, mrs. choi was right. soobin nodded his head over to the abandoned dough you had started and the two of you began working on the wedding cake again. this time, together.

it was after hours at the bakery and you and soobin had your friends sitting at one of the tables at the front of the bakery so they could be the judges of who’s baked goods were better. you had met each other’s friends a couple times now through various judging events, so when you asked them to judge the final round to put it all to rest, they accepted.

today, you were going to find out just how much of a better baker you are than soobin. and you are gonna laugh in his face when everyone says how good your baked goods are. currently, you and soobin were in the back preparing your dishes. you had decided on a french profiterole cake while soobin had decided on a gâteau basque cake. you knew your cake was delicious, you had been practicing ever since you and soobin decided that you should have one last round to see who the greatest baker was.

soobin held a small plate out with a small slice of the cake he had made for the challenge out to you. you raised your eyebrows in shock and smiled up to him. “you trying to boost your ego before the judgment?” you asked as you took the fork from him and took a bite of the cake. your eyes widen at the flavor. “this is amazing, soobin! oh my god!” maybe you weren’t gonna win this after all…

soobin smiled warmly at you as he held up a small, rolled up piece of paper. you sat the plate down on the nearby table and took it from him, unrolling it. “be mine?” he asked, right as your eyes trailed over the same words on the paper. a smile broke out on your face and you stared up at him. he held another small plate on it, a small cake flower in the center. you giggled as you took the plate from him. “of course i’ll be yours!”

you sat the plate with the flower next to the plate with the slice of cake as you wrapped your arms around soobin’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss. he laughed softly against your lips and pulled you close.

“hello?” you heard a voice drag out from the front of the bakery. “when are we going to get to judge? i didn’t come here hungry for nothing!” you heard muffled voices and then a “shh! shut up beomgyu! what if they’re getting busy? you know how badly he needs that.”

giggling, you pulled away from soobin, giggling harder at his flushed cheeks. you held his hand and looked longingly at him. “you ready?” you asked. soobin nodded, then smirked a little. “you ready to get told you’re the second best baker?”

you rolled your eyes at him playfully, letting go of his hand so that you can grab your cake. the two of you brought your cakes out to the front and your friends erupted into claps. “finally!” soobin’s friend beomgyu had said. his arm got playfully hit by the guy next to him, who you’ve come to know as yeonjun.

“i love you, y/n, but if your cake tastes like shit i’m spitting it out and looking at you with the upmost betrayal. don’t embarrass me here after i’ve been talking you up!” sunoo teased as you and soobin sat your cakes down in front of them. you laughed at him, holding a hand to your chest in mock hurt.

there were already empty plates and silverware placed in front of all of your friends. “alright!” you started. “welcome to the great bake off! yes, the great british bake off was copyrighted… but that’s okay!” laughter sounded around you as you clapped your hands together. you looked over at soobin, “do you wanna go first or do you want me to go first?”

soobin shrugged. “i’ll go first.” he cut slices of his cake and put them each on your friends’ empty plates. “alright, you already know how the judging works. each judge will take a bite from the food and we’ll go down a line one by one for statements. dig in!” soobin spoke. your friends did just that, murmurs of how good the cake was coming from them.

“alright, kai, you’re up!” kai hummed and put a finger to his chin as he thought. “it was absolutely disgusting,” he said as he took another bite. “seriously soobin, what is wrong with you?” kai kept eating the cake as you all laughed.

taehyun nodded in approval, praising soobin for how good of a job he did with the cake. yeonjun stood from the table, did a cartwheel, and sat back down before calmly saying that it was delicious. you and sunoo stared at him with wide eyes as you saw the regret and slight embarrassment form on his heated face. beomgyu hummed, dramatically putting a finger to his lips and tapping as he kept taking more bites. he hummed again.

soobin walked up to him and grabbed him around the collarbones, shaking him slightly as everyone laughed. “it’s really good!” beomgyu said as he sat his fork down, plate empty. yeonjun shook his head at him. sunoo then cleared his throat, sitting up straight. “it was very delicious, but not as good as y/n’s cake!” he said. you laughed, “you haven't even tasted mine yet!” sunoo shot you a glare with wide eyes as he shushed you.

you cut up slices of your cake for the judges, putting one on each of their plates. they barely took a bite of your cake before they all jumped up from their seats and started loudly clapping. dramatically saying how wonderful your cake is and how their taste buds have never graced such perfection. you couldn’t help the laugh that spilled from your mouth at them.

“fantastic! you are truly are the best baker that ever lived!” taehyun exclaimed, clapping hard. “truly, truly. i mean, this cake is godly! higher than that even!” sunoo added as he dramatically took another bite and melted back down into his chair. you shook your head at them.

you looked over to soobin, pouting. he laughed softly at your acceptance of defeat. his cake was absolutely amazing…

soobin came over to you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. you looked at him as he smiled down at you. playfully, you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. soobin placed a kiss on the top of your head, leaning his head against yours as you both watched the dramatic appraisal from both of your friends.

taglist: @jjunberry @gothgyuu @spooksh0wbabe @beargyuuzz @kittyhyuka

masterlist┊part two┊request rules ༘ ˚· ౨ৎ ฅ/ᐠ. ̫ .ᐟ\ฅ

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werrrrrrrrrrrrrrrcat · 8 months

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Redraw of one of my first works here - retirement guys my beloved

#art #fanart #digital art #sherlock holmes #sherlock fanart #john watson #retirementlock #redraw #illustration #acd john watson #acd johnlock #acd sherlock holmes #victorian johnlock #ttfbs #the two from baker street #gay #bi

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highvern · 3 months

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Burnt Coffee

Pairing: Kwon Soonyoung x gn! Reader

Genre: fluff

Summary: Running a cafe hadn’t been as glamorous as you initially believed. You loved your job; the cozy aroma of the different roasts, the hum of the espresso machine, the foam art you tediously practiced until a cute bear face stared back from the surface of a cappuccino. But any new shop comes with quirks, like the fire alarm that goes off almost every morning. Luckily, the fire station is just across the street and you unknowingly have one of the fireman wrapped around your finger.

Warnings: coffee shop owner reader, firefighter Hoshi, pockets of angst, crying, lots of mentions of food and coffee, firefighter jihoon and his baker gf, crying, kissing

Length: ~4.6k

Note: second valentine's fic! surprise! written for the Cupid For You Fic Exchange hosted by @svthub. Happy Valentine's @idyllic-ghost / @bee-buzzez !!! i hope its the cafe au of your dreams