#baker au

SUMMARY: you're a local baker and your regular always comes to your bakery with the excuse of satisfying his sweet tooth, without ever telling a deeper reason behind it.

MASTERLIST & REQUESTS: before you go, have a glass of wine or better yet, recommend a good bottle. any kind of message is always a delight. also, if you want to be in the tag list for other drabbles in this series, then just comment here.

You owned a tiny local bakery that smelled like warm bread and vanilla every morning, even if the cracked tiles and aging oven gave away how much you were struggling behind the scenes.

Despite waking up at dawn and baking everything fresh, such as pastries, bread, cookies, cakes, the shop barely made enough to keep the lights on, and most days you wondered how much longer you could hold on.

Then one morning, a tall man with snowy hair and absurd sunglasses walked in like trouble wrapped in a pretty package, and he ordered three pastries you knew didn’t logically taste good together.

He became your regular immediately, showing up every single day at the same time, always too cheerful for someone awake before 10 am, and always saying he came to “satisfy his sweet tooth,” even though he barely touched the food.

Each time you handed him a $7 purchase, he handed you a $100 bill—and another $100 bill on top of that—insisting it was “just a tip,” claiming dramatically that he was “terrible at math,” even though it was painfully obvious he was doing it on purpose.

You eventually realized that every time you looked particularly tired or stressed behind the counter, his tips got even bigger, like he was trying to keep your shop alive one ridiculous donation at a time.

He always sat at the same table by the window, the sun hitting his hair just right while he watched you knead dough, scribble orders, or laugh with the elderly regulars, pretending he came for pastries when he clearly came for you.

Even on slow days, where you could hear the clock ticking because there were no customers, Satoru would stroll in, hands in his pockets of his expensive looking jacket or coat, humming some off-key tune, acting like you were the only place in town he wanted to be, which you were sure of.

One afternoon, after seeing you crying in the kitchen from stress, he snapped a picture of a cake you had made and posted it to his socials with the caption, “Best bakery in the country. Don’t argue with me.”

You didn’t know he had millions of followers, nor did you expect that one single post would explode. Your shop went from nearly empty to having a line wrapped around the block the very next morning.

Influencers, tourists, students, and moms with strollers all poured into your bakery, turning it from a quiet local shop into a trending hotspot overnight, and you almost sobbed into the mixing bowl again. This time from shock.

Orders skyrocketed so wildly that even Gojo looked impressed, leaning on the counter and teasing, “Guess I’ve always had good taste,” while hiding how proud he was behind that smile.

With the sudden success—and Gojo’s continued over-the-top tips—you were finally able to renovate, expanding the bakery into a bigger, brighter space with new equipment and a polished interior that still smelled like home.

But despite all the changes, you kept one particular thing untouched: the little corner table by the window where Gojo always sat, the spot that felt like his presence had warmed it permanently.

When he came in on the grand re-opening day and saw the reserved sign with his name “Satoru’s Seat (Yes, Only His)”, he froze for a second. He didn't know what to say as you approached him.

“You… kept my spot?” he asked, softer than usual, as if he wasn’t sure he deserved it.

You just shrugged and told him, “The bakery wouldn’t feel right without you there,” and that single sentence hit him harder than any curse ever could.

He sat down in his usual seat like it was already molded to him, crossed one leg over the other, and said with a small grin, “Then I guess I’ll keep coming home every day.”

And from that day on, no matter how big the bakery became or how long the lines got, that little window seat was always waiting untouched for him—for the regular who changed everything simply because he wanted to see you smile.

Gojo didn’t immediately comment on the plaque, but the next morning he brought you a small gift box tied with a crooked blue ribbon. Inside was a brand-new set of professional piping tips—expensive ones too, the kind you’d never dare buy for yourself.

“A thank-you,” he shrugged too casually. “For the seat. And for… being here.” You didn’t miss the faint blush he hid behind his sunglasses.

Business kept booming, but the fame came with chaos. Some customers got too rowdy, too obsessed with the idea of meeting the Gojo Satoru. You had to deal with lines, crowds, and random girls trying to sit at his reserved table for attention. The first time someone refused to get up, Gojo simply walked over, leaned down, and said in a sweet, terrifying tone, “That seat’s taken.”

She scrambled away immediately. After that, no one dared challenge the plaque again.

Despite how busy your bakery became, you made it your rule: Gojo’s pastries were always baked fresh each morning. You didn’t delegate his order to the assistants. You kneaded the dough yourself, mixed the cream yourself, tasted the icing yourself simply because you knew.

This was your way of thanking him for everything he’d done.

You also started keeping a special jar behind the counter labeled “Gojo’s Experiments.” Whenever you had a new recipe, he was the first to try it. He loved the attention, obviously, and he’d always give dramatic feedback: “It’s divine!”, “It’s life-changing!” or “It’s almost as sweet as you.” and that one was usually followed with a wink

But every once in a while, he’d drop the theatrics and give you real, thoughtful criticism. Those moments were rather rare and strangely intimate.

When the shop expanded and the crowds got louder, you noticed Gojo began staying longer. Sometimes he’d sit for hours, pretending to read a book but really just watching you work. When someone asked why he always hung around, he lazily replied, “I’m the security and model.”

He absolutely wasn’t. You had actual cameras now, and a marketing team that could easily attract more customers with or without his help. But most of all, he just liked being close.

There were nights when you closed late, the windows fogged from the ovens, the street empty except for the glow of your sign. Gojo would still be there, quietly helping you stack chairs and stealing bites of leftover pastries.

“You don’t have to stay,” you’d tell him.

“I know,” he’d say, tossing a dish towel lazily over his shoulder. “But I want to.”

One night during clean-up, the power went out from a blown fuse. Everything fell dark except for the faint streetlights outside. You bumped into him accidentally, the smell of sugar still clinging to your clothes. Gojo didn’t move away. He just rested a hand lightly on your shoulder, steadying you.

“Don’t worry,” he murmured, voice softer than you’d ever heard. “I’m right here.” You felt warmth rise up your neck.

After that, he started walking you home. Every night. No matter how late. He’d carry your heavy ingredients, tease you for being so stubborn, then fall into moments of silence where he just listened to you breathe beside him.

People often stared, especially those who knew him from the Jujutsu world—the strongest sorcerer escorting an ordinary baker—but Gojo didn’t care. He never cared about what people thought.

And slowly, you noticed the change: his visits weren’t just habit anymore. They were intentional. Longer. Sweeter. More clingy in a way he pretended wasn’t clingy.

He’d lean over the counter to watch you pipe frosting. He’d use any excuse to brush your hand when you passed him his pastry bag. He always smelled like winter air and sugar.

Then one morning, you found a handwritten note tucked beneath your register. His handwriting was messy, cocky and familiar: “Save me a strawberry tart. And maybe… save me a little more of your time too.”

You stared at that note for a long time, heart thudding like a mixer set too high. It wasn’t a confession—not exactly—but it was the closest he’d ever come.

synopsis: in which case y/n meets the infamous racecar driver oscar piastri as she works in her family-owned pastry shop, and she pretends not to know him. little does he know, she's idolized him for the longest time.

smau + prose (2.9K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

Had to make a doodlely do for this.

Cherry Pie by kaistrex (weishen)

Sterek | 1.6 k | completed

Summary:

Derek Hale is a dreaded customer at Beacon Hills Bakery, but perhaps he's not as terrifying as Stiles has been led to believe.

stress baking by bibliosexual

Sterek | 1.4 k | completed

Summary:

Derek doesn’t usually start conversations, but today he feels like making an exception. “Are you okay? This is a lot more baking than usual, even for you.”

“What? What do you mean?” Stiles says, dropping his hands to his sides. His face cycles through about five or six different expressions before settling on something that’s probably trying to say “innocent and oblivious,” but… well. Derek might not know Stiles that well, but he knows Stiles is definitely not either of those things, ever.

“The cookies,” Derek says slowly. “That you leave on my doorstep a few times a week while I’m out on my morning run.”

Stiles glares down at the cookies Derek’s holding like they’ve betrayed him.

“We don’t talk about it,” Derek says slowly, unsure, “but I thought you knew that I knew it was you."

The Sweetest Sourwolf on Campus by Batwynn

Sterek | 5 k | completed

Summary:

Stiles is the most annoying person Derek's ever met in his entire life.

That's not really an excuse to be such a jerk, but he can't help it, something's weird about this guy.

[College AU. Freshmen Stiles. Werewolves ]

moonstruck by haleofStilesheart

Sterek | 11.1 k | completed

Summary:

For the past few years, Derek has been chasing the most intoxicating scent around Beacon County whenever there's a full moon. When he wakes up one morning half naked and hungry he seeks refuge in a bakery, where he's hit full force by the scent he's been chasing. A scent belonging to the cute baker named Stiles.

Fold In Gently by thepsychicclam

Sterek | 4.1 k | completed

Summary:

Derek is going to kill Cora. He’s going to kill her numerous times. One death is not enough punishment for what she’s making him do.

Cora’s making Derek take baking classes.

Christmas Cookies and Pictures with Santa by BloopsieDaisy

Sterek | 26.9 k | completed

Summary:

Baker and Caterer Stiles Stilinski lands the job of catering for the Hale Foundation's annual Christmas Gala. Things get a bit dicey when he finds himself starting to fall for Derek Hale, a photographer and a bit of a black sheep of the Hale family. He also has no desire to take over the foundation like his family wishes. That is until Stiles opens his eyes to all the good his family is brings to the people of Beacon Hills.

let me know (and let me in) by blvkebellamy

Sterek | 7.5 k | completed

Summary:

Stiles was a reasonable guy, usually. Normally, knocking on a stranger’s door and asking to climb on their balcony so he could get to his window because he accidentally locked himself out wouldn’t be something he’d ever think of doing. Especially if it was the door of the hot stranger who lived next door and kind of looked like he wanted to kill everyone and burn their apartment complex to the ground. He had the common sense to realise that that’s probably not the best way to start a friendship-slash-pining-mess-of-a-thing and that if he wanted even a chance to get with his (honestly, unlawfully hot) neighbour, he really shouldn’t do this.

However, he was already five minutes late to Lydia’s birthday brunch and Scott left early so he could get ready with Allison. If he shows up empty handed he’s going to end up not having any hands to be empty with.

Eddie is known from his metal, scary and dnd themed cakes and cupcakes. He went viral after he made his friend an cake with a whole dungeon. He won couple of competetions and is running his own small bakery/records shop.

Steve is a beginner. He made his ex girlfriend very sweet cupcakes with words "happy valentine day" on them. She posted it on her social media, and when she broke up with him He went viral because people fell pity toward him. Beging hot helped.

His friend robin helped him start his own baking social media. She was the one who signed him up for baking competetion.

It was on one of the baking competetions they meet. Both of them didnt in that time. Eddie was so focus on steves abs, that he added salt instead of sugar. Steve was so focus on eddies eyes and tattos that he burned his cake.

They bith thought to themselfs: o, wow, this guy is hot. It mus be some trick to distract me, so I wouldnt won!

Because of beging to hot and horny for eachother they strated fighting. In every competetion, in social media, in baking events.

Lover boy vs vampire guy.

One day, at another competetion, the tension was so big, everyone could fell it. Finaly eggs and baking powder started flying and a food war started.

After that they were both banned. Not because of the food war, but because after everything calmed down they finded bith if them under steves table, dirty and messy, making out.

[image ID: steve rogers smiling. /.end ID]

masterlist

18+

wc: ~450 words

warnings: baby is very nervous

a/n: i just wanted to post something little before dropping my mega stucky fic hehe. this takes place in the baker universe BUT we have to pretend that the events of baker's convention didn't happen, because i want steve to be an artist instead of a baker now hehe.

pairing: baker!bucky x gn!little!reader (future stucky x little!reader)

summary: you're about to meet your baba's "special friend"

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾

You and Bucky walked hand in hand to the quaint little bookstore. It was a nice, neutral spot for you to meet your Baba’s “special friend”. Bucky paused to check in with you before opening the door. 

“You ready to go in, pumpkin?” He asked. 

You looked away before answering. “Um, I need another minute please.”

“Of course, baby. Let’s step over here.” Bucky led you to the side of the building where you had more privacy. He crouched down to your level, taking your smaller hands in his and rubbing soothing patterns. 

SWEET ROUTINE. beelzebub x f!reader

₍ ᐢ.ˬ.ᐢ₎˚୨୧ In which an incredibly hungry customer causes trouble for a new cafe, and a new shop owner gains a unique regular.

“I’ll have ten of everything, please.”

“Ten of the donuts? Or the cake?”

“No. The whole menu.”

“I-I’m sorry??”

part one of this series! part two (date tbd)

word count || 3.7k

THE MORNING RUSH HADN’T ARRIVED JUST YET.

Not that there was one to expect anyway.

[Name] placed her cup of paint pens and markers back into her lower cabinet, shutting the door with her hip before reaching for the menu board against the wall. Carefully, she propped up the newly decorated board by the entrance, admiring the bubble letters and doodles she had just finished adding.

Satisfied, she circled back behind the counter, leaning her elbows on the surface. Opening early always left her a little worn out.

She glanced outside, observing the quiet street—noticing people on their way to work, bicycles passing by, or strangers walking their dogs.

She couldn’t help her smile whenever a puppy found the smell particularly interesting, nose twitching as it pawed at the door. Sometimes, the owner would stop and look up at the window, attention caught by the intricate drawings on the glass.

“Newly opened!” was painted in large, colorful letters accompanied by silly cartoon characters she drew by hand.

It took hours to repaint a new one every month. Though, seeing people pause to snap a quick photo always made it worth it.

Inside the cafe, the atmosphere was comfortable, accompanied by warm light from the hanging lamps and a selection of soft music from the shop playlist. Plants hung from shelves and stood tall in some corners of the shop. A pleasant smell of butter, fresh bread, and vanilla wafted throughout the room, which she found comforting.

[Name] took great pride in the interior, having worked for months to get it the way she had envisioned. She stood, watching the college student at the booths studying quietly, and the married couple by the window chatting over coffee. She liked knowing others found it as comfortable as she did.

“Anyone new?”

A voice called from the kitchen doorway.

She glanced up to see her best friend, leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed as her eyes wandered the cafe.

“Not yet,” she hummed. “I might go around and ask about refills though.”

“I can do it,” Sasha offered, walking towards [Name]’s spot at the counter. “I finished the extra donuts. You just need to ice them.”

[Name] smiled, stepping aside and adjusting one of the trays in the display case.

She felt lucky to have a close friend willing to help around from time to time.

Sasha had told her simply that she had just needed a part-time job, helping out for her own convenience. She’d said it so casually the day she offered, but [Name] knew better.

She’d been there long before the cafe had opened, looking over papers and forms together, helping her paint the walls, moving furniture, and hauling boxes of ingredients to the kitchen at two in the morning. A normal person wouldn’t have done all that for a paycheck.

Still, [Name] didn’t say anything. She just made sure Sasha was paid well whenever she helped out, never charging her for any pastries she’d snag on the way to her own classes.

Though, it was the least she could do for someone who’d been there since the beginning.

“What would I do without you,” she sighed.

“Just die, I guess,” the girl joked, already crossing to the other side of the counter. [Name] laughed.

Behind the glass were rows of various pastries, donuts, cakes, macarons, and the like. They were neatly arranged onto wooden trays, each one decorated with simple icing designs and cute faces. What she liked the most about her baking process was that she could be as creative as she wanted, often opting for a cute animal face or simple floral patterns. It took time, but customers seemed to enjoy them.

Well, the few people who came, anyway.

Most of the designs weren’t consistent throughout the weeks, just whatever she felt like in the moment, fluctuating from batch to batch.

Her personal favorites, however, were a batch of chocolate filled donuts, iced with even more chocolate as well as bear ears, base detailed with comical bear features. Somehow, they always made their way into her selection. They were simple, but had something endearing about them.

Or maybe she just liked making them.

“Y’know,” Sasha started, returning with a tray of cups. “If it doesn’t pick up, I could always call some friends over to make a fake line.”

[Name] glanced over her shoulder.

“What would that do?”

“Like, I could make them fight over who gets your carrot cake or something. Make them pretend to argue about how good your pastries are.”

[Name] gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest.

“My pastries are good!” she said with mock offense. “Why would they need to pretend?”

Sasha laughed. “Marketing!”

[Name] waved her off dismissively, gesturing to the customers who were still waiting their refills.

“You’d have better luck getting me on MasterChef.”

“Like you’d win anyway,” the girl teased before grabbing the cups and heading towards the tables.

Before she could retort, the bell above the door chimed.

A tall figure stepped in.

[Name] straightened up immediately, a welcoming smile plastered on her face. New customers were always good.

The man, however, instead of walking forward, paused at the doorway, eyes wandering as if he was taking in the entire place piece by piece.

He looked around slowly.

His gaze lingered on the various decorations lined up on the shelves, then to the soft pillows placed neatly at the booths, then to the colorful menu boards on the walls and by the door, before his gaze returned to the large window.

He seemed particularly interested in the cartoonish paintings across the glass.

[Name] felt satisfied, appreciative that her efforts were noticed.

“Hello!” she greeted cheerfully. “Welcome in!”

The man nodded politely, approaching the counter.

Then, he stopped.

His attention shifted immediately towards the display case, pastries laid out in all their glory. The way his expression brightened the second he laid his eyes on the desserts told [Name] that they made the biggest impression.

Up close, she noticed that he was tall. Extremely so.

He leaned slightly over the glass, his broad shoulders casting a faint shadow over the counter, the sleeves of his shirt stretching slightly across his arms as he bent closer to get a closer look.

He looked… oddly serious about the desserts.

His hand hovered over a group of rabbit-decorated cream puffs first. They were small and round, decorated in chocolate with comical expressions.

Then, his hand drifted to a velvet cake slice, topped with whipped cream.

Then up again to a tray of heart-shaped strawberry tarts glossed over by the display lights.

His mouth watered.

[Name] had never seen someone so mesmerized by her pastries before. She didn’t even look at anything that intensely when looking over her lease agreement.

He leaned a little closer to the glass, attention shifting from tray to tray.

“Did you make all these yourself?” he asked suddenly.

The question caught her slightly off guard.

“Oh—uh, mostly, yeah! Sasha helped a lot, though,” she answered, gesturing vaguely toward the kitchen doorway where her friend could be seen piping meringue.

He looked back at the pastries again.

“They look really good,” he said simply.

For some reason, hearing that from him made her feel a bit lighter.

Though, as flattering as it was that her desserts looked good enough to salivate over, she wondered briefly if she would have to wipe drool off of the glass once he left.

Then, out of nowhere—

RRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMM.

A wild rumbling noise echoed through the shop, startling [Name] and the few customers hanging around. Sasha froze halfway through piping, glancing towards [Name] with concern.

“What was that?”

[Name] blinked, straightening slightly.

Jesus Christ. Was there something wrong with the pipes? Sure, the building’s a little old, but it shouldn’t be making sounds like—

The second rumble nearly shook the entire building, rattling the paper cups on the counter and even rolling a pen to the floor.

She stared.

That can’t be normal.

Before she could turn to Sasha and panic about a possible earthquake, she noticed the man before her suddenly place a hand over his stomach. If she had any room reading skills at all, she would think he even looked ashamed. He even looked a little apologetic, almost refusing to meet her eyes.

It took a moment for her to piece everything together.

Her eyes widened.

Was that… his stomach???

When it clicked, she couldn’t help the way her jaw dropped, flabbergasted by her ridiculous conclusion. She refused to think that the monstrous growl from second ago had come from the singular man in front of her.

For a second, she just stared at him.

“…Sorry,” he said quietly, shifting slightly where he stood, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. She immediately shut her mouth. He had caught her staring.

“No, no, you’re good!” she reassured him nervously. “I’ve been there before, I understand. Are you okay…?”

He seemed to lighten up a bit at her words, smiling, a gentle acknowledgement of her compassion. He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. Just hungry.”

She smiled back. “Then you came to the right place!”

She understood, though, to an extent. It was a normal bodily function, and he may have just been really, really hungry. She decided it was best to stay silent. In college, when her bowel movements would act up during quiet lectures, she would pray that no one said anything, horrified by the sounds her stomach would produce. Though, they were never as loud as that.

His eyes returned to the display case. He seemed to pause when he noticed the bear donuts.

“Hm,” he said thoughtfully, still examining the display.

[Name] reached for the tongs, brushing off the strange interaction.

“What can I get for you?”

He looked up slightly.

“Is there anything you’d recommend?” he asked.

“Oh!” she said brightly, pointing to the pastries through the glass. “I personally love chocolatey flavors, so the chocolate stuffed donuts are one of my favorites. And sometimes I take the velvet cake home when I’m feeling a light dessert. Both are great!”

Instead of responding right away, his attention fell towards the array of sweets behind the glass with the same curiosity as before.

He paused at the velvet cake slice she had mentioned. It sat on a small, white plate, layered neatly with white frosting in between. A practiced swirl of pale topping rested on top, piped into soft spirals.

He lifted his head slightly.

“Is that buttercream?” he asked.

[Name] glanced at the cake, then shook her head.

“Oh, no, it’s whipped cream.”

He looked a little surprised.

“Really?”

“Yeah!” she nodded. “The cake and frosting are really sweet already, so I thought whipped cream would make a good topping without being too heavy.”

He leaned a bit closer to the glass, seeming to be studying it more.

“It looks really sturdy for whipped cream,” he noted. “Mine usually deflates pretty fast.”

Her eyes brightened instantly.

“You bake?” she asked, leaning forward with interest.

“Sometimes,” he smiled softly. “When I’m hungry I try recipes.”

[Name] found that his smile was quite contagious. She leaned in playfully, lowering her voice as if telling something classified. She tapped the glass where the cake sat.

“Well, what I like to do is add white chocolate instant pudding mix,” she said proudly. She liked that he cared enough to ask.

“What you do is you add in a little before whipping, and it stabilizes the cream without making it too sweet.”

He tilted his head slightly.

“Huh.”

“Unflavored gelatin works too if you let it bloom first,” she added. “But the instant pudding is easier for me.”

He nodded slowly, appreciative of the information.

“…Thanks. I’ll remember that.”

He studied the desserts carefully, genuinely considering which ones to choose. Then he pointed.

“I’ll try the bear donut first.”

“Good choice!” [Name] chimed, grabbing one carefully and sliding it into a paper sleeve, before ringing him up. He paid quickly, taking it from her hands carefully.

He pulled the paper down and looked at it for a moment, admiring the design.

Then he ate the whole thing.

The girl’s mouth hung open watching him lick his lips contentedly as if he hadn’t just swallowed a large donut whole. He licked the frosting off of his fingers with a grin on his face. It was gone.

Her brain took a moment to process what she had just seen.

Did he even chew??

“That was good,” he stated happily.

[Name] paused.

“…Thanks!” she managed to squeak out.

Satisfied, he glanced at the display case one more time, nodded to himself, as if mentally calculating something, then turned back towards the register.

“Okay,” he said.

“I’ll have ten of everything, please.”

The girl tilted her head. “Ten of the donuts? Or the cake?”

“No,” he gestured to the glass. “The whole menu.”

[Name] choked on her spit, folding over the counter to gather herself. There was no way she heard him right. Behind her, Sasha stood frozen over a handful of dropped baking tools, stunned.

She looked up from the counter at the man in front of her. He was fully serious.

A beat of silence passed before she spoke.

“I-I’m sorry?”

“Ten of each pastry,” he clarified.

She flicked her eyes towards the small display counter, then back to him.

“…Are you fucking with me?”

“I don’t think so.”

She rubbed her temple, trying to comprehend his request.

There was no way one donut was good enough to warrant an order of everything else ten times each.

“There are like… twenty different things in here.”

“Yes.”

“So that would be about, two hundred pastries.”

“That’s right.”

[Name] suppressed the urge to reach over the counter and bitch slap the man right then and there. Is he hearing himself right now??

“It’ll be really expensive,” she added.

“How much?”

[Name] reached for her mouse, punching in the outrageous receipt that was this guy’s order. It was probably the most ridiculous one she had ever gotten.

Hesitantly, she looked up from the screen.

“Eight hundred and fifty-eight dollars before tax.”

The man nodded hastily. “That’s fine with me.”

Despite the shock, she forced back her best customer service face back into place, internally panicking about how on earth she would come up with that many pastries. All of the sweets in the cafe were made by hand, and it was enough work as it is to fill up the small counter.

Does he think I have a factory back there?!

“You must be having a huge party!”

“Not really.”

She raised a brow. “A family gathering?”

“No.”

“…A high school reunion?”

“No,” he paused for a moment before adding, “I just want to try them.”

[Name] no longer made an effort to hide her bewilderment.

“…Ten times each?”

“Yes.”

“By yourself?”

“Uh-huh,” He smiled politely. Like he wasn’t quite registering how absurd his request was.

“Okay…” she nodded slowly. “Right. So, um…”

He looked at her expectantly. She couldn’t believe she was actually considering something so insane.

[Name] gestured helplessly to the display case. “We don’t exactly have two hundred pastries at the moment…” she stated apologetically.

“Oh,” the man hummed. “I can wait.”

Her head snapped up, her hands waving wildly.

“Oh, no, no,” she laughed nervously. “What I meant was that I would have to bake a lot more. Like, a lot. It would take several hours.”

He seemed to consider it for a moment, bringing a hand to his chin thoughtfully. Then he nodded.

“Can I come back tomorrow?”

[Name] stared. “You’re sure?”

“Yes,” he grinned. A thought seemed to cross his mind. “…If that’s okay with you.”

Everything within her told her to say no, to refuse and tell him that she couldn’t possibly come up with over two hundred desserts in the span of one night, or that he was pulling a sick prank and would never show up to buy them. She barely had enough ingredients to make that many. Two hundred was absolutely ridiculous. She doubted she would have enough even if she baked until sunrise.

Though, the money would really help. It hadn’t been very busy lately, and she worried she might not have made enough to pay rent. That order alone could cover a huge chunk of that month’s expenses.

Still… It was two hundred pastries.

She glanced towards the man, whose attention had drifted back to the sweets behind the glass.

He wasn’t demanding about it at all. Surprisingly patient actually.

His gaze landed on the bear donuts again. His smile hadn’t left since he’d tasted the first one. He seemed to mumble something under his breath, which [Name] made out to be something like, “Maybe Belphie would like these.”

It was a little cute if she ignored the absurdity of the situation.

Though she dreaded the baking session that would come from it, the thought of someone enjoying her sweets warmed her heart.

The genuine excitement in his expression gave her an odd new confidence.

Might as well help a guy out.

She tapped her fingers on the counter lightly, internally planning out her schedule, then turned back towards him, the corners of her lips lifting into a warm smile. She spoke before she could stop herself.

“Yeah, I can have those ready for you by tomorrow!”

His grin widened immediately, eyes sparkling with anticipation. [Name] had never seen anyone so excited over a few (two hundred) desserts.

“Thank you,” he said, relieved. After a moment he added, “Is the same time okay?”

She nodded.

Her confirmation seemed to satisfy him, and he returned the gesture with a small nod of his own.

“I’ll be back,” he promised, turning towards the door.

[Name] watched him take a few steps, her eyes following his tall frame as he walked away. The morning light from the windows shone lightly on his hair, the warm orange color nearly glowing as he passed beneath it.

Then, a thought occurred to her. She called out to him before he could reach the door handle.

“Hey, wait!”

He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder, large hand hovering over the door.

“Actually,” she said quickly, leaning forward slightly on the counter. “Would you mind coming in a little later tomorrow?”

He turned around fully now, attention on her.

“Later?”

“Yeah. Like, in the evening. Around closing time, maybe? We close around seven.”

That would give her a little more room to bake and take breaks in between, not to mention packing them into boxes. It also meant no one would be bothered by the dozens of pastry boxes she anticipated would litter the tables tomorrow.

“Okay,” he agreed. “Evening is good.”

“Great,” she sighed, relieved, lifting a hand to wave him off. “See you tomorrow!”

“See you tomorrow,” he waved back, his expression relaxed. He seemed so carefree, having just ordered eight hundred dollars worth of dessert.

The bell chimed softly as he stepped outside, disappearing onto the quiet street beyond the glass. [Name] watched the door close behind him, gaze lingering where he stood.

For a moment, the cafe returned to its usual, quiet comfort. She was suddenly aware of the calm indie music playing in the background, the cars passing by outside, and the faint clinking of ceramic mugs.

Then, she turned around slowly. She was met with an unimpressed Sasha, silently observing, arms crossed and sporting a dreadfully judgmental expression.

“You just promised a guy two hundred pastries,” she said flatly.

Her voice snapped her out of her daze, the realization of just how much work she had given herself crashing down on her like a large bag of flour.

“…Yeah,” she muttered.

A moment passed. ”…Fuck.”

Sasha cocked a brow.

“Can you even do that?”

[Name] opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again. Her gaze drifted from the door, to the display case, then at anything but Sasha’s face.

She shrugged.

“I don’t know.”

Sasha groaned, dragging a tired hand down her face like she already knew what [Name] was going to say next. “You’re gonna make me stay late, aren’t you?”

With pleading eyes, she clasped her hands together.

“…Please?”

“Bitch! You should’ve said no!”

“I know, I know!” [Name] shot back defensively. “But how could say no?! Did you see his face??”

“So you’d make two hundred pastries for any handsome guy that came in here??”

“That’s not what I meant!”

[Name] slumped forward, resting her head on her hands, her elbows propped against the counter.

She stared at the marble counter for a moment. Then her head snapped back up towards her friend, the exasperation in her expression replaced with something close to desperation.

“No one’s ever looked at my baking like that,” she spoke.

Sasha scoffed.

“He just looked like he wanted to inhale everything!!” she argued. “He won’t even taste them with the way he shoved that donut down his throat. He didn’t even chew! And did you hear his stomach earlier?!”

“Exactly!” she said suddenly, pointing to the door the man had left from. “That guy needs these pastries. He sounded so hungry he could take a bite out of my house.”

“He could fix that with a trip to Taco Bell.”

“He said he would come back!”

Sasha stared at her long and hard. Then, tilted her head back, pinching the bridge of her nose as if warding off a headache. “You’re crazy.”

She leaned her back against the counter, glancing at the cabinets where they kept the ingredients.

“You don’t even have enough ingredients for that many.”

[Name], however, had already pushed herself up from the counter. She glanced at the door, then at the cabinets, then back at Sasha, sporting a devilish grin.

“…Wanna come with me to the store?”

Thank you so much for reading :))

Part two: soon!!