bakery | oscar piastri x baker!reader (written + smau)
based on this request
syn: you've always known oscar piastri. you grew up sitting on the opposite side of dinner tables, passing each other on the street, sitting quietly in the corner of events between your families.
it isn't until you grow up and see eachother for the first time in years that you realise you can actually talk to him, and the funny thing is, he's always been willing to listen.
wc: 4k
cw: lots of fluff and smiling in this one, reader is a yapper, oscar is a listener, no smut but there's kissing
a/n: this was requested ages ago and it took me FOREVER to get started on </3 hope you guys enjoy! also ignore the hair color if it doesn't match yours, i chose pics based off vibes
you’d never planned to move to monaco.
it was a spontaneous decision, one that came to you right when you were about to fall asleep and stayed when you woke up the next morning. just like how you’d never planned to continue baking till adulthood, but it’d turned into your full-time job anyway.
“juliette,” you call, and one of your staff members pokes her head out from the bakery’s kitchen. “could you focus more on the éclairs?”
“got it,” she calls back, and you turn back to the register.
the bakery you’d opened hadn’t been planned either.
you’d moved with the intention of working under someone, and opening your own store was just a lingering thought that crossed by every so often. it wasn’t until you’d passed by this place, which an older woman named luicia had put up for sale, that the thought had become a very real possibility.
you’d hired louis first, a middle-aged man who acted like he hated everyone but really didn’t, to bake alongside you, then juliette as an extra hand on restocking and serving customers. juliette was nineteen, extremely extroverted, hated anyone shortening her name, and couldn’t be more perfect for the job.
the bell at the door rings, but you’re too busy with sorting out some of the pastries at the display to look.
someone stops at the register, and you don’t glance up as you say, “hi, what can i get for you?”
at the lack of answer, you finally stop what you’re doing.
instead of a regular, or some stranger that you’re used to, you’re staring right at a face you hadn’t seen in years.
oscar piastri. the son of one of your mom’s closest friends, someone you’d grown up with yet had strayed so far from.
“oscar?”
he looks equally as stunned, eyes wide as he stares back at you.
“what are you…” he trails off, still frozen on the spot. “you work here?”
“i own this place,” you answer, and he seems to slowly relax. “what are you doing here?”
“i live here.”
“so do i.”
“why didn’t i know that?” he frowns. “when’d you move to monaco?”
“a year or so ago,” you say, and you glance behind him to where another man is on the phone outside. “i...did you wanna order something?”
“oh, uh, yeah,” oscar mutters, glancing over at the display. the bell for the door rings again, and he glances back. “lando, what’d you want?”
lando looks over at you, in the middle of pocketing his phone as he smiles politely and turns back to oscar.
“éclairs,” juliette sidles up beside you, sliding the tray into it’s display. she glances at the two, her eyebrows raising, “shit, aren’t those formula 1 drivers?”
“oh,” you say, focused on trying to sort out all the thoughts in your head. “yeah.”
“lucky you,” she smiles, already walking back into the kitchen to presumably grab more.
oscar places his order, a croissant, pain-au-chocolat, and a coffee, and when lando moves to sit at one of the tables, oscar stays standing. you’ve seen him on social media, on the tv sometimes, but in person? a whole different story.
he’d been 15 the last time you saw him. it wasn’t like he’d moved countries, he’d just been too busy traveling around the country for races. a year without seeing him turned into multiple, and now here you were, in your early twenties, standing face to face with him for the first time in years.
“so,” he says, and you glance over at him from the coffee maker. “how’ve you been?”
“pretty good,” you say, and you blame the heat rising up your neck on monaco’s summer weather. “never expected you to show up here though.”
“really?” he says, arms crossing as he leans against the counter. “your store’s right in the heart of monte carlo. don’t you get f1 drivers showing up all the time?”
“charles comes here a lot,” you say, ignoring the way his eyes are trained solely on you as you speak. “max a few times, but he isn’t a regular—his girlfriend is though. comes with their daughters almost every week.”
you go quiet, realising you might’ve leaked more information that needed, but he doesn’t look surprised.
“you look good,” he says, and you can’t help the small smile that makes its way onto your face. “really good.”
“so do you,” you say, finishing up the coffee and starting on the rest of his order. “really different from fifteen.”
“has it been that long?” he says, and you laugh quietly. “i swear it hasn’t.”
“time probably goes fast when you’re busy driving formula 1 cars.”
you smile, passing over the rest of his order.
“enjoy,” you say, and he waits a second, like he’s debating saying something else, before picking up the paper bags and the coffee. “see you around.”
“yeah,” he says, and you watch him give you another quick once over. “it was nice seeing you again.”
you try not to stare too hard as him and lando walk out again. lando says something, then looks back at you.
“do you know him?” juliette asks, and you snap out of your thoughts. “oscar?”
“i did,” you answer. “we grew up together.”
“childhood best friend?”
“not really.”
“hm,” she says, starting to fix her hair in the glass display’s reflection. “looked like he was.”
deep down, you know that’s not the last time you’ll see him. not even close.
liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux and others
ynln rare sighting of me outside the bakery
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alexandrasaintmleux cute 🤍
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user1 is this girl related to f1 or something?? oscar charles and max all follow her
user2 she owns a really popular bakery that a lot of drivers go to
user3 i heard she grew up with oscar back in aus or something
juliette.faure body tea
ynln LMAO
liked by lando, oscarpiastri, ynln and others
mclaren Your favorite Papaya duo 🧡
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lando that stuff from @/ynln was fire
ynln why thank you
lando @/oscarpiastri go pick up more pls
oscarpiastri go by yourself
user4 LANDOSCARRRR
user5 watch @/ynln 's bakery become a sponsor
ynln mclaren hmu!!
“let me do it.”
“no.”
“louis.”
you’re standing in the kitchen of the bakery, hands covered with flour, and louis is kneading dough on the countertop.
“it’s nine in the morning! you've already made the dough,” he says, waving behind him in dismissal. “and decorated cakes. and filled the tarts. and—”
“i know what i did,” you say, frowning. “but you’ve been busy too.”
“i’m 49,” he says, like it means something. “you’re in your twenties. i need to keep busy.”
“that’s unfair.”
“that’s the truth,” he turns to you, eyes narrowing. “let me be.”
you let out a sigh, shaking your head as you turn away. just as you’re about to check on the pastries in the oven, juliette knocks on the kitchen wall and calls your name.
“what’s wrong?” you say, wincing at the fact that you know you’ve probably got flour on your face. “is there something out of stock?”
“i think you might want this customer.”
“what?”
you glance over at the counter, and lo and behold, oscar piastri is standing there. juliette lets out what sounds like a giggle, waltzing past to probably go annoy louis.
“oscar,” you manage to say, and he smiles. “you’re back.”
“i am,” he says, leaning against the counter. “lando wants more.”
“lando, or you?”
“bit of both,” he says, and you laugh. “he says i live closer and he’s too lazy to walk here.”
“fair enough,” you say, dusting your hands off and looking up at him. “same as last time?”
“sure,” he says, and you immediately start on the coffee. “how’ve you been since the last time i saw you?”
the sound of traffic floats in through the open windows, along with the hum of the coffee machine. again, he stays standing as you make his order, fixated on every word you say like it matters.
“pretty good. charles came in the other day and said he’s surprised we know each other,” you don’t look at him while you talk, but you know he’s listening. “made a few new recipes for the tarts, experimented a little too much i think. i look a mess.”
“nah,” he says, and you glance up at him for a second. “not even close. you’ve got a bit of flour on your cheek though.”
you sigh, brushing it away, “thanks—oh, you should try one.”
“one of the tarts?”
“uh-huh,” you say, sliding a croissant into a paper bag and setting it on the counter. “unless you’re in a rush.”
“not at all.”
he lets you walk back into the kitchen and grab one from the tray louis was looking over. the man scowls, but passes you a napkin anyway.
“i don’t actually remember what i changed about it,” you frown as you give it to oscar. “i think it was something to do with the dough, and the filling too. maybe i let it set longer? this one’s the strawberry one, by the way.”
he lets you talk as he bites into it, adding in a few ‘mhms’ or ‘really?’s, until you realise he’s finished the pastry and is staring at you smiling.
you halt your sentence, blinking at him.
“was it good?”
“better than good,” he says, and for some reason, you don’t doubt him. “shit, think i might need more of those actually.”
“seriously?”
“lando’s gonna freak out over them,” he laughs, and you hide the way blush is forming on your cheeks by pretending you’re dusting off more flour. “could i get a box or something?”
“i’ve got other flavours—”
“pick whatever you want,” he cuts you off, and you smile. “whatever you think is best.”
“what are you doing?” louis says as you walk back into the kitchen, sliding the tray of tarts towards you. “hey, i said one—”
“special order,” you say, not even hiding the smile on your face. “by a formula 1 driver, louis. how can you refuse a formula 1 driver?”
“she means it’s an order by the guy she has a crush on,” juliette interjects, though she isn’t looking up from the oven. “oscar piastri.”
“since when have i had a crush on him?”
“since he walked in a week ago.”
you seal the box closed, pointedly ignoring her.
“i expect compensation!” louis calls as you walk back out of the kitchen. “lots!”
oscar is still standing there, leaned against the counter on his phone. as soon as he senses you walk back in, he looks up.
“i was thinking,” he suddenly says as you put everything into a separate bag. “are you free later? around lunch, maybe.”
you raise your eyebrows, “lunch?”
“to catch up, y’know?” his tone is casual, but his body language isn’t. he’s still slightly leaned against the wooden countertop, still surrounded by the labyrinth of bread, pastries, and cakes. “but if you’re busy—”
“no, i’m not,” you scramble to say. “lunch sounds good.”
“yeah?” he physically relaxes, eyes lighting up slightly. “you haven’t changed your number, right? i’ll text you later.”
“sure,” you smile, and he picks up the bag and coffee. “see you later, then.”
the sound of the bell at the door ringing lasts for what seems like a lifetime.
you’re stuck standing at the counter, his words playing on repeat through your head, the entire conversation playing on repeat.
“someone has a crush,” juliette says, a piece of bread in her hands.
you smile, walking past her towards the kitchen.
“shut up, julie.”
“my name is not julie!”
oscar would be lying if he said he wasn’t happy he ran into you that day.
ran into probably wouldn’t be the best explanation, since he’d been the one to walk into the bakery that you owned, but it was the only explanation he could think of.
“this shit is good,” lando says, mouth full of the tart you’d made oscar try. “like, stupidly good. spectacular.”
zak and andrea are at the front of the meeting room, going over some strategic plan, and all oscar can focus on is the thought of you, and the lunch he’d spontaneously decided on asking you to.
“lando,” he says, eyes narrowing as he leans back in his chair. lando wipes at the corner of his mouth, looking over at him. “hypothetically, if i were to take a friend i hadn’t seen for almost ten years out to lunch, where would i go?”
lando blinks at him.
“you mean…her?” he points at the tarts on the table in front of him. “the girl who made these?”
“yes. her.”
“date?”
“not really?”
“reunion?”
“i guess so.”
lando cocks his head, looking elsewhere in thought.
“there’s this good italian place near her bakery,” he says, and then he nods like he’s confirming his decision. “i’ll send you the address. it’s got a real good view of the dock and everything.”
he smiles, arms crossing.
“it’s a date,” he says. “don’t lie to me.”
“i’m not!” oscar frowns. “it’s a catch-up thing.”
“have you got a crush on her?”
“i haven’t seen her in ages. that wouldn’t make sense.”
“could be one of those…fate things,” lando shrugs. “have you heard of that string theory thing? i saw it on my for you page the other day.”
“what side of social media are you on?”
again, he shrugs, reaching for another tart, “fine. deny it all you want.”
by the time the meeting is over, it’s 12. oscar had texted you the address of the italian place already, and when he’d first opened his messages with you, the last one had been exactly eight years ago about some kind of family dinner between his and yours. your contact name had been a nickname he didn’t remember giving you—he didn’t even know he was close enough to you before to give you a nickname.
you’re standing by the entrance of the restaurant when he gets there. your apron is gone, flour completely dusted away, and your hair isn’t tied up anymore.
you were gorgeous.
that was the only thought circulating through his head when you glance up and see him, offering a smile and a little wave.
“it was only a two minute walk from the bakery,” you tell him as he stops beside you. “you didn’t keep me waiting, i promise.”
“you sure?” he says, following you into the restaurant.
you both choose to sit at a table outside, and like lando had mentioned, the view of the dock is crystal clear. he lets you take a few pictures of it before talking again, quietly going over your features that he couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten.
“ever been here before?” you ask, setting your phone down on the table and picking up the menu. “it’s pretty.”
“truthfully, no,” he says. “lando recommended it to me.”
“guessing he’s been on a lot of dates here then,” you say, and when he pauses, you tense up too. “not that this is a date—not that it’s a bad thing. i mean, well—”
“i get it,” he says, and you cover your face with your hands, blush creeping up your neck. “i get what you mean.”
“i think all that flour is getting to my head or something,” you say, slowly lowering you hands and reaching for the menu again. “how were the tarts?”
oscar smiles, “lando finished them.”
“seriously?” you gasp. “all of them?”
“and he wants more.”
“they were just a test batch,” you look over the dishes on the menu, but none of it really sticks. “you were the first to try.”
“what an honor.”
you glance up, giving him a small smile.
five minutes later, both of you have ordered, and you’re playing with the necklace around your neck mindlessly, trying not to stare at the man in front of you. wind is softly messing at the ends of your hair, and the scent of flowers from the nearby flower shop fill your nose. you can tell he’s trying not to look at you too.
“tell me what you changed about the tarts,” oscar says, abruptly, pulling you away from your thoughts.
you tilt your head, “you won’t understand a word.”
“doesn’t matter,” he answers, reaching for your glass to pour you water. “it’s interesting.”
you spend the next hour talking about batter, dough, fillings, random baking techniques you’d discovered. the topic switches every now and then, your brain struggling to keep focused on one thought before moving onto another.
throughout all of it, oscar’s staring, a soft smile on his face.
“i talk a lot, don’t i?” you frown at one point. “like, a lot.”
“that’s a good thing,” he answers like it’s second nature. “cause i like listening.”
by the end of it, when your plates are practically wiped clean in attempt to drag out the conversation as far as it would go, you’re wondering why you were never close to him in the first place.
“how’s your mum?” you ask him as you’re walking down the street, back towards the bakery. “i haven’t talked to her in a while.”
“she’s good—misses you, by the way. i told her i ran into you.”
though you’d never really been close with oscar growing up, you’d been close with the rest of his family. his mother was the one who’d stand in the kitchen with you at ten years old, teaching you how to preheat an oven and tell if the inside of a cookie was baked enough.
“i miss her too,” you say. “a lot. i don’t think i’d be where i am right now if not for her.”
“i can’t tell her that,” oscar says, making you look over at him. “she’ll book a flight to monaco within two seconds.”
you let out a laugh, but it gets cut short when he reaches over, pulling you back just as you’re about to cross the road. a car speeds past, and you blink.
“oh.”
“careful,” he mutters, hand still around your wrist.
the road is clear now, but neither of you move.
“where’d you park?” you ask him, just to get rid of the heavy tension that’s started to settle over you. “you don’t have to drop me off back at the bakery.”
you swear you feel his fingers tighten around you, but you don’t pull away.
“you sure?” he says, staring at you. “i can—”
“it’s only five seconds away, oscar,” you smile, and finally, his hand falls away from yours. the absence of it is immediate, but you ignore it by reaching up to brush your hair out of your face. “i promise i’ll be fine.”
he stays quiet, his eyes on you, and you can tell he’s choosing whether to argue back or not.
“alright,” he settles on, clearing his throat as he puts his hands in his pockets. “i’ll see you later then.”
“sure,” you say, also straightening. “thanks for today.”
“anytime.”
every step away from him feels forced.
juliette’s right by the door when you walk back in, fixing the displays at the front of the store.
“how’d it go?” she says, rushing to your side. “was i right?! do you like him?”
you frown, barely glancing at her.
“i’m…not sure.”
liked by oscarpiastri_, juliette.faure, and others
ynln 🥖
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oscarpiastri_ i think i did really good making bread
ynln i think so too
juliette.faure i disagree
user6 ARE THEY DATING
lando probably
user7 WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN??
user8 is the bread oscar made up for sale or no
user9 bro 💔
it’d been weeks.
weeks of oscar showing up whenever he was back in monaco, weeks of conversation that flowed as easy as breathing, weeks of getting closer and closer.
you didn’t need juliette to drag you out of the kitchen whenever he showed up anymore, he didn’t need to use the excuse ‘lando wanted more’, even though it was still true half the time.
on one of the rare slower days, you’d let him in the kitchen, where he’d watched you make a loaf of pain de mie. you’d tried teaching him and he hadn’t understood a word, but still nodded along as if he did. louis had scowled the entire time, muttering about bad technique and waste of ingredients, and juliette had taken hundreds of pictures on her phone.
he’d been to your apartment about five times already. the first was just to help you drop off boxes of ingredients, the second was under the excuse of testing another new recipe, and the third had no reason at all.
on the weeks where he was off in a different country racing, you’d have live broadcasts playing in the background, filling the store with the sound of lap times and engines. as soon as he landed back in monaco, he’d be right by your side again.
“i haven’t been out to lunch with you in while,” he’s leaned against the counter like always, though this time beside you and not opposite you. “not since we first ran into each other.”
“it’s a bit late for lunch,” you answer, glancing at the time. “unless you want dinner?”
“that could work.”
the doorbell rings, and you both glance over at the door.
“well look who we’ve got here.”
“i’m not giving you free samples, lando.”
“why would i ask for free samples?” lando frowns, reaching to grab multiple bags of cookies and dumping them on the counter. “hi louis!”
“not you again,” louis’s sigh is audible from the kitchen, and lando practically pouts.
“so, what’re we doing?” he says, taking a box of tarts from a shelf and also putting them on the counter. “did i ruin some kind of romantic moment?”
“no.”
“are you sure? seems like it.”
you shake your head in exasperation, moving to scan the items on the counter.
“kind of glad i didn’t,” lando says, pulling out his card and looking at oscar. “we’ve gotta go somewhere.”
“what?” oscar answers. “where?”
“strictly confidential.”
“what?”
“racing business,” lando shrugs, scooping up everything into his arms. “let’s go.”
“you couldn’t have texted me?”
“i knew you were here—plus i need a restock on all this.”
oscar glances at you, and you smile.
“go,” you say, gently nudging him towards lando. “i’ll text you later about those dinner plans.”
“dinner plans?” lando repeats, a grin making it's way onto his face as him and oscar start walking towards the door. "knew i walked into something."
you hear oscar mutter a 'shut up, mate', and as the doorbell rings again, he looks back at you. the silence that fills the space is immediate, and you hate the fact you already miss him so much.
“you’ve gotta wait for the water to boil.”
“it’s already boiled.”
“i just turned the stove on.”
you’re standing in your kitchen, arms crossed as you watch the pot of water.
“i feel useless.”
“you’re not useless,” oscar says, smiling as he opens up your fridge. “do you only have milk, eggs, sugar and flour in your kitchen?”
“i’ve got wine.”
“that’s not an ingredient.”
“sometimes it is.”
he shuts your fridge again, moving to stand beside you.
“see? now it’s boiling,” he points to the water. “you know how to cook pasta, right?”
“clearly not,” you mutter, grabbing the pack of fettuccine. “i could probably make this though. the fettuccine.”
“it’s already made for a reason.”
“i could make it better.”
“i know you could,” he opens the pack, handing it back to you. “but we’re cooking, not baking, remember?”
you sigh, watching him grab ingredients from a plastic bag and setting them onto a chopping board.
“this is unfair.”
“how?” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “unfair because it’s not you doing everything anymore?”
“exactly. i’m not used to doing nothing,” you complain. “it doesn’t feel right. i should be stirring something, or checking up on something. my hands are literally itching to do something but i can’t because i have no clue how to cook—this is torture.”
“yeah?”
“if louis were here he’d be just like me. actually no, i think he’d be good at cooking. he’s like experienced in everything—did you know he speaks italian too? on top of english and french. i think it might be my lifelong dream to be as skilled as him.”
“mhm.”
“he’s lived like twenty different lives too. he waved the checkered flag once in monaco, did you know that? schu…what was his name?”
“schumacher?”
“yes, him. he won that race. louis brings this kinda thing up every now and then. i wouldn’t be surprised if he reveals he’s raced or something before,” you glance over at the pot, “can i put the fettuccine in?”
oscar pauses, eyebrows raising, “have you not?”
“you never told me to!” you say defensively, scrambling to dump the pasta in the water. “you need to specify. i’m not a mind reader.”
“i just assumed,” he says, clearly amused. “it’s fine. it won’t make a difference.”
“now what do i do?”
he moves his attention back onto the chopping board.
“keep talking,” is all he says. “i’m listening.”
you end up sitting up on the counter, lazily watching him cook while you tell him about anything and everything that crosses your mind. he looks at you every now and then, with that same smile you’d started noticing more than you should’ve.
“i feel bad,” you say, the pasta halfway finished on your plate. it was good, better than good, and you’d already told him about twenty times. “i did absolutely nothing.”
“nah,” he frowns, sitting opposite you. “you kept me company. it’s like listening to music while baking, except it’s just you.”
“are you comparing my voice to music?”
“sure,” he says, like its the most casual thing in the world.“y’know. 15 year old me would be shocked at the fact oscar piastri is sitting in my apartment, eating dinner with me,” you mutter, scooping up more of the fettuccine and bringing it to your lips.
“honestly? me too.”
“you were so…closed off back then.”
“says you.”
“i wasn’t closed off!” you argue. “you just never approached me.”
“how was i supposed to approach you?”
“maybe by coming up to me during one of the millions of family dinners we had.”
“you were so reserved. that was practically impossible.”
you put your fork down, fully turning to him. it’s only then you realise he’s already staring.
blush creeps onto your face, the same one you’d usually blame on the weather or the constant warmth of the ovens in the bakery, but you’re not blaming it on anything but him now.
he notices. you watch him notice, you watch the amusement on his features turn into something else. something you can’t place. there’s faint sweat on his neck from cooking, his hair is messy in the perfect way. his shirt hugs him just right, and before you know it, you’re subconsciously leaning the slightest bit closer to him.
it hits you then.
“oscar,” you say, though you’re not sure why.
he lets out a hum in response, mindlessly, like a reflex.
you want to kiss him. you want to move even closer, you want his hands around your waist again, you want the familiar warmth of him.
before you can give in, you move back, clearing your throat and shifting on your chair.
“i wasn’t reserved. i was cautious—you were intimidating, y’know? really intimidating,” you avoid looking at him, picking up your fork, even though you had no intention of eating. “did i seriously seem closed off to you? sorry about that, really, really sorry—”
you sense him move before you look at him.
his hand reaches for yours, tugging you towards him.
“shut up for a second,” he mutters, and then he’s kissing you. the sound of your fork falling against the plate is loud, sudden, but neither of you pull away. your hands are moving up to his hair, and his fingers are tightening around your wrist, pulling you closer.
it’s soft, slow, perfect in every way imaginable. he’s almost hesitant, like he’s giving you the option to move away, but you don’t.
neither of you do.
you pull away after what feels like a lifetime. his hair is messier now, your face feels like it’s burning, and your heart is pounding against your chest.
“you kissed me,” you state, blinking, practically dazed.
he nods, slowly, like he’s partially stunned too, “and you kissed me back.”
“...huh,” you scoff, quietly.
he doesn’t move when you lean forward again.
he doesn’t move when you stand, body pressed against his, until he presses you against the counter, hands traveling up your waist like they were meant to be there. you feel him smile against you, the same smile you’d seen countless times over the span of a month.
when you break apart again, breathless, filled with so many emotions at once, he laughs, forehead falling onto your shoulder. you stay there, hands still in his hair, the warmth of him pressing into your skin.
it doesn’t feel anything other than right.
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ynln eighty-one
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oscarpiastri ❤️
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lando rare post without any form of bread in it
ynln lol i hate you
user10 OMG I KNEW IT
user11 this is the cutest thing ever
user12 mclaren x yn collab confirmed
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juliette.faure what did i say!!!
ynln LMAO
liked by ynln, lando, and others
oscarpiastri i now know how to bake
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lando did you two swap instagrams or something
user13 pls this is so cute
user14 AWH no wonder he's been to this bakery 24/7 lately
ynln love you ❤️
Content: angst, reader is being cheated on (not by Bucky), I’m not from NYC so if the directions don’t make sense I used Google maps and a dream, hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff
Synopsis: Bucky notices the same man ordering two bouquets from his floral shop each month and sets out to let you know the truth.
A/N: written for @buckybarnes82 / this idea has been in my notes for a while. I hope you like it!
Main Masterlist | Bucky Masterlist
———
Bucky opens up the online order page to yet another order from the same name - always two bouquets of two dozen red roses wrapped in craft paper and tied with twine. The only divergence every month is what the man requests to be written on the notecards with the flowers.
Today, he requested card number one to say: To my wife, you are the heart of our home and the light of my life. With love, Your Husband. Card number two’s request: To my best girl, you keep me young and alive. Thank you for being mine. I’ll see you this weekend, Your Man.
Bucky’s Blooms prides itself on its customer service, fresh floral arrangements, and client privacy, but damn, if this particular client isn’t getting under Bucky’s skin with his orders. Besides the fact that the man is clearly cheating on his wife and some other woman, he doesn’t tip Bucky’s delivery driver, Joaquin, when he orders the flowers.
“I’m not driving up to Tribeca and then all the way to Forest Park with no tip again, man,” Joaquin grumbles as he starts on the familiar bouquets. “That’s a trek on a light traffic day.”
“It’s fine,” Bucky says. “Why don’t you man the shop for a bit? I’ll make these deliveries. Besides, I need to stop in Bushwick for more craft paper and some other supplies.”
“No, I’m sorry, sir. I’ll go. I apologize for complaining,” the young man says.
“Really, Joaquin, it’s fine,” Bucky assures him. “I need some fresh air, anyway.” He finishes the bouquets, signs off on the handwritten notes with Your Husband and Your Man while trying not to let a shiver run down his spine at the two-timer, and heads out to the delivery van. “Be back in a couple hours,” he says as the shop door shuts behind him.
The drive up from Brooklyn to Tribeca isn’t far, but can take a while with traffic, so Bucky turns on the radio to tune out the noise in his head. It’s not his first time seeing something suspicious like this in the floral business. He's had to write his fair share of questionable notecards, but the fact that this particular client is so smug as to order the bouquets under his real name (yes, Bucky looked him up) on the same day every month, and even have the notecards spell out the situation for him is brazen and stupid and downright awful. He decides right then and there to tell the women about the situation, client privacy be damned.
The “wife” isn’t home when he delivers the bouquet, so he leaves it with the doorman and makes the trip back down to Queens. It’s a nice enough neighborhood, but clearly very different from where the man lives with his wife in Manhattan, and Bucky wonders how they met. They’re clearly from two very different social circles. He double checks the address on the GPS as he looks out the van window at what appears to be a bakery. The address matches, so he shrugs and grabs the bouquet.
As he walks through the bakery doors, he’s hit with the scent of cinnamon and sugar. It’s strong, and reminds him of something his mom used to bake years and years ago.
A head pop ups from behind the counter with a wave. “Welcome in! Let me know if you have questions- oh,” you trail off as you notice the flowers in the man’s arms. “Are those for me?”
Bucky steps up to the counter and eyes your nametag before nodding. You’re beautiful. “Looks like it,” he mutters as he hands the bouquet to you across the counter. The bakery is quiet and empty, and Bucky clears his throat. “I, uh- I own the shop,” he says, nodding to the flowers. “My assistant usually delivers them, but, uh- it’s me today.” Why is he rambling?
“Well, thank you. They are beautiful as always,” you say, closing your eyes as you breathe in the roses. Your eyes flutter open and Bucky thinks his heart stops. You’re something else, and he almost completely forgets what he came here to tell you.
“What is that smell? It’s so familiar, like…” he searches the recesses of his spotty memory for something nearly gone.
“It’s cinnamon coffee cake,” you say. “Fresh out of the oven.”
“Coffee cake,” Bucky says with a nod and a solemn smile, remembering how his mom used to bake that for special occasions. Sometimes there was no cinnamon, but it was better when there was.
“Would you like a slice?” You ask, setting the bouquet on the counter. “It’s still quite hot, though.”
“I- I’d love one. Thank you,” he says, pulling out his wallet to pay.
You wave at him to put it away. “On the house,” you say. “I know the drive out here is far from your shop.”
“Yeah, but that’s okay. It’s nice to get out of the store sometimes,” he says as you put a steaming slice of the cake in front of him on a Robin’s egg blue plate. “Wow, well, thank you.” Bucky makes a mental note to put something in the tip jar by the register before he leaves.
“I’m going to get a vase for these,” you say as you walk to the back of the bakery. Bucky blows on a piece of cake before taking a bite. It’s perfect - better than his mom’s was, actually. You come back with a milky white vase covered in a strawberry print and put the roses inside, fan them out, and set them on the counter. “Beautiful.”
“Do you want anything for the road?” You ask, nodding toward the glass case of baked goods.
“Actually, I need to tell you something,” he says, wringing his hands together nervously. “And I know I shouldn’t from a legal and business standpoint, but I can’t in good conscience keep deliverin’ those bouquets to you and not say something. You seem like a sweet person. You deserve to know.”
Your stomach plummets and your heart starts to race. Echoes of your mom and sister and friends saying things like “too good to be true” and “he’s probably married” play through your head like a film reel.
Bucky senses your anxiety and clears his throat, rethinking if he (a complete and total stranger) should tell you this awful news or not.
“Just tell me” you mutter, gripping the edge of the counter for moral and physical support. “Just say it.”
“He’s married,” Bucky says calmly, setting his fork down on his plate. His eyes search yours, which are quickly filling with tears.
You swallow down the lump in your throat. “And how do you know? You know for certain?”
“He sends two bouquets every month - one to you, and one to his wife,” he says. “Joaquin usually delivers them both, but the asshole never tips. That’s why I came today.”
You lean back against the counter, the pit in your stomach growing by the second. He was supposed to pick you up tonight to drive up to the coast for a weekend away at his cottage. You’ve never once been to his place in the city - not once. For months. That should have been a red flag, but he’s been so charming. You ignored all the signs. And now here you are, faced with the cold, hard truth in the form of yet another bouquet of perfect roses from Your Man. “I- uh, I’m not sure what to say,” you tell the man sitting in front of you. “Thank you for telling me.”
“I’m sorry I had to,” he says solemnly.
“I’d rather know now, you know, than… later.” After you’ve fallen deeper in love with the dickhead. You look back at the roses and shrug. “I can’t get rid of them. They’re too beautiful. Maybe I’ll just pretend they’re from someone else,” you say with a pained laugh.
Bucky smiles at your resilience and nods. “Just pretend they’re my payment for this delicious coffee cake. Just merchants trading goods.”
You genuinely laugh at that and nod. “So, you’re Bucky?”
“I’m Bucky,” he says, offering you his hand to shake. “I wish we were meeting under any other circumstance.”
You shake his hand - it’s warm and calloused. Bigger than yours. “Me too.”
“Are you going to be okay today?” He asks, putting both hands in his pockets. You now notice the glint of a prosthetic on his left and look back to his face.
“I’m going to be just fine,” you assure him.
“Okay, well,” he starts, looking back to the glass of the bakery case. “I’d love a couple biscottis for the road. Dealer’s choice.”
You smile through your sadness and walk around the counter, placing two into a paper bag for him.
“I’m paying,” he says, waving his wallet around.
“You’re not. I owe you one,” you say, crossing your arms.
“You’re stubborn,” he sighs, shaking his head. He pulls a twenty from his wallet and slips it into the tip jar anyway before stepping back from the counter. He knows he should say goodbye. This interaction is over, but there’s a tug in his chest that won’t let him walk out. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”
“Aren’t you from Brooklyn?” You ask. The chances are slim to none that you’ll ever see him again.
“Yeah, but I have a feeling you’ll get flowers again,” he says as his back hits the door to exit the bakery. “Take care.”
———
One Month Later
The bell above the bakery door chimes as you’re elbow deep in a tub of frosting. “Welcome in,” you exclaim, not looking up from the counter.
“D’you have any coffee cake?”
Your head snaps up at the deep voice. He is standing there with a bouquet of pink lilies and a smile. “I told you you’d get flowers again.”
There was a plan. Price was sure there was a plan. He'd ask you out, take you on a few dates until you were comfortable with him, then gently ease the idea of pack dynamics to you, hopefully not scaring you away more than his pack already did after the first time they met you.
They didn't actually scare you away. No, you loved them. You adored Price, and his boys, after you got to know them, turned out to be loveable men too. Not to mention it was nice having company every day. They'd come in, sometimes all of them, sometimes separately, but there's always one of them around at least most of he day; they taste tested new ideas you had, bought pastries, helped with clients sometimes, scared away any creeps, it was honestly the best thing you could ask for: four handsome, fun and caring men, and they weren't exactly bad on the eyes either.
But the plan Price had was destroyed right in front of him as he watched Gaz walk in with the most smug look that man can manage. He had gone to the bakery while the others did their usual chores and what-non. Price immediately knew something was off, eyes zeroing on the glossy lip mark on Gaz's cheek, your gloss.
"Asked the pretty bird on a date. Couldn't help myself captain. They were all sweet talking about missing a night out. Can't blame me for making a move when y' didn't do it before"
He countered. Price couldn't really argue with it, no matter how much he hated it. So he let it slide, glaring at Gaz that night when the hybrid left with a bouquet and a grin.
Then, his plan failed, agan. This time was Soap and Ghost. Ghost didn't even say anything in his defense, while Soap smirked.
"Bonnie liked the idea of date with us. Cannae blame us, cap'"
And there they go, leaving together to see you. And once again, Price is left glaring at the front door. Even worse when they come back that night and slip into their spaces in bed, still smelling of your perfume.
The next time Price went to the bakery, he was pissed. He was sure you'd hate how pissy he was being, he couldn't help it! He was supposed to be the one taking you on dates, you were his, for god's sake. But the moment he walked in and saw you humming, wearing a new silver heart locket around your neck and a bracelet with four little beads — one of each of the boy's eye color, including his stomy blue — and with that loving smile on your face, he melted.
He even forgot he hadn't made real advances on you, just immediately whining and rumbling out in distress as he crossed the bakery over to you. Pushing you back until you were against the counter, then pouting and sticking his face against the side of your neck, huffing.
"Those moppets got t'ya before I could"
he grumbles, and you laugh, because they had already explained the whole pack dynamic to you, and let you think over the idea on your time. You really should've known the handsome wolf captain wasn't coming in daily whenever he was on leave just for the croissants.
"Yeah, they did" you hum, patting him and holding in your laugh as you see his tail wag behind him. "You should've asked me out before, if you didn't want it to happen like it did"
He grumbles loudly, annoyed that you're talking like the others, despite the terribly happy turn his stomach does at hearing the way you're already so close to his pack.
"Tonight. Dress up nice, 'm taking y'out"
he huffs, and you nod, grinning. He eventually pulls back enough to pout at you, frowning and angry, but he looks honestly adorable. His eyes glance over you in your work apron and he puts you on top of the counter like you weight nothing, looking soft suddenly.
"They didn't scare y' away, yeah?"
He mumbles, looking worried, like you really would be scared off. Which granted mot people would probably be overwhelmed by the thought of dating a whole task force of men. Price didn't want to think about not having you in his pack, it made him go crazy inside.
You shake your head, leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Just a brush of your lips against his, but it has him sighing and humming.
"No. But you better make up for not asking me out earlier"
You whisper to him before hopping off the counter and moving inside the kitchen, moments later a few clients walk in and Price takes it as his sign to leave you for now. He had a hell of a date to prepare.
Thinking about domestic reader who likes baking and how that will absolutely conquer Ghost's strict military discipline resolve (I'm reader) (I stuff chocolate chunks in brownies) (and put a shit ton of cinnamon in any cinnamon recipe)
Banger ask omg
I'm thinking like after retirement, Ghost isn't trusted to live on his own due to suicidal tendencies and such and gets connected with caretaker Reader.
At first, Ghost is obviously appalled and resistant to the idea that he even needs a caretaker. He's not some teenager who has to keep the door open all the time. Doesn't matter though, as Reader takes the time to order installments in his shower, stairs, etc for his injuries/old age.
He's rude and hissy towards Reader, insulting and taking out his own helplessness on the only person trying to help. There are many times Reader considers just leaving and giving up the job to someone else, but who else would deal with a snappy old man?
So Reader takes the time to make him food, fluffing, kneading, rolling, cutting, baking, all of it whilst Ghost steals glances at whatever delicious disgusting dish is being made this time.
He turns up his nose the first time a cookie is placed on the side of his sectioned plate, looking up at Reader with a glare.
"What is this."
"Chocolate chip cookie! Made it extra sweet for you."
He glared at you, opens his mouth to retort before you shove a spoonful of curry in his mouth with that sickeningly sweet smile. Reluctantly, he eats your food, eyeing the cookie the entire time like it personally insulted him.
He was is a military operator! He doesn't have the time for sweet treats, food is just nutrition. All these.. lovely seasonings are unnecessary for his palate! He is certain he appreciates despises you with everything he has.
Eventually, once his plate is fully cleaned, you hold the cookie up to his mouth, beckoning him to at least take a bite.
"I'm happy you ate everything! Here, as a reward."
"I'm not a bloody dog, I don't need a fucking re-"
The softness of the cookie melts in his mouth, the sweet sugar and melted chocolate chips are delicious. He does well to steel his expression, but you can see that almost childlike light-up in his eyes as he eats. He swallows slowly and clicks his tongue before asking for another bite.
Summary: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x fe!Reader -> After Natasha presents you with an idea on how to save your family business and legacy, you start to realise maybe marrying Jake Seresin wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Disclaimer: Mostly domestic/wedding fluff, frenemies to lovers, marriage of convenience, reader has to be married in order to inherit her bakery, one bed trope, bit of a slow burn, slow 90s country ballads, mutual pining, he falls first.
“Remind me again why I’m doing this?”
Jake stood behind you, holding your shoulders steady. “Because you love me.”
You paused a little before saying, “That doesn’t sound like me.”
Jake shrugged. “Because you don’t have any other option.”
“Are you sure?”
Jake nodded as he rounded you and stood beside you. The wooden doors seemed to be getting taller. Was that even possible?
“Yep,” Jake told you. “I was there, remember? A total of a gazillion hours and this is your only suitable option.”
You groaned a little, popping your knee back and forth wishing a hole would just open up beneath you and swallow you whole.
“I hate this.”
You could hear the smile growing on Jake’s face. He was enjoying your pain way too much. Looking at him, you watched as he just shrugged.
“It’ll be fun.”
With a loud creak, the doors in front of you both opened wide and the classic wedding march started playing.
If someone had told you three years ago that the one guy on Bradley’s team – the one guy you rarely were able to hold a conversation with, without it turning into a fight – would be the one guy who would step up and come to your rescue in your hour of need…you wouldn’t have believed them.
Jake Seresin wasn’t even the last person on the list of potential suitors to be your husband. Because he wasn’t on the list, full stop.
Until a gazillion hours ago when Natasha, after suspiciously looking between you and Jake who had maintained your usual ten feet distance from one another, gave an extra idea to help save your ass. As well as your business, home and family legacy.
Apparently, when your Great-Aunt didn’t have any kids, nor did she get married, thought it was best to leave a stipulation in her will.
In order to inherit the family business – the one you had been running for her since she retired – and the house – the one that the original bakery was built into – you had to be married.
So, with the fear of losing everything you’d worked at for the last dozen years of your life – on your own, at least – you found yourself agreeing to the last thing you thought you would ever do.
Marry Jake Seresin.
With a quick exchange of vows, a swift (if a little awkward) kiss and papers being signed, you found yourself no longer carrying the same name as your Great Aunt, but rather Jake’s.
“Okay, so,” Natasha started as she pushed you and your husband towards the covered doors of The Hard Deck. “We all kinda know this wedding is a sham, but that doesn’t mean it should be treated like one. And since this is our rare collective week off, we couldn’t let the opportunity go. So, welcome to your Reception. And yes, there will be a first dance.”
“Nat!”
Natasha just smiled and pushed you through the doors as Bob and Coyote held them open.
“Holy shit,” Jake said, a little taken aback.
“You can say that again.”
“Holy shit,” he repeated.
You just looked at him, but only for a second since Bob opened up his mouth with a chuckle.
“Cute. Their first married couple moment.”
Nat smiled as she pushed you both further inside. They’d gone all out. Wedding banners, childhood photos, a decorative dancefloor, a stacked bar, a wedding cake from your bakery, a DJ…it would take you at least six hours to take it all in.
Then people started arriving.
Your family, Jake’s family, the rest of the Dagger Squad, a couple of locals that had paid Penny a lot of money to be able to see the last two people they ever thought would get married do exactly that.
Penny laughed as she took their money, saying she’ll set up a trust fund for your first born child.
“Does your family know?” Jake asked you, quietly, as you looped your arm through his.
You shook your head. “No. Do yours?”
Jake shook his head. “No. What did you tell your folks?”
“As far as they knew, my Great Aunt was leaving everything to me anyway. They have their own legacies they wanted to create, so they were happy for me. They didn’t know about the stipulation.”
Jake gave you a slightly confused look. “Okay, so what did you tell them about me?”
“Well,” you didn’t know why you were nervous admitting something like this to Jake. Especially considering the amount of times you hadn’t thought twice about telling him to fuck off to his face. “I’m not really open with my love life. I told them I’d been seeing someone for almost a year and that I was getting married. They…they were shocked. Very shocked. But…happy. Why, what did you tell your folks?”
“That…” Jake hesitated for a moment before looking back at you. Jesus, it was like his gaze bore into your soul as he spoke. “That I’d met this really great girl and that I was marrying her.”
“That’s it?”
Jake nodded. “That’s it.”
“Nothing else? No time line? Or stipulation? Nothing?”
Jake shook his head. “Figured I’d leave that up to you. Whatever you decide, I’ll back you.”
You took a breath before nodding. “Okay. Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.” You jumped as Bradley appeared beside you both. “The DJ is ready when you are. Mav had the mic so he’s gonna introduce you.”
“Intoduce us? For what?” You asked, but Bradley just smiled.
“Your first dance.”
As if on cue, Mav’s voice rang out of the speakers before a spotlight moved around from the ceiling until it landed on both you and Jake.
“Okay, can I get a big welcome for Mr and Mrs Seresin!”
Mrs Seresin.
You were a Mrs.
You were a Seresin.
“Jake.”
Seeing your panic, Jake simply took your hand and enveloped it in his before leading you towards the middle of the dancefloor as Mav’s voice continued talking over the speakers.
“I-I don’t-I don’t know how to dance,” you quickly told him. “God, what song are they gonna play?”
“Natasha seems to have done a lot of this, so it shouldn’t be too bad. And, hey.” You looked at Jake as he took you in his arms as if it was second nature. “Just focus on me. Trust me. I won’t let you fall.”
“Promise?”
Jake smiled with a small nod as Mav announced the first dance. “I promise. Just trust me, okay?”
You no longer had a voice to use so you just nodded.
As people sat down at booths and tables, clapping, the DJ started playing the music; A slow country ballad When I Said I Do by Clint Black.
And, slowly swaying in the middle of the floor for the first half of the song, you tried not to concentrate too hard on the lyrics or the way it felt being held by Jake. After all, less than a month ago, you’d been having an argument in this very bar about being stuck on the same team for a game of pool.
But, somewhere between the melody and the strangely comforting feeling of Jake’s palm resting against your back, you relaxed into him and felt yourself get lost in the feeling.
Only for a moment.
Because the moment the song faded away, Mav’s voice was whooping back over the speakers and congratulating both yourself and Jake.
What followed, despite your internal warning alarm blaring for you to run away and hide for the rest of eternity, was the seven most heart-warming and heart-breaking hours of your life.
Your family blended so well with Jake’s. His mom and dad loved you, saying as much more than once. And just as much as they were happy to finally have someone to call their daughter, your family was ecstatic over having someone to call their son.
Unbeknownst to them, however, it was all fake.
The moment the twelve month stipulation was over, you and Jake would be filing for divorce immediately. Obviously, the twelve months would be a lot shorter if the circumstances were different around the kind of man you’d chosen to marry.
But Jake wasn’t like that.
For as much as you never got along with him, there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that he wouldn’t hurt you. Never intentionally, at least.
Annoyance, on the other hand? You and him competed with each other as if it was a goddamn sport.
Finally, as the night drew to a close (at least for you and Jake), people whooped and whistled as Jake helped you into the car Penny had hired to drive you both back home.
Supposedly the home you and Jake were meant to be living in together.
So far, he had one box inside your home.
“What time do you need to be up?” Jake asked you as you both walked up the back stairs of your bakery/home.
“Around four.”
“Even after our wedding?”
“It’s not like we’re having an actual wedding night. I plan on digging out my comfiest pajamas and falling straight to sleep.”
Jake smiled, locking your front door as you walked inside ahead of him. “So, uh, I have something to ask you?”
“Considering you willingly married me to save basically my entire life, I don’t think I can say no.”
Jake chuckled. “I appreciate that, but like I said earlier, you don’t have to thank me. And, you might want to say no to this.”
Popping your head back around the corner from the short hallway to your bedroom, you looked at Jake. “Oh, no.”
Still in his suit, if he did look a little worn out from the day. Even more so as he ran a nervous hand through his hair.
“My folks…they want to get to know you better. They asked if they could come and spend the day with us before we go on our honeymoon.”
“We’re having a honeymoon?”
Jake shrugged. “They think we are. I just didn’t tell them any different.”
“Well…” You paused for a moment. “I-I don’t really know what to do. I’ve never been a daughter-in-law before.”
“I could invite them to the bakery. They’d get to see you in action. Maybe find out more about you.”
You grimaced a little. “How badly do you think it’s gonna bite me in the ass when we get divorced in a year?”
Jake felt a little dejected but recovered quickly enough. “Not too much.”
“Then…okay.”
“Okay?”
You nodded. “Okay. But, shit, which day?”
“They said Tuesday.”
Today was Friday.
You nodded and Jake could already see the cogs turning in your head. “Okay. So, we get your stuff moved in here over the weekend…maybe Natasha will have pictures.”
“Pictures?” Jake asked, following you as you moved throughout your apartment.
In your bedroom you found a notepad and pen and started making a list as you ducked in and out of each room.
“We need to make it believable, right? The lawyer just checked the legality of our marriage but my Aunt was thorough. And, I suspect, so will her lawyer. He’ll probably interview our families to see if they actually witnessed us getting married.”
Jake chuckled, catching you in the middle of the hallway. “Okay, we can worry about this tomorrow. Right now, we both need sleep. Decent sleep. Not pre-fake-wedding jitters sleep.”
“You couldn’t sleep either?”
“Okay,” Jake said as she took the notepad and pen from you and laid it on the desk before he turned your shoulders and pushed you towards your bathroom. “Get dressed, I’m gonna find some extra blankets and-”
“You can stay in my room,” you said quickly. “With me. We’ve both had shitty sleep and there’s no point in you sleeping on the sofa. I doubt you’ll have a comfortable sleep and, well, I owe you. Big time.”
Jake shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything. But if the offer stands, then I’ll accept. Your bed does look comfortable."
With a firm nod you agreed before shutting the door to get dressed.
Despite the initial awkwardness of sleeping in the same bed as your new frenemie/husband, the tiredness took over pretty quickly. The next thing you knew, your body clock went off with your alarm and you were tiredly pulling yourself from your bed.
After a quick shower and throwing on the most presentable and comfiest clothes you owned, you made your way downstairs, through the storage units of the bakery and landed inside the kitchen.
With your headphones on, you started working.
Cookies, brownies, cakes, flapjacks – all done in huge batches of different flavours. Your Great-Aunt had started a chain of bakeries and, although you’d try to visit the most local ones as often as you could, working in the original establishment kept you pretty busy.
Beside the sweet treats, lunch was also served. As well as a lot of savoury pieces which, due to the lack of sleep before your wedding you had prepped already.
Just as your wedding came back into your head, so did everything that happened afterwards. The quiet ride home with Jake, the congratulations texts as you walked through the door which you were yet to open, the question from Jake and-
Jake.
He was still asleep when you left him. At least, you thought he was. If not, he made a damn good impression.
By the time your staff started entering, you’d already finished most of the morning batches.
“Why the hell are you here? You should still be in bed!” Rosie told you as she spotted you in the back of the kitchen.
You chuckled. “I’ve got a business to run. And he knew who he was marrying.”
“That I did.”
Rosie yelped and jumped out of the way as Jake appeared behind her in the doorway, looking (you had to admit) all different kinds of handsome in the early morning light of the bakery.
“I’ll give you two some time,” Rosie smiled before taking her leave to set up the register and seating area.
“Sleep well?”
Jake nodded. “Better than I have done in a while. You know, you could have stayed in bed longer.”
“I needed to do all of this.”
“And we’re also meant to be marketing our new found wedded-bliss.”
“God, you’re really taking this seriously.”
Jake shrugged with a happy but tired smile. “Like I said, it can be fun.”
“Well, my dear husband, fun will have to wait. I’ve already got orders coming in.”
“Want some help?”
Although you would have usually bitten his head off for asking, telling him it was fine and you would sort it, the ache and tiredness started to take over your body.
Maybe you should have taken a day off.
“Sure. Go and help Rosie in the front.”
What followed were the oddest three hours of your life; Jake felt like he was your friend and not some guy that drove you insane. Penny stopped by to drop off the wedding photos she’d gotten a rush order on just as your Great Aunt’s lawyer waltzed through the front door.
You were sweating buckets as his eyes remained on you and Jake for the duration of his stay. He looked through your wedding photos with Jake – you prayed he was just as good of an actor as he was with you when he was swaying with you on the dancefloor.
When you finally got a few minutes to take a break, you signed the official ownership documents to your entire world; your home, the bakery, the legacy left by your Great Aunt.
And as Rosie locked up the bakery, you and Jake started shifting things from his home and into yours. Enough, at least, to make it seem natural that he lived with you.
During which you both discussed what Jake would be doing with his place whilst he was living with you. Since he owned his property, he could rent it out. It seemed like the most logical plan. And, it wouldn’t look as suspicious to the lawyer that promised he’d come and visit the bakery more often – even if it was just for his favourite cookies in all of San Diego.
All in all, the first few months of ‘married’ life ran smoother than you had expected.
Jake’s parents came to visit when they could. They got to know you more, but it almost broke something in you when his mom started talking about how you had a forever home in the Seresin’s.
Oddly, you and Jake found a nice friendship despite how you’d both come to know each other just over three years ago. At the time, you’d only known Bradley and Natasha.
You’d known them for years, but never once had you met ‘Hangman’. The personal bane to Bradley’s life. And the moment you met him, you could see why. Which was how he became the bane of your existence.
Until the day he agreed with Natasha that marrying you didn’t seem like such a bad idea. You’d get to secure your entire life, and you didn’t have to jump into anything with someone you didn’t know. He was also single and, since the last couple of dates he’d been on had resulted in him wishing he’d stuck to staying away from the dating apps, he was willing to stick up for you, it seemed like a good idea.
Everyone else was either hitched or about to be, so they were a no go. There was no loophole. It was Jake or lose everything.
And, even though you hadn’t expected it, marrying Jake was one of the best decisions you’d ever agreed to. Aside from the fact your Great Aunt believed you needed someone by your side as you ran your life (despite having done it all on your own for the last twelve years), Jake had become an actual friend.
Someone who you couldn’t wait to see at the end of the day. Someone you could share the quiet moments with. Someone who, despite knowing you didn’t share much, often didn’t have to ask.
You didn’t know how he knew. But somehow, Jake seemed to know you better than you knew yourself some days.
But that only became a problem ten months into your fake marriage.
After months of friendship, apologies for judging each other the way you did in the beginning and late nights of talking about anything and everything, you started to realise you were catching feelings.
You wanted to say they were the last thing you expected to catch when around Jake Seresin all the live long day, but you…couldn’t. Not after the last ten months.
Surprisingly, he was easy to open up to. And to let in.
Despite the act he put on around his co-workers – although, you doubted it was all an act – Jake was a lot softer and calmer underneath his fighter pilot exterior.
It probably didn’t help your case that you were also starting to enjoy calling him your husband. A small part of you always figured you’d end up just like your Aunt. Not lonely, per se. But definitely alone.
Maybe a dog or two.
Your work life kept you pretty busy. And even when you weren’t working, you were thinking of work. New recipes, new designs, expansions, updates, staff rotas, ingredients shipping, storage space, health and safety. The list seemed to never end.
But Jake seemed to get it.
Granted, the marriage was still fake. And so was your relationship. But…
Each time the doubt creeped in and you tried to set the reality for yourself that the only reason it was working out with Jake was because you weren’t really married, Jake would do or say something that made you yearn that it was all real.
“I know you’ve only been married less than a year,” your mom said as she poured everyone a glass of lemonade each. “But-”
“We wanna know when you’re gonna start having our grandbabies,” Jake’s mom cut in.
Apparently since your wedding, your parents had exchanged numbers and became practically attached at the hip.
“Mom!” Jake scolded just as you did the same with your own mom.
They both just looked at each other and smiled. “What?”
Looking at Jake, he seemed to be holding a similar expression to you. Shock. Maybe a little humor.
It was nice to see your parents getting along. Even if your marriage was a sham, their friendship didn’t have to be.
“Mom, can we please not? Just for today?” You asked, covering your face as you leaned in closer on the picnic bench.
It didn’t do much in the way of helping you escape from the comfortable hold Jake had with his arm wrapped around you. But part of you was relieved when he shuffled closer to you, his thumb absentmindedly brushing your side.
“Mom,” Jake looked at his own mother. “It’s still early days, okay?”
Both your moms seemed to be more than a little dejected. “We know, honey. But…time flies by when you’re married.”
“Mom,” Jake warned again.
“She’s right, honey,” your mom said to you. “Time’s a-tickin’”
“Mom!”
“Relax, sweetie,” you dad said as he came back out from the house, closing his book and laying his reading glasses inside his pocket shirt. “Your mom’s ran out of things to make for her bookclub and someone told her baby clothes would be a good idea.”
“Sweetheart,” Jake’s dad said to his wife. “Leave the kids alone. They’ll have kids when they’re good and ready.”
“Thank you, dad.”
“Oh, hush, you,” Jake’s mom said as her husband sat down beside her. “You’re just as bad. He’s so ready to be a granddaddy.”
You tried to keep the fear inside you as best as you could despite the small laugh that left you.
As your parents leapt into discussing what your future children would look like before diverting off into stories from when you were kids, you took the small escape into the house.
Only when he knew it was safe to do so – the moment both of your parents forgot you were both sitting right in front of them – did Jake make his escape, too.
He walked around slowly, taking everything in.
Since the businesses kept your family busy, and Jake’s family had their own lives back in Texas, your parents had come up with the idea of monthly dinners.
The weather was starting to turn colder as the summer drew to a close and Fall fully took hold, so he hadn’t spent much time inside your childhood home.
The walls were littered with different pictures, all of you at different ages. Some were from your family vacations, your graduation, your parents life together as a married couple, friends and extended family.
Looking around, the furniture was worn but loved. It was almost like each creak of the floorboards, or scar on the sofa held a little story you were yet to tell him.
They usually came late at night when you were too tired to keep your walls up. Those were some of Jake’s favourite moments with you.
“Hey,” Jake found you in the kitchen.
“Hey,” you managed to smile back. “Sorry for leaving you.”
Jake just shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. Sorry about my folks.”
“I’m sorry about mine, too.”
“Guess they really love that their only children got married.”
You chuckled. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Pushing himself from the doorframe, Jake walked over to you. “I know this marriage didn’t have its most conventional start, but we did swear vows together.”
You took a breath as you wrapped your arms around your just a little tighter. But with Jake’s hands running up and down the top of your arms, you let out a sigh.
“Talk to me,” he said, softly. “What’s going on?”
“It’s nothing, really.”
“Y/n.”
Looking at him, it struck you hard in your chest that you couldn’t lie to him. You didn’t want to lie to him.
“Okay,” your voice broke, quietly. “It’s just…between our families, our friends and…us, I guess. It’s just…sometimes this feels too…” You let out another sigh and lowered your voice. “Jake, we’re meant to be getting divorced in two months.”
Jake felt his heart take another punch. “I know.”
“And it's just…all of it…” You shook your head. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“C’mere,” Jake pulled you into him, and it didn’t take you a second thought to wrap your arms around him and hold him just a little tighter.
“I know this feels like a lot right now,” he told you. “But we’ll get through it. Together.”
You swallowed a little before nodding and curling into him.
A few hours later, good food had been eaten and good conversation had been shared. And, just as the stars settled over the sky and you and Jake should have been in bed, you were standing on the back porch of your home listening to the light whistle of the wind.
You didn’t jump as Jake’s hand settled across your back or winded around to your front. Instead, you relaxed into his chest as he held you gently against him.
“Jake,” you said, his name leaving your lips like a whisper into the wind.
“You feel it too?” He asked you, his lips by the shell of your ear. You closed your eyes. “That’s why you’re out here?”
“Two more months, Jake,” you told him. “It’s just meant to be two more months.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Jake.”
“I know you feel it, too. And I know that you’re scared. But you don’t have to be. We can take it as slow as you want.”
“We’re already married,” you pointed out. “And sleep in the same bed. And live in the same house.”
“So, we take it slower.”
“Jake-”
“I want you in my life, Y/n.” Jake told you as you turned around to face him. “I want you as my wife, too. I know we didn’t come together in the most conventional way, and we’re probably the last two people on this planet that expected to be what we are but I think we were brought together for a reason.”
“Because it was Natasha’s idea.”
Jake chuckled. “That too. Maybe we skipped the first couple of steps, but, you know, conventional can be boring.”
“Jake, my track record for dates isn’t great. I work too much. When I’m not working, I’m thinking about work-”
“You forget I’ve been married to you for the last ten months. And I’ve known you for four years. You work hard, Y/n. And that’s something to be proud of. And I’m proud of you, too.”
It struck you harder than you expected, hearing that Jake was proud of you.
“I want to be there for you, Y/n. Through it all. The early mornings, the late nights, I want us to keep doing what we’re doing, together. I am madly in love with you. Kind of embarrassingly so.”
You chuckled a little as he held you closer to him.
“And if you wanna take this slower than a snail’s pace, or you want to start building a nursery space right now, then I’m with you. No matter what.”
You couldn’t help but smile. “We can go a little faster than a snail’s pace.”
Fixing the hair beside your face, Jake cupped your cheek. “Does that mean I can kiss you now?”
“Yes.”
“Thank God.”
In ten months, you and Jake had shared exactly three kisses. The first on the altar, which was swift but awkward. The second was during the reception photos when your parents wanted one of you and Jake sharing a kiss just outside The Hard Deck. That one had felt odd, but not bad. Almost like faking a kiss was natural. And the third had been late at night, sitting out on the porch. You’d had a long day of dealing with extra shitty customers and Jake had been dealing with egotistical pilots that thought they were better than their several instructors.
Neither of you had talked or mentioned the third kiss after it had happened. But you would never forget it. It was soft, if a little nervous. Two things you hadn’t expected in a kiss from Jake Seresin.
But this kiss; the Fourth.
It was like breathing a sigh of relief.
Finally,
Finally.
Holding onto your face as he backed you against the railing, Jake stopped to catch his breath as he leaned his forehead against your own.
“Wait here.”
“Where are you going?”
Jake didn’t say much, but he did smile at you as he flicked on the radio you kept on the window cill. The familiar melody of The Keeper of the Stars by Tracy Byrd started to dance around the back porch.
“What are you doing?”
Jake took your hand in his before he pulled you into him, both of you swaying gently to the melody. “Redoing our First Dance.”
“Why?”
“Because, as perfect as it was,” Jake smiled as he turned you around and pulled you back in. “That was for show. This. This right here. This is just for us.”
You smiled as he held you closer to him. “I love you, Jake Seresin.”
With your hand still enclosed in his, Jake ran a finger down the side of your face, his gaze gently leaning into your own before he closed his eyes and leaned against you and lightly sang along to the lyrics.
“There really are no words to show my gratitude. So I tip my hat to the keeper of the stars, when he joined these two hearts.”
Closing your own eyes, you let the moment capture itself in your memory. The way his arms held you, a silent promise to never let you go or let you fall. The song, the lyrics, the moment. All of it. With Jake.
“I hold everything when I hold you in my arms, and I’ve got all I’ll ever need, thanks to the keeper of the stars.”
Red Hood x baker!reader || Masterlist || Request!
A/N: Based this off of my cousin because last time I visited her she baked me delicious matcha cookies and white chocolate ones! Hope you enjoy this!
Meeting
Jason finds Sugar & Sin—your cozy, always-open bakery in the Narrows—around 3:30 a.m. one night when he’s too wired from patrol to sleep and too hungry to go home.
He walks in hooded, scarred hands stuffed in his pockets, orders the blackest coffee you have and the last cinnamon roll behind the glass. You hand it over with a quiet “Long night?” and a small, genuine smile. He mutters a thanks and sits in the corner booth, eating slowly while watching you roll dough under the warm kitchen lights.
He starts coming back. Night after night. Always cash, always the same booth, orders slowly escalating: pain au chocolat, lemon curd tarts, your ridiculous chocolate-hazelnut babka. He never talks much, but he lingers longer each time.
You notice the patterns: the way he winces when he reaches too high (old shoulder injury), how he always orders extra sugar when he’s had a bad patrol, the faint metallic tang of gun oil under his hoodie. You start leaving him little extras—a warm cookie “because it was gonna get thrown out,” a sticky note saying “Lavender shortbread tomorrow. Don’t be late.” His tips turn obscene. He starts leaving single red roses (stolen from who-knows-where) tucked under the bag in return.
Finding Out
Seven weeks in, your bakery gets targeted.
Closing shift. You’re wiping down the marble counter when the front door gets kicked open—three guys, knives and bravado, yelling for the cash drawer.
Before you can even reach the bat, the side window shatters. Red Hood drops in like a meteor—red helmet gleaming, cape snapping, rubber bullets flying. He has them down and tied in seconds.
When the dust settles, he turns to check on you. You’re standing there, bat half-raised, staring from the helmet… to the familiar roll of that left shoulder… back to the helmet.
“Seriously?” you deadpan, lowering the bat. “The exact same shoulder shrug when you grab your coffee. The way you always limp in on Thursdays after patrol. And now you’re bleeding through your fancy red jacket in my kitchen.”
He goes rigid. The helmet seals pop with a hiss. Jason Todd looks back at you—hair a disaster, split lip, eyes wide like he’s been caught stealing cookies from the jar.
You sigh, grab the first-aid kit, and jerk your thumb at the prep stool. “Sit down before you ruin my floor. And next time you want to flirt, just say hi like a normal person instead of stalking my bakery for two months.”
He laughs—rough, startled, real—and lets you clean the cut while muttering, “The babka really is that good, though.”
The Secret Relationship
Things shift fast but softly. He starts showing up after patrol in civilian clothes—hoodie, leather jacket, helmet stashed on his bike—leaning on the counter while you close, asking real questions: “Why punch down the dough?” “How do you get the layers so even?”
You teach him to bake. He’s impatient and heavy-handed at first, but he gets obsessive. Within weeks he’s your designated croissant folder—perfectly even, never tearing the butter packet. You ban him from the mixer after he turns a batch of royal icing into a snowstorm, but he’s weirdly talented at piping: tiny buttercream flowers, elegant script on cakes. He pretends it’s nothing.
He teaches you self-defense in the back alley at stupid o’clock. Starts gentle—wrist escapes, palm strikes—then knives, because this is Gotham. You’re fast; he’s proud when you flip his own blade back at him during a drill. He pins you against the wall afterward and kisses you until you’re both breathless.
Domestic bliss at 4 a.m.: him falling asleep on your couch with flour on his cheek, you using his thigh as a pillow while proofing dough. He leaves perfect plain croissants on the counter before dawn with notes like Don’t overwork, sugar. You call him “jaybird” or “dough boy.” He calls you “trouble,” “chef,” “mine.”
Every patrol ends at your back door. You hand him a warm bag—labeled things like For the grumpy vigilante who denies he loves pain au chocolat or Tell your “friend” the éclairs are peak today. He brings them home without fail.
The Others Finding Out
Jason has been bringing home pastries from her bakery after patrols and proclaims that he has a 'friend' who baked too much and gave some
The others didn't really comment on it but were secretly curious of who this 'friend' is.
Their suspicion because Jason cancels patrol.
“Busy tonight,” he says over comms, voice clipped. “Handle the East End without me.”
The family immediately smells bullshit.
Dick: “Busy? Since when does Jason get ‘busy’?”
Tim: “His signal’s still in the Narrows. Moving slow. Like… he's gonna get laid-slow.”
Steph: “We’re following him. Right now.”
Damian: “Tt. If he’s wasting time, I want proof.”
Bruce sighs but doesn’t stop them. Curiosity wins.
They tail him—Dick swinging rooftops, Tim on bike, Steph and Duke in a civilian car, Damian lurking in shadows. They watch Jason park his bike behind Sugar & Sin, pull off the helmet, shake out his hair, and walk in the back like he owns the place.
They creep closer. Through the window they see: Jason in a black apron (way too small on him), sleeves rolled up, standing next to you at the prep table. You’re laughing, guiding his hands through folding dough—his big scarred fingers surprisingly careful under yours. He’s got flour on his nose. You lean up and kiss it off. He grins like an idiot and kisses you properly—slow, stupidly soft.
The comms explode.
Dick (screaming whisper): “OH MY GOD HE’S DATING THE BAKER—”
Steph: “HE’S WEARING AN APRON. HE’S BAKING. I’M GONNA CRY—”
Tim: “There’s video. I have video. This is blackmail for life.”
Damian: “Disgusting. He’s… smiling. Like a normal person.”
Duke (horrified delight): “He just called her ‘sugar.’ I need bleach for my brain.”
They’re so loud Jason’s head snaps up. He sees the silhouettes at the window, curses, and yanks the blinds down—but it’s too late.
Back at the Cave later, everyone’s waiting like a firing squad. Jason walks in, still dusted with flour, arms crossed, looking ready to murder.
Dick starts: “So… ‘busy,’ huh?”
Before Jason can snarl, Alfred steps forward with a tea tray, utterly serene. “If I may, Master Jason has been ‘busy’ every Tuesday and Thursday for the past four months assisting Miss [Your Name] with her overnight bakes. The almond croissants have shown marked improvement since he mastered the retarder settings at 38°F.”
Silence. Then—
Dick: “ALFRED KNEW?!”
Tim: “You’ve been sitting on this for MONTHS—”
Steph: “You let us place bets?!”
Damian: “Pennyworth. Treachery of the highest order.”
Alfred raises one perfect eyebrow. “I have known since the gentleman first inquired after my grandmother’s shortbread recipe ‘for a friend.’ The rose-petal residue on his gloves and the persistent scent of Miss [Your Name]’s lavender hand cream were… rather telling. One might think a family of self-proclaimed detectives would have noticed such obvious clues.”
The screaming restarts—louder. Jason just groans, drags a hand down his face (smearing more flour), and mutters, “I’m moving to Blüdhaven.”
Later he shows up at your place looking like he’s survived a war: flour still in his hair, cheeks flushed from embarrassment, carrying the world’s saddest, most lopsided apology cake he tried to bake alone.
You laugh until you can’t breathe, wipe the frosting off his jaw, kiss him stupid, and tell him Alfred gets free pastries for life.
The family never recovers. Alfred starts dropping by the bakery with polite thank-you notes on embossed cardstock. Jason pretends he’s mortified every time you tease him about it.
He still shows up every night for his bag of pastries. The “friend” line is retired forever—but the late-night baking dates? Those are sacred.
summary: You’re a baker with some pretty freaky instincts and get pulled into a string of mysterious pet disappearances by your chaotic, but amazing, handsome, and kind detective best friend, Joseph. Which is how he’d say it. As you guys chase the truth, your long-hidden feelings finally surface, and threaten to change your partnership forever.
contains: smut (p in v, oral sex for reader, dry humping), yearning joseph?, fattie joseph, fluff, light angst
wc: 11.36k
a/n: this is my first fanfic ever and took embarrassingly long. I hope you guys enjoy, and I would love to get some constructive criticism! Enjoy :) 🤍
8:26 PM Wednesday
The bell above your bakery door rings as you put the cinnamon rolls in the fridge to sit overnight. Confused, since you clearly turned the sign over to ‘closed’, you turn and lay your eyes on Joseph. Oh great.
“Yo, have any of those pistachio cinnamon rolls? Oh, and coffee.” He asks unapologetically as he enters and closes the door behind him. You start to wonder why you haven’t started locking the door after closing.
You glance at him with a deadpan expression, already exhausted from the 4 PM rush today.
“Not even a ‘hello’ or ‘hi, how are you?’ Guess that’s how it is when you’re a fat chud.” He feigns an offended expression, hand flying to his chest dramatically. “But to answer your question, there’s no cinnamon rolls but there is coffee.”
“First of all, I am no chud. Just a tired and overworked detective. Difference.” Or so he claims.
He sits at the table nearest to the counter as you begin to brew the vanilla coffee, his favorite. As the coffee brews you grab a few macarons from the display case, placing them on a plate. He glances over at you as you do. You sidelong glance at him, already knowing what’s about to come.
“So, what’s the rant for today, Jojo?” I ask, walking around the counter and placing the plate in front of him.
Joseph, the oh so fattie that he is, pulls the plate closer to him and grabs two macarons, raspberry and chocolate.
“How’d you know I was gonna rant?”
“When are you not?”
“Touché.”
“Well anyway,” he starts, practically consuming the chocolate macaron whole. “I had the most annoying day today, dude!” He begins, eyes following you around as you fill up two mugs with coffee. “I was out checking out this case, the one about the missing cat, remember?”
“Remi?” You ask, recalling the little kitty’s name. You place his mug in front of him, sitting across from him. He nods, taking a sip of the coffee.
“Yup. So, I went to the crazy cat lady’s place to check it out once again. And, dude… I was so close to killing myself.” A small chuckle escapes from your lips. “Why? Did she offer to give you one of those ‘kitty massages’ again?” “Yes, but that’s not the point.” You raise an eyebrow, even more curious now. You nod for him to continue.
“We’ve already established that she has like ten thousand cats in that house, so we can move past that.” He adds, finishing the last of his chocolate macaron. “I’m literally sitting on her couch, kay? Asking questions as I’d usually do, and tell me why this lady totally ignores the fact that like fifty of her cats are crawling all over me.”
You roll your eyes, expecting something more serious as you smack your teeth. “Mmcht, my lobster is too juicy and buttery,” you mock his dramatics. “Like dude, who doesn’t want kitties crawling all over them?”
“Nobody! Not when they smell like piss all the time.”
“Oh. Valid.”
He sighs before taking another sip of his coffee. “I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna have to deal with this. I mean, she probably didn’t even really lose the cat. It’s gotta be hidden among the other thousand cats she has.” When he says that, you think back to his other rants about this case.
“Didn’t you say that Remi was the really freaked out cat?” He nods, thinking back on what the over sharing cat lady mentioned previously. “Yeah, but awww. You remember what I tell you! You literally love me, there’s no denying it now.” He teases, completely oblivious to the very teensy crush you’ve kept hidden under everything.
You’ve been friends with Joseph ever since your freshman year in college, and have been finding him strangely more attractive and funnier than usual (cough cough, liking him but refuse to admit) ever since he had protected you from a creep a few months ago.
Your breath slightly hitches, yet completely going past his attention. Defending yourself, you blurt out quickly: “Ew don’t say stuff like that. You’re nasty.” He grins, letting out a hearty laugh—one that doesn’t deny his exhaustion from work. “The more you deny it, the more it becomes true…” He wiggles those beautifully thick eyebrows at you, teasing once more. You take one last sip of your coffee, ignoring his remarks as you continue.
“Doesn’t the crazy cat lady have a neighbor with a male cat? And didn’t she mention that Remi was always looking out the window, towards the neighbors house?” Joseph nods, placing both elbows on the table—more intrigued and focusing on your words.
“Well, what if Remi escaped over to that house? Considering she’s freaked out and all. Probably wanted a baddie.” You shrug. “I mean can you really blame a girl for wanting some fun?” Joseph’s brows furrow, considering that your theory might not actually be too terrible.
“Wait. I swear—if you’re right all along, I’ll treat you to something.” You blink, clearly not expecting that. “Yeah, like what?”
“Anything you want, I promise. I cannot deal with that lady and her cats anymore.” He groans in his hands, thinking back on the memories with her from the past two weeks. “I mean it’s only a thought, you shouldn’t take it so—” You’re cut off with a hearty sigh escaping Joseph’s lips as he takes the last sip of his coffee. Joseph stands up abruptly, the chair screeching slightly against the floor.
“You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, dude.” Joseph walks over to your side, gripping your shoulders. “I owe you one, alright?” He winks, those fluttering long lashes brushing against his cheek as he grins.
“I’ll catch ya later! Oh—and save me some of those pistachio cinnamon rolls.” He states over his shoulder as he walks to the door. He pauses at the door, gazing over your hair—eyes pausing on a cupcake clip in it. “That’s cute. You should wear more things like that.” And just like that, he exits and waltzes off as if he didn’t just leave your heart hammering like crazy.
2:17 PM, Thursday
You’re passing a customer’s caramel apple pie slice when Joseph practically barges in as if he owns the place—cheeky grin and all. He pushes past the line to get to you, muttering ‘excuse me’s’ and apologies. You glare at him, apologizing to the customer who was about to order before he cut them off.
“Joseph, what the heck are you doing?” He ignores your glare, clearly about to start ranting. Before he can start, you cut him off with a hand to his face. “Dude, if you’re going to start—at least come to this side. You’re blocking up the line.” You state with a roll of your eyes.
“Fineee, so bossy.” He relents, walking over to where you stand. You apologize for Josephs’ behavior once again when he starts ranting in a hushed tone while you work. “So, remember what you told me yesterday?”
“What? That you’re a fat chud?”
“That is not what I meant, asshole.” He rolls his eyes, but continues nonetheless. “I meant about the cat. Remember that?” You nod, handing the customer their order and receipt. “What about it?”
“You were right.”
You pause slightly, taking a quick glance to his face before continuing your work. “Actually? Say you swear.” He leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “Swear, dude. You’re literally magic.” You try to ignore how he has your neck heating up from his sweet words. “So the cat was genuinely freaked out?”
“Mhm, and pregnant.”
A surprised laugh escapes you before you quickly stifle it, attempting to act professional at your work place. “Seriously?” He nods and you shake your head, tending to the last customer that’s in the line. “Damn, kitty’s got more game than me.” He leans closer to you, “Do you not understand what this means? You should totally become a detective like me! We’d be the best partners out there.” You wipe your hands on your apron, leaning against the counter like he is.
“You’re serious aren’t you?”
“Uhh, obviously?” He answers as if it was obvious.
“You’re crazy, Jojo. I’m supposed to be baking until I’m a little old granny baking for my grandkids. I have a whole mood board. You know this.” You’ve always been baking. Ever since you met Joseph, and practically since you were born. It’d be crazy to just let it go.
“Well, it was worth a shot I guess. You’re still a psychic though. Won’t change my mind on that.”
“Oh, please. What’s next? I’m a psychic alien?”
“Maybe.”
“If I’m an alien, I hope I’m Yoda.”
“No, you’re E.T.”
You give a sidelong glance, handing him his long awaited pistachio cinnamon roll. “I shouldn’t even be giving you this for free after that comment.”
“You love me, so you’ll always give me free things.” Your heart stutters, eyes darting around the room before calming down. “It’s Opposite Day,” You defend.
“Well, if it was Opposite Day, wouldn’t you say it isn’t Opposite Day?” He says smugly, that charming little smile on his face. “Just shut up.”
He sighs dramatically, “Can’t believe I’m stuck in such a toxic relationship. Caesar wouldn’t treat me like this. He’d treat me with TLC.” His eyes glint with amusement as he takes in your exasperated expression.
“I’m totally telling Caesar that you’re spreading propaganda.
“Whatever,” he swallows the last bit of his dessert. (Did you not just give him that…?) “I still believe that you’re some psychic. So, I’ll be coming to you when I need help.” He states, sliding the plate across the counter to you. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be your own personal psychic partner.” You answer, not taking this seriously at all, because—c’mon.
Until, it happened again.
‘Conincidence, right?’ You think.
Wrong, it’s already happened four times.
10:48 PM, Tuesday
You walk out of your bakery to close up, when you notice Joseph waiting for you. “What are you doing here?” You ask, locking up the shop before turning to him. He looks good—awfully good. Hair disheveled, probably from running his beautifully thick fingers through it, and sweat on his neck and biceps—looking like he ran over here. You swallow, the sight of him makes your heart feel funny—but also your gut?
He asks, taking a few steps closer to you. “You really thought I’d let you walk alone so late again? Don’t you remember what happened last time?” Of course you do. That’s when you started feeling strangely pulled toward him. “Alright, no need to be a smartass. Thanks though.” You’ve always walked to your bakery since you live pretty close to it, but ever since that creep happened—you’ve been driving to it instead.
Unfortunately for you though, your car had to go to the shop because it had been acting up. But at least you have an amazing friend who will walk you home when you need it, although he won’t shut the fuck up until you get to your place.
10:59 PM, Tuesday
The two of you have been walking for a few minutes now, his yapping hasn’t stopped either. “So, yeah. That’s how my coworker found out he was cracking his ex step sister.” He finishes one of his rants, leaving you completely dumbfounded.
“Uhh, wow? Also don’t say ‘crack.’ You really sound like a man.” You say, lightly scolding him. He lifts his hands in surrender, “Yes, ma’am.” He says casually like it’s not turning you on. You both pause in front of your apartment once you reach it, standing right in front of each other. You’re about to say something—thank him for walking you or say some stupid insult. But you falter when Joseph leans his face closer to yours.
‘Wait, what the fuck? No way—it can’t happen like this!’ You think, internally freaking out over the fact that your friend is about to kiss you. But also… you kinda don’t mind. You close your eyes, thinking he’s going in for the kill, but he isn’t.
Suddenly, you feel a random breeze on your forehead, confused, you open your eyes—finding that Joseph had blown air on your forehead. “What the? What was that for?” You ask, attempting to hide the tremble in your voice. “Flour,” he says, wiping the excess off. “You had some on your forehead.” He notices your flustered expression and of course decides to tease you.
“What, thought I was gonna kiss you? Cute.” His smug smile isn’t small at all—nope, it’s reaching all the way to his eyes. “But seriously. I need to ask you something.” He states, seeming more serious for once. “Mm, what’s up?”
“I need you to work on a case with me.”
“What?”
You stare up at him like he’s totally crazy (kinda is). “Look, there’s this really crazy case we’ve been working on and I need your help.” He states seriously. Like serious. No stupid grin or glint of mischief in his eyes. “You’re insane, Jojo. I can’t help you on a case. Is that even allowed?!” You ramble slightly, but he cuts you off lightly, placing his hands on your shoulders to calm you down.
“You don’t have to if you don’t wanna, but I just wanted to see. You’ve helped me on a few cases already, and this one has really been a pain in everybody’s asses back at the station.” He begins to reason, but you’re a tough cookie to crack. “Joseph, you have to be kidding. How can a baker like me help you on a case?” You say, doubting yourself.
“Remember how that psychic brain of yours helped me out?” He jogs your memory, trying to convince you. “There’s this case about missing pets. And no—it’s nothing like Remi. At first, we thought it was just them running away, or careless owners. But we’ve noticed some patterns. We think it’s much bigger than that, and we’d like your help.” He explains, proposing his idea also. “I know it’s a lot, but you’d be a great help. Please?” He pleads, looking down at you with those big, hopeful eyes. How could you say no to him?
“…Promise I won’t get into any trouble?” You ask, already knowing the answer. He looks down at you with that cheeky grin of his, “Of course not. I promise I’ll be there to protect you.” His words cause your ears to flush slightly, yet he doesn’t notice because of your hair. “Okay then. I’ll do it.” He smiles widely, almost tempted to hug you but holds it back. “You’re the best, you know? I’ll make sure this’ll be your most bizarre memory yet!”
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t expect me to start drinking coffee and eating donuts like you guys.” He feigns offense, a hand flying to his chest. “Well, in my defense—cops are the ones who usually do that. And I’m no ordinary cop, kay?” He notices how silly he sounds and cuts himself off with a hearty chuckle. “I’ll catch ya later. Night and don’t let the bed bugs bite.” He takes a few steps back, you wave. “Night, Jojo… thanks for walking me.” He dramatically bows, “It’s my pleasure! See ya.”
1:37 AM Wednesday
You’re tossing around your bed, unable to sleep. You think it’s because of Josephs’ crazy proposal, but no. It’s Joseph. You can’t seem to get him out of your head, and the thought of him has you feeling hot and bothered. It’s like you have an itch to scratch, but have no idea where it’s coming from. But you do, you’re just trying to ignore it.
Between your legs.
You try hard to ignore the fact that you want to masturbate to the thought of your friend. But the latter wins, so you get up from your bed—looking for your vibrator. You walk over to your dresser, looking for it in your panty drawer, but can’t seem to find it. You groan, walking over to the bathroom to check if it’s there, and spoiler alert: it's not. Walking back to your room, you remember about the pink dildos you and your friends bought back in high school.
Giggling to yourself at the thought, you find yourself looking for it through your closet. You find a bunch of things as you rummage around your closet. Old exes' hoodies, random storage containers, a taser?? After a while of searching, you finally find it, holding it up like it hung the moon.
“Am I really doing this?” Yup. Yes, you are.
After washing it many times, you finally lay back down on your bed, dildo in hand. Lube wasn’t necessary, considering how wet you had already gotten from the thought of him.
Pathetic. Filthy. Disgusting. Shame. Is what you feel, but the need to touch yourself is too strong.
You open your legs, so you’re in a frog-like position. Rubbing the cold tip from your clit to your folds has you jolting slightly. You imagine it’s Joseph.
“Fuck…” You prod the toy at your entrance, trying to get it in after not using it for so long. Your breath hitches slightly once you get the tip in, then two more inches. “Mm—! Fuck…” Your thighs clench over your hand once you finally get the whole thing in. You begin to move the toy in and out, feeling the veins of it drag along your sensitive walls.
“Mmh—! Fuck, it’s so good, Joseph.” You pick up the pace, the filthy sounds of sloshing and slapping fills up your room. “S’good… o—oh my god!” Your breathing fastens, head falls back onto your pillow as your eyes close. You continue to drag the toy cock along your walls, but something is missing. Him.
You imagine it’s Joseph slamming his hips against yours, balls against your ass—fucking you absolutely dumb. “You’re being so good for me, baby. You like it when I fuck you stupid, huh? Taking my cock soooo… fuckin’ good.” You imagine him saying, and the thought makes you clench even more. You quicken your pace, whimpering his name and rubbing your clit at the same time.
The combo makes you feel like you’re in heaven. As you chase your edge, the tip of it prods perfectly against that spongy spot inside you, making you fall over the edge and your cum down your legs. “Hnngh—! S’good, damn it…” You lie there like a ragdoll, still and breathless. You glance down at the mess between your legs, the slick and cum running down your thighs and ass. The imagination of it being a mix of yours and Josephs’ mess—makes you clench around nothing.
11:13 AM, Wednesday
Joseph had a day off today, and so did you. So, he had texted you earlier to come by his place to talk about the case. You’re practically fidgeting with anything that you can find as you walk over to his apartment. I mean—how are you supposed to face your friend when you literally came to the thought of him.
Once you walk up to his place, you lift your finger, pressing the button and call for his place. “Hello?” His voice rings through the intercom. “It’s me, Jojo. Open up.” You respond, and the second your voice hits his ears—you hear a buzzing sound, indicating that he has unlocked the door for you.
Opening the door, you’re hit with a scent of cigarettes and vanilla. Cigarettes make sense for a New York apartment, but vanilla? Probably teenage girls spraying their perfume before school. You shake the thought from your head, focusing on what’s ahead. Which are flights of stairs. Joseph had told you he lived on the top floor. There are 10 floors.
Ten. Floors.
No elevator.
He had said earlier that the elevator broke down, so you could mentally and physically prepare yourself before. And you did. You were pretty confident before coming here. Easy peasy, right?
Wrong.
You’re already on the third floor and felt like you had run a ten mile marathon. “There’s no way I’m doing this without passing out.” You say to yourself, sweat beading on your forehead. I’m a woman, I can do this. You think to yourself, never wanting to give men the satisfaction of victory.
You go girl!
After seven more floors, you finally make it to Joseph’s apartment door. You knock on his door with a trembling fist, already imagining how you’re going to kill him. He opens the door, dressed casually and hair less styled. “Oh, hey! You made it.” He greets you happily as if you didn’t just climb Mount Everest. You’re about to lightly snap at him for making you climb so many stairs, but you can’t even form a thought because he looks so good.
“Hellooo? Earth to—” he calls, but you interrupt him. “Shut up. I’m just trying to regain my consciousness after climbing so many damn stairs. Did we really have to do this at your place?” You ask, partly because of the stairs, but also because of the thought of being in his place with him. Alone. Makes you feel warm and tingly.
“Sorry, I didn’t think the stairs would be such a huge issue. Come in, I’ll get you something to drink.” He offers, opening the door more to let you in. You step inside, toeing off your shoes at the entrance. He closes the door behind you, leading you to the kitchen.
“What do you want? Name your poison and I can guarantee I’ve got it.” He says proudly like he’s some type of drink plug. “Let me get a Baja blast Mountain Dew.” You say in an attempt to mess with him. There’s no way he’d have a drink so specific like that, right?
He pulls a can from his fridge, sliding it across the counter to you. You catch it, reading the label—and it’s in fact, a Baja blast Mountain Dew. He smirks at you confidently as usual, “What? Thought I didn’t have it?” He chuckles, gesturing for you to follow him to the couch.
You both settle on the couch and Joseph notices your legs… they look extra shiny and soft—he’s so tempted to touch them, hitch them around his waist and fuck you nasty. He coughs, turning his focus to the folders on the coffee table rather than your legs. “So, uhh let me tell you about this crazy pet case.” He says, trying to change the subject in his mind.
“So,” he begins, grabbing one of the folders from the table and opening it. “We had this report from a few weeks ago. Missing dog on Mason Street at around 1 AM. At first we all thought it was your ordinary missing animal case.” He says while looking at the folder, but picks up his gaze to meet yours. “But we’ve been getting more reports around the same area and time, and we don’t think it’s a coincidence anymore.”
He places the folder back down on the table, turning to you with a seriousness in his eyes. “That’s why I recommend your help to the station. They said it was alright as long as I don’t tell you too much.” You nod, “So… you really trust me with this?” You ask, feeling quite small and doubtful.
His hand moves to your leg to bring you support, noticing your small voice. Yet, he falters and places the hand on your shoulder, not fully trusting himself. “Look, you’re the smartest person I know. I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t really believe in you.” He gives you that dashing smile that he knows always works on you. “Trust me, kay?”
You find yourself melting under his touch and believing his words. “Alright then. Let’s do this.” He squeezes your shoulder briefly, giving you his signature smirk. “There she is. Now that’s what I’m talking about.”
1:26 PM Wednesday
The two of you work on the case for a while, making theories and tossing out possibilities that sound ridiculous. You sigh, throwing yourself back onto the cushion of the couch. “How do detectives do this all the time? I literally wanna rip my hair out.” He chuckles at your annoyed attitude, plopping down on the couch next to you.
“You’re exactly how I was at the beginning. It’s a canon event.” He recalls old memories, thinking back on how he struggled on his first case. “If you wanna take a break, we totally can. Remember, you’re only helping out because you want to. Not because you have to.” He reassures you gently, making you feel slightly better. “Thanks, Jojo. You’re really nice when you want to be.”
“Only to my favorite girl.” It rips out like a confession. Like he truly meant it.
Because he did. Joseph never really believed in love. He always thought it was a ridiculous thing. Sure he fucked around here and there, girls confessed to him—hell even dated a bit. But those girls never meant anything—not until he met you at least.
Six years ago
It was his freshman year of college, and he had been walking to the TA’s desk to ask them a simple question. Unbeknownst to Joseph since he was literally paying attention to his phone and nothing else, he bumped into a girl—you.
You stumbled backwards a bit, but he caught you—placing his hand at the small of your back to stabilize you. “Shit—my bad. That was on me.” He apologized, removing his hand from your back once you were stable. You lift your head to get a better look at him. He's got broad shoulders, a toned body, messy brown hair, and an apologetic grin on his face.
“You’re fine… it was a simple mistake.” You reassured him.
His normal grin returns to his face as he realizes you aren’t some annoying, stuck-up, smart student. That isn’t the only thing that he realizes though. He realizes how beautiful you are, making his heart feel strange—a feeling he’s never felt.
‘Is this what love feels like?’ He thinks to himself.
After that, he always stuck by you. He did practically everything with you. Studied, ranted, laughed, loved. All of that was only for you. He obviously did nothing about it though because his pride was too high, and also because he thought you’d never see him like that and he was scared to lose you. And you didn’t, not until recently that is.
1:28 PM Wednesday
“Only to my favorite girl.”
“What?” You ask, feeling your cheeks flush. That sight doesn’t go unnoticed by Joseph either. He leans in closer, his shoulder slightly touching yours and his breath tickling your face. “You feel it too, right?” He whispers, leaning in a bit more.
“Look—” he starts, but is cut off by a phone call. “Fuck… gimme a second.” He pulls back, picking up his phone and walking to the kitchen to answer the call—leaving you completely dumbfounded and fuzzy on his couch.
‘What the absolute fuck was that? Did he just—? What is happening?! He’s gotta be messing with me. There’s no way.’ You ramble in your head not noticing that Joseph is walking back to the couch. “So… I actually gotta head into the station.” He says casually like what happened 5 minutes ago didn’t happen. “But I thought you had the day off?”
“I did, but it’s about the missing pets case. They need my help.” He answers your confusion, pulling on his jacket and his shoes. “You can leave whenever you wanna, but I should go now. See ya.” He gives a halfhearted wave before closing the front door. ‘Seriously? He just left as if he didn’t have my heart racing like crazy! What is his issue?’
After a while of just sitting there with your heart and mind racing, you decide to finally get up and head back home.
8:49 PM Friday
It had already been two days since that day and you haven’t seen Joseph at all. Sure, you heard from him here and there—not like he totally ghosted you. But with Josephs’ wild and loud personality, he might as well be.
You had just begun cleaning the tables in your bakery when Joseph walked in. “Yo, got anything left for me?” He asks, referring to any desserts or drinks. “I still gotta do the dishes, mop the floor, prep my foods, and count money. Pick your choice.” You say sarcastically, unable to hide the bitterness in your tone. Of course it doesn’t go unnoticed by Joseph, but he chooses to ignore it. “Ha ha, very funny. Seriously though, got anything left?”
“Just go in the back and grab whatever.” You say, resuming your cleaning. He gives you a small grin and walks over to the back to grab whatever dessert his heart desires.
He comes back with a plateful of diabetes, but it doesn’t even phase you anymore. He’s practically a vacuum. “So… you've been busy or something? You haven’t really stopped by lately.” You question him, seeing what story he’ll pull out of his ass. “Yup, been pretty busy.” He says, sitting down at the table you’re currently cleaning.
“Especially with this case and all.” He talks around the bite of his pumpkin roll. “That’s actually what I came here to talk to you about. I’ve got some new information and wanted to see what you had to say about it.” Of course he did. Of course that’s the only thing he came here for. Not to ease your mind or anything.
“So, what’s new?” You ask as you finish wiping down the last table, sitting across from him. “We’ve gotten reports on how the suspect looks. It’s an old lady, looks like she’s in her 50s. Not many of the reports were able to describe her too well except for two.” He shifts in his seat, taking a sip of his coffee before continuing.
“Both say she’s got light ginger hair to about her shoulders and small lips—also said she’s got paw prints on her shoes. Left footprints on someone’s step before.” He describes the lady’s features and appearance. “So, what do you think?” He asks, awaiting your response. “I think it’s kind of ridiculous that a few detectives can’t figure out a simple missing pets case.” You say sarcastically, earning a small huff from his lips. “C’mon, just take this seriously, yeah?”
Surprised by his sudden serious nature, you decide to just give in. “Fine, you wanna know what I think? If these cases are all happening around the same area and time… I think she’s gotta live around the area as well. Some old lady can’t walk around at night if she lives far away.” You catch your breath before beginning again.
“I think she’s gotta be connected to all of these people somehow. She seems to be around the same age as all of the victims as well. Maybe it’s revenge or something.” You say, wondering if maybe this lady might know her victims personally.
“That’s… actually not too bad, considering some of them saying she looked familiar.” He swallows the last bit of whatever he was eating, sipping the last bit of his drink. He stands up, pushing his chair in. You look up, wondering where he’s going. “What are you doing?”
“I’m heading back to the station?” He states like it’s no big deal. “Really? You’re not gonna stay a while?” He shrugs, “No… what’s the point?”
What’s the point?
He walks over to the door, giving a half-assed wave. “I’ll see ya later. Be safe walking home.” And just like that—he leaves you dumbfounded once more.
10:27 PM Friday
Closing the door behind you, you toe off your shoes and walk over to your couch, plopping down on it and closing your eyes. You think back on how Joseph acted back at your bakery. He was so… irritating.
Why was he acting as if I did something wrong?
He just acted like there’s nothing happening between us.
Or am I the only one feeling this way? Confused and… heartbroken??
11:17 PM Friday
Joseph is currently sitting at his desk, working on another case. He actually seems… focused for once. His fellow detectives glance at him like he’s wearing some clown costume. His gaze falls over to them briefly before turning back to his work.
“What are you guys staring at?”
“You’re actually working for once…” One of them speaks up, a knowing smirk on their face. “Let me guess—your girl broke up with you?” That makes Joseph falter slightly. “She’s not my girl.” He says defensively. “Ohh, so there is one.”
Shit.
“Even if there was one, I wouldn’t have to tell you guys. Mind your own.” He says, sassily, might they add. “Whatever, man. Just don’t miss your shot, yeah?” That person pats him on the shoulder, walking back to their desk.
Just don’t miss your shot, yeah?
He shakes off the thought while his gaze falls to the other two who are still standing there with knowing smiles. “Shoo. Leave me alone—I’m working.” And they do, just not without giggling of course.
9:18 PM Thursday
It had been a week since Joseph had been acting more strangely than usual. You’re growing absolutely sick of it. Surprisingly though, he had invited you over to his place—but only to talk about the case.
Of course.
You knock on his door, fidgeting with the strap of your bag. After a few seconds of standing there, Joseph opens the door. He looks annoyingly sexy with the way his sweatpants hang low on his hips, and how his biceps are basically ripping through his shirt.
“Hey.”
“Hi, come in…”
Talk about awkward
You walk in normally, toeing off your shoes at the entryway per usual. “Want anything to drink?” He asks in an attempt to fill the awkward tension. “Nope,” you answer. “I’m all good.” He simply nods stiffly and gestures for you to follow him to the couch. You sit down close to him, his knee brushing against yours.
“So, what do you have to tell me?” You say, and it sounds like there’s a double meaning. “Nothing much. Just got a few more reports about the pet thief looking familiar—wanted to let you know.” You nod, gesturing for him to continue.
He tells you more about the case and the lady, yet your focus seems to be on something else. He notices and pauses, turning his gaze to you. “Yo, are you listening?” He asks, slightly annoyed. “If you don’t wanna do this you can just go home.”
“Go home? So then you can keep acting weird?” You finally snap, his behavior from the past week setting you off. He blinks, clearly caught off guard by your words. “Tch, acting weird? What on earth are you talking about?” He 100% knows what you mean, but we already know his pride is too high or he’s just ashamed.
“What am I talking about? Don’t bullshit me, Joseph. You’ve been acting weird ever since you said that… thing.” He drops the folder onto the table, turning to you more. “Thing? What thing?” He asks, although he might already have an idea.
“When you called me your favorite girl, damn it!” You’re now sitting on the edge of his couch, the frustration from the week getting to you. “Then after that, you leaned in like you were going to kiss me—but then brushed it off like nothing happened! Like it was nothing…” You snap, your expression seems annoyed and frustrated—yet the glint of hurt in your eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.
“Like it was nothing?” He repeats your words. “That’s where you’re wrong. It never meant nothing to me. You never meant nothing.” He confesses, his gaze on the floor before picking it up to yours. He notices the hitch in your breath, your expression softening.
‘Fuck it.’ He thinks.
“Do you have any idea how hard it is to not think of you every single second of my damn day? I thought if I could just throw myself into work, it’d help me forget about my crazy crush for you.” He confesses but doesn’t stop.
“I’ve been practically obsessed with you ever since we met. I’ve—god! I’ve imagined how amazing it would be to have you. I already have my goddamn life planned out. I—I love you! And not just like a friend. I want to marry you, and I of course haven’t planned it out yet because I know how much you’d love to plan your own wedding!”
He chokes up on his words a bit. “The only request I make is that we take pictures on the Brooklyn Bridge—you wearing an apron while I’m in a full stereotypical detective outfit, representing your love for baking and mine for mysteries. I wanna have children with you. And yeah—no set number on how many because you’d be the woman of the house. I’d follow whatever you’d say—because I love you, damn it…”
“You consume me. You’ve been consuming me for the damn six years I’ve known you!” He states with a small tremble in his voice, jaw tightening. “I know I was wrong for how I acted this week. But I was scared. Scared if I had taken it too far and feared you would hate me.” He says, voice softer now.
“I love you so goddamn much it’s killing me inside.” He notices the way you’re just sitting there. Mouth agape and eyes misty from his words. “What? Just gonna stare at me like I’m craz—”
You cut him off with your lips to his—it’s sudden and messy. You’re pulling him in by his collar, he’s hands on the small of your back and the couch to stabilize himself. It starts off slow at first—more soft and gentle rather than sloppy. But that doesn’t last long the second Joseph pulls you to straddle his hips.
His hands fly to your waist while your arms wrap loosely around his neck. He nips on your bottom lip, tongue soothing over it. Fingers ghosting around the exposed skin where your shirt rides up a bit, yours in his hair. He groans against your lips at the feeling of your soft fingers in his hair.
“Fuck—keep doing that. Feels good.” He murmurs against your lips, tongue darting out to swipe across your bottom lip, a silent plea. You easily oblige, opening your mouth slightly—and he wastes no time. He practically shoots his tongue into your mouth, and feeling your warmness against his makes him want to cum on the spot.
Your teeth are clashing together, the desire to feel each other is too strong. “Fuck, c—can I move?” You ask to grind against him hesitantly, and god it feels pathetic. “Mmf—of course, I’m all yours.” You press your lips to his jaw, moving down to his neck as you grind helplessly on his hard and clothed cock.
He leans his head back onto the couch to give you more access, although it was already on its way there by the feeling of you moving on top of him. “F—Fuck… don’t stop. You feel so good, baby…”
“Baby?”
“What, don’t like it?” He asks with a small huff of a chuckle.
You shake your head with a small smile on your face, continuing your work of art. And by work of art—it’s the marks that your lips have been making across his neck. His hips meet yours as you grind, his boner hitting your clit juuusst right. “O—Oh my god…” you gasp against his neck. His hands drop to your ass as he notices the way you squirm.
He guides you as you grind down on him—slow and filthy, the friction between you two making you feel all buzzed up. “J—Joseph…” you arch up against him. “C’mon, cutie. You got this… cum for me.” Your orgasm hits hard, soaking through your pants which seep down to his—making a dark grey spot on his sweatpants.
He looks down at the mess and chuckles, “Fuuckk… that’s really hot, you know.” Your cheeks flush, hiding them in the crook of his neck. “Shut up, idiot…” He simply leans in to whisper in your ear. “We’re not done, you know?” And just like that—he’s picking you up and walking over to his bedroom. You wrap your legs around his waist, slightly nervous for what’s to come (you and him).
“Wait, you’re serious about this?” You ask as he lays you down on his bed which smells like mahogany and teakwood. He crawls on top of you, “I’ve been serious about this ever since we met.” His expression softens, the desire and hunger leaving for just a second. “We can always stop if you don’t wanna though. There’s no pressure.”
“No.” You say quickly, revealing how much you really want this. “I want you, Joseph. I need you.”
“You have me. Always had.” He kisses from your neck down to your abdomen, kneeling between your thighs. He moves lower, looking up at you. “Can I?” You nod, despite your heart pounding like crazy. He pulls down your pants and takes them off fully, revealing your cute and soft pink panties. He pushes your legs apart as his nose digs into your clothed pussy, making your hips jolt to his face.
“Fuuck, jus’ seeing you like this makes me wanna fuck you like crazy.” He confesses so casually. He looks up with a silent question and you nod. He pulls down your panties, and the second they’re off his face is buried in your pussy. “Fuck, baby… you’re all I’ve ever dreamed of.”
“Joseph… quit teasing and just do it already…” You plead and he’s gentle—but messy. His tongue finally settles on you, dragging through your folds messily and hungry. Your hands fly to his hair, tugging slightly. “Mm, fuck yeah.. keep pulling on me like that. You taste so good—mmh.”
And you do every time his tongue plunges inside you and curls perfectly or when he nips at your clit. “Fuck—! Joseph, feels s’fucking good…” You can’t see his smirk, but you can feel it against your pussy. His tongue slides from your clit to your entrance, plunging it inside you to meet that spongy spot.
“Shit! Don’t stop, Jojo. Fuck—m’gonna cum just like this…” He’s tasting every inch of you and absolutely savoring it. “You taste so fucking good, baby. Gonna make you cum all over my fucking face, then my cock. Mm? How does that sound?”
“Joseph—fuck! It sounds perfect, god. Please make me cum, Joseph… I need it.” Your hips grind against his face, chasing that high. “Mmh—that’s it, baby. Use me like I’m your goddamn toy.” He notices the way you're trembling, indicating that the finishing line is right there. “Cum for me, sweets. Make a mess all over my tongue.” You do the second the tip of his tongue dances perfectly around your clit.
Your back is arched off of the bed, thighs clenched tight around his head as your juices flood into his mouth. He groans, the vibrations making you tremble just a bit more, but not as much as the way he slurps up your mess. He pulls back once you’ve relaxed, your slick over his mouth and chin.
“You’re so fucking messy, you know that? My messy girl.” He declares, hints of possessiveness in his words. He moves his head from in between your legs, crawling up to you so you’re now face to face. He leans in to kiss you again, this one more precise and gentle—softer.
He pulls back just enough to look at you and the way you look absolutely stunning. Hair sticking to your sweaty forehead, flushed cheeks, and that damn glint in your eyes. “What?” You ask with a soft smile.
“You’re just so beautiful. That’s all.” Your smile falters, not expecting his sweet words. You’re about to say something back, maybe witty or something to make him laugh—but you notice how his breathing is still faster than usual, and his large boner prodding against your thigh.
“Joseph?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you wanna fuck me?”
His eyes shoot open in surprise at your blunt words. “Wha—? I mean—uhh, yeah? Only if you really want to though.” He says, looking way more awkward than usual.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want it, Jojo.” He nods, “Right… I’ll go see if I have any condom—” He’s already on the move when you stop him short, grabbing him by his arm. “There’s no need for those. I’m on birth control.”
He drags a hand down his face. “Are you serious?” When you nod, he chuckles against the crook of your neck. “You’re absolutely crazy, you know that?” He pulls back just enough to catch your gaze.
“You really trust me with this?” He asks, his tone slightly doubtful. You simply look up at him with a soft glint of affection in your eyes, cupping his cheek. “I’d trust you with my life,” saying with a soft laugh. You don’t realize how hard it hits Joseph though.
“Damn it… you’re ruining me.” Your soft and trusting words hit the target perfectly on his heart. “I won’t disappoint you. Promise.” He says with his dashing smile, one you couldn’t stop thinking of for weeks.
He pulls his sweatpants off in a swift motion, grinding his boxer-covered cock against your bare pussy briefly. “Fuck… you’re perfect, baby.” He leans back just enough to pull off his boxers as well.
Oh. My. God.
You’d imagine he was packing, but this is just another level. He was like eight inches or ten?? You couldn’t tell by the way you were so prepared to get fucked out. It was beautiful. Then with how fat and girthy it looked? You were fucked. Literally.
He notices the way you gaze falls down to his long and fat cock. He chuckles, “Liking the view?”
“Who wouldn’t? God…” You say, never seeing such a cock this amazing in person before. He leans down to whisper in your ear. “Just trust me, alright?” And of course you do, cause the second he rubs his fat cock between your soaking folds—making slosh noises fill up the room? You melt in his arms.
“Mmh—Joseph…” You squirm under his touch. Your slick soaking his shaft, “Fuck—you feel so good…” Joseph gasps out. His precum spills over your clit, the warm sensation sets your nerves tingling like fireworks through your body.
“You ready?” Joseph asks. You nod, breathing heavier than a damn dog. “Y—Yeah, I’m ready.” With that, he prods the mushroom head against your entrance, feeling how you tense up.
He slowly fills you up, two inches in already. “Fuck.. it’s like you were made for me. You good?” You nod, eyes closed from the absolute ecstasy flowing through your bones. “Look at me, sweets. I wanna see you as I fill you up all nice.”
You open your eyes, meeting his pretty blue ones. “Keep going, Joseph. F—Fuck!” You squeal, feeling him fill you up even more. He keeps going, filling you up inch by inch. Joseph feels you squirming slightly under his touch, so he intertwines your fingers together to avoid that.
He hitches your right leg around his waist, ready to pound into the perfect angle. He pulls out just so the tip is right at your entrance, then pushes in deeply at the right pace. “Mm—! Oh my god, fuck. Keep going..”
“Wasn’t planning on stopping, cutie.” He continues that same pace, his balls slapping against your ass and your slick arousal. schlick! schlick! schlick! “Fuuuckk, you’re so warm and tight, gonna milk me dry.”
“Ngh—s’too deep..” Joseph muffles your erotic noises by leaning down to kiss you, dancing his warm tongue against yours. You gasp into his mouth, tasting your orgasm and a hint of raspberry.
A mix of whimpering and soft groans fill your ears. “Fuuck, I’m so close, sweets. So warm and squishy.. squeezing me so perfect. Gonna paint your insides all nice and white.”
“Josephhh—!” You’re cut off by a sharp thrust and Joseph spilling inside you. You follow after with a sharp gasp, coating his long shaft. “Shit—s’fucking good. You’re amazing..” He caresses your cheek, looking down at you lovingly.
Your cheeks flush slightly, ‘Why the heck is he looking at me like that?’ You thought to yourself. “What are you looking at?” You had meant to sound more sharp, but it came out soft and uncertain. “Sorry… you’re just really pretty.” He says, placing a sweet kiss to your forehead.
“You okay? I didn’t go too far, right?” You nod quietly, feeling a small bliss in your chest. “That’s good…” He says quietly, finally pulling out of you with a soft whimper. He lies next to you, suddenly feeling everything rush in at once.
‘I can’t believe that just happened. I’ve liked her for so long—but we’ve been friends for so long too. What if things go bad—or awkward?!’ You turn towards him, lifting yourself up on your elbow.
You notice how he’s turned quieter, a vast difference to his usual self. After a while of thinking, you lean in and place a soft kiss to his cheek. “You were good too, Joseph. All I’ve ever… wanted.” You say softly, meeting his gaze.
His eyes slightly widen, but soften quickly. “I’m glad… really glad.” He grins, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you in so you rest on his chest.
“Jo—?”
“Shh… just be quiet. Can’t believe I’m having this now.” He tugs you just a bit closer, loving the feel of you in his arms. “We can wash up later. Just let me have this.” And you do, allowing yourself to relax in his arms.
TWO WEEKS LATER
11:28 AM Wednesday
It had been about two weeks since that night, and it hasn’t left your mind since. You and Joseph had gone onto two dates ever since you guys got together, so you guys can get into that flow of dating and not just being friends.
The first few days were weird. Joseph tried to be more romantic and touchy, yet you were still getting used to everything. It still feels kinda odd, but you’re determined to figure it out for yourself.
“Thank you and have a great day!” You say, sending off one of your customers. You notice how everything has slowed down, so you start to prepare for some things. You go into the back and grab a halfway filled packet of flour.
You’re about to put the packet down onto the counter when someone calls out for you. With a sigh, you keep the packet in your arms—thinking it’ll be something quick and walk over to whoever called you.
You see a lady around your age, gesturing for you to come over, so you do. “Hi, what can I help you with?” You ask, hoping this won’t take too long. “Oh, I was just wondering how you made this walnut pie. It’s so delicious, and I would love to find out the recipe.”
You sigh internally, knowing that this walnut pie is a piece of shit to make, considering how you do almost everything from scratch. “Well, of course I could tell you. Maybe just find something to put this all down on.” You softly smiled, but wanting to go back in time and leave this packet of flour in the back.
11:53 AM Wednesday
You had been talking to this woman for 25 minutes. Twenty-five. While also holding a pretty hefty packet of flour, this woman just won’t stop asking questions. Your arms felt like jelly, sweat prickled at your forehead, while your foot tapped against the ground uncontrollably.
You were about to hitch the packet back up against your chest since it kept falling, but due to your flimsy arms—you ended up spilling the flour on the floor.
Shit.
You first look around, checking if anyone has gotten dirty with the flour. “Shoot, I’m so sorry. I’ll be back with a broom.” You excuse yourself and head to the back so you can grab some things to clean the mess.
Once you exit the back, you notice a customer has come in. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll get to you once this is all cleaned up.”
“Oh, honey… let me help you.” The old lady offers, but you shake your head. “No, it’s okay. I’ve got it.” The lady insists and holds onto the broom. “Please, let me help you.” With a soft sigh, you nod and dust off some remaining flour off of your apron.
As she sweeps, you grab her order. Once her order is all ready, you place it onto the table and take the broom from her once she’s all ready. “Here you go. It’s on the house, so don’t worry.” She gives you a kind smile and thanks you.
You put the broom back, and head back to the register. You notice how well the lady swept your floor. It probably hasn’t looked this good since you bought the place. You build up the courage to go up to the lady and ask how she cleans so well.
“Excuse me, ma’am, but how are you so good at sweeping? I don’t think I’ve seen it this clean in ages.” You confess with slight sheepishness as she politely chuckles. “I’ve got a lot of pets back in my house. There’s always fur somewhere.” Your eyebrows shoot up slightly in recognition, nodding as you realize where her skills come from.
“You must have a bunch. It seriously looks amazing.”
8:47 PM Wednesday
You had just closed up the bakery and began to prepare for the next day, wiping down tables and grabbing ingredients for the croissants that needed to be prepared. You were washing your hands in the back when you heard a knock on the door.
Wiping your hands on your apron, you go to check and your eyes fall onto Joseph’s charming grin—gesturing for you to open the door.
You walk over to the door, unlocking it and opening it up. It almost resembles a lion’s den opening up to pounds of meat, the way Joseph immediately clings to you.
“Well, if it isn’t my amazing, sweet, and beautiful girlfriend. How is she feeling on this fine evening?” He questions, his hands immediately finding your waist and pulling you to press your body against his.
Your hands lie on his chest as you look down at your nails, suddenly feeling shy. “I’m doing fine… and you?” He chuckles softly, removing one hand from your waist to lift up your head. With a quiet sigh you meet his eyes, expecting for him to tease you—but his eyes are soft and understanding.
“Look… I know this is new, but you don't gotta be shy with me. If you want me to back off, I can.” You immediately shake your head, focusing your gaze on his. “No, no it’s fine. I can’t lie and say that it doesn’t feel weird, but it’s not like I don’t want it.”
“Good,” he says, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. “I probably wasn’t going to stop anyway.” You let out a small chuckle, feeling slightly relaxed.
“Of course you wouldn’t. You’re too clingy for that.” His nose immediately scrunches up with feigned offense. “I am not clingy. Take that back.” He says, shaking your body softly as if he’s trying to shake the words out of you.
“Mm-mm, I’m not taking back what’s true.” You say with a cheeky grin. He looks like he’s about to either tickle you or bombard you with kisses, but you both hear a ding from the back.
“Oh, c’mon. Those should be the egg tarts.” Strangely, you grab his hand and lead him towards the back, and he of course follows with no issue.
Joseph stands near the counter as you grab the oven mitts to grab the egg tarts. You open the oven, a wave of heat falling over your face. You grab the tarts and place them over a rag to cool off on the counter.
As they cool, you tweak a few things—making them look picture perfect. While you do that, a cheeky little thing called Joseph, walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist—resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Mm… smells delicious. Can I get one?” He asks, despite already moving his hand to grab one. You softly swat his hand away, “It’s gotta cool off, idiot. Just wait a second.” He huffs and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. “My girlfriend is so cruel to me. My heart is breaking…”
You ignore his dramatics and continue to work on the egg tarts. He huffs even louder, then presses open mouthed kisses on your neck. Your breath hitches slightly, the feeling of his tongue on your neck making your knees feel weak.
“Jojo, quit it…” you say despite your head tilting slightly to the side to give him more access. “I don’t wanna though,” he murmurs against your neck. “I’m trying to work…” you try to reason, but feel your resolve slipping.
“You can handle both. It’s called multitasking.” You roll your eyes at his cheeky tone, but a small gasp leaves your lips once his land onto the sensitive part of your neck. Despite wanting to let go right here and let him fuck you against the wall, you know you have bigger things to deal with than his cock.
“I’m serious, Jojo. Let’s… do it later, yeah?” You boldly say, and that grabs Joseph’s attention in an instant. “Later, hmm? I’m holding you to that.” He says, pinching your hip lightly just to make you squirm.
9:34 PM Wednesday
Joseph stayed near you as you finished up your work. You put your apron to hang near your little locker, then pull on your jacket and grab your bag. “Ready to go? I’ll walk you home.” You nod and walk up to him so the two of you can head out.
Joseph is about to grab your hand when he notices some footprints on the floor. “Dude, do you never clean up? It’s so messy.” Confused, you look down to where his eyes are and find some light floury footprints. You think back on the day and realize they were probably the old lady’s.
“Oh, some lady helped me clean up earlier. Probably didn’t realize she had some flour on her shoes. Gimme a second, I’ll clean it—”
“Wait.”
“Hm? What’s wrong?” You look at Joseph with a furrowed brow. Why the heck wasn’t he letting you clean it up? He crouches down and looks at the footprint closely. “Hey uhh, do you remember what the lady looked like?”
You find his demeanor odd, but comply anyway. You think back on your day and the lady’s look. “She had pretty short, ginger hair, uhh green eyes, and some small lips. Why do you ask?”
Everything clicks for Joseph once you describe her. “I think that might’ve been the suspect. Look at these prints,” he points. “They have a sorta paw print shape, and remember how said that’s what the witnesses said they saw?”
You think back to a few weeks ago: “Both say she’s got light ginger hair to about her shoulders and small lips—also said she’s got paw prints on her shoes. Left footprints on someone’s step before.”
‘Shit. She was literally in my bakery, and I just let her go. What the fuck is wrong with me?’ You think to yourself. You were mad with Joseph at the time, so his words didn’t fully settle until now.
“You have cameras, right? Do they work?” You nod, already leading him towards the back to check the cameras. Joseph checks everything out, asking you questions about when she came in, and if she said anything suspicious.
You answer everything clearly, feeling absolutely guilty for letting the lady go. Joseph takes everything he needs and turns back to you. He places his hands on your shoulders, coaxing you to meet his gaze.
“C’mon, baby… look at me.” You meet his eyes, and his eyes fall over your drooped eyes and that small pout. “You don’t need to feel responsible for this, okay? There was nothing you could have done, so don’t worry.”
“But I could’ve called for—”
“Shh… it’s not your problem to deal with.” He tugs you closer, holding you close to his chest and letting his chin sit on the crown of your head. “I’m sorry… I could’ve made your job way easier if I had called.”
“None of that… you’re still helping regardless, you know? Who knows how much longer we could’ve been stuck on this if you didn’t drop that flour.” He teases lightly, trying to lift your mood.
A huff of laughter escapes your lips, then you pull back enough to look at him. “I guess you’re right…”
“I always am.”
You roll your eyes at his smugness, despite a smile creeping onto your face. “You’re such a loser.”
“Your loser,” and he seals it in with a soft peck.
3:29 PM Saturday
Joseph had turned in the evidence and questioned many of the previous witnesses and victims. Many of them recognized the lady as someone they went to school with. They described her as someone who was constantly fighting for animals, and some strict vegan.
Apparently she always babbled about how animals are always treated cruelly, and needed to be the rulers of the world like how they used to.
In other words, a total cuckoo.
He had gotten the lady’s address and prepared to take her in. He gathered a few of his colleagues just in case he needed backup and animal control.
5:23 PM Saturday
Joseph knocked on the lady’s door, seemingly all innocent. The lady opens the door with a kind smile, the total opposite of a cuckoo. “Hi, what can I help you with?” She asks, looking at Joseph carefully.
“Afternoon, ma’am. I have a warrant to check your house.” The lady tilts her head, looking confused. “A warrant? Why would you need to look at my house?”
“There’s a case that I’m working on, and I believe your house could be connected. Please step aside.” Joseph steps in, causing her to stumble slightly.
He looks around as the lady tries to reason with him.
Too many bowls.
Fur everywhere.
But no animals in sight.
He looks over at the basement door, and the lady freezes. “Detective, I have some very personal things down there, so I’d rather you not go.”
“Personal or not, this is a very serious case and I have a warrant.” The lady tries to stop him, but since she’s slightly old she’s unable to catch up. Joseph speeds down the stairs and his eyes lie on many cages.
They were all stacked up on each other, three cats smushed into one while two medium sized dogs in another. There had to have been at least 30 pets in here. The living space was horrible, but at least they looked well cared for.
But you couldn’t have cats, dogs, bunnies, hamsters, and surprisingly, bearded dragons all together in one place. It looked like a nightmare.
“I—I, sir, you shouldn’t be down here.” She attempts to usher him upstairs, but it’s too late. Joseph pins the lady against the wall, grabbing his cuffs. “Ms. Lynn, you are under arrest for the theft of animals.” He reads out all of her rights to her and calls for backup to collect all of these animals.
“You can’t put me in jail! My babies need their mother! They need a home!” She freaks as Joseph leads her to the car. “Those animals aren’t your pets, ma’am. You took them from their home.”
She attempts to wriggle from his grasp, absolutely causing a scene in the neighborhood. “Those shitheads don’t deserve them! T—They’re just people who keep their pets as decorations! They don’t really care about them! Give me my babies!”
“That’s enough, ma’am. You’re causing a scene.”
Joseph puts her into the car and closes the door. ‘What a psycho..’ he thinks and turns to the officers, directing them to grab the animals and take them back to their rightful owners.
A MONTH LATER
11:13 PM Sunday
Joseph had told you everything about the lady, and why she did what she did. Apparently, back in her school days many of the victims had made fun of her because she seemed like some animal freak. She had always been an activist for animals, but clearly didn’t know how to handle it.
When she saw that they had pets, she believed that they didn’t truly love them and treated them like decor. But she was truly wrong and selfish. She had gotten about a year and two months in jail for neglect of animals.
“Did I ever tell you how it smelled like a farm show in there? It was like the house was made of shit.” Joseph says casually as you bite into your pistachio cinnamon roll. “Ew, Joseph. Don’t talk about shit while I’m eating. That’s nasty.” You lightly scold him with a roll of your eyes.
“Sorry, baby. I just had to let it out, you know.” Of course he did, he was always talking about something.
He gazes at you as you eat, feeling absolutely grateful for finally having you. “You’re always looking at me, Jojo. Stop…” you say, feeling your cheeks flush just a bit. “I’m just really happy to have such an amazing and pretty woman as my girlfriend.”
“You’re always being cheesy.” You say, not noticing the crumbs on your lips.
“And you’re messy.” He leans in enough to place an open mouthed kiss on your lips, causing you to gasp into the kiss but quickly melt. His lips move against yours like they were meant to be there. It felt like dancing in the rain.
Joseph pulls back enough and licks his lips, tasting the pistachio crumbs.
hear me out. will smith and a baker, i feel like it’s well established he can bake at this point and i think it could be cute to see him trying new recipes with her or asking for advice when he messes something up. possibly even meeting at an elevated cupcake experience?
pretty and a baker ! 🍰
will smith x baker!reader
⤷ “I just wanna look into your eyes” Meet Me At Our Spot - THE ANXIETY
જ⁀➴📞 :: 1-800-FANFICTION
—
a/n: ANON WHO REQUESTED THIS SWEAR I LOVE YOU SM IT WAS SUXH A CUTE IDEA I WOULD LOVE TO TURN THIS INTO MORE PARTS POSSIBLY IF YOU HVE ANY MORE IDEAS
𓂃
OR.. when will smith, a hockey player married a baker and she is responsible for anything baking related
when you married will, you knew two of your guys favorite things would be in your house: hockey and baking (mostly baking). will had picked up baking as a hobby over the off-season, he found it relaxing after mack’s loud voice and the sharks intense practice. it started off as banana bread will made for a team dinner, and he fell in love with the side hobby.
but in wills world, you were the real baker. the one he loved, the one he found pretty and perfect. will loved asking you to make some of your sweets for his events, and his teammates loved them. he also loved showing off that you were such a good baker.
whether it was him or you baking, he was extremely clingy. and everyone knew Will was such a sucker for you, but you being always in the kitchen with Ingredients scattered made it worse. not that you minded, of course.
—
one morning, will was making his banana bread and he frowned at the batter in confusion after mixing it and it looked funny. will looked back at you from the kitchen while you wer on the couch, scrolling.
“princess, can you come over really quick, please?” will asked, you nodded from your phone, getting up and walking over, pajamas and all. will hugged you first, kissing you deeply and then let you go, leading you to his batter on the counter. “does the batter look correct, pretty?” and you examined it carefully.
“did you forget something, will? it looks like it’s missing something” you said, smiling up at him. Will hummed, thinking for a bit before perking up. will grabbed the brown sugar, and a measuring cup then handed both items over to you. “I forgot the sugar, can you add it? please, thank you” will smiled at you expectantly and you smirked. of course, you did it and will couldnt help help but slide over behind you and snake his arms around your waist, kissing your neck while you worked.
“your so beautiful, baby. especially when you look all pretty baking like this” will confessed, and you chuckled lightly. “I’m not even baking my own thing, will.” and will hummed at that, his chin now resting on your shoulder. “even better” he mumbled, rubbing circles on your hips.
when you finally finished fixing it, will put it in the oven and then immediately grabbed your chin lightly, kissing you. will hummed, his arms slowly sliding down and up on your back. you laughed into his lips, and will pulled away, mumbling: “my pretty baker” and then running his fingers in your hair.
“how do you do it?” will asked, kissing your jaw lightly and then looking at you with his big eyes. you tilted your head in confusion, “do what?”. will smiled, “be so perfect” and you hummed, pretending to think. “dunno, maybe it’s just natural.” and will laughed, guiding you over to the dining table and siting you on his lap. will gripped your thighs, then looked at you lovingly, his eyes softened. “I love you so much, my pretty princess” and then will added “princess of baking”.
—
one evening after will got back from a practice, you were in the shower. will entered the bathroom, something that he always did without permission because he knew you didn’t mind. his hair was wet from a locker room shower, and his scent immediately filled the bathroom over the smell of your body wash.
“hi baby!” will exclaimed, putting toothpaste on his toothbrush and beginning to do his night routine. you smiled behind the curtain, humming. “hi, will” you said, and will chuckled softly. “having fun under that warm water, baker girl?” and you chuckled softly. “I missed you, sweet girl” will added, and then placing his toothbrush down. will left the bathroom, sitting on your shared bed outside the door, putting his pajamas on.
you got out of the shower, wrapping a towel around you and your wet hair stuck to your cheeks. your cheeks were a little blotchy and red, how they got after warm water. will looked up at you, then walking over and kissing you softly, humming. “missed your pretty face, baby” will said, pulling away and then walking over to your drawers to take out your pajamas with cookies on them.
will placed the clothes on the bed, covering his eyes and then you changed. “nothing I haven’t seen before, but if it makes you feel better” will sighed, and you gave him a look he couldn’t see. “you literally chose to cover your eyes yourself” and will chuckled. “if you insist, I’ll look” he said. and when will uncovered his eyes, he saw you with a pair of pajamas with a them of cookies. he smiled immediately, wrapping his arms around your waist.
when you both got into bed, will turned toward you, smiling at you like he was about to ask for something. you sighed, already knowing what he wanted.
“whose birthday is it, what color, what kind of cake, and what shall it say?” you asked, exaggerating the “shall”. will hummed dreamily, “you’re so perfect.” he said, explaining the cake order. “yeah yeah, okay, when do you need it?” will winced. “so.. tomorrow?” and you got up quickly, with an annoyed look. will smiled at you apologetically, and then yelled out to you “dont stay up to late!” and you groaned, “how cant I?” you exclaimed back. will just smirked, getting settled in bed.
the next morning, when you gave him the cake in a box for him to bring to the early practice, he set it down and then kissed you until you ran out of breath. “your the best, pretty girl”. you rolled your eyes lovingly, and he gave you one last peck and then gathered his things. “i’m sure he’ll love it, thank you, princess.” and you smiled at him. “I love you, my pretty baker” will said, and you said it back, practically pushing him out the door.
—
and when his teammate got the cake, he made sure to message you he loved it (will probably forced him to). you were satisfied, and loved having a hockey husband whom you can feed his teammetas as well, and will loved you. after all, you were wills perfect, pretty, baking wife as everyone knew.
