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 view comments alexandrasaintmleux cute 🤍 liked by creator 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 🧡 view comments 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 🥖 view comments 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.
liked by oscarpiastri, lando and others ynln eighty-one view comments oscarpiastri ❤️ liked by creator 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 liked by creator juliette.faure what did i say!!!
ynln LMAO
liked by ynln, lando, and others oscarpiastri i now know how to bake view comments 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 ❤️
oscarpiastri i love you more lando what about me
© mvclrc '25
