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oldmannapping · 3 months

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Mama - a Red Hood fanfic

Directly inspired by this post by @webshood

Excerpt:

You don’t jack a car in Crime Alley. And you definitely don’t jack a car in Crime Alley that almost certainly has a child in it.

The “Welcome To Gotham: 10 Things You Need To Know” pamphlets that Harley Quinn earnestly distributed to newcomers to the Gotham underworld were very clear about Red Hood’s list of Dos and Don’t.

Among the top Don’ts were:

Crime in Crime Alley

Crimes against women in Crime Alley

Crimes against children in Crime Alley

Mama

It wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been so goddam cute.

Felicia Aidia, barely a year old. Couldn’t quite walk yet, but she could stand unassisted for five seconds of startled jubilance before her own shock at the situation would send her flopping back on her adorable diapered butt. Huge almond eyes that were nearly black, wispy black hair and full pink cheeks, she looked altogether too cherubic to be real.

Felicia had been strapped safely in a booster seat, poking at the condensation on the window of the rideshare car she was in with her babysitter, when they were carjacked by an idiot with either a death wish or less situational awareness than a stoned beetle.

There was no other excuse for why this man jacked a She-Share, one of the brightly-marked cars in a fleet that was famous for being Gotham’s first rideshare company to boast child seats in every one of their vehicles at no extra cost.

They were famously affordable and primarily utilised by single parents in low-income areas such as Crime Alley.

You don’t jack a car in Crime Alley. And you definitely don’t jack a car in Crime Alley that almost certainly has a child in it.

Among the top Don’ts were:

Crime in Crime Alley

Crimes against women in Crime Alley

Crimes against children in Crime Alley

The car thief had shoved the driver and Felicia’s babysitter out of the vehicle but utterly failed to notice the giant car seat and the appropriately-sized child occupying it.

A city-wide Amber Alert was out within minutes, which honestly was pretty good considering it happened in Crime Alley and Gotham police liked to pretend that area was just a mysterious Bermuda Triangle kinda place where people just mysteriously went missing, who can say why, oh well, what can you do.

The police were fast but Red Hood was faster.

The vigilante was leaping across rooftops with the speed of a panther. One police helicopter pilot completely forgot their assignment and started following him instead of the stolen car. People livestreamed blurry videos of the car careening around corners that hadn’t yet been blocked off, panning up to catch a glimpse of red metal and brown leather streaking across the sky in pursuit.

The end was anticlimactic. Hood crashed onto the roof of the car from the awning of a deli like a feral beast and punched straight through the driver’s side window. He knocked the driver out and wrested control of the vehicle until it skidded to a stop a few blocks away from the official police cordon.

Before any officers got there, Hood had hogtied the unconscious car thief and carefully extracted Felicia from her carseat.

She let out a small, uncertain wail at the sight and sound of cheering locals, crowding close to film and too boisterous with relief to realise they were scaring a baby.

Felicia pouted. It had been loud, and then fast, and then unfamiliar, and then loud again, and suddenly she was outside, and she was supposed to be napping, and she didn’t know any of these people.

Wait, yes she did. The man cradling her protectively with one arm and holding the other out to the crowd, telling them to, “Back off, back off, give her some space,”, she’d seen him before. She didn’t know how but he was familiar. His big red face (no eyes, very strange, no mouth too! How did he suck his thumb?) wasn’t scary. He was the man on the wall painting! The big wall near the playground had a picture of him painted on it. The playground was safe, and he reminded her of the playground. He was holding her protectively and he was all nice and warm.

Felicia didn’t know many words. But she did know the word she used for the person who felt safest.

“Mama!” she said loudly, clinging to the red man’s arm. “Mama!”

“It’s okay, kiddo,” he said in a very soothing voice for someone without a mouth, “We’ll get your mom.”

A police officer arrived and tried to take Felicia away. She did not appreciate it.

“Mama!” she cried louder, torn between frustration and fear. No one ever listened to her! She reached for the red man. “MAMA!”

Well. Like we said. She was so goddam cute. All eyes were on her fat little face, her adorable, freshly-rescued, chubby little hands reaching out to Red Hood. Everyone was filming her on their phones.

And she called the Red Hood “Mama”, in a perfectly clear, tiny, adorable little baby voice.

Of course it went viral.

For a while, it was a fun in-joke between Gothamites. People playing vigilante bingo to see who they’d spot each night would jokingly ask each other if they’d seen “Mama” down by the docks. Goons blustered amongst themselves that “Mama” didn’t scare them, as they kept their heads down and prayed he didn’t notice them. One bold news website captioned a picture as “Red Hood/Mama” in a story about Felicia’s rescue, while the commenters lost their minds either rofl skull skull skull dying laughing or warning the editors that they should be careful in case the trigger-happy vigilante didn’t have a sense of humour.

Closer to Hood’s home though, the reception was different. And, to him, wholly unexpected.

It started with Felix, the 16-year-old who’d been a sex worker until Hood cleaned up the under-18 scene in the Alley, and who now helped shuttle street kids to the lowkey safehouses Hood and his team had set up. Felix was a good middleman the kids trusted to take them somewhere with food, water, electricity, and no one called CPS. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a good compromise until Hood could clean the stink out of the city’s social services.

Felix was smoking on a stack of crates one night, chatting to a couple of his friends, when Hood strolled over.

“Hola, Mama,” Felix greeted casually, taking a drag of his cigarette as his friends choked.

Hood just sighed. “Not you too.” With a weary exhale, he got to business. “I got those extra blankets you needed for the safehouse on Cedar. They’re at the Warehouse B if you want to run them over tonight. Sheila knows you’re coming, she’ll sort you out.”

And so, with Felix not dead and two witnesses with big mouths to tell the tale, word spread. It was open season on Red Hood’s new nickname.

“Hey, mama!” called the girls on the corner as Hood checked to make sure none of the johns had gotten too rough.

“Mama’s here!” crowed the gays and theys across the block as he dropped off condoms and hot soup.

“It’s mama!” announced the receptionist at the shelter when Red Hood stopped by to do an inventory check.

Everywhere he went.

Whatever. It would pass. People’s attention spans were shot to shit, and the loudest viral jokes always burnt out the fastest. At least, Hood was pretty sure. He wasn’t really online much but it was impossible to exist in the world without hearing a few meme references, and they always seemed to die out fast. When was the last time anyone talked about Baby Shark? Or that kid who said “corn” weird? This would blow over.

Granted, it was taking a bit longer than Hood initially expected.

When Dick gleefully changed his name in the Family Chat, Jason ignored it. He never replied to that thing anyway.

When Red Robin said, “Mama, you’re clear,” in perfectly neutral tones during an otherwise routine surveillance operation, and several comm lines immediately muted themselves, Jason ignored it.

When Damian’s new black kitten, with huge blue eyes and a white streak on the forehead, was named Mama, Jason started to get annoyed. Even DAMIAN?

When Roy answered his call with, “Mama, I missed you!” followed by thirty seconds of unhinged cackling, Jason hung up the phone and didn’t speak to Roy for three days.

When Cass used the ASL sign for Mom to relay information to him during a mission brief, his shoulders dropped.

When Alfred gave him an exquisite pink cupcake on the second Sunday of May, Jason thanked him, left the room, walked into the nearest bathroom, carefully put the cupcake on the bench, and screamed into a towel for six minutes.

When Duke finished a story about growing up in the Narrows with, “Mama knows what I’m talking about, right?”, Jason was defeated.

Fine. They win. Everyone wins.

He worked so hard on a legacy. He dug out of his own GRAVE. He clawed himself back from insanity and anger and reclaimed himself, reclaimed Red Hood, reclaimed his home. He carved a new space for himself, not quite a vigilante, not quite a villain. He made his own rules. He built an empire.

And now, he’s FUCKING Mama.

Life isn’t fair. Sometimes the Joker kills you and you sever heads and butcher bad guys and build up a reputation and then one goddam adorable child says two goddam syllables and you’re fucking MAMA for the rest of your goddam life.

Fuck it. He’s going home. He’s too tired for this shit.

#batman #red hood #jason todd #dick grayson #batfamily #roy harper #tim drake #damian wayne #duke thomas #harley quinn #batman fanfiction #crime alley #crack fic

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somekindofpoet · 1 year

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La Petite Mort - La Fin

Summary: We get closure

Word Count: 3.7K

Warnings: +18 NSFW, smut, language

A/N: Okay so this is the end of the story line for LPM. I will continue to write one shots and headcanons, though don't freak out! Also, there was a drabble I'll link here that happened between Part V and this one.

LPM Part I LPM Part II LPM Part III LPM Part IV LPM Part V Drabble

The drive to Big Bend was like living in a dream. Between the motel stop and the scenic viewpoint stop, you’re beginning to wonder if Lorraine actually wants to get to where you’re going. You know she’s excited about her newfound freedom, and you are too, but a serious conversation needs to be had.

You glance over at her and watch as she holds her hand out the window, catching the wind and then cutting through it like a surfboard. She looks content, grounded. You figure she should be; she just came in the backseat of your truck less than an hour ago. But you still need to make sure she’s happy. That she’s sure she made the right choice. For now, you choose to live in ignorant bliss, enjoy the drive and start the talk later.

The gas gauge catches your attention, riding low over the E.

“We gotta stop for gas, you seen any signs for a pump station?”

She turns toward you, nodding, “Saw a sign a few miles back. There should be a few stations comin up.”

You smile as she reaches for you, taking your right hand and holding it between hers. She scoots closer to you, tracing her fingers up your forearm, giving you goosebumps. Her head rests against the seat, and you can feel her watching you, can see the small smile on her lips through the corner of your eye.

“You’re gonna have to stop doin that, if you ever want to get out of this truck,” you say, your voice hoarse.

She smirks, “I’m not doin anything, I just want to be close to you is all.”

You lift your arm, inviting her to slide into the middle seat. When she does, you let your arm rest across her shoulders, pulling her in close to you. You kiss the top of her head, your eyes not leaving the road. She hums, lets her head rest on your chest.

It’s so easy to find moments like this with her. Small pockets that exist outside of the world, no influence or judgment. Just you two. But it’s also easy for those moments to shatter when reality comes crashing in, loud and screaming.

The gas station is a small one, a family operation from the looks of it. It has two gas pumps that look like they’ve seen better days and a store tucked under the awning. You pull the truck and the trailer under the sunshade and park it.

“I’ll get us the gas, run inside and grab some snacks, will ya?”

Lorraine nods and slides out of the truck, stretching her arms over her head when her feet hit the ground. Your eyes follow her shirt when it rides up, and you laugh to yourself, shaking your head. You pump the gas and watch her walk into the store, her shorts even more distracting now than they were in the truck.

“Oh buddy, you’ve got it bad,” you say to yourself, turning back to the truck.

When the gas pump clicks, you return the hose and make your way into the station to pay. Lorraine has an armful of snacks, and you gesture with your head to the counter. She drops her loot there as you grab a case of beer and carry it over. The tv on the counter is blaring a church sermon, and the attendant is watching it with obligated interest.

You slide the goods over and clear your throat, “Filled up on pump two.”

The woman behind the counter narrows her eyes, making it clear you are inconveniencing her by asking her to do her job. She slides the snacks and beer over with one hand, taking her time. She tells you your total, and you hand a bill over to her, trying not to take note of her attitude toward you.

As you’re packing the snacks into a brown paper bag, two men walk into the store. They’re rugged cowboy types, and it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand straight up. You’d been around their type your whole life, working ranches and rodeos and everything in between. They can be trouble, or they can be extremely cordial. Unfortunately for you, these two are the trouble type.

They make a show of looking you up and down, letting their eyes take their time as they travel over you. Lorraine comes to your side, and both men raise their eyebrows at her. You flex your jaw, trying to find an easy way out of what you already know is going to be an uneasy interaction.

One of the cowboys whistles around the tobacco in his lip, the other laughs.

“Ladies,” he says, “what’s got you so far out in the country?”

You hand Lorraine the bag of food and hoist the case of beer under your arm.

“Work,” you answer, moving toward the door.

The man on the tv starts yelling about sexual deviance. The cowboy with the dip in his mouth leans in the doorframe, blocking your exit. He takes his hat off his head, smirking at you.

“What kind of work?”

You watch him, aware of the other man making his way down one of the aisles to your right. Lorraine inches closer to your side.

“Ranchin,” you say, keeping it as short as possible.

The man is still blocking the door, so you stop, look up at him. He grins down at you, his teeth yellow with flecks of tobacco stuck in his gums.

“I don’t know of any lady ranchers round here,” he says, his eyes leaving you and moving on to Lorraine. “George, you know of any lady ranchers?”

The man at the back of the store laughs, “No I can’t say I do, Nate.”

Nate tilts his head, “So if you’re not ranchin, what’re you doin?”

“Did you miss the trailer with the horses in it on your way in?” Lorraine mumbles, and you close your eyes, inhaling deeply.

Nate laughs, “Okay, spitfire! What’s your name? You ladies look like you could use some company.”

You try to casually step in front of her, hiding her with your body as much as you can. “We need to get goin, you gentlemen have a nice day.”

You step toward the door, but he doesn’t move. You stare each other down for what feels like an eternity, sizing each other up. He’s tall, but he’s skinny. You could scrap with him if you needed to, but his friend would make it nearly impossible for you to win. Your revolver is in the truck, too far to be much use now. Plus, these two have guns of their own; there’s no doubt about that.

The tv on the counter goes quiet, and a woman’s voice breaks the tension.

“Leave them girls alone, Nate, or your momma will tan your hide.” The gas station clerk finally turns herself away from the tv, glaring daggers at Nate.

He evaluates his choices, and his fear of his mother wins out. He leaves the door frame and pushes past you, grumbling as he goes, “I’s just bein friendly, Marge. No need to threaten anyone.”

As soon as he’s out of the way, you hustle out of the store, making sure Lorraine is on your heels. You jump in the truck, and as soon as she’s in, you’re driving off.

“God, I fucking hate Texas,” you growl, your eyes flicking to the side view mirrors to see if anyone followed.

Lorraine sighs, resting her head against the window, “So let’s go. Let’s get out of here for good.”

“We can’t leave your parent's ranch, Raine. They need us there.”

“They really don’t, plus we could visit.”

“Do we tell them about us?”

She bites at her lip, thinking it over, “I think they already know, truth be told. But we probably should tell them.”

“I suppose we should figure out what we are before we go tellin them about it, though.”

The statement is bait, a question for Lorraine to decide on. You think you’re sly, dropping it out there the way you had, but when you turn your head toward her, Lorraine’s expression is amused.

“Is that you, askin what we are then y/n?”

You shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. You can feel your face heating up, embarrassed that she saw through your veiled question.

“I know it’s probably not the best time to ask. You just left your boyfriend yesterday.”

“I haven’t been in love with RJ for a long time. It just took being with you for me to accept it.”

You nod, gulp. You don’t take your eyes off the road.

“I meant what I said to him, you know.” She reaches out, places her hand on your leg.

“What’s that?” You say, your voice cracking.

“I love you.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat, your heart racing. You can feel your hands want to tremble and squeeze the steering wheel tighter.

“Can you give me one hour to get us where we’re goin, set up camp, and say that to me again so I can respond appropriately?”

She giggles, her thumb sweeping over your leg, “Of course.”

Lorraine keeps her hands to herself, for the most part, for the rest of the drive. You think about the conversation to come, the interaction with the cowboys at the gas station, and everything that happened with RJ. It all brews in your mind, mixing and melding into a feeling of uneasiness in your belly. There’s a strong undercurrent of happiness tied in with it, pulling you back to Lorraine every time you freak out.

The camp is isolated, large enough for your truck, trailer, tents, and horses. The daylight is quickly fading, so after the camp is set up, you let CB and Pearl out to wander the grounds. You drag a stack of hay from the trailer for them, but they both beeline to a patch of green grass at the edge of camp.

You busy yourself with getting a fire going, listening to Lorraine hum as she finishes getting the tent set up. Just being out here with her is enough for you, but a small voice in your head is already screaming for more. An apartment that has two toothbrushes in it. Closets with clothes that are mostly not yours. A life intertwined even more than it already is. You know it’s a lot to ask for.

“You’re thinkin' real hard on somethin,” Lorraine says, standing over you.

You turn up and grin at her, “Just how damn good I am at makin' fire.”

She smiles at you, her expression telling you she doesn’t believe that for a minute. She turns away from you and unrolls a blanket next to the now raging fire, and sits delicately. She pats the spot next to her.

“Let’s talk.”

Your stomach flips. You sit in the spot she’d invited you to, feeling a lot like a dog on a leash.

“Right, okay.”

“So, I know it’s not the best look in the world, breaking up with RJ and running off with you,”

“It’s a look I’m growing pretty fond of,” you joke, smiling at her.

She shakes her head, but you can see the smile she’s fighting, “I just want to make sure we’re clear. Getting out of one relationship to jump into another is-“

“So we’re in a relationship?” You interrupt her.

“Oh, um, are we not?” She twists her fingers, anxiety washing over her.

You scramble to make the situation more clear, taking one of her hands in yours.

“I was hoping so, but I wasn’t sure what you wanted. If you need time, I can give you time.”

She shakes her head, “I’ve had enough time. I love you, y/n. I think I have for longer than I realized.”

You feel giddy, lightheaded when you finally say, “I love you too, Raine. But I can’t promise an easy life. I can’t promise the suburbs or a family. What kind of life would that be?”

She leans over, taking your face in her hands, “It would be a life with you.”

The fire crackles as she kisses you, soft and sweet, her thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. Her lips are slow, deliberate. She lies back, pulling you with her, your hands planted on either side of her body.

Cicadas and crickets chirp in the dark around you, the air cool and still. The oak trees circling your campsite tower over you, rustling in the occasional breeze. Lorraine’s body envelops you, warm, welcoming. You’ve never felt more at home than you do in her arms. You figure you should thank her for it, now and every day in between.

You sit up, pulling your shirt off, and she follows suit. You unbutton your pants, taking your time, each movement intentional. Having sex with her now feels heavier, in a good way. It carries more meaning than it ever has before.

You’re both naked under the stars when you lean back over her, your hands touching as much skin as they can. You kiss her lips, then move to her jaw, down her neck. She can feel the gravity of the moment, her hands gentle and her breathing soft. Your hands run up her ribs, and your mouth works your way down to her chest. You lick her nipple, bite it gently and suck it into your mouth when she gasps.

She pulls you back to her lips, her legs hooking around your waist and anchoring you in place. Your tongue slides across her lips, and you rock into her, your body applying pressure between her legs. She moans through her nose, her tongue running over yours, her hands around your jaw.

You descend to her neck again, silently coaxing her grip around your waist to loosen. She gets the message and drops her legs from your hips, allowing you to kiss down her chest again. You kiss her stomach, avoiding the ticklish spot on her side that will make her laugh. The skin below her belly button is soft and sensitive; you take some time there teasing her. She lifts her hips, her eyes dark as she looks down at you. Her hand winds its way into your hair, and she bites her lip as you kiss her where she wants it most.

She’s not used to you teasing, and for some reason, of all the times to start, you choose now to begin. You lick softly at her clit, not hard enough to be satisfying, just a ghost of pressure. Enough to make her moan and tighten her grip on your hair. You sink lower and tease at her entrance, tasting her on your tongue. She’s better than anything you’ve ever had, ever will have, and you know it. So you savor it, close your eyes and enjoy yourself.

You turn your head to kiss her thigh, and she whines. You look up at her to find her face full of want, almost to the point of tears.

“Please,” she whispers, making your heart race.

You consider toying with her, but you want it as bad as she does at this point. You run your tongue from the inside of her thigh all the way down to her slick folds. Done with teasing her, you wrap your lips around her clit and suck, earning the most delicious noises of approval from her. You alternate licking and sucking until she’s arching into your mouth, the muscles in the stomach rippling and flexing from the exertion. You lick her with a flat tongue while she cums, making it last even longer until she’s shivering and trying to stop you with her legs around your head.

She sighs, and you slowly kiss your way up her body, taking extra time on the ascent. You forgot about the ticklish spot, and you accidentally make her laugh, which in turn makes your heart feel like it’s going to beat out of your chest.

Your fingers are already inside of her when your mouth meets hers, the gasp of pleasure coming from her making your eyes roll back. You fuck her slow, each movement intentional in its goal. Every stroke playing the chords of her body, never out of tune. She doesn’t let you any lower than her throat, wanting to keep pulling you up to kiss you after she moans your name.

She lasts longer than usual, hanging on to every move you make, her hands all over you. She doesn’t want to be done, you can tell, and it makes you smile.

“You have me for as long as you want me,” you tell her, “I love you.”

Like clockwork, she cums on your fingers, dripping onto the blanket and around your wrist. She holds your head to her chest as she gasps for air, her whole body shaking and rolling. You pull back, wanting to watch her ride her orgasm, see the shape her mouth takes when it’s open like this, the color on her cheeks, the sweat on her brow. When she’s done, she pulls you down, squeezing you around your shoulders. When you try to pull away, she squeezes you tighter, shaking her head.

“You said as long as I want,” her voice is low and quiet, her breathing beginning to shallow.

You chuckle into her chest, kiss her skin, resolve to become part of the earth there if she wishes it.

——

Today is the day. The day you tell the Days about your intentions with Lorraine. A day with the Days, for your Day. You can do this.

You look at yourself in the mirror, your apartment bathroom cramped but comfortable with Lorraine’s things making their migration. As if on cue, her hands slide around your waist, her head ducking under your arm.

“Are you freaking out?” She asks you.

“No,” you lie.

She grins, “Lie.”

You nod, “A big one.”

She looks at you in the mirror, a reassuring smile on her face, “You know you’re going to be fine. They love you. Plus, I’m pretty sure they know.”

Your eyes dart around the mirror, looking for anything to distract you, “I know. I know. I can do this.”

“We can do this,” she says, squeezing your waist.

You sweat through your button-up shirt on the drive over. Lorraine is at ease; she doesn’t seem worried in the slightest. You are terrified. Scared Mr. Day will throw you on your ass and tell you to never come back to his ranch again. Horrified at the thought of Mrs. Day looking disappointed, heartbroken because of you.

They're on the couch in the living room when you get there. Lorraine called ahead to let them know you had something important to talk about so they were prepared. Mrs. Day sets a tall glass of sweet tea in front of you as you sit on the loveseat across from them. You clear your throat, and pull on the collar of your shirt. Lorraine sits close to you, closer than she usually would in front of her parents. If they notice, they don't mention it.

You pick up the glass of sweet tea and lift it, nodding your head at Mrs. Day, “Tha-thank you,” you say and gulp from the cup.

You wince; there's a hefty amount of liquor in the tea. She smiles at you and says, “Thought you might need it.”

You frown at her, confused as to why she would think you'd need liquor at noon. You gulp from the glass again. Mr. Day just watches you, his face impassive.

“So, I’ve asked to talk to you both today because….” you clear your throat again, wipe your sweaty hands on your pants, “well, because I have something important to tell you.”

Mrs. Day nods encouragingly, Mr. Day smiles under his mustache, his eyes soft.

“See, the thing is, I…well…I uhm,”

Lorraine rubs your back, nodding at you. The intimacy in front of her parents is lost on you; you’re too far into your panic to notice.

“I’m in love with your daughter. And I would like for her to live with me.” You say, your words tumbling out of your lips.

Mrs. Day covers her mouth with her hands, but it's not horror she's hiding. It's a laugh. Mr. Day stands, extends his hand. You stand and take it.

“We know, kid. We’re happy for you both, sincerely. Just take care of her.” His gruff voice is as soft as its ever been, his eyes sparkling.

Your mouth drops open, and you fall back onto the couch when he releases your hand. You close your mouth, open it to speak, close it again. Take another gulp of the tea. Lorraine giggles at your side.

“I…how? How?” You stammer.

Mrs. Day drops her hand, her smile still stretching her cheeks, “Oh, honey. You know, when you were about nine, you told me you loved Rainey. You were very serious about it. And you had the same look today. I’ve always assumed it would end up this way.”

“Just took our ray of sunshine a bit longer to come around. Forced me to put up with that boy for years.” Mr. Day grumbles.

Mrs. Day smacks his shoulder with the back of his hand as Lorraine yelps out, “Hey!”

You laugh, fully agreeing with him. Lorraine pulls your arm over her shoulder, and it takes you a moment to ease the tension that automatically shoots up your spine in front of her parents. You relax, smile at the Days.

“I do need you to do me one favor though, y/n, if you could.” Mr. Day says, leaning back on the couch, his leg crossed over his knee.

“Whats that sir?”

“Stop havin sex in my barn. It spooks the animals, and if I nearly walk in on you one more time, I may have to shoot you in the ass.”

Lorraine cringes and hides her face in your arm, and you gulp back a laugh. Mrs. Day lets hers rip, and you can feel Lorraine giggle into your side.

“Yes sir, I promise.” You say, your fingers crossed behind your back.

#lpm #lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader #lorraine day x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n

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cruciatusforeplay · 9 months

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Map Of Whickber Street (Good Omens Soho around the bookshop)

I had a lot of fun watching the entire series again and working out where all the shops were in relation to one another. Some of these are mentioned in canon, some are just shown. I've taken some liberties with scale and the like. It wasn't clear which of these streets is Whickber Street, but I suppose there must be some mystery left in the world.

I'm adding some photo references and some more information about the various shops below the cut. If you can make out any more names, I'd love to know.

It's possible the deli is also part of Francesco's as they're both Italian, but there is a front door by the awning that could lead to the restaurant (not an unusual set up for Soho). Francesco's awning is the victim of Crowley's rainstorm.

Between Francesco's and Give Me Coffee is a shop selling formal menswear that I couldn't make out the name of.

Next to that is the coffee shop, Arnold's (the musical instruments shop), Marguerite's (the French restaurant), and newsagency (the news agents). We get a lovely shot of them from the upstairs of the bookshop (newsagents just barely visible).

Opposite them, we obviously have the bookshop itself and down from that, the record shop (which is called The Small Back Room, presumably in reference to having started at the back of Aziraphale's bookshop). The record shop is the orange shop you can see below. (There's also a clearer view of the newsagents).

The shop one down from the record shop is currently a question mark, but it does have a very bold colour scheme, and at one point we are a candelabra and a piece of fabric in the window display. I can't make out the name of this one either.

Opposite the bookshop we have the pub, the Dirty Donkey, whose front door is also the lift to heaven when summoned. Next to the pub is the doorway that leads you to the brothel (I picked the colour on the map from the new model friendly hands sign on the door), and next to that is Will Goldstone's Magic Shop. The magic shop, bookshop and the pub can also be seen in 1941 London flashbacks. Opposite the magic shop and next to the bookshop is another unknown shop. My gut says it sells lighting or maybe more general electrics, but I couldn't get a good enough shot to really see it.

At the end of this street we can see the Lucky Snake which I believe is a Chinese Restaurant, and just to the left we can glimpse a yellow shop, that I suspect is the herbalist that we see mentioned on Aziraphale's list of local businesses. Soho and Chinatown are geographical neighbours, and it's not uncommon to see Chinese herbalist or health shops in Soho. The red lanterns from the Lucky Snake continue down over the yellow shop, which is what gave me the impression it might be the herbalist.

Directly across the crossroads from the bookshop we have a fruit and vegetable market, that has a flower stand on the corner. That's where the tomatoes roll from when Gabe is walking through naked. (The veggies are obscured in the shot below, but we do see them in general)

If we follow the road between the flower market and the newsagents, I've extrapolated that the stage entrance to The Windmill (the theatre that we see in 1941) is there. We get a moderately clear view of it during the flashback, and the Windmill is a real place (to my knowledge it's somewhere between a burlesque club and a strip club these days), so I figured it would still be standing here too. We get the briefest of glimpses of the stage door still standing in modern London.

If you care for real world geography, then The Windmill's main entrance is on Great Windmill Street, right off Shaftesbury Avenue, on the corner of Archer Street.

I could not for the life of me find Brown's World of Carpets anywhere. Maybe he's not even actually a local business. He seems the type to fake it.

Here's a view of the area from heaven.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #good omens writing reference #writing reference #neil gaiman #fictional map #the goodest of omens

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bettyfrommars · 6 months

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out on the highway

older!Eddie x reader

this is a mid-2000's little blurb where Eddie is in his late 30's/early 40's and ends up in Oregon for whatever reason. maybe this is even drifter!eddie. there are so many isolated gas stations and mechanic garages where I am, I think about this every time I am on the road.

wc: 770

It was a dark and foggy November night when you pulled over to the first gas station for 50 miles on your long trek to the Pacific Northwest. Only a sliver of a moon in the sky and very few visible stars, most of them obscured by bully clouds.

The two pumps under a metal awning were well-lit, as were the modest mechanic garage and mini mart connected to it, but the rest of the surrounding land was nothing but agriculture fields with no other sign of human life to be found.

Perhaps you’d watched too many horror movies and episodes of Forensic Files, but this place gave you the creeps bad enough to make you wonder if it might be better to chance your luck and see how far you could get on fumes.

You opened your door a crack, enough to stick the toe of your foot out, and a song from the newest Arcade Fire album Funeral blared from your speakers, just before you turned the ignition off. You were about to get out and pump your own gas, because that was what you were used to—but then there stood a person, mere feet away, and you sank back, ready to slam your door, feeling suddenly threatened.

The person in question was a man in light blue coveralls, with the added warmth of a leather jacket and black, fingerless gloves. He had dark, wavy hair, just long enough to tuck behind his ears with two silver hoop piercings in one lobe, and there was some type of tattoo design peeking out of his collar on his throat. His eyes were dark brown and kind, and you couldn’t help but notice the thin scar that pulled down the skin of one eye and made it droop slightly.

It took you an extra second to realize he had a cat with him. The orange and brown calico teenager was perched on his shoulder and he steadied it with one hand to keep the feline secure while the tail swished behind. The hand that held the cat was slashed in white scars, decorated in chunky, silver rings, and the fingernails had chipped black polish on them.

He stopped abruptly, not wanting to scare you, not when that eastern side of the state had too many similarities to the scene of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

“Sorry, hi, I’m Eddie,” he opened the palm of his free hand and spread his fingers out in a bit of a Spock greeting to let you know he was safe. “And this is Yvette,” he added, gesturing to the calico cat that he gently lowered to the ground. You both watched her sprint off to the garage and through a tiny door that had been cut in the sheet metal.

“Regular or super?” He asked, clicking the pump handle off the port before you could get out and do it yourself.

“Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind—-” you were about to step down to do it yourself.

But then he chuckled softly, realization dawning. “You can’t pump your own gas in Oregon,” he let you know in a patient voice, avoiding your eyes. “I have to do it. It’s the law," and at that last bit, he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Oh, of course,” you gave a ‘silly me’ laugh and crawled back in behind the wheel to shut the door before rolling the window down. You gave him 20 bucks, and then you watched him from the side mirror as he stood there making sure you got what you paid for. He was humming a song; one you couldn't place.

“So,” you spoke up, sticking your head out of the window. “How long have you lived here?”

He worked his jaw as he checked the rolling numbers on the gas tank, tucking a hair that escaped to his cheek, still never looking directly at you. “I’ve been here a while,” he said, vaguely.

You stared at your steering wheel for a bit, until you heard the pump click to let him know your tank was full.

“Thank you,” you said out the window. He cleared his throat and said a gentle, “you’re welcome”, as he twirled your gas cap closed and snapped the shield into place. You watched him head back into the garage, with several cats circling his feet.

You spent the next several miles on the desolate road wondering about Eddie, why he looked so familiar, and how he’d ended up in such a po-dunk town. You wondered about him until you were sleepy and had to pull over at a roadside motel to get some rest.

You weren’t very far from the gas station, and you wondered if he would still be there in the morning.

#Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson hc #older!Eddie munson #mechanic!eddie

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blueywrites · 1 year

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The Munson Dunkin' AU

endgame Eddie Munson x fem!Reader. no use of y/n. all fluff (for now...)

You watch the new guy working the Dunkin' drive-thru window feed a donut to a raccoon. (1.4k)

Inspired by this Tiktok 'cause Eddie really fuckin' would, and we all know it. Thanks to the Coven for talking this silly AU through with me!

tagging @newlips 'cause I have a feeling she might be interested in this one 😘. also, this is written especially for my loves @abibliophobiaa and @ghost-proofbaby🌻

You know everyone who works the drive-thru window at the Dunkin' Donuts closest to your apartment. Or, at least, you thought you did.

When you started your first job as a legal assistant at a small but reputable legal firm, the morning routine you’d enjoyed throughout college drastically transformed. Now, every weekday, your alarm blares so early in the morning it’s practically inhuman. You stuff yourself into dowdy office wear, complete with panty-hose and kitten heels (no rocking the boat with your fashion choices if you want them to take you seriously). And then, you must take your little cobalt-blue Honda Civic and brave the dreaded commute into the city, all in the name of ‘becoming a real working adult’.

So what began as a small indulgence to settle your nerves your first week of work quickly became a daily pick-me-up, a little reward to yourself for 'gettin’ out there and doin' the thing.' Now, you stop at Dunkin' every morning at just after seven to pick up your caffeine fix before heading to the office.

In the last month, you’ve encountered all the early morning drive-thru attendants and recognize them now by voice and manner, though not by name. There’s a pale girl with bright blue eyes and short deep brown hair, voluminous and cut to her narrow jaw, wavy locks framing a small, dimpled chin; a guy with a square face and hazel eyes, sporting finger-tousled bangs that chicly graze one dark brow; and a tanned guy with perpetually half-lidded eyes and pleasantly rounded nose and lips, whose face is framed by a long sheet of shiny, jet-black hair.

It’s obvious who’s working the window on a given day when you hear their greetings at the speaker, which are all very distinct from each other.

The greeting could be chipper and corporatesque, very by the book: “Welcome to Dunkin’, how can I help you?” That one never varies, not even in tone or inflection— she’s so precise, sometimes you wonder if maybe she’s playing a recording or something.

It could be warm and schmoozy, a little overly-familiar but charming all the same: “Well, hey there! How’re you doing today?” It’s nice, but then you have to quickly pivot from your order to say ‘Good, how about you?’, otherwise you feel like an asshole.

Or it could be just one long, semi-coherent slur of a question: “S’up, can I get you somethin’?” Same, dude, you think whenever you get that one. It’s way too early to be awake, and yet here we both are.

It could be any of those options, and today, as you roll up to the speaker, you receive that first greeting. But it’s in the wrong voice. Where you expect something upbeat and crisply feminine, what you get instead is raspy, brash, and decidedly masculine.

“Welcome to Dunkin'. What can I get you today?”

It’s not a voice you recognize, but you don’t particularly care. Automatically, you provide your order, and without any fuss, he confirms your total. Same order, same total, same morning routine as always. That’s all that matters, really. You don’t visit Dunkin' for the bustling social scene, after all.

As you round the corner of the small, boxy building, the drive-thru window with its little orange awning slides into view. That is what you’re rolling steadily towards when a flash of movement near the opposite curb draws your eye to a curious sight: a raccoon. Utterly confounded, you stare at the gray creature— fuzzy and plump like a spool of scratchy yarn— as it inches forward on its tiny dark paws.

Yes, your apartment is in the suburbs, and yes, there is a thick line of trees to that side of the parking lot, so it isn’t that shocking. But you’ve never actually seen a raccoon outside of roadkill splatter on the road, and you certainly weren’t expecting to see one visiting a Dunkin' Donuts. Because that’s truly what it appears to be doing. As it emerges from the treeline, slinking over the curb and onto the asphalt, its nose turns up toward the drive-thru window; those beady eyes remained locked on clear plexiglass, the apparent source of its fascination.

It is seven in the morning, you reason, so there's a possibility that you might just still be half asleep. But when you blink, expecting the creature to clear from your vision like a mirage, it doesn’t go anywhere.

This is actually happening, then. You purse your lips as you consider and confirm your musings with a bobbing nod that no one sees. Yup. This is, for sure, the weirdest goddamn thing I've ever seen.

In fact, you’re so confounded by what’s happening that you’re still rolling forward in your car, drawing ever-closer to the animal at the same time it edges farther into your lane. It doesn’t seem to notice your approach. Instead, the raccoon shuffles forward a few more steps, and then— more peculiar and alarming than if it had done pretty much anything else— it stretches like a slinky, rising onto its two back feet. Its neck disappears into its shoulders as its arms outstretch, like it’s reaching for something that isn’t there.

This is the final nail in the coffin for your composure.

“What in the fuck?”

The sound of your own voice startles you out of your dazed stupor, and your heart leaps into your throat as you realize how close you’ve coasted toward the raccoon. Hastily, you slam the brake, jerking your car to a stop to prevent it from pancaking the oblivious creature.

All is motionless for a moment. And then, in a perversely slow manner, the plexiglass drive-thru window shunts open in a mechanic whirr of laboring motors, crawling until it thunks against the far wall, falling silent.

Considering your alarm and bafflement, it’s more a relief than anything when, after a brief pause, an arm abruptly thrusts through the window opening. Its appearance solves the mystery: the arm is pale but heavily-inked, ending in a thin wrist and a big, broad hand that holds a pink-frosted donut.

The raccoon reaches higher as the arm stretches further, both straining toward one another until those tiny human-like paws close around the offered confection. Then, the animal hunches down to a squat, billowing out in a puddle of bristly gray fur. Its snout quivers as it sniffs the donut, walking its paws along its edge, slowly rotating its prize as you look on in wonderment.

That inked arm has retracted now, but you barely notice. Your long commute and stuffy attire and early morning wake-up have never been further from your mind as you watch the raccoon handle the donut, which is nearly as big as its head. Your confusion has turned to fascination. In fact, it’s kind of cute, you decide as its black paws begin to mound with pink, which smears between its tiny clawed fingers. You hold your breath while, tentatively, it noses at the icing, licking it with a tiny flick of its tongue.

And then, startlingly quickly, the raccoon snatches the donut in its jaws and turns in a flash of gray and black. It skitters on all fours back across the lane, trailing a fat ringed tail which bumps over the curb as it bids a hasty retreat.

With a little, final flick, that tail disappears into the treeline.

It seems, all of a sudden, to have been a privilege to experience this absurdity. And how strange it is that your early-morning exhaustion has suddenly turned to delight— delight which is echoed on the face of the man whose head now pops from the window in a wild mess of brown curls. Pink lips split the pale of his face in a crooked grin.

“Sorry,” he says, and it’s the same brash rasp that greeted you at the speaker. “Little buddy’s gotta get his breakfast, too, y’know?”

So, as it turns out, you don’t know everyone who works the Dunkin' drive-thru window on weekday mornings. And maybe the social scene has more to offer than you originally thought.

I have other ideas for this silly little AU, including some more cameos from familiar faces and a budding romance for our metalhead barista and his favorite customer. If you want more, let me know! ☕️🍩

#blueywrites #barista!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson drabble #eddie stranger things #eddie munson au

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dianadeadwing · 8 months

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Inktober Day 5- Map

TLDR - Here’s a map of the shops on Bob’s Burgers Ocean Avenue as based on the Bob’s Burgers Movie and parts of season 13. Extensive Notes to follow.

This is the map I alluded to earlier in the week of the storefronts with visible names in the movie. The dimensions of the buildings are based on the aerial shot from the end of “The Plight Before Christmas”.

There are inconsistencies between the movie and the series (as well as within the movie itself) as far as the color and location of some of these buildings. I’ve defaulted to colors used in the series but names from the movie. Several of these shops have had different names earlier in the series so I’m working from the movie onward for consistency’s sake.

1. Hotel- Unsure if this hotel has a name.

2. Reflections

3. Spoke of the Devil (Bike Shop) - Shop is named “Spoke of the Devil” the words “bike shop” can be seen as part of a neon sign in the window.

4. First Oceanside Savings Bank

5. Yours Truly, Stationary

6. Jimmy Pesto’s Pizzeria

7. The Petalphile

8. Unknown store front - This building is usually depicted as blue with a large front window indicating that it’s some sort of storefront but I’ve been unable to find a name so far.

9. From Here To Maternity (Pregnancy Clothes) - The movie depicts this building as being brown but the series almost always shows it as green so I’ve made it green on the map.

10. Fresh Off The Presses (Cleaners) - Shop is named “Fresh Off The Presses” with “cleaners” in a neon sign in the window.

11. Unknown Store Front - This shop has a visible name in several shots from the movie but I can’t make it out.

* Some shots from the movie show an additional pink building at the end and others don’t. It does not have a awning or large front window and could therefore possibly residential or a service (such as a lawyer). This building does not appear in the aerial shot so I did not include it.

12. Ocean Market

13. Needles to Say - This shop as well as the following three also appear in season thirteen and are particularly visible in “What a (April) Fool Believes”.

14. Walk All Over Me (Flooring Showcase)

15. You Were Framed (Picture Framing)

16. For Pete’s Cake

17. It’s Your Funeral (Home and Crematorium)

18. Bob’s Burgers

19. Store Next Door - The often vacant orange store front next to Bob’s.

20. Red building- This building is very visible in several shots but isn’t shown to have a name. It has three front doors at the top of some stairs. Because of its layout it seems most likely to be residential. (As we know this neighborhood has mixed zoning, such as Mr. Huggins’ apartment building)

21. Blue Building - The positions of this building and the beige building are switched in the movie. In the series it’s fairly consistently blue so that’s what I’ve included. It seems similar in structure to the red building and could also be residential, but we don’t get many good shots of this part of the street so it’s hard to tell.

22. Beige Building - This part of the street is most often seen from the alley. It appears to have a loading dock. This where Alice parks her food truck in “As I Walk Through the Alley of the Shadow of Ramps” in season 8.

23. Liquor - This building has been depicted in different colors but has a prominent sign stating “Liquor”. I’ve seen it called “Oh La Liquor” but I’d like to see this in later season materials.

This is just what I’ve gathered as of ep 14.1. Please feel free to let me know if you have any additional information. (Or an official map) I’m absurdly invested in this.

There is also an aerial shot from the movie that shows Wagstaff in relation to Ocean Avenue (it’s also mentioned to be four blocks away) and I just wish I could take screen shots so I could study it better. I’ll make a map of this whole dang town.

#bobs burgers #inktober #inktober2023 #bob's burgers #the bobs burgers movie #map #ocean avenue #procreate #my art tag #does this count as art #digital art #fanart #artists on tumblr #reference

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jobean12-blog · 1 year

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Much Ado About Books

Pairing: Eddie Munson x reader (Bookshop AU)

Word Count: 3,811

Summary: You get caught in the rain and seek shelter in a cozy bookshop nearby, finding it’s the best place for books, sweets and romance.

Author’s Note: I’ve been sitting on his AU with Eddie for a bit and I’m so glad I finally got it out! He’s so soft and sweet and yummy and there is nothing I love more than books and boys haha! Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Bat divider by the lovely @wannabehamlet and book divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you loves both bunches! 🥰

Warnings: Books, sweets, fluffs and fun

GIF NOT MINE: Credit goes to @lesbianrobin thanks a bunch sweets 🥰

Eddie Munson Masterlist

The gray skies and light wind were no indication of the sudden deluge of rain that fell from above and promptly started to soak through your clothes. Your eyes search for the closest available shelter, seeing a small awning below a large sign that read “Books.”

You dash for the shop, your feet already squishing in your shoes and your head down to avoid the cold drops of rain. That’s why you were completely taken by surprise when you ran into something hard and then in almost the same second you’re wrapped in strong arms.

When you lift your head you’re met with the softest brown eyes, the color of perfected chocolate and it steals your breath.

Once you’re able to drag your gaze away from his you start to apologize, realizing your fingers are fisted into his wet flannel and you’re still in his arms, and despite the cold, you feel your body flush with the heat of awareness and you step out of his hold.

“I’m sorry,” you say, grinning apologetically. “I was not expecting that rain.”

He gives you a nod, his long and curly hair sticking to the sides of his face as the corner of his mouth pulls up into a sideways smile. Without saying a word he reaches for the door to the shop and pushes it open.

“You can come in if you want,” he says, holding the door.

“Are you sure?” you ask, looking back out at the rain.

“Of course,” he answers. “We’re open. And even if we weren’t I wouldn’t leave you out in the rain.”

“Ok. Thanks.” You walk in, brushing past him and reigniting the momentary flare of heat from his body, the action causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Can I get you something? Tea, coffee, hot chocolate?”

He asks this as walks toward the counter of the bookshop, his heavy boots squeaking along the wooden floors. When he rounds the counter he grabs two cups and a towel. He sets the cups down before bringing you the towel.

“Thank you,” you whisper, pressing it to your face before drying your clothes as best as you can. “And tea would be great.”

“You got it,” he says before heading for the coffee machine. “I’ve got green, chamomile, earl gray, and English breakfast.”

“Green please,” you start. “Can I help with anything?”

He shakes his head no and turns on the coffee maker then grabs himself a towel and starts to wring out his hair. His curls are extra wild once he’s done and your fingers itch to run through them.

When the tea is ready he strides over and motions to one of the small tables at the front of the shop by the large window. You slide into the seat across from him and take the mug between your fingers, relishing in it’s warmth.

Your eyes settle on him as he sips the tea and relaxes into the chair. Your gaze drops to his hands and the rings that adorn his long fingers, each one sparking your interest.

Deciding to ask him more about them later you tell him, “I’ve never been here before.”

He smiles over his mug. “Welcome to Bard and Books. I’m Eddie.”

You return his smile and introduce yourself before you look around the shop. The dark walnut floor is worn by foot traffic but it still retains it’s natural beauty and several brass sconces line the walls, breaking up the darkness, while tall bookshelves fill the space beyond the counter.

The front area has several small tables with chairs as well as a love seat and a large couch. Wall-mounted Tiffany lamps hang above the area and give it a cozy, almost romantic vibe. The smell of old leather, dust worn pages and something sweet lingers in the air.

“Do I smell cookies?” you ask, your eyes sparkling.

He grins and gets up, jogging to a small display case by the cash register and pulling something from it. He promptly returns with two large chocolate chip cookies.

“My friend Steve makes them. He owns the bakery down the street. They’re amazing. We also have brownies and muffins, but the cookies are my favorite.”

You break off a piece of yours and pop it into your mouth, savoring the sweet bite with a low moan, your eyes closing.

“Wow, you were right!” you say excitedly as you open your eyes.

You find him staring at your mouth and there is a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. He clears his throat when his eyes lift to yours and stuffs a chunk of cookie between his lips.

You dip your head and fiddle with your hands in your lap, only lifting your eyes to check out the rows and stacks of books.

“Mind if I have a look around?” you ask.

“Go right ahead,” he motions, finishing off his cookie.

You wander up and down the aisles, your fingers reverently brushing along the spines of the books and kicking up that familiar and comforting smell of leather and print. You stop at the “Fantasy” section and browse the titles, reaching up on your toes to grab one book in particular.

You can’t quite reach it and you settle back on your feet and search for a stool, spotting one at the end of the aisle. Once you drag it over you step up and close your fingers around the binding. Without getting down you start to thumb through the pages, smiling and reminiscing over one of your favorite stories.

“Do you always read while standing on stools?”

The sound of his voice startles you, having been so caught up in the story, and you teeter on the edge of the stool. With a yelp you start to careen backward, gravity taking over and dragging you toward the floor.

But before you hit it, strong arms once again wrap around your waist and you land hard against Eddie’s chest, his hair brushing your cheeks as you let out a shaky exhale and cling to him for dear life. The smell of his shampoo surrounds you, mixing with the rain and something distinctly him, warm and spicy.

“Oh my god,” you mumble, hiding your face. “I’m so sor…”

“You shouldn’t be apologizing,” he starts, giving your waist a soft squeeze. “I kinda snuck up on you.”

You let out a small huff of laughter and bring your eyes up, noting the slight gleam of amusement dancing in his.

“So then it’s your fault,” you state playfully.

“Yep, sorry about that sweetheart, but I wish you could have seen yourself up there.”

“Oh so now you’re making fun of me?” you ask, feigning shock. “We just met!”

You both try to glare at each other but it quickly fades and turns into big smiles and laughter.

When you press your hand over your mouth to contain your giggle you tilt your head forward slightly and bump Eddie’s in the process.

His resounding “ow!” makes you laugh harder and you curl into him, trying to regain some composure. It isn’t until you let out a steadying exhale that you realize your face is buried in his hair and you’re still clutching him.

“Oh,” you start, slowly pulling away. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No,” he says softly, “it’s ok, really.”

His fingers grasp your chin, forcing your head up and your gaze to his. He dips his head and you hold your breath, dropping your eyes to his lips.

The distant ring of a phone sounds but you barely notice it, your hands tightening in his shirt.

“I have to get that,” he breathes out, disappointment in his eyes.

“What?” you ask, blinking.

“The phone…I should get it.”

“OH! Of course,” you say quickly and step out of his hold.

You watch him walk away and disappear around the corner, your body deflating and sagging against the shelf.

You clutch the book to your chest and continue looking around, noting all the small details about the shop. Each section is labeled by genre and the signs are clearly hand drawn in a bold but elegant print that elicits a magical feel.

Small and fantastical designs frame each title and just as you’re wondering who designed them, Eddie slides up behind you.

“You like them?” he asks.

“I love them,” you tell him, “did you create them?”

“I did!” he smiles. “I like to make things.”

“You’re very good at it,” you state.

When you’re back by the counter you place your book down.

“Oh man, I love this series!!!” he says excitedly.

“Me too! My first copy is so worn at this point I’m getting myself a new one,” you explain as you pull out your wallet.

“You know the third book,” he starts to tell you, his eyes bright, “’The Woman Who Rides Like A Man’ comes out at the end of this month!”

Your squeal of excitement precedes your enthusiastic, “I KNOW!” and you find yourself smiling at him for the hundredth time in the last hour.

“It’s on me,” he says, shooing away your money.

“No Eddie, I want to support the store!”

“You will when you come in and get the new book from me,” he says with a wink.

“Are you sure?” you ask, frowning for the first time since you’ve been in his presence.

“Definitely. And take a cookie.”

He grabs another of Steve’s cookies and wraps it up, placing both the book and cookie in a small bag. He holds it up but doesn’t place it in your outstretched hand.

“What?” you question, narrowing your eyes with a smirk.

“Promise you’ll come back soon?”

“I have to get the third book,” you say.

“Yea but before that. Come back before that.”

His expression softens and you watch his eyes wander over your face, his gaze stopping on your mouth and lingering before he meets your stare again.

“I promise,” you assure him. “The cookies are way too good!”

He huffs out a laugh and hands you the bag, jogging around the counter to walk you out.

“At least the rain stopped,” he muses as he looks out the large front window.

He shoves his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and shifts on his feet.

“Bye Eddie,” you whisper. “And thanks. For everything.”

“Anytime,” he says before he drops his head and hides in his hair.

You take a step closer to him and his head whips up, big brown eyes wide. With a quickness mostly born out of nervousness you lean in and place a soft kiss on his cheek.

You hear his breath catch and when you move back his eyelashes are fluttering closed.

“I’ll see you soon,” you say and reach for the door.

He shakes himself free of the moment and grabs the handle before you do, holding it open so you can step out.

“Can’t wait,” he says with a shy smile.

“So she liked my cookies huh?” Steve asks with a smug expression.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “She loved ‘em.”

“Of course she did,” Steve answers, crossing his arms over his chest as he leans against the bakery counter. “When is she coming in to see me?”

“I’ll invite her soon,” Eddie says as he grabs a brownie.

He shoves half in his mouth before adding, “I gave her a free copy of ‘Alanna’. She said her original is all worn.”

“I never get free books from you and I give you free cookies!” Steve teases.

“Yea well as pretty as you are you’re not that pretty,” Eddie pokes right back with a smile.

Steve let’s out a disgruntled huff and musses with his hair. “Whatever Munson. Just wait until I meet her.”

You find yourself standing in front of Bard and Books only three days later, this time under the warm and shining sun. A younger woman and a small child approach, saying “excuse me” before they open the door and enter.

Without letting it close you follow behind, noting how they seem to know exactly where to go. You can hear Eddie’s voice from the back of the shop and you follow the woman and child in that direction.

The little girl releases her mother’s hand and rushes around a large bookshelf. You move slowly and quietly not wanting to interrupt whatever might be going on but when you peek around the books you’re taken by complete surprise.

Eddie is seated on a low stool, a bandana wrapped around his head and a large children’s book in his hands. He greets all the children seated in a circle on the floor in front of him, asking if they’re ready for story time.

A loud and squeaky cheer erupts from the floor and Eddie smiles wide. He hasn’t noticed you yet and starts to introduce the book to the kids. Every word he reads he exudes energy and enthusiasm, doing different voices for different characters and moving his body to make things more dramatic.

The kids eat it up and their sole focus in on his every word and move. You’re in the exact same state they are, unable to pull your eyes away from him and finding yourself completely engrossed in the children’s story.

When he’s finished the kids start yelling for more but their parents gently coax them away to search the children’s section so Eddie can have a break before he reads again.

You step out from behind the shelves and catch his eye. He immediately lights up when he sees you and in a few long strides he’s standing in your space.

“You came back,” he says on an exhale.

“And you were amazing! The kids absolutely loved it!”

“And how about you?” he asks, as he nervously grabs a piece of his hair and folds it between his fingers.

“’Where the Wild Things Are’” is one of my favorite books and I’ve never loved it more.”

You can see his cheeks begin to brighten as he mutters a soft “thank you.”

“What are you going to read them next?” you ask.

“Sylvester and the Magic Pebble,” Eddie grins.

You clap your hands together with a hop. “Can I stay and listen too?”

He throws his head back with a laugh and when his eyes settle on yours they are still crinkled at the sides.

“Yea, definitely! Get comfortable.”

You skip over to one of the empty chairs that are set up for the parents and sit, drinking in every moment of his performance just as much as the kids.

After story time is over and the kids have all left, books in tow, Eddie ushers you to the front and offers you another cookie.

“Steve was happy you liked them so much,” he tells you.

“You mentioned me to Steve?” you ask, you tone playful.

“Well…you know, he likes to hear when his cookies get rave reviews soooooo…”

That familiar blush colors his cheeks and you giggle as he shoves some cookie into his mouth.

“You should come to the bakery some time. Steve has coffee and tea and all that stuff,” Eddie motions.

“I like all that stuff,” you say with a grin.

“How about tonight?” he asks.

“Sounds great.”

“Wow Steve,” you mumble. “Oh my gosh. This brownie is so good.”

Steve smiles wide and he seems to grow an inch taller when he straightens up and puffs out his chest.

“Thanks. I’m glad you like it. I’m trying to perfect my recipe,” Steve explains.

You finish off your last bite and give him two thumbs up as you chew. You can feel Eddie’s eyes on you and you turn toward him.

“So good,” you state one more time. “I’m definitely going to be a regular here.”

Eddie can’t take his eyes off you and when you swallow and lick your lips his gaze follows the motion, heat building in it.

“What?” you ask, wiping at your lips.

Steve looks between the two of you and asks, “do you guys want to try my sugar cookies? Just baked them this morning.”

“You have a little something,” Eddie murmurs as he steps into your space.

“They even have my special icing on them,” Steve continues.

Eddie lifts his thumb to the corner of your mouth and gently swipes it across your skin. You lean into his touch with a whispered, “thanks.”

“Hello?!” Steve huffs loudly, waving his hand in your faces.

“Huh?” Eddie grunts, finally acknowledging Steve’s presence.

“Do. You. Want. To. Try. My. Sugar. Cookies?” Steve asks again, this time punctuating each word.

“Yea totally, “Eddie answers. “No need to be a butthead about it.”

“Me? A…I’m the…” Steve stammers, his eyebrows drawn in.

Steve throws his hands up and marches off, mumbling, “I’ll be right back.”

“Sometimes he’s a little grumpy,” Eddie states as he drops his hand.

You giggle and lean into him. “It’s ok. The sweets are worth it.”

When you show up at the book shop the next weekend, Eddie is just walking out of the back room with a group of kids but this time you can tell they are all older teenagers. He spots you lingering by the door and jogs over.

“Hey,” he says, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

It catches you off guard and your breath hitches and when he pulls away you’re staring at his mouth.

Too deep in the tension between you and Eddie the approach of the teenagers goes unnoticed and when one speaks and asks, “is this her?” you jerk your head in his direction.

Eddie smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his head.

“Uh yeah,” Eddie says and introduces you to each of them.

After they all say hello and pepper you with random questions Eddie kicks them out.

“That’s my Dungeons and Dragons group,” he explains, leading you toward the back. “We play every week.”

You walk into a large back room, furnished with a long folding table and lined with walls of shelves covered in books and figurines. There are several posters along the one wall free of shelves and the table is littered with dice.

“This is an awesome space,” you say excitedly as you peruse the room.

“Thanks. We have fun. Do you play?”

“I haven’t but it looks fun!”

You toy with the figures and flip through some books as Eddie follows you around and gives you the shortened explanation of everything.

“Come play with us next time,” he say as you make your way back to the books.

“Really?” you ask, genuinely excited.

“Totally.”

The next few weeks pass in a blur of books, cookies and Eddie. Your visits to the shop become more and more frequent and the obvious tension between the two of you grows.

When you show up on the release date of the third book in ‘The Song of the Lioness’ series, you’re not surprised to see the store filled with more book lovers than usual.

You meander through the crowd and head to a quieter spot in the back, not wanting to disturb Eddie as he deals with all the customers.

You’re just pulling out one of the Dragonlace Chronicle books when you hear his voice. It washes over you in a heated awareness that sets your skin tingling.

“Those are great,” he offers as he walks toward you.

“You’ve read them?” you ask.

“I read everything,” he replies, drawing closer until he’s standing directly in front of you.

His eyes drift to your mouth before he plucks the book from your hands and drags his eyes back up to yours.

“I was going to buy that,” you say softly.

He only nods, stepping so close that his chest brushes yours with his inhale.

“I also need my copy of the third Alanna book,” you whisper, your lips parted with your small breaths as his nearness overwhelms you in the best way possible.

“Don’t worry. I saved one for you behind the counter.”

He places two hands on the books above your head, trapping you against the shelf. He leans in, his warm breath whispering across your lips.

Just before his lips press to yours you hear a loud and boisterous voice calling his name. He let’s out a frustrated grunt and squeezes his eyes shut.

“That would be Dustin and the other rugrats here for their copies too,” he grits out but not without a smile.

You exhale and chew on your bottom lip with a nod.

He makes to push away but not before dipping his mouth to your ear and lightly brushing his lips across the shell when he whispers, “this isn’t over sweetheart.”

With an abrupt motion he jerks away and goes striding off around the shelves. You hear the boys erupt into cheers and you press your fingers to your tingling lips, unable to stop your smile.

You spend the next hour curled up on one of the chairs in the back and reading the first book in the Dragonlance Chronicles but your stomach grumbles and you realize you’ve skipped lunch.

“Cookies are lunch right?” you think out loud to yourself.

You lift yourself from the chair and stretch, setting the book down before wandering toward the front of the store in search of Eddie.

You’re just rounding the corner when he finds you, sweeping you under his arm and ushering you back the way you came.

“Hey!” you protest. “I was just coming to get some cookies!”

“Later,” he says as he pulls you into the game room and shuts the door.

You step back until your butt hits the gaming table, Eddie staring at you with that familiar heat in his eyes.

He moves closer, pressing you into the table, and goose bumps rise up all over your arms as his fingertips trail across your bare skin.

Your hands lift to his face and you comb your fingers through his hair before curling them around the back of his neck. His lips part on an exhale and he suddenly grips the backs of your thighs and sits you atop the table, settling between them.

“Eddie,” you murmur, your chest rising and falling rapidly.

“I had a dream about you last night,” he admits, his eyes dark.

You are about to ask what kind but the explicit hunger in his expression tells you everything.

He bends his head to gently brush his lips to yours, pressing himself harder between your legs. You tighten your fingers in his hair to draw him nearer and he circles his hands around your waist, sliding one up your back.

His rings dig into your skin and you feel dazed from the intensity of the rush of desire from his touch.

“You up for making my dream come true?” he murmurs against your mouth.

@dreamlessinparis @hiddles-rose @ysmmsy @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @nordlysinthewoods @goldylions

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #bookshop!eddie munson #eddie munson x you #joseph quinn #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson stranger things #joseph quinn x reader #bookshop au

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aclowntiny · 10 months

Text

Puppy Love- Yunho x Female!Barista!Reader

I haven't forgotten about all my coffee shop stories 😁😁😁 Yunho in his ‘you like jazz?’ era

Word Count: 3536 | Coffee Shop, Fluff | Warnings: too dang fluffy 😝

Yunho’s dream had finally come true. A dog café had opened up within walking distance of work. What a time to be alive! What a lucky walk of the streets on his break, unsure how to spend his rare free time once he had it. Using it for an activity seemed simultaneously gratifying and overwhelming. Time to burn some energy off with some very good boys and girls instead! Some caffeine might also reverse-jitter him back into productivity…or at least into the right headspace to squeeze in an episode of that show he needed to finish.

Beneath an awning of striped lime green and white awaited the door to Leash Love Latte, the lovely windowed building decorated with paint-on art of joyous pups of all breeds, two of which held mugs and one of which was about to devour a bone-topped cupcake. Yunho couldn't help but smile as his eyes scanned the glass, jumping a bit at the noise when he opened the door, but the startlement easily fell into a laugh as he opened the security door once the front one was closed and was met with a barrage of dogs.

"Oh, hi," he giggled as one little papillon practically climbed up his leg, bending down to scoop her up into his arms. Flipping her collar tag, he saw it read 눈. A name meaning Snow made sense- she was a ball of pure white fluff after all.

Carrying her up to the counter, Yunho was met with the sight of an extremely nimble barista practically skating across the café floor to slide a pastry onto the counter and call out its owner’s name, then turn on her heels to catch a drink from the older man who held it out to her and repeat the process. Once that was done, she twirled around to face the counter.

“Sorry about that, just had an order to finish up,” she paused, taking a couple breaths and getting her hair back into place, smile never leaving her face, “oh, Nunie, are you making friends?” Her gaze had dropped to the sweet pup in Yunho’s arms, the nickname and her evident familiarity with the café dogs warming his heart.

“Yep," he agreed with a chuckle, holding her up a bit higher with fatherly pride despite their very recent meeting, "I think she'd have made a ladder of me if she could."

"Well, you are pretty tall," the girl joked.

"I guess that's true! So, what do you recommend here?"

She grinned. "Dog or drink?"

"Drink," Yunho responded, "I don't think I'll get away with any cheating today."

"How does a peanut butter mocha sound?"

"Great," he replied, "I've never had one before!"

Plucking a solid pink, paw-print-dotted mug from some unseen counter alcove, the barista grinned. "It's sort of my specialty."

"She's always trying to hock those!" The older man called out from deeper in the kitchen, offering a devilish grin.

"Hey! At least I have a specialty!" She called back, smiling when he shouted that she was a better barista than him and sliding the mug down the slick metal counter surface before turning back to Yunho. "Sorry, that's my uncle. He's a bit of a jokester. Your name?”

"Yunho. And that's ok. I can see how well you guys get along. So this is a family business, then?"

"Yep," she nodded, "everything I do, I try to do with my family."

Something about those simple words touched Yunho's heart, throwing its beat off even as he lowered himself into a bench, stroking his snowy new friend and laughing as a brown and white Jack Russel terrier and a little grey mutt with a folded ear scrambled up to fill his lap all the way. His gaze darted between them and the young lady behind the counter as she operated all the kitchenware with focused eyes and lightly smiling lips.

This place really was heaven.

"Here you go!"

Yunho's attention snapped up from the mutt, Sammy, to meet the eyes of the girl. He hadn't really paid attention to the color of them before, but the lime-and-pink shaded light dangling above his table must have somehow brought it out as she set his mug in front of him a respectable distance from the squirming dogs piled upon his lap.

"What was your name again?" Yunho blurted out before he could help it.

"(y/n)."

"(y/n)," he repeated with a smile, "wonderful. I just felt like I needed to have a name to go with the face."

Her eyes remained on him, though the smile on her face did not fade. Sammy licked at her sleeve, which only made it grow wider, her nose crinkling a bit. A wave of awkwardness crashed over Yunho.

"So, (y/n), you must really like peanut butter." That sounded much better in his head.

She just giggled. “I love it! I was eating a peanut butter cup when I got the idea for the drink.”

“That’s so cool! I have a friend who cooks and that seems hard, let alone designing something new, like I can’t even imagine.”

(y/n) waved a hand before reaching it back down to pet a fluffy spotted Australian shepherd that ran by her feet. “Oh, I bet you could come up with something,” she told him with a smile.

Yunho racked his brain, but beneath the tantalizing chocolate-peanut-butter-coffee-with-a-hint-of-espresso smell, the light of that obnoxiously cute lamp, the warm, wiggling puppy pile on his lap, and the faint, anticipatory flutter of the girl’s eyelashes, not much was floating up coherently. “I can’t think of anything that would be good in coffee,” he finally admitted.

“What about something that would be bad in coffee?”

“All my brain was giving me was fruit loops, so I’d say that.”

(y/n) gave a humored wince. “Ooh, yeah. Though that would make a good milk latte or shake! I could totally work with that!” And with that, she made another of her skate-like drifts across the shop, dodging three dogs darting at her feet as she fell back behind the counter, pulling out a couple appliances and taking notes like a mad scientist.

Well, that wasn’t too bad a response to fruit loops of all things. Patting Sammy, Yunho pulled his steaming mug to his lips, barely feeling the cup’s heat above that in his own sheepish cheeks.

A few days after his Leash Love Latte trip, Yunho was out for a walk to clear his head after a very early morning of choreography practice, having rinsed himself off and wanted nothing more than to get out into the sun and breeze, practically melting the industrial lighting out of his skin. Cleansing the sweat off had only been step one.

Veering off the paved walking trail, Yunho crossed over the inclination of a grassy green hill, wandering over the great emerald expanse and dodging the occasional frisbee. Ducking under one that was thrown high enough, even.

The small amount of skin exposed by his t-shirt warmed pleasantly in the moderate day's air as he passed an area surrounded by metal gating that bore a few tied-on signs. Within it, dogs of varying sizes tore across the grass, played tug-of-war, and ran to their owners with new friends in tow. As he got closer, he noticed that one of those owners had a haircut that looked quite familiar, a smile Yunho felt like he’d just been graced with.

It was (y/n)! Carefully undoing the safety gate with a deft motion of his fingers, he lifted the release and entered, immediately dodging dogs as he ran a hand through his hair hoping he’d straightened it. His other hand was already getting thoroughly sniffed, a few licks coming to it before he reclaimed it, giving a bulldog and a border collie some pats as he milled through the park. A mutt- maybe half terrier- ran up to him snuffling with a squeaky toy in its jaws, so Yunho threw it, laughing as it turned into a little spotted streak of lightning. Hopefully its owner was young. And then, turning on his heels, he faced you.

“Oh, hey, (y/n), right?” He leaned forward, resting a hand as casually as he could atop the bench a few feet from him, mock-guessing your name like it hadn’t made a few runs through his head of late. “Didn’t see you there. I’m-”

“Yunho from the café. Fruit loops guy.”

Fruit loops guy. “Yep, that’s me.” He put a hand to his chest. “Fruit loops guy.”

“I’ve been tinkering around with stuff and that idea is something that we might be adding to the menu if my uncle lets me!” She added, grinning as a pup Yunho recognized as Sammy ran up to her, leaning into her offered pets.

“Really? That’s great!”

“Yeah! Should I name it after you?”

“The Yunho? Might confuse some people-”

(y/n) chuckled, wrapping her arms around Sammy to pull him onto her lap. “Yunho, I was kidding.”

“Oh, right, yeah, I knew that. So, uh, taking Sammy to the dog park?”

“Yep,” she nodded, smiling, “I try to take all the adoptables out on an alternating schedule.”

“Oh,” Yunho tilted his head in thought, “the Leash Love Latte dogs are for adoption?”

“Indeed they are. The goal is people live them so much they want to take them home!”

“Guess then they’d really need a doggy bag,” he quipped.

(y/n)’s eyes widened as she burst out with a laugh. “Ok, that’s so perfect, mind if I steal that?”

“Be my guest.”

“I’ll try my best to credit you where I can. Hey, wanna play frisbee with Sammy? It’s practically as big as him, but he loves it.”

Was there even a question? “Of course! Come on, Sammy, let’s go!”

And with that, they both pushed off their respective bench seat and lean, jogging deeper into the park’s grass and dodging a fire hydrant in the ground as they took turns tossing the blue plastic disc (y/n) had ready in her backpack.

“Hey, remember the guy who inspired my fruit loops latte?” You called back into the kitchen as you refilled the coffee bean jars up front, dim evening lights of closing time filing Leash Love Latte.

“Tall fellow, right?” You uncle questioned in response.

"Yeah," you nodded, "him. If he comes back, I'm going to get him in the kitchen."

"In the kitchen?" Your uncle's voice raised both in incredulity and response to some barks from your café companions. "I thought you liked him."

"Oh, geez!" Plucking a not-so-wet grey washcloth from your counter, you lobbed it at your uncle and his jokes. "I do. You think I'd let any loser with a dazzling smile into my laboratory?"

The washcloth connected with your uncle's shoulder, breaking his face into a grin as he shook it into his hand and started wiping the kitchen surface with it. "Ugh, save the sappy crap for him, huh? What are you even going to make him do? A day of free labor?"

"No," you giggled, leaning on the shining metal of your counterspace, "I think he has better ideas than he gives himself credit for. I'm just going to let him try making whatever he wants."

"As long as you guys clean up after yourselves," your uncle teases you, giving you a fond smile.

"Of course we will," you reply with a joyous look of your own, anticipation coursing through you as you imagined all the things you could come up with on your quest for a new menu item...and maybe something else new for you.

"Get in the kitchen with you? Me?" Yunho looked at you with eyes wide, holding little Nun a bit tighter in his hands in startlement as if you'd suggested he set his pants on fire.

"Well, I wasn't exactly asking your invisible twin brother there," you teased, clicking the pen in your hand open, then closed again, as you glanced over his shoulder.

He turned his head that way too like there'd suddenly be someone there. There obviously was not. "Alright, point taken. You liked the cereal lattes that much, huh?"

That wasn't what I liked most, you wanted to say. You leaned a bit further out from behind the register. "Something like that. I think it would be fun! Don't you? We don't have to make something good, that'll just be a bonus!"

Yunho's smile returned as yours spread out, and he bent over and gently placed the little fluffball he'd been holding back on the floor, where she stood at his feet, sniffing Cherry, a black chihuahua. "I don't think it'll be fun, (y/n)..."

Your expression stiffened a bit, eyebrows raising to urge his trailed-off sentence on.

"I know it will be! Let's do it! As long as you're allowed to do this, of course."

And then you were smiling again, heart beating in anticipation. You were going to get this dog-loving man and his silly innocent brain in your life no matter what it took.

"Cleared with the boss man and all. Let's make something out of this dead workday!"

Yunho laughed at that, accepting the hand you held out, beckoning him into the sacred space behind the counter, aka your drink and treat lab.

"So," you grinned, folding both your hands under your chin, "wanna make a drink or bake something?"

"Why don't we bake?" Yunho replies, gaze breaking from yours in thought. "Hmm, what's a good dessert to go with a drink? Shortcake?"

"Like strawberry shortcake?"

"Yeah, but why is shortcake always strawberry? Why can't it be any other fruit?"

You shrugged, feeling your expression smugly egg him on. "Why can't it? What do you have in mind?"

"Have you ever seen those candied melons? What about melon shortcake? I bet no one's done that before," Yunho answered before pausing for a couple ticks of Leash Love Latte's dangly-tail dog-in-a-teacup wall clock, "or is that gross?"

Crossing further into the kitchen, you pulled open a silver cabinet and turned back to him. "Only one way to find out."

He shuffled into the kitchen beside you, bouncing on his heels. “Do you have a shortcake recipe?”

“I do indeed,” you said with a grin, taking an apron off the peg on the kitchen wall and handing it his way.

You set to work prepping and measuring the wet ingredients while Yunho took on the dry, the most prominent of which was the flour. Shortcake, you reminded him, wasn’t as sweet as a regular cake, so that seemingly small amount of sugar was in fact correct.

It all went nearly without a hitch, only a small chunk of butter plopping onto the silvery counter, which you quickly twirled around to wipe squeaky clean again. Yunho was doing great at sifting everything together, almost as if he’d done it before.

Well, until the last scoop of flour, that is. The last one hung just wrong, dropping from the measuring cup in Yunho’s hand and sliding down the edge of the mesh strainer, bursting in a cloud of curling pure white dust upon the counter, his apron, and even on the side of your pant leg.

"Oh my gosh, (y/n), I'm so sorry!" Yunho immediately exclaimed, holding his hands out like he didn't trust them anymore.

"Don't worry about it," you replied with a smile and a flippant gesture, "it won't be the first or the last time that happens in here. Besides, in Hallmark movies all things like this do is start a cheeky flour fight."

Yunho glanced down helplessly at his apron and the counter. "Wouldn't that just make it worse?"

"Oh, absolutely," you nod, "but if you just twirl it off your apron, you'll get a pretty cloud effect."

Expectation? A little shimmy. Reality? Yunho executing a perfect showman's leaping twirl, the move indeed enhanced by a puff surrounding him as the powder shook off of him and drifted down to the kitchen tile.

You might've been gaping, but it quickly faded into a smile as you drifted past him in search of a rolling pin. "Alright, so you're, like, an expert dancer, that's totally normal and not extremely cool."

"Oh, I'm no expert. I-I just dance for a living," he replied with a shy grin and darting gaze.

"I hate to break this to you," you leaned on the counter in front of him, rolling pin in hand and awe on your face, "but that makes you an expert. Certainly more than me. You should be there one of the many times I forget a step of the macarena."

Yunho's hands started drifting around in the general airspace above his shoulders, head, and hips. "Which part?"

All you could do was giggle and hold the rolling pin up in your hand, head shaking. "Have you ever kneaded and rolled dough before?" He had good dough hands. Certainly more proportional to the dough than yours!

"We did it, (y/n)! We made shortcake!" Practically floating above the tile, Yunho high-fived you after you set the tray down.

While your creation baked, the two of you had ditched your aprons and crossed the threshold back into adoptable territory to absolutely ruin all your kitchen-sanitary hands on the hurricane of dogs that surged after you, leaping into your arms like the sweetest of crests crashing onto your jean-clad knees.

This time you took Nun and Yunho had Mickey the Australian shepherd, who plopped right down on the café tile with his head in Yunho's now-seated lap. You held your fluffy ball of wonder close to your chest and she practically melted in, little black boba eyes fluttering contentedly shut.

Both of you whined how it was torture and apologized to the dogs as if it was a coordinated act as you waved and backed into the kitchen with four remorseful eyes on the adoptable crowd, and that was how the shortcake was procured.

Candying the watermelon went off without a hitch. Well, mostly. While a welcome strength boost to cut the honeydews, Yunho had you half giggling, half protectively extending an arm as he yelped at the bubbling sugar boiling in the pot. For that, you bid him mix the cream while you got the fruit ready.

More time with the adoptables as the candy set, and then you were stacking cake, cream, and shining, syrupy melon chunks into a light yellow-and-green treat topped with some melon balls and classic rosettes.

"It's beautiful," you congratulated Yunho with a wide smile.

"Better than the fruit loop latte idea?"

You just nodded as the sound of your business's door closing rang our behind you. "And here's our proof coming!" You clapped, rushing out of the kitchen in the bouncing dance of a barista on a mission. "Uncle, will you try our dessert please? Yunho and I worked really hard on it," you plead as you dragged your amused uncle into your workspace, one arm linked with his and the other gesturing with a flourish toward the lovely shortcake and your lovely fellow baker, who immediately bent his legs and struck an introductory pose at it himself.

"I can tell. This looks great, you two," your uncle told you, pride clear in his voice as much as on his face as he ruffled your hair with his free hand.

Wiggling gently out of your grip, he accepted the proffered fork from Yunho and reached over to dig into the plated treat you'd decorated on the counter, which of course you'd wiped down before he could see the mess you made. Didn't hurt to butter up the person trying your new innovation, right?

Your uncle's eyebrows shot up the moment the forkful of your shortcake entered his mouth, both you and Yunho leaping up as if watching the pinnacle of a photo-finish race.

"Well, how is it?" You burst out, practically wiggling under the suspense.

"Yes, sir," Yunho added, straightening the apron he'd put back on, "is it good enough to go on the menu?"

"It's very good, son," your uncle began, eliciting a loud cheer from you two and a resonant, stingingly strong high-five of elation to boot.

"But," he added, both of you inhaling at his next words, eyes not even leaving him when an audible, surely adorable play-wrestle broke out among the adoptables, "if you want this on the menu, there's one condition."

"Wh- what's that? Er, sir?" Yunho stiffened under your uncle's serious gaze.

Short-lived as it was; the expression soon melted into your beloved joker's smile of mischief. "You have to take my niece on a date."

"Uncle, I-" You began to protest, heat rising to your cheeks faster than any oven or milk steamer could preheat.

"Yes, sir," Yunho nodded, sparing you a quick glance and a small wave as if he'd forgotten you were there, "that's a much greater reward than the menu spot."

His smile turned almost into something you'd see on a lovesick cartoon, as if your heart hadn't flipped hard enough in the past few minutes or even from the first time he walked in and you saw him being gentle with the adoptables.

What could you say? Guess it was puppy love.

#ateez #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez scenarios #yunho #yunho x reader #yunho x female reader #female reader #coffee shop au #fluff #barista!reader

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