#BakeryAU

[ginabiggs]

Tuck in, everyone! It's time for a feast!

All You Knead Bakery starts heating up fast when Frazier’s old school crush, Brie, and his long-time rival, Rye, come back to their hometown, both confessing their love… for him!

Sugar on Top is a fluffy erotic comic celebrating secret crushes, reconnecting with old flames, and learning that sometimes love has no boundaries.

A Red String Bakery AU that asks the question, “what if they all just kissed?”

Read it exclusively at https://filthyfigments.com/

[image description: A man and woman each kiss the cheek of the surprised man in the middle.]

[ehay]

"You like pain."

prompt by Thea @ahiveofbeesinatrenchcoat (I shall leave it to you guys to guess what the prompt is)

bonus, because I cannot draw blorbo holding a baguette without making an oui oui baguette joke

[leftdestiny-posts]

The two sides of 'DOTT'.

Introducing my Dottore segment 'DOTT' with (finally) a finished illustration!! I am super proud of this one ngl <3 he is my blorbo and brings me joy

[abokycu]

My prompt is : Hakon and Aiden in a cute bakeryAU with cakes and sweets :3

Btw MARRY CHRISMAS EVERYONE I LOVE YOU ALL <33

[janejellyfish]

Fan-art I made of my OC Winnie Daydream and Baker Wally Darling. Bakery AU belongs to @satanic-witchcraft. I hope you like it! I had fun drawing his hair (especially the sprinkles ✨)

#bakery wally darling #bakeryau #welcomehome #welcomehomeau

[ineverguess]

"Oh! Guten Morgen, and welcome back to the Xhorhaus Bakery." ❦ (1/?) Art Inspired by the wonderful Shadowgast bakery!AU fic « Labor of Love » by @itsomgitsgreenblogging on AOC ❦

[itsmeatballworld]

burnt sugar

Summary: They have been friends since Reader opened their bakery next-door to Bucky’s shop. One night after baking together, things change [Bakery AU].

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader [bit of a beefy!baker!bucky]

Word Count: ~3.7k [um what have I done?]

Song: All I Ask by Adele

Warnings/Tropes: Friends to lovers, fluffy, bakery AU, pining, lots of pet names (i.e. doll, baby, honey), cursing, shit grammar [please I’m trying]

a/n: If you are reading this, hi there! I hope you like it! I’m not a writer, but I wanted to write something for the lovely Samantha (aka @samthemarvelfan )! This is for her Scenes From A Song challenge and I had to join in. I haven’t written anything in this perspective [or for Bucky] before today, but I hope you find some enjoyment from this! <3

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Rain pelts against the bakery windows as the gloomy night sky wreaks havoc in Brooklyn. The sound, although erratic, was soothing in the nearly empty shop. You yawn, closing your eyes for a moment. The broom in your hands dips as your sweeping motions become lazy.

Sunday’s are your favorite days. It’s when you prep and restock your bakery. The habitual pattern of constantly sweeping, kneading, and icing would make days like this seem dull to others. But for you it’s perfect. Especially since you started a tradition last year: A seasonal baking competition with friend and fellow baker, Bucky Barnes.

You prop the broom against the counter and shuffle your feet across the clean tiled floors. The clock hanging above the counter ticks. 12:58am. Well. Happy Monday, you yawn again. 

A squeal of excitement from outside catches your attention as soaked figures dart past your shop. They weave through the flooded sidewalks in an attempt to hide from the downpour. You sigh, knowing in just another hour you’ll have to trudge through the same rain. 

“Need any help?” The sturdy voice breaks through the weather’s white noise.

Bucky casually props his elbows on the quartz counter and leans over the workspace. The movement dips his dark mid-length hair out from behind his ear, framing his stubbled jawline.

“Me?” 

“Unless there’s another flour covered baker hiding out here, then yes, you.”

His bright eyes move with you as you rest beside him. “I can help clean up, if you want.” Burnt sugar and a spiced woodsy scent fills the space as you move closer to Bucky.

“No worries. I’m almost finished.” 

Instead of responding, he squints and scans the shop with intrigue. You follow his gaze.

“You really cleaned everything?” 

“Yes?” you snort, shoving him playfully. It was your shop after all. Your baby. Of course you’re cleaning it. 

He leans back into the counter with an exhausted sigh. The bridge between his brows scrunches as Bucky turns to you with a puzzled expression. Damn him. You know exactly what he’s doing. Bucky Barnes is a professional in the art of ‘bullshit’.

And you’re not buying it.

“Stop stalling, big guy. You’re just fishing for me to call it off.” 

“I’m stalling?” The corners of his lips tip upwards in a teasing smile. “Why would I do that when I know I’m gonna win this bake-off fair and square?” 

“Bullshit,” you say lightly. “What did you do? Burn everything?”

His lips part as the bridged space between his brows narrows again. Bingo.

You lean in closer, brushing the sleeve of his henley. “Tell me I’m wrong,” you playfully grin. That kept him quiet. But only for a second.

Bucky leaned back, still focused on you. He grabs the broom where you propped it up, swishing it around the tiles. “I won last fall and winter,” he proudly recalls between unnecessary sweeps.

“And I won Spring and Summer, Buckaroo. Face it. You’re stalling.” You quickly nudge him to the doorway he walked through moments earlier and snatch the broom.

“Come on! Finish up so we can see who the true winner is.” 

Heaving him over towards the doorway to the kitchen, he plants his heels in protest. “Alright, wait! Just hear me out, doll. Your oven runs way hotter than it should—” 

“Go finish those buns you keep raving about,” you wiggle your shoulder into the shove now. 

You struggle to move the rock-solid structure in front of you. As you shove again his muscles contract. His body seems to buzz with a low vibration. He’s laughing. “Stop saying ‘buns’ like that,” he snorts. 

“Like what?”

“You’re kidding,” he keeps his wall-like position. You don’t respond. Which makes him repeat himself with a sweeter temperament. “Baby, you’re kidding, right?”

The tickle in your chest heightens as his contagious laugh echo’s through the space. You bite the inside of your cheek to not give into the smile tugging at your lips. “G-go, Barnes.” 

“Fine,” he releases his stance and heads back inside the kitchen. “But I’m gonna win, doll!” 

You fight the fluttery feeling in your chest that twists down to your belly as he said ‘baby’ and ‘doll’ again. Pushing the feeling down, you head back to work. 

Excluding the bistro tables and chairs, the space wasn’t built for more than ten patrons at a time. Hell, it barely fits Bucky most of the time. You move through the floor-plan as you do one last sweep before stopping at the window. A shiver ran through your body as you press against the glass. It’s Autumn in Brooklyn.

Chilly rainy days are a joy when the ovens in your bakery are constantly running. The feint neon sign hanging above blinks in the partially dark room. It was the name of your shop. It was your bakery—something you’d worked so hard for. Schooling and multiple jobs consumed your life for a while. Until finally an approved loan had set your dreams into action. It was all so surreal. Some days you had to reach over and pinch your arm just to remind yourself it wasn’t all a dream. 

Warmth returns to your body as you move away from the window to finish cleaning. You shift your weight to rest against the counter, sliding the cloth back and forth. The extra effort was worth it as you reach the small crevasse that always collects dust.

But your mind is stuck on Bucky. Glued to the way he smiles. The way he laughs. The way he bites his lip when he concentrates on something. The way he looks at you. Not just looks—but actually sees you.

You swear those eyes can read you like a book. And that’s terrifying.

Bucky has been both a friend and rival pastry chef since you opened shop two years ago. At first, he wasn’t a fan. The idea that his bakery, Sweet Alpine, could lose business to new competition was nerve-wracking. But within minutes of meeting you, all those fears vanished. Bucky respected you and admired what you did at your shop. You’re damn good at what you do. Not too long after that he became your close friend. 

But the longer you’ve known each other, the more you couldn’t help but be attracted to him. He’s stubborn. He’s a dork. And he’s the sweetest man you know. Feelings just—happened. 

The crush was easier to ignore at first. But now your feelings were like the moon: always present even when you can’t see it.

“—shit.” A loud thump in the distance startles you. There’s a muffled groan as a sheet pan clanks against the floor. 

“Buck?”

A curse cuts through the silence before a strangled sound calls out from the kitchen. 

“‘ts fine!” Another set of pans clatter together. 

You grin and ignore the sound. As the rag wipes across the glass display cases a timer went off in the distance.

“All right,” the deep voice calls out. “It’s time to see why I won last fall.” 

You push through the double doors and spot the baker. In the kitchen it’s a hundred times hotter, but Bucky always props open the alley door in attempt to force a cross breeze.

But an excessive push of air stops you. By the looks of it, he fixed the old rotating fan you refuse to throw away. It sputters and twists as it brushes cool night air around the room.

“Hey,” you point to the object of your attention. “Did you fix that?” 

“Oh,” he says as he pulls out a tray filled with twisted, spiced rolls. “You said it didn’t spin anymore so I thought I’d take a look.” 

You stare at his back, watching him move for another tray of spiced buns. “And you fixed it,” you hum as a tightness in your chest forms. 

“Shit, I didn’t think to ask—”

“No! T-thank you.” Why is he so sweet, you sigh wistfully.

You peak over his shoulder as he places a tray of golden brown cardamom buns down on the counter. His garnet colored Henley sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, flashing his tan muscular arms. You peel your eyes away, fearful that the image will burn into your brain if you look longer.

He’s you friend, you repeat the words in your head, friends don’t check each other out. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything to acknowledge the look across your face. Instead, he raises the spiced buns with pride like he just won an Academy Award. 

“Let them cool for twenty minutes before you try one.” He shuts the oven door. 

“Twenty minutes?” 

He hesitates, “yeah?”

“No way,” you twist your hand past him. Bucky nudges you away. “I’m way too impatient to wait twenty minutes. How about… two?” 

“Twenty.” 

“Two and I’ll buy dinner next Sunday?” You slide closer to him, batting your eyes playfully. His eyebrows raise as you slightly lean into his chest. 

You notice how his breath stalls as you wiggle your hand behind his bulky frame. But like a spell wore off, Bucky quickly swats you away. “Suddenly I’m regretting coming over.”

You groan and repeat the offer, but he insists on ‘twenty minutes’. The two of you fall into your routine and pass the time by chatting and cleaning up Bucky’s remaining mess of measurement tools. 

As you scrub and soak a plastic container, you feel a warm body approach from behind. “Where the hell did you hide the cooling racks?” he murmurs as his chest brushes against your shoulder.

The hard, chiseled body keeps close as your friend reaches into one of the top-most cabinets. 

Then his callous hand brushes against your lower back. His touch leaves a scalding heat through your shirt. Glued in place, your eyes stay firm on the steaming hot water. As if that would distract you from his hand on your back.

“Ah-ha!” Bucky waves the rack before his cerulean eyes find yours. He pauses as he suddenly takes notice to your close proximity. And his hand. “I, uh, got it.” The hand against your back hovers before vanishing. 

The urge to reach out and push his hand right back to where it was makes you shiver. But you don’t.

“You’d think that after all this time in my kitchen, you’d remember where I keep them.”

He pauses. His expression shifts as he rests his hip against the counter. “Last week,” he starts, “they were next to the bags of sugar. The week before that? Shoved into the spice pantry.” 

You wrung your hands on a clean towel, watching him still so close to your body. You can feel the heat radiating from his frame as if he was an oven. Warm and sturdy.

For just a second, you admire him. He is handsome. But his build was so bulky… it would even be considered beefy. Like that’s a thing, you think to yourself. Then you trail the lines of his stubbled jaw with your eyes, stopping right at his buttoned chin. Friends, you kick yourself, just friends.

“—and I found them stacked in the fridge.” 

You snap back to reality. “Hm?” 

Bucky keeps his eyes on you a moment longer. Without allowing him a second to ask you anything else, you exhale slowly. “There’s a pattern, big guy.” 

Bucky gives you a sideways smile. “Sorry, honey. I forgot there’s a method to your madness.”

You ignored the way ‘honey’ floods your mind, spinning you like a dizzy spell. It was sickly sweet. 

Just a friend, you exhale. You nudge past him, meeting his peculiar glance only a second longer. 

You’re just friends. 

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After some time pestering and bribing Bucky to let you have one early, he caves. The exchange was one of his sweets for your famous cinnamon rolls. “Thank you,” you gleam at the treat. Like clockwork, Bucky and you ingest the sweets. 

He watches you between bites, sending a buttery heat down your spine. Those steel colored eyes could make anyone melt, but they have a hold on you. He’s intentional in asking you how his batch turned out. In the same breath, Bucky repeatedly assures you how amazing yours came out. 

“Shit, I’m just gonna say it,” Bucky says. “You won.” Your eyes snap up between silent chews as a look of content bounces across his features. 

“…I won?”

Bucky nudges you, “take the win. Your cinnamon rolls are way better than what I made.”

You’re baffled. Why is he caving so easily? Bucky always fights tooth-and-nail with you during competitions. Sure, this is a silly thing the two of you do together without others involved, but it is still a competition. Bucky never gives up that easily. The sudden urge to disagree is overpowering.

“No way,” you say between bites. “Better than this?” 

“By miles, baby.” Bucky reaches out, holding the cinnamon roll between his strong vibranium fingers. “Take a bite.”

You don’t hesitate as you bit a small piece from the half-devoured roll. As you grumble about it “being a little too sweet tonight”, you stop. Those blue eyes wander across your face. A flicker of something different washes over him, but you don’t have time to react. Bucky raises his opposite hand to your cheek. 

Eyes wide, you stammer. “W-what’s wrong?” 

“Hold still,” he hums as his callous thumb brushes against your bottom lip before meeting that same thumb to his tongue. Bucky licks the bit of frosting off. “Mm.” He keeps his attention on your lips, “I’d say it tastes pretty fucking amazing.” 

Silence settles over the kitchen after that. You both ignore the heaviness in the air making it hard to breathe. You try to speak, but the words sat on your tongue like rocks. He doesn’t say anything else for some time as he packs up the rest of the food. Then, it was time to finally go home. Your feet ache as you slide out of your work shoes into a pair of rain boots. Bucky brushes past you as he slips on his heavy black leather jacket. 

The two of you were exhausted. It’s after 2am and you can barely keep your body upright. But you still hurry to shut off the last light as Bucky holds the door, waiting for you to join him outside. 

“So,” he leans the umbrella over your head. “Do you mind selling the cardamom buns? I’ll be up in Rochester until Friday.” 

You stop. “Wait. Alpine’s won’t open at all? Can’t Sam or Wanda open for you? Or even me. I’ll do it.”

“Nah, I’m gonna close until next week. It’ll be my vacation.” 

You slowly nod, locking up the shop. “It’s for Steve’s art show, right?” 

Bucky’s eyebrows raise, “You remembered?” 

“Yeah,” you huddle underneath his small black umbrella. “You’re my friend. I remember pretty much everything you say.” It feels wrong—that word. Because with time, you wish he was more than just your friend.

“Right,” his voice drops, “friends.” 

Your eyes meet for a moment just before you cross the street and walk in silence towards your apartment building. After every competition, Bucky insists on walking you home. Rain, snow or shine, he promises to get you home safely. And now, as he links his arm around your waist, your exhaustion seemingly slips away. You curl into the nook of his arm as Bucky tightens his grip.

“What’s that smile for?” he whispers. You tip your head up to the very observant man. Your grin widens. 

He says you name softly, squeezing your waist. “What?” 

“Nothing.” A small sigh escapes his lips as his arm releases you. “Wait,” you grab his hand, “stay here. I’m freezing.” 

“I know,” he murmurs before repeating the movement. He balances the umbrella as he shuffles his jacket off. You protest until the warm leather engulfs your chilled body. A moan of pleasure rolls through your chest as you squeeze the jacket closer. That woodsy caramelized scent fills your lungs again. And you can’t help but savor in the way his jacket feels around your body. “Oh,” you tighten your hold on the fabric. “I think this is mine now.” 

“Really?” 

“Really,” you move around a flooded dip in the sidewalk. The sudden acts of kindness keep adding up. There are too many to count now as the list turned into the length of a novel. Whether you asked him to or not. 

“Wow, Barnes.” A chuckle escapes your throat as he hovers the umbrella closer to you, “First, you fixed my fan. Then, you let me win—” 

“I didn’t let you win,” he objects as you ramble. 

“And now you gave me your jacket?” the loopy exhaustion creeps into a wild sense of confidence and you meet his gaze. “I swear if you let me watch that adorable cat of yours while you’re in Rochester I’m going to think you love me—” Bucky stops. The warmth of his body vanishes. Fear courses through your veins like splintering ice as you swivel around. Did you just fuck this up?

“Hey… I was just joking, big guy.” Those eyes burn hot like blue flames, warming your skin. “Bucky?” 

“What if I do?” He moves closer as he lowers his gaze to your lips. “What if I love you?” 

A bicycle rushes past and halts the conversation. Ice cold rainwater sprays across your bodies. Bucky curses, ushering you further up the block towards the warm glowing lights of your apartment building’s lobby. Huddled under the overhang of your apartment complex, Bucky keeps his eyes low. Cold, damp and slightly stunned, you watch him fidget to close his umbrella.

“…Bucky.” 

He grunts as the latch to close the umbrella snaps back against his skin. He repeats the motion, grumbling to himself.

“Careful,” you take the umbrella and swiftly close it. He laughs deeply, sliding a hand through now his slightly damp hair. 

As his eyes rest on you, he sighs. “What would I do without you?” 

The question feels rhetorical, as if he’s trying to say something to you without saying it again. He loves you. But the sudden silence feels uncomfortable. So you keep talking. “Without me? You’d probably break a leg.” You grin and hand the umbrella back, “or singe off an eyebrow. Or both eyebrows?” You pause. “Honestly, there’s a lot of things that would go wrong.” 

As you slide off the jacket, his hands quickly tug the warm fabric back over your body. “No. Keep it.” 

You shake your head, “I was just joking.”

“Seriously,” he groans. “Just keep it.”

“No way. Don’t you need it for upstate?” 

“I have other jackets,” he reassures. “Plus that looks better on you anyway.” The gleam in his eyes counters his drowsy smile and you couldn’t help but reciprocate the look. “I want you to keep it.”

“Okay,” you whisper as you tug the coat closer. It has nothing to do with the cold winds wiggling under the leather. You just can’t figure out what to do with your hands. The longer the two of you stand there, the softer your expressions get. 

But the longer you both stand there, the more you can’t help but wonder if you are ever going to hear him say those words again. That he loves you. It’s swirling in your mind, picking at every sane part of your brain until there is nothing left but mush. Bucky does that to you—and so much more. 

“I’ll… I’ll see you when I get back.” 

So he isn’t going to say it again, you think to yourself. He’s leaving. He’s leaving and you’re desperate to tell him how you feel. But all you could do is say ‘okay’. Almost instinctively, his lips part as he raises his hand to your cheek. The callous thumb of his right hand dips down your cheek to the softness of your lips.

“Have fun with Steve. Go to a bar or something. You deserve this trip so don’t just sit around like old grumps.” Your heart is thumping wildly at his startling but desired touch. The softness in your voice never falters. “Promise?” 

Bucky smooths his thumb back over your cheek. “I promise.” The movement was so timid that you refuse to move. As if your motion could break his concentration. “But I’ll be back for Sunday,” he whispers. 

“Good because I’ll need to make another batch of cinnamon rolls for you to try before—” you don’t move when his lips brush against yours. Melting as one, your lips tug and pull at one another slowly. Each testing the boundaries of this soft, intimate contact for the first time. He moves back slightly, eyes wide with questions. Questions that can wait. Without hesitating, you close the small space created between you. Your lips crush against his again, deepening the kiss until you feel nothing but him. Taste nothing but him. Burnt sugar on his tongue, on his skin. It’s intoxicating. He relaxes and you feel his other arm slink around your waist.

“Wait,” Bucky pulls back again with a blush blooming over his cheeks. “I, uh, should have asked you out first.” 

With your fingers slipping into his damp hair, you purse your lips thoughtfully. “You already said you loved me. I think we’re allowed to jump a few steps.” He bites his bottom lip, tightening his hold on your waist. “You deserve a date. A real first date.”

The same warm, tingling feeling churns in your belly. He’s amazing. “Well… then ask me, Barnes.” 

His blue eyes soften as he trails circles into your skin. “How about dinner, Saturday night? I know this little Italian place in Cobble Hill and I think you’d really love it—” 

“Yes,” you breathlessly respond. “I’d love to.” 

“It’s a date, then,” he quickly says. 

You don’t fight the excited smile pulling across your lips. Mesmerized, Bucky watches you for a moment before clearing his throat. As if it was your cue, you step backwards and point your body towards the glass double doors. Light illuminates the doorway as you tug the door back. 

“Night, Bucky.” 

He smiles warmly, “g’night, doll.” 

Your ears buzz as the word ‘doll’ rolls over his tongue. You don’t look back as you slip inside, up the stairs into your small apartment. In a few days, you’ll be on a date with Bucky. Snuggled into the warmth of his leather jacket, you collapse onto the couch. Inhaling the burnt sugar, spiced woodsy scent, a permanent smile glues to your lips.

You have a date with the man of your dreams. And that’s all you can think about tonight.

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a/n: I wrote this on my phone while dodging Thanksgiving chaos and mayhem so sorry for any mistakes I haven’t had much time to proof read this weekend <3

ty for a cute little writing challenge @samthemarvelfan !! Had lots of fun 💕💕

[seaofmonsterz]

Jasico Bakery AU WIP! @~@

Hi so this is like my first post on this account really hi I am Moss im working on an about me page but for now just check my twt if you have any questions. 

This is my first time writing in a really long time and it has not been edited so please be mindful, constructive criticism is apricated being mean is going to hurt my feelings </3, now with that being said enjoy

Jason was finally the only one opening the family bakery this morning, The shop gets extra busy in the winter months when everyone's home for the holidays. Jason had to have his sister Thalia and his best friend Reyna help with the extra morning rush. Now though, the holidays are over which means Jason can be back to his happy place! Thalia and Reyna are great company but Jason loved opening alone the calm vibes of the shop before the rush is a peace that is unmatched by anything else. 

As he pulled up to the store he was frustrated to see there was an old rusted black Cadillac parked right where Jason usually parked. He sighed, he parks in that spot almost every day of the week but then decides to let it go. Nothing's going to ruin my open! He decided before parking around the block. Jason got out of his car and locked it, he didn't really mind having to walk a couple of blocks to get to the shop, there was a light drizzle that freckled over Jason's cheeks keeping his senses sharp, The breeze that shook through his coat was almost relaxing to him. He made sure to glare at the Cadillac as he unlocked the bakery door, making sure to relock as he got inside. 

The smell of flour was always the first thing Jason smelled when he walked into the bakery, a rich scent that filled Jason's mind with fond memories. He and his sister had saved up their whole lives for this place and they finally made enough money and opened it 4 years ago when Jason was 19 and Thalia was only 22. Jason grew up baking, whether it was Thalia's birthday cakes or helping her experiment with new recipes he always felt at home in the kitchen.

[wonderly-li]

Fizzi pop as an ice cream 🤡🍨

[ginabiggs]

I'm so excited to announce I've got a new erotic comic premiering on FilthyFigments . com 🔞 next week!

Sugar on Top is a love letter to my first webcomic series, Red String, and asks the very important question, "What if they all just kissed?"

[image description: Two male friends cheerfully hugging their girl friend! All three are smiling and waving to the audience happily. Title reads "Sugar on Top"]

[alstroemeriatea]

destiel panic attack comfort scene

(I had a fic planned out that was a bakery!AU where Charlie went on medical leave and Cas ended up replacing her. I never finished the story but this was a snapshot of a panic attack scene I had written. TW for the panic attack)

“Dean,” Charlie said over the speaker, her voice crackly from the other end of the line, “you told me once that I was everything to you. That my happiness was infinite and nothing should stop me from reaching the impossible.”

“Of course, Char,” Dean said slowly, leaning against the counter, the evening rush dying down and the store almost void of customers since they were closing up soon. Cas was steaming milk for some college chick’s latte absentmindedly, ready to disinfect for the end of the night. “But what’s going on?”

There was silence on the other end, and Charlie took a deep breath. 

“I’m quitting, Dean.”

What felt like ice literally rushed through his veins. 

“Wh...what?” Dean stammered, his grip tightening around the phone. 

Charlie paused, as if collecting her thoughts. “Dean,” she said softly, “this whole accident with tetanus really gave me a reality check. I love you - you know that. You’re like my brother and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. But at some point… I have to start loving myself like that, too. I wasn’t gonna work at Sweet Serendipity forever, you know this.”

He did know this. 

But she wasn’t supposed to quit while he was dancing on the fine line of closing his business. 

“My passion isn’t being a barista,” Charlie continued, her voice shaking. “It’s coding. I went to school to be a computer engineer, Dean, and Meg… well, she’s been introducing me to a lot of people while I’ve been in recovery. People who know their way around the industry and can get me to where I want to go. I mean, have you heard of Roman Enterprises? Dude, they want me on their regional staff!”

Shit, Roman fucking Enterprises wanted her?

“They do?” Dean asked weakly, the color draining from his face. 

“Yes!” Charlie exclaimed, unable to hide the excitement from her tone. “I went for an interview the other day-”

“Hold on, you went in for an interview?” Dean asked. 

Charlie froze, her voice falling silent. “Dean,” she rasped, “I’m so, so sorry. But this is something I have to do. For me.”

He wanted to scream. 

He wanted to yell and kick the counter until the wood splintered under the toe of his boot and blame the whole world for everything that was ruining him all at once.

But he couldn’t, because Charlie deserved better than that. She deserved love and support, neither of which he thought he could give her right now. 

“I got it,” he muttered, his throat dry and for some reason his eyes glazing over. His breath felt like it was caught in his chest, unable to escape. “But I have to go.”

“Dean-”

“Talk to you later, Charlie.”

“Dean! Y-”

He ended the call, his brain feeling foggy and his breath short. He leaned over the counter, bowing his head and digging his knuckles into the wood. 

“Dean?” Cas asked, wiping up a bit of espresso he spilled on the counter, throwing the towel over his shoulder. 

But his mind was numb and he couldn’t answer. Everything seemed to be crashing down on him at once. He just lost one of his employees and rent was due at the end of the week. 

How the fuck was he gonna get himself out of this one?

Why was this happening?

He was gonna have to close down the cafe; he’d have no source of income!

God, what about Sam? He couldn’t face him!

He couldn’t ask for help!

He couldn’t fail; he couldn’t move to California and bother Sam and his sister-in-law! His life was here in Kansas!

What about his apartment? He couldn’t pay rent there either!

He was gonna lose everything. 

He was gonna die. 

He was dying. 

He couldn’t breathe. 

He was drowning underwater, and he didn’t know which way to swim for air; every direction was suffocating. 

He was dying. 

He was dying. 

He was-

“Dean!” Cas exclaimed, kneeling next to Dean, knocking him out of his daze and back to reality, the fog in his head clearing slightly as tears poured down his face. He was still suffocating; he couldn’t breathe. 

It was so dark, but the sunlight had never been so bright despite the fact the stars were out. He couldn’t see where the counter was and the tile underneath him seemed to sting his skin. 

“Dean,” Cas said again, his tone gentle, but clear, “look at me.” 

Dean pried his eyes off the floor, his fingernails digging into his palm and creating dark red crescent marks in his skin. His entire world was shaking. 

“You’re not breathing, you’re hyperventilating,” Cas told him, looking like he was repressing his own bout of panic despite Dean’s emotions. “I need you to breathe with me.”

Dean wasn’t even taking in oxygen, every breath coming out of his mouth was harsh and his heart was still racing, his face flushed and coated in tear tracks. Could he breathe? He wasn’t sure. 

“Inhale,” Cas told him, taking a deep breath with him. “And hold it with me.” Cas put up one finger, then two, then a third, then a fourth. “Now exhale.” Dean let his breath out harshly as Cas put each finger down, one at a time. “Hold your breath.” Cas instructed him again, counting the seconds on his fingers so Dean could see them, one at a time. They continued this a few more times, alternating between taking shaky breaths of air in, holding, then forcing them out. 

Dean wasn’t even sure he could focus. 

But Cas needed him to, right?

“Dean, where are you?”

Dean breathed harshly out of his mouth, looking around the empty store. 

“I’m… work,” he said weakly, knowing he wasn’t saying the words right. He couldn’t process them correctly. He just wanted to collapse.

The lack of oxygen seemed to be numbing his brain again as his breaths began to quicken again, Dean sliding down the side of the counter his back was against onto the floor. He was stuck there. He couldn’t get up. 

“Dean,” Cas said gently, “look at me.”

Dean couldn’t. 

He wanted to dissipate into nothing. 

“Dean,” Cas tried again, carefully placing a hand on his shoulder. Dean flinched at the touch and Cas pulled away quickly, hesitating before speaking again. “Was that bad?” He asked. 

Dean shook his head, thinking that it was just unexpected. He didn’t even know he had a choice in saying he wanted Cas right now. 

Did he want Cas?

He just wanted this to go away. 

Cas put his hand on Dean’s back cautiously, sitting with his legs crossed on the floor right beside Dean, the privacy of the store isolating both of them. 

“Dean, what… what color is your car?” Cas asked him slowly. 

His car? 

Baby?

That was an easy one. 

“Black,” Dean murmured, his eyes still shut tight and hot tears falling down his cheeks. “Baby is black.”

“You’re right,” Cas cooed, as if he was talking to a small child, “she is. And, hm, let’s see, do you know where we went to? When Benny said he couldn’t join us for drinks? That was a while ago, wasn’t it?”

Dean thought back to that night, the loud music of the club seemingly quiet in the back of his memory. “We went to the Eatery,” Dean said, the neon a more pleasant thought. Or maybe it was just his closed sign glowing into the store. “And we danced.”

“We did dance,” Cas chuckled, then paused, letting his hand travel under to Dean’s chin. “Dean, look at me.”

He didn’t force his gaze up, but rather lifted his finger at the same time Dean raised his head. Dean was in control. 

“What color are my eyes?” Cas asked softly, his other hand resting on Dean’s shoulder. 

He paused, studying Cas deeply. 

“They’re blue.” Dean finally whispered. 

“You’re right,” Cas said, just as quietly. “They are blue.”

Both of them were quiet, looking at each other without speaking. It was like the moment was frozen in time. 

“I can leave if you want me to,” Cas told him. “But you have to promise me that I can leave you. That you’re okay for me to do that.”

Dean bit his lip, never shifting his gaze from Cas. “I’m gonna be alright,” he breathed, “but… I want you to stay with me.”

Cas couldn’t hide the smile pulling at his lips. 

“Of course I will, Dean.”

~

He wasn’t exactly sure how, but he clearly remembered his head hitting the pillow, the taste of cool water still fresh on his lips.  

And it was warm. 

Cas was warm. 

He was safe in his arms. 

And maybe it would be alright. 

[leftdestiny-posts]

Tags ( BakeryAU )

( main tag ) #🧁˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ The Bakery

#🧁˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Received by: Shiro #🧁˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Received by: DOTT

#🧁˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Answered by: Shiro #🧁˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Answered by: DOTT

( Lore tags ↴ )

#🧁˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Memories of: Shiro #🧁˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ Memories of: DOTT

( navigation tag ) #🧁˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ GRAND OPENING

( ship tag ) #DOTTiro 🩵🩷

[nadiasficrecs]

leave it to the breeze by hattalove 

pairing: louis/harry

wordcount: 81,459

summary: or a great british bake off au in which louis cares about winning and winning only, harry is made of sunshine and rainbow sprinkles, and niall sticks his nose into other people's business. also featuring liam as louis's best friend-slash-concerned mother, and zayn as a macaron connoisseur.

[chibinightowl]

Bakery AU Jaytim if you’re still doing prompts? 💕

I am! But I think I’ll save the rest of the ones I received for this next weekend. It was a fun way to spend my downtime at work. 

After the last prompt I filled, I decided I need to end my day on a fluffy note. Have some sweetness! ~*~

Tim bites his tongue as he concentrates on carefully icing the delicate cupcake in front of him. It’s a special order for a wedding and he wants each one to be perfect. Stephanie teases him for being too intent on his decorating but it’s the meticulous nature of it that appeals to him in the first place. That and the creative freedom. He still can’t believe he runs a small business — and a bakery to boot. How far the Drake name has fallen. Whatever, Tim’s happy and that’s all that matters. He took what little inheritance he got after his parent’s death (that survived the conservatorship while he was in the foster system) and promptly invested it. Baking always served as an escape for him, and his foster grandma encouraged it and taught him all kinds of things, so after he graduated high school, he went to culinary school to become a pastry chef. The intense pace of restaurant life didn’t suit him, so he sold all his stocks and bought a food truck where he started selling cupcakes and other easy to make (but no less delicious) baked goods. Thanks to his tech savvy, Tim maintained a strong presence on social media and soon his business grew. After six months, he hired Stephanie as his baking assistant and they hit it off fabulously, with her bright energy contrasting nicely against his somewhat intense personality. And now, here he is with his own storefront. Stephanie still takes the truck out during peak hours but now Tim stays behind for the most part to hide in his kitchen and simply create. Customers occasionally interrupt but most of his work now comes from special orders. Like the six dozen black forest cake cupcakes with a dark cherry filling and a blood red buttercream frosting dusted with edible gold glitter. They’re for a gothic inspired wedding, which Tim finds awesome. If there’s one thing he’s learned over the last few years, it’s the eclectic crowd that inspires his creativity the most. “Tim!” Steph all but shouts as she comes bursting into the kitchen. He’s used to it so he barely startles and keeps working. “Oh. My. God. You won’t believe who just walked in and asked for you.” “Let me guess. Mickey Mouse?”That earns him a smack upside the back of his head. “No! It’s Jason Wayne.” It takes a moment for the name to sink in. When it does, Tim drops his piping tube. “You’re shitting me.” Jason Wayne. Second son (adopted) of Bruce Wayne. Formerly Robin and now Redwing. Tim is a fan. A massive fan. He’s been a fan of Robin since he first figured out Dick Grayson was Batman’s sidekick at the tender age of 9. But Jason…Tim always kind of considered him his Robin, especially after the night he rescued a younger Tim from some gang on his way home from the library late one night. His foster family didn’t live in the best part of town but it wasn’t the worst either. “I know!!” Steph all but squeals as she shoves him toward the door. “He says he has a special order he wants to run by you. Now get out there!” She picks up the piping bag to take over. The cupcakes have to be done in a couple hours. Tim stumbles through the door but he still takes a moment to glare back over his shoulder at his friend and assistant. “Just be careful with those!”“Since when am I not? You taught me how to do it, Mr. Picky-Pants.” His ears burn as Tim turns around to greet his famous customer. Of course he heard that. Jason leans casually against the counter and grins at him. “She’s feisty, huh?”“You have no idea.” Tim rubs his hands on his icing smeared apron and grimaces when they’re still red. “Uhh, excuse me if I don’t shake your hand.”“Don’t worry about it. A little icing never hurt anyone.” Jason holds out his hand. “I’m Jason Wayne.”“I know,” Tim replies and then blinks. “Umm. Sorry. Tim Drake.” He shakes Jason’s hand. It’s big and warm and wow, there’s a lot of scars on his knuckles. Jason must notice where Tim’s eyes land. “I box and do some MMA,” he offers. “Oh. Yeah.” Tim reluctantly lets go and tries to put his business face on, much to the dismay of his inner fanboy who is screaming and bouncing in glee at meeting one of his heroes. “So! Steph says you want me to make something for you?” The taller man chuckles easily. He must be used to this. “I am. Normally we have Alfred make cakes, but he just broke his foot and he’s getting up there in age, so I thought maybe we’d contract out this year.” “Oh? What’s the occasion?” “Damian’s 15th birthday.” Jason doesn’t sound enthused. Even Tim’s heard and seen stories about how challenging the youngest Wayne (and current Robin) is. “Gotcha. So, teenager then.” His wheels are already turning. He grabs a pad of paper and a pencil and then heads over to a small table in the front of the shop. “Come into my office,” Tim jokes. Jason takes a seat, his long legs sticking out from either side of the table. The denim of his jeans strains over his incredibly muscular thighs and Tim does his best not to whimper. But it’s hard because the man just hits every single one of his buttons. It’s not fair.“What does Damian like?”The question garners an eye roll from Jason. “Sharp pointy objects. Art. Dogs. Any music that involves a symphony orchestra.”Tim’s done dog cakes before and even one that resembled Monet’s garden, which had been a bitch and a half. “So, a violin perhaps? Oh! Maybe a throwing star! Does he like ninja?” He gets all excited and starts sketching, completely missing the sharp look Jason gives him. “He hates ninja, but loves throwing stars. He’s got a few,” the man replies cautiously. But Tim’s in the zone, drawing a design for a modified star-shaped cake and sharpening the edges, tightening some lines and widening others. “I haven’t seen one since I stopped watching Naruto, but I think it’s something like this.” He shows Jason the drawing. He stares at it a moment before grinning broadly. “That looks fucking awesome. You think you can pull it off?” Tim scoffs. “I don’t see why not. It’s laying flat after all. Unless I can get it to stand…” the wheels start to turn again but Jason brings him back to the present by actually waving his hand in Tim’s face. “Slow your roll there, Timmers. Flat is fine.” “Oh. Okay.” He can’t help the slightly disappointed feeling that he won’t get a chance to really show off for his favorite Robin. Tim forces himself to focus. “So what kind of flavors does Damian like?”Jason rattles off a list of some definitely uncommon tastes, but by the end, Tim only has one idea and he can’t wait to give it a try. “I wonder if I can make a spiced chai cake.” “That…that would be awesome if you can pull it off.” Jason sounds impressed. Tim is already making a shopping list as star anise and cardamom aren’t spices he keeps on hand. “I’ll have to make some samples to see how it turns out. Are you available at all for a tasting?” Another really important question comes to mind and Tim brushes his bangs away from his face. “When do you need this by?” Jason’s staring at him in bemusement. “Two weeks. I know it’s short notice with what I saw online but I was kinda hoping maybe you’d make an exception.” Tim laughs at him. “I’m making Damian Wayne’s birthday cake. Even if it’s just for a small party, that kind of exposure is huge for a little business like mine. I’d be a fool not to.”“In that case, I can stop by next week for a tasting,” Jason says and stands. This meeting is apparently over, at least for now. “That should be plenty of time. This is going to be fun.” Tim knows he sounds eager and doesn’t care.

Jason smiles again, and Tim wants to just melt because it’s so unlike the playboy smile he sees on TV or his Instagram feed (because of course he follows Jason Wayne). “You really like a challenge, don’t you?” he asks.

“I love a good challenge,” Tim agrees, grinning back at his hero.

“So do I.” Jason hesitates, then reaches out and runs his thumb over Tim’s cheek. It comes back red, which Tim swears could probably be from the amount of blood rushing to his face because Jason just touched him. “You always covered in frosting?”

For once, Tim’s brain lines up with his mouth and he says something that sounds clever. “Only on special occasions.”

Or not.

But Jason smirks and raises his thumb to his mouth, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste the red frosting that has apparently been on Tim’s face the entire time they were speaking. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He takes the pencil and pad of paper from Tim and writes something on it before handing it back. “See you soon.”

Tim stands there petrified as Jason walks out and drives away in an absolutely sick red car that screams money and horsepower. Once he’s out of sight, he looks down at the pad of paper.

There’s a phone number written next to his picture. More importantly, there’s a little note in a bold print.

I wonder if you taste as good as your frosting?

[hexdream18243]

"Not to wine but probably dead" xDDD I love this xDD

Part 45 of my bakery “enemies” au!

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[ineverguess]

“It is truly an honor to be preserving one’s way of life, and to respect the history behind it."❦ (2/?) Art Inspired by the wonderful Shadowgast bakery!AU fic « Labor of Love » by@itsomgitsgreenblogging on AO3