Your world was usually filled with morning light and the soft hum of the proofing ovens. It smelled of vanilla bean, warm honey, and the promise of something sweet. But today, the peace was disrupted by the heavy thud of boots and the scent of expensive cologne and lingering woodsmoke.
Sukuna didn't belong in a bakery. He looked out of place in your bakery, his dark silhouette cutting through the soft pastel aesthetic of your shop as he leaned over your prep table, his eyes narrowed at your latest batch of tarts.
“You’re late with the glaze,” he rumbled, his voice sounding entirely too loud for the quiet morning. “And your oven is running three degrees cold. Do you always work in such….amateur conditions?”
You glared at him, clearly annoyed by his commentary. “First of all my oven is perfectly fine and second of all, I had you come here today to help me, not criticize everything i do!” He let out a sharp, dismissive huff, his gaze sweeping over your neatly organized spice rack as if it offended him. “Help? You want help from a Michelin starred chef, and you expect me to sit here and watch you use a hand whisk? Here move”
Before you could protest, he was invading your personal space, the scent of woodsmoke and expensive cologne completely drowning out the vanilla and honey. He didn't really just step in,he completely took over. He snatched up a clean apron from the hook, tying it around his waist with an aggressive jerk that made his tattoos flex under the soft morning light.
He looked entirely too large for your prep station.His hands, calloused and steady, grabbed a bowl of heavy cream and began to whip it with a speed that made your arm ache just watching.
“If we’re doing this,” he rumbled, his eyes meeting yours with a competitive glint, “we’re doing it my way. Your customers will love this once we’re done.” he grinned, looking like a madman whipping the cream so fast.
You reached out, your hand covering his on the whisk to finally kill the momentum. “Stop! If you go any further, you're making butter, not topping,” you chided, though you couldn't hide the small smirk at how ridiculous he looked in your floral apron.
Sukuna paused, his chest heaving slightly as he looked down at your smaller hands on his. The “Mad Man” glint in his eyes softened for a split second, replaced by something much deeper as he felt the flour dusted warmth of your skin.”butter would be an improvement over this air filled fluff you sell,” he countered, though he didn't pull his hand away.
He leaned in, his face inches from yours, the scent of woodsmoke now mixing with the sweet heavy aroma of the cream. “But if you're so worried about your precious tarts…show me how a pro does it.”
You didn't back down. Instead you reached for the piping bag, filling it with the cream he’d nearly whipped into submission.
"Fine. I'll show you how to do it like a pro, but you have to be gentle Sukuna. You can't just muscle your way through a delicate tart.”
He let out a low, skeptical hum, but he didn't move away. He stayed anchored right behind you, his large frame acting like a wall of heat against your back. You felt his calloused hands settle over yours, his fingers long and tattooed as they blanketed over your smaller ones on the pastry bag.
“You know, I don't really do gentle,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against the shell of your ear, sending a different kind of heat into your veins. “Then learn,” you challenged, your voice a little breathier than you intended.You guided his hands, forcing his raw strength to steady into a slow,rhythmic pressure.
Together, you piped a perfect, swirling rosette onto the center of the tart. The silence in the bakery was heavy, filled only with the sound of your shared breathing and the scent of sweet vanilla. For a second the “Madman” was gone, replaced by a very focused man who was suddenly very interested in the way your hands felt under his.
He pulled back just enough to look at the result. A perfect, delicate peak of cream. “Hmph,” he grumbled, though his thumb traced a slow, possessive line over the back of your hand. “Acceptable. For an amateur,” you hit him playfully for that.
The next hour was a blur of silver spatulas and the rhythmic clinking of cooling racks. Sukuna eventually stopped barking orders and actually settled into the rhythm of your bakery. He was terrifyingly efficient, his steady hands moving with grace that made the delicate work look effortless.
Together, you finished the last of the tarts, the kitchen finally falling into a comfortable, flour dusted silence. You stood back for a moment, wiping a smudge of cream from your forearm as you both admired the work. The tarts were perfect. A flawless collaboration of his sharp precision and your soft, sweet touch.
“Theyll do,” he rumbled, though the small genuine smirk on his face said otherwise.
He helped you carry the heavy trays to the front, carefully setting the food in the display case. Under the warm, golden glow of the shop lights, the rows of pastries looked like jewels. Sukuna stood behind the glass for a second, looking out at the quiet morning street, his large frame finally relaxing as he realized they were all done.
He turned back to you, His eyes full of love and softness. He reached out, his thumb catching a stray bit of powdered sugar on your lip before his hand slid to the back of your neck. He pulled you into a nice, loving kiss. One that tasted like the warm honey and vanilla of your home.
Note:hi I hope you guys liked this one tooooo its much sweeter than the last one! Lowkey inspired by this weird anime clip
https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTkM1QkcS/
Thank you for the banner @sperocordolium
Mini tag list: @poeticbe4uty @rambld
