#pitchers glove

[crossstitchpatterns]

Instructions below

For House Exterior, use marker to draw outline of the window and door openings as indicated by dashed line on pattern onto one sheet of perforated plastic. Cut out along marker lines; set window and door pieces aside. Cut window and door openings from remaining piece of plastic in the same manner, Except discard window and door pieces.

Cut a 3x15 inch strip from short end of Aida. Use reserved perforated plastic windows and doors as patterns to cut to matching pieces from Aida strip. Set aside plastic and Aida pieces.

Find center of one sheet of plastic and center of house chart; begin stitching there. Stitch the entire chart except window and door openings. Use three plies of cotton or rayon floss to work cross stitches all the way around the edges of openings; do not leave and unstitched rows. Work back-stitches and french knots as specified by the key. Use one ply of matching floss to attach beads.

For windows and doors, work each area of chart inside dashed lines on a reserved piece of plastic. Work cross-stitches all the way to the edges of the piece; Do not leave any unstitched rows. sew beads to windows and doors. Glue a same sized piece of Aida to back of each piece. Use sewing thread and ladder stitched to attach windows and doors to house.

Position stitched plastic over remaining sheet of plastic. Use sewing thread to join layers together at window and door openings. Join the outside edges of rectangles together with overcast stitches using three plies.

For background, tape or zigzag edges of Aida to prevent fraying. Find center of chart and center of fabric; begin stitching from there. Use three plies of cotton floss or two plies of rayon floss to work cross-stitches. Work backstitches and french knots as specified. Press.

Position exterior atop background so motifs show through window and door openings. Baste at sides to hold in place. Frame as desired.

[attyrocious]

dont ask me abt baseball do i look like i sport at any capacity

[amity-png]

hey batter batter hey batter batter swing

[wildbeautifuldamned]

Vintage 1970 Rare Handmade Stainglass Window Garden Scene Framed, Chain Hung ebay brina4460

[chelseajackarmy]

Rafael Devers

[reinsdork]

[froggierboy]

like once every six months the whole internet finds out abt a new fast food chain that is using prepackaged products and reusing dishes etc etc and it's like hmm perhaps some of u have no critical thinking skills

[notund]

this post's hypothetical by itself is already ridiculous but the thing that gets me is how the wording implies two very funny things that become funnier in tandem

1. "Accidentally, the pitcher tosses a Christian baby" means this is a mistake on the pitcher's part. i imagine the pitcher is breastfeeding on the field and they pitch and they look down at their hands and they see the ball still in the glove and they go "fuck"

2. hitting the baby will still win you the game

[hairmetal666]

Everyone in the league knows about Eddie Munson. He has the makings of a great pitcher, except for the fact that his slider has a 75% chance of sliding too high and his fastballs mostly end up in the dirt. His technique is wild, flailing, unrestrained. Which is why Steve is beside himself when he learns about the trade.

The owners, they think that Steve being the best catcher in the league means he can work with Eddie, settle him, make him a real prospect. Steve's input isn't needed with the decision already made, but Munson--with all his tattoos piercings and leather--looks like he'd rather hock a loogie at Steve than take directions from him.

And Steve is the best in the league, the glue that keeps the team together. They're a well-oiled machine, and Eddie is--Eddie is a squeaky wheel.

They meet for the first time, briefly, in the locker room. He's seen the guy before, of course, but now, like this, he can't help but be intrigued by his pale skin and long curls and brown doe-eyes, his lightly muscled frame. And they're in the locker room, Eddie with just a towel around his waist, exposing his toned chest and stomach and the black swirl of his tattoos.

"Steve Harrington!" Eddie reaches out a hand. "Great to meet you, man."

"You too. Excited to have you with us." The handshake is quick and firm and Steve is trying not to be surprised about how excited and genuine the guy sounds, keep his mind away from thinking of how Eddie is naked aside from the towel.

With only a few weeks until the start of the regular season, Eddie starts pitching to Steve. And Steve, he so expects Eddie to fight and grumble and refuse, that his head sort of spins when, on the first day, Eddie claps him on the back with his glove, says, "where do you want me, cap?" and that's that.

He wants to say that they dislike each other, that they're a bad fit, that Eddie is full himself and refuses constructive criticism.

Instead.

Instead it's easy.

Eddie doesn't complain, doesn't argue, just watches Steve, learns him, takes his advice and notes and implements them as much as he can. They like each other, have an easy rapport, get each other. He's tight with all the pitchers, but Eddie is different. They settle each other.

They're best friends. They hangout constantly. And he doesn't have a crush; he doesn't. It would be unprofessional. They're best friends.

But sometimes, sometimes he thinks he catches Eddie looking at him. It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. Eddie couldn't be into the guy Sports Illustrated called "baseball's Ralph Lauren model" in the intro to Steve's Body Issue photo spread. And it doesn't matter one way or the other because Steve won't make a move. He won't jeopardize the team like that.

They don't touch. He touches everyone on the team, often, and Eddie particularly is a physical guy, but aside from that first handshake, he keeps his distance. Steve's afraid--even though it's silly, he's afraid--that once they start touching, he won't be able to stop, and he can't let that happen.

The team is good, competing for first place in the National League. Eddie's success has made everyone else better.

It's late July, they're in first place in the league, and Eddie's pitching a perfect game. There's only been 24 perfect games thrown in the history of Major League Baseball, but it's the eighth inning and Eddie's doing it.

A pitch goes wild, veers high over the umpire's head. Eddie's shaken, Steve can tell with how his fist tightens compulsively around the ball. The next pitch swings wide, towards the batter's knees.

The count is at 2 balls, no strikes, and he can see, even from behind home plate Steve can see, that Eddie's losing it. He heads for the mound, refuses to let it end like this. He closes the distance between them, has a quick internal debate before he puts his hand on Eddie's lower back. They've never touched, this is it, this is--warmth bleeds from Eddie's skin, through the fabric of his jersey, goes straight to Steve's head.

Eddie frowns. "I don't think I--"

"You're going to do it, Ed. I know. I can feel it." He pats his chest, over his heart. "It's gonna happen."

Eddie's breathing settles and it's only then that Steve realizes he's rubbing circles into Eddie's back with his thumb. He's not sure when he started, doesn't want to stop, loves being able to feel.

"Okay," Eddie says.

"Okay."

Steve removes his hand, heads back to home, still tingling with the warmth of Eddie's body even as he crouches behind the plate.

He closes out the inning with three definitive strike outs. The crowd goes wild.

They take the field for the top of the 9th, the crowd is screaming, ready for this, the energy zipping through every player on the field.

It goes by in a blur. Nine pitches. Eddie's perfect game is wrapped up in nine phenomenal pitches.

As the ump calls the last out, there's a moment of complete and utter quiet in the stadium, Steve's heart a pounding hum in his ears, before pandemonium breaks loose. There's screaming, fireworks, someone is crying--

All he can see is Eddie. Eddie's who's thrown his glove to the dirt, is barreling towards him with a triumphant smile bright on his face. Steve stands, runs to close the distance. He sees the moment that Eddie decides to jump into his arms, catches him easily--will always catch him--but his legs are tired and the momentum gets him, sends them tumbling back into the grass.

They're both yelling, laughing, smiling hard enough to hurt. Eddie's hair has fallen out if its tie, tumbling around his shoulders, and Steve gazes at him, can't help it, in this moment can admit that he's so, so astronomically in love.

It's only then Steve realizes that the laughter's stopped, that Eddie's gazing back. Brown eyes shining bright with happiness, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted. Thoughtless, he reaches up to caress Eddie's cheek.

The team reaches them, streaming around them, yanking Eddie and Steve to their feet. The celebration stretches around them, the moment slipping away. He wants to finish what they started but there are interviews, champagne showers, congratulations, that keep them apart. Sometimes, from across the room, their eyes meet, and there's heat there that's new, that sparks something low in Steve's gut.

Hours pass, and finally he finds himself alone in the locker room. He's just pulled on his t-shirt when the door shuts behind him. He spins, finds Eddie, waiting, watching.

He crosses the room without a word, can't not, not now, not after everything. They grapple for a second, the wanting so strong that it takes a second to settle, to find each other. They kiss hard, desperate, seething with desire.

Steve hopes it never ends and it doesn't, just tapers into soft kisses, gentle nips. He can't bring himself to step away.

"Is this for real ?" Eddie whispers.

"I've been insane about you since the trade."

Eddie's smile is blinding. "I used to have those pictures of you--the ones with the little red shorts?--in my locker in the minors. Feel like I'm living in a dream right now."

It lights him up inside, knowing that Eddie wants him, has wanted him. "Let me take you home and show you just how real it is?"

He snorts, but his dimples deepen, eyes shining. "What a line, sweetheart."

"Yeah well, the baseball field isn't the only place where I hit home runs."

[bestbaseballreview]

The Real Reason Why Do Pitchers Lift Their Leg?

Why do pitchers lift their leg? 

Pitchers in baseball lift their leg before throwing a pitch for a number of reasons. One of the primary reasons is to create momentum and generate more power in their pitch. By lifting their leg, pitchers are able to transfer more energy from their lower body into their upper body and arm, resulting in faster and more accurate pitches.

Another reason pitchers lift their leg is to throw off the timing of the batter. By varying their delivery, pitchers can make it more difficult for the batter to predict when and where the pitch will be thrown. This can lead to more strikeouts and fewer hits.

Pitchers also use their leg lift to conceal the ball before they throw, making it harder for the batter to see the pitch. This is known as deception and it's one of the key factors of a pitcher's arsenal.

Additionally, Pitchers lift their leg to improve their balance and accuracy. By keeping their center of gravity balanced, they can avoid falling off-balance during their delivery and throwing a wild pitch. Also, keeping the balance allows them to throw the ball with more accuracy.

In conclusion, Pitchers lift their leg before throwing a pitch for several reasons, including creating momentum and generating power, throwing off the timing of the batter, concealing the ball, and improving balance and accuracy. These techniques are crucial for a pitcher's performance and success on the field.

Read More: https://bestbaseballreviews.com/why-do-pitchers-lift-their-leg

[hellenhighwater]

Whilst browsing my dash I came upon a couple of posts of yours. One being the citrus garland one, and the other being the completed pepper juice to the eye post. I've wanted to do citrus garlands for *years* but I am allergic to citrus. Only upon seeing your post did I realize that I should be fine if I wear gloves.

Now to the second post and my reason for being here. Forgive me for being a bit long-winded, I promise it goes somewhere. I am the director for the elementary DnD after school club. I had intended to run a wizard themed game, but multiple things got in the way and I was unable to get any of those ideas off the ground. However, my students did come up with what their wands were going to look like. And so I have a new quest: make wands for my kids. I have the wands themselves already made, and today I picked up things to make the wands unique (paint, gems, clay, etc.) But upon seeing your post about making the big batches of stuff to give away as gifts I went, "Ooh, I want to do that!" But I am no good in the kitchen so I turned to Pinterest for potential ideas. I saw many tutorials on how to make tiny potion bottles, and reached out to a friend who also hoards crafts like a dragon. I sought for her to make me stop, but truly I wanted permission to go for it. She suggested that I go all in and make a jar of homemade spice blend, decorate it with witchy stuff, throw in some fake potions, and make a whole gift box for the holidays.

So yeah, I guess I'm making wizard boxes now.

You should be able to use the orange drying method on most fruits, for what it's worth (persimmons, especially, give a very vibrant orange color, though they are still citrus) including apples and pears. So if the gloves don't do the trick, maybe try a different fruit entirely?

From the depths of my tiny bottles drawer: a handful of spell component jars, made for a campaign that's years ago now!

Spice mixes are fun, but because they generally go into hot beverages, maybe not the best option for elementary schoolers. Instead, may I suggest "mystery" powdered drink mixes, re-packaged into tiny potion bottles like the two above? You could label them and have a pitcher of water and cups with each character's name at the table, and let players dump the powder into their cup and drink whatever it is, either when they use a potion or as a spell component. (Small cups just larger than a shot glass may be preferred to stave off constant pee breaks.) You could also mix in festive sprinkles or food-safe luster dust for visual texture; a little extra sugar in most powdered mixes won't be highly noticeable.

But I do love the idea of a little wizard goodie box to take home! That sounds like a super fun campaign; I hope they enjoy it.

[redflagshipwriter]

Check Yes ch 9 part 2

masterpost

That whole detour took a depressing amount of their allotted Dick-free time frame. Danny sulked about it a bit as Jason caught up to him and bumped his shoulder. Jason fished his phone out and clearly made a call to a restaurant, giving them an ETA and asking them for the meal Danny had asked for.

Well… Danny untensed a bit. He was willing to look at Jason again by the time that the phone call finished. 

“Wanna talk strategy?” Jason coaxed. 

Danny pursed his lips. “Is anything off limits?” he asked with a shrug. He spread his hands out. “I can fly, go intangible– most of my powers are more martial but those are really applicable.”

“I can’t do either of those things,” Jason said, “So unless-”

“I will just pick you up,” Danny cut him off. He flicked a glance up and down the other guy. “You weigh nothing to me.”

Jason seemed to experience a 404 error. Once he had rebooted he cleared his throat and his voice still came out a little peaky. “I think those things are fair, but we don’t wanna clear Dick totally, it won’t be any fun unless he thinks he has a shot at some points.” He cleared his throat again.

‘....Does he want me to pick him up?’ Danny looked Jason over as sneakily as he could manage. ‘He didn’t let me carry him up the stairs, but maybe that was different because we were play-fighting.’

He filed that very interesting question away for later and took a little mercy on his date. “What strengths does he have, what tactics is he gonna use?”

Jason whistled a long breath out from between his teeth and opened a door for Danny. “We should call Barbie and beg for her neutrality. He won’t go to tech immediately, but tracking us by cameras is always an option.”

Danny snorted and tossed his hair. “Not a problem,” he boasted. “I can short out any cameras in my vicinity.”

There was a moment of silence. “That sounds like it would make it really easy to spot our current location.”

Oh. Well. Heck.

“...Is this the restaurant?” Danny pushed open the door without waiting for an answer, bell jingling overhead.  

A sharp-eyed waiter in black and white saw them enter and indicated the back area with a gloved hand. “Thanks, France,” Jason said easily. He pulled out a seat for Danny without a thought.

Danny shared a moment of eye contact with France. Danny was intending to communicate, ‘Do you see this shit, France?’ France was a cypher. There was no hint of what he thought about this.

…Danny sat. “Thank you,” he said, a little confused by the gesture but pretty certain that this was the best response. 

Jason seated himself and gave him a distracted smile in lieu of a verbal reply. Shit. Fuck. He was hot. Danny flashed internal alarms at this. “Are you still interested in red wine, or would you like something else?” 

“Uhhh.” Danny decided not to say that he had no idea, he was basically copying the romantic date from The Lady and the Tramp. “I’d like to start with a water.” 

“Of course.” Jason glanced over at France, who inclined his head and left in a frankly shocking burst of speed. “I think that Dick will try to leverage the date against me, to embarrass me,” he said thoughtfully. He picked up a saltshaker and started toying with it absentmindedly. “He’ll think that I won’t want the other guys bothering us.”

Danny cocked his head. 

“I was thinking about cutting that out from underneath him, at the last second,” Jason explained. “Dick’ll probably have a couple contingencies around siblings.”

“Yeah, control the flow of information,” Danny agreed. “Do you think you can turn any of them against him?”

Jason pursed his lips. “Yes, but not predictably. It’ll depend who sides with who first. It’s not a fun game if they all play on the same team, so some of them will be willing to fuck him over.” He blinked and lifted his hands as France returned with a pitcher of lemon water and a plate of appetizers. 

It was a very serious war council, for all that it happened to be about the tactics Birds and Bats would use in a game of tag. Danny caught himself leaning forward, elbows braced on the table, to breathe in every word out of Jason’s mouth. 

“Don’t worry about the big guy though,” Danny faintly understood. He was glazing out a little bit, just watching Jason’s mouth move. There was a little bit of stubble that hadn’t been there at the start of their date a few hours ago. Danny wanted to touch it. “No way will they invite him to play, he hasn’t been fun for a decade.”

“Whatever you say,” Danny managed. Unbidden, one hand started to come up off the tabletop, reaching toward Jason’s jawline. Touchy touch touch.

“What- oh, we should take a photo for the group chat.” Jason pushed the food slightly out of the way and rested an elbow on the table to support himself as he leaned basically into Danny’s space. He used that hand to grab the hand Danny had been inching across the table and he gave it a squeeze.

He was. He was holding Danny’s hand again. Danny swallowed, hard. Was his pulse too fast? Could Jason feel that?

“Lean in a bit?” Jason was checking how they looked in his phone camera. 

Danny leaned forward agreeably, brain screaming static at him. He didn’t even bother to think about how he looked in the photo. It must have been fine because Jason made an approving noise and put the phone back down on the table. “I’ll send it to the group chat in about 20 minutes,” he said.

“Ngah,” Danny said intelligently. 

Luckily, the pasta came then.

[yoonbroom]

BTS FIC RECS

a list of BTS fics I really enjoyed! pls go and show these amazing authors some love <3 if there wasn't a summary I just included a little blurb from the fics! and anything with * are my own thoughts. now onto the recs ↓

KIM SEOKJIN

TURN BACK TIME - @raplinesmoon

oneshot, fluff, angst, smut

After total humiliation at his middle school baseball try outs, Kim Seokjin wants nothing more than for his awkward years to fade away until he’s thirty. Cue a magic baseball glove, and his wish is finally granted. Seokjin suddenly wakes up seventeen years later, now the star pitcher of the team he’d always dreamed of playing for. Confused and overwhelmed at the prospect of the new life waiting for him, he turns to the only person who seems to understand him — you. Will Seokjin learn what it truly means to be thirty, flirty, and thriving? Or will he find himself wishing he could turn back time?

WITH YOU - @yoonpobs

oneshot, fluff, angst, smut, ceo, marriage, divorce, parent

marrying your childhood best friend was not the love story that most painted it to be. you knew that better than anyone else.

UNTITLED - @eoieopda

drabble, fluff, est relationship, parent

"I loved the dad joon and dad yoongs drabble 🥹 it's freaking cuteeee omg jade 😭😭 *whisper* can you do dad-to-be or dad seokjin too please...? I'm on a seokjin missing hour 🥹 thank you ❤️❤️"

LONG TERM COUPLE - @taetaespeaches

series, fluff, angst, idol au, strangers to lovers

long term couple masterlist *the whole long term couple series is honestly one of my faves😭*

MIN YOONGI

LONG TERM COUPLE - @/taetaespeaches

series, fluff, angst, smut, idol au, strangers to lovers

long term couple masterlist

NO MORE - @gyukult

series (two-shot), angst, smut, fluff, unrequited love, college, secret relationship

yoongi doesn’t like your consistent pining, and one day, after finally coming to terms that he will never reciprocate any feelings back, you give up. yet, for some reason, yoongi is the one who can’t come to terms with the consequences of when he says ‘no more.’

VOWS AKA 10 WAYS TO WIN YOUR HUSBAND'S HEART - @hamsterclaw

series, fluff, angst, smut, arranged marriage, est relationship

You’ve been in your arranged marriage with Yoongi for five years, and he’s never once retaliated for anything you’ve done to him. One day you realise you’ve lost your appetite for provoking him, and you set about trying to win his heart instead.

CARE FOR YOU - @archivedkookie

oneshot, fluff, est relationship, marriage, doctor au

Yoongi will always care for you, no matter what.

BABY, YOU CAN DRIVE MY CAR PT.2- @jungshookz

oneshot, fluff, angst, smut, mechanic au

welcome to min mechanics - what can i do for you today, doll?

THE TROPHY WIFE - @taeyohonic

oneshot, fluff, angst, est relationship, idol au

the proposal doesn’t go as planned

BACK-BURNER - @/yoonpobs

series, angst, fluff, smut, sisters best friend, friends to lovers

sometimes you felt like you were the back-burner of a two-decade-long friendship. how could you ever compete?

VEGAS BABY - @chimivx

series, fluff, angst, smut, idol au, parent au

A peek into the life of an Idol and his soulmate tackling the obstacles that come with having a surprise in the whirlwind of a world they live in. { This link takes you to the full collection of works. }

JUNG HOSEOK

LONG TERM COUPLE - @/taetaespeaches

series, fluff, angst, smut, strangers to lovers, idol au

long term couple masterlist

ONE NIGHT LIGHT - @bts-reveries

series, fluff, angst, smau, parent

Hoseok has been living his very own version of a perfect life. Unlike some of his best friends, this doesn’t include a happy marriage, adorable kids, or even a stable relationship. All he would ever need was music, dancing, and of course, the parties. Now what happens when he gets a wake up call from reality when the door rings approximately six years after his last one night stand?

AT THE CONCERT - @katnisspeetaprim

oneshot, fluff, est relationship, idol au

Hoseok was quite insistent that you come to this show in particular...

KIM NAMJOON

LONG TERM COUPLE - @/taetaespeaches

series, fluff, angst, smut, strangers to lovers, idol au

long term couple masterlist

UNTITLED - @/eoieopda

drabble, fluff, est relationship, parent au

dad!joon

ALONE ON YOUR BIRTHDAY - @monimonimoon

drabble, angst, est relationship

Namjoon promised he would be there on your birthday, he wouldn't be working, he certainly wouldn't work late. Sometimes, increasingly frequently, he broke his promises.

ME AND YOUR MAMA - @joonberriess

oneshot, smut, fluff, est relationship

you like to remember both what life before the little one was and after with your loving boyfriend namjoon.

PARK JIMIN

ROCK BOTTOM - @jkbabiey

oneshot, angst, fluff, smut, marriage, idol au

When, in a four-year marriage, you get to the point where you question its worth, you know that’s your rock bottom. How many I’m sorry’s will you handle? How many times are too many times?

MASK ON - @herherteartear

series, fluff, angst, smau, single dad au

blind dates are never the move.. unless your best friend is vouching for the person you're going on a date with. it couldn't be that bad, right? wrong. now you're in love with a man who has a big secret. a big secret with chubby cheeks and pig tails.

LONG TERM COUPLE - @/taetaespeaches

series, fluff, angst, smut, friends to lovers, idol au

long term couple masterlist

KIM TAEHYUNG

MINI ME - @bts-reveries

series, fluff, angst, smau, strangers to lovers, parent au, artist au

Unlike his best friends, Taehyung was young, wild, and free. No relationship, no babies, no responsibilities. Well he had his puppy, but that was it. Taehyung watched his nieces and nephews grow up and it was no secret that he too wanted to have one of his own someday. So what will happen when he finally finds someone that matches his personality (and himself) well?

WELCOME TO MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL - @tteokggukk

oneshot, fluff, idol au, strangers to lovers

"He’s been watching your videos for quite some time now, ever since your channel started rising. Art was one of his major interests and he absolutely adored the way you made your videos with the calming, ASMR-like sound of mixing paint and how you skillfully glided the brush across the canvas. On days when he found himself tired and in need of a quick way to relax, he’d subconsciously find himself binge watching videos on your channel— even repeating several videos since you were only starting. He found it fascinating, but also because he found you interesting."

ONE OF THE BOYS - @littlemisskookie

oneshot, fluff, angst, smut, childhood friends, best friends to lovers, high school

All your life you wanted only one thing- for Kim Taehyung to like you. You did everything you could to make this happen, from picking up his hobbies and rejecting anything feminine. But who do you start to become when you stop trying to impress him?

LONG TERM COUPLE - @/taetaespeaches

series, fluff, angst, smut, (best)friends to lovers, idol au

long term couple masterlist

"I WISH ID NEVER MET YOU" " I HATE YOU" - @v-hope

oneshot, angst, idol au

"pls do 12 and 27 with tae (angst)"

JEON JUNGKOOK

UNTITLED - @onlyswan

oneshot, fluff, angst, est relationship, idol au

in which you make jungkook’s world spin and you tend to… make him a little too dizzy.

ME AND MY HUSBAND - @gashinabts

oneshot, fluff, angst, smut, est relationship, parent au

You don’t want to brag but you have the world’s greatest husband. Jungkook packs your lunch everyday, and makes cute shapes with the fruit. There’s even a little note, ‘ Have a good day at work, Baby! <3’. Smiling to yourself you place the note down, and eat your food with content.

17 GOING ON 27 - @hansolmates

oneshot, fluff, angst, photographer au

one second, you’re sobbing at prom because the most popular guy in school dumps you due to your relationship being a little prank to break your heart. the next? you’re a creative editor at Ego, the hottest young adult fashion magazine. as you try to figure out what’s the deal with this sudden time skip into adulthood, you come across relationships and friendships that are made to be cherished and made to be broken.

HOME - @bonny-kookoo

oneshot, fluff, smut, idol au

Singing about love without having experienced it properly before, Jungkook felt a little foolish- as if he didn’t quite have the rights to the words he’d put out there for others to listen to. But Jungkook also loved to learn new things; and loving you was one of them.

LONG TERM COUPLE - @/taetaespeaches

series, fluff, angst, smut, strangers to lovers, idol au

long term couple masterlist

want recs for other groups? check out my navigation → here!

[ghost-proofbaby]

it’s always a full circle with us. why is violence our love language 😭

i also kinda wanna punch him. brb gonna have a whole blurb in this universe where eddie does something pisses us off and he goes into the parking lot with us like “okay. we’re off company property. go ahead. hit me with your best right hoo-“ and when your hand leaves him with a shiny pink cheek he’s so sore about it even when you take care of him immediately after he’s just whining the entire time as you roll your eyes and remind him it was his idea.

i got carried away but thank you i love you 🖤

FIRST IMPRESSIONS (a barista!eddie x barista!reader au)

summary: eddie faces the perils of being a coffee shop opener, and meets you. you, who's so damn optimistic it should be annoying. you, who makes the job that has given him trouble seem like a cake walk. you, who seemingly bleeds sunshine. god, he should really hate you.

warnings: TWO uses of "y/n", fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), PHYSICAL descriptors used for reader (she has a nose ring and a septum piercing! that's all), eddie is just a bitter and grumpy idiot.

wc: 5.2k

a/n: i apologize in advance for all the technical 'barista' talk in reference to positions. i tried to elaborate on a few of them, haha. also... yes. i gave reader two nose piercings. it's definitely not even more self-projection psh. (because i have three)

the full menu

Eddie Munson is not a morning person.

So, why, for the life of him, he ended up as an opener, he couldn’t tell you. 

It had been a snowball effect. He got tired of working odd jobs here and there to produce enough cash to slip Wayne for bills, decided the quick change made off of fixing up neighbors’ cars or mowing lawns just wasn’t cutting it for his desired spending habits. He was tired of being so restricted by his misfortune; he was tired of watching Wayne pull long shifts only to continue living paycheck to paycheck. He was tired of his friends like Harrington and Buckley having money from their part time gig at the movie store to freely agree to impromptu late nights at Benny’s or seeing the latest slasher films in the theater as they premiered while he had to deliberate over counting change to see if he even had the funds to join in. He was tired of eyeing that guitar in the mall and constantly telling himself one day. 

Eddie Munson had been tired. But now, as he forced himself awake most mornings before the sun even rose, he was exhausted.

Originally, he’d wanted to be a closer. He didn’t mind being the clean up crew, having to spend late nights in a coffee shop sweeping up grounds and scrubbing away the stickiness of the day. But then the hiring manager that interviewed him had hinted towards the fact that their store already had enough closers when he’d spotted Eddie’s availability, made a few off comments about how what they really needed was a couple brave souls to take over opening shift, and that tiresome cycle rang in Eddie’s ears. Before he even had the chance to think it through, in his desperation, he’d insisted that oh, actually, my availability is completely open. I don’t mind working earlier than that. 

What bullshit. Eddie definitely minded working earlier than that. He more than minded it — he loathed it.

Long story short, it had been a series of unfortunate events that led Eddie to where he was now. In his van, fifteen minutes early, staring out at a parking lot bathed in the lingering night as he fought to keep his eyes open. 

The clock on his dash read 4:46 in a taunting blink, flickering against his bleary eyesight and making him question every decision in his life that had led him here. Adjusting to the new job had been easy enough — his trainer was nice enough, learning how to make drinks and what routines were required in the morning had been meticulous but rewarding — except for the time. It wasn’t just his start time that tortured him vehemently; shifts seem to pass miserably slow, the seconds dragging their feet in no hurry to get anywhere in particular. The clock didn’t care if Eddie yearned for his bed and a few extra hours of sleep gifted by a nap. Traffic didn’t either, when he’d hit the highways and catch just the beginnings or the tail end of the morning rush.

You’d think he’d complain more about the commute. But the gas spent on the twenty minute drive to the town over was the least of his concerns.

“Fuckin’ John,” Eddie mutters when a large truck pulls up to the drive thru, a notable regular he’d begun to recognize after not even a month of working there. They had just recently changed their opening time (they used to open an hour earlier, his manager had informed him. Eddie had nearly burst into grateful tears that he’d never experienced that crime of humanity.) 

None of his coworkers had arrived yet. Most lived closer, able to garner extra snoozes on their alarms and shorter drives of contemplation. Eddie only ever envied them on mornings like today.

“We don’t open for, like, another forty minutes, asshole,” Eddie curses out loud to himself, counting down the time until John gives up and drives away. The man would just circle the store like a vulture anyways. He always did; he always had to be the first customer, grabbing his ridiculous coffee order before scurrying off to play cards at the casino, “How do you come here every fuckin’ day and not know that?” 

It took the older man a full four minutes before he finally roughly shifted his truck back into drive, being the farthest thing from gentle as he hit his gas and jerked his vehicle out of the drive thru line. Eddie couldn’t see him clearly through the stubborn darkness, but he could easily imagine that look of irritation at not receiving the caramel frappucino with a quad shot that he seemed to feel entitled to. 

God, that man was a dick. 

Eddie nearly misses another coworker pulling up to park beside him during the spectacle. 

By this point, he’s learned what cars all his coworkers drive. 

Carmen, the fellow barista who had trained him but he now rarely worked with due to her availability being a bit later in the day, drove a bright red 2012 Kia Soul that had certainly seen better days. Nicole, one of the shift leads he worked with often during his opens, drove a small and silver Nissan Versa. The year is lost on him, but he’s willing to bet it was a few years old at this point. James, another shift lead who went by Jamie and never had much to say, drove a Volkswagen that looked to be straight out of the 70s. And that was just the beginning, the ones he could think of off the top of his head while he was still waking up inside his van. 

The car parked beside him wasn’t any of these. He didn’t recognize it at first glance, and found himself doing a double take as his face scrunched up. 

A Jeep. A two-door Jeep Wrangler with vibrant, chipped yellow paint now sat idle beside him. 

Who the fuck drove a yellow Jeep? 

He can’t even bother to be annoyed or fatigued anymore with the mystery presently before him. He can’t see through the tint of the windows, can’t make out the silhouette of who it was. He was well aware that he hadn’t been acquainted with all of his coworkers quite yet – there was a plethora of baristas in the store he’d only heard spoken of in passing rather than properly meeting – but it had seemed like the people who opened always came from the same rotation of sorry suckers. 

Nicole’s car pulls up. So whoever drove the Jeep was not one of the shift leads. 

Five minutes to 5:00 AM, Nicole’s car door opens first and Eddie can hear the Jeep’s engine kill. He’s quick to fumble with his own keys, pulling them from the ignition in a haste and throwing a hand out to blindly grab his apron from his passenger seat.

A deep shade of green. Everyone had one or two of them laying around, and they were the root of the nickname for all new hires: green beans. He had just finally gotten the one embroidered with his name a little over a week ago, and his manager had apologized profusely as she swore it usually didn’t take that long.

Eddie really didn’t care. The moment he started wearing the apron with his name on it, customers had taken to randomly addressing him by it, and it made him fucking uncomfortable. 

“Rise and shine, campers!” Nicole’s voice echoes through the parking lot the moment all three openers are out of their cars. 

Eddie doesn’t answer at first (which isn’t unusual; Nicole was used to his ever-present sleep-deprivation induced silence). He’s too busy nearly tripping over himself as his eyes stay glued on that Jeep, on the door that swings wide open roughly from two parking spaces away as he waits with bated breath. 

Would this new coworker he was about to meet even like him? 

“God, Nicky,” a new voice groans – a girl’s voice.

Ah, fuck. 

Eddie had noticed the mysterious phenomenon of the way everyone who worked here seemed to be attractive to some extent. Nice on the eyes, always smiling and always flirting in a friendly manner to garner more tips. He’d had plenty of bisexual panics in the bathroom anytime one of his coworkers extended that friendly flirtation his way. All the fellow guys (as few as there were) and all the confident girls he’d been in the trenches with – it didn’t matter, they all affected him. 

Hawkins didn’t have nearly as many pretty people. Eddie sort of felt cheated for having lived a mere twenty minutes from a goldmine of such people for so long, completely unaware. But he also felt sort of relieved, knowing that if he were still a teenager barely scraping by in high school, this coffee shop would have been his downfall with awkward stumbles and feelings caught from all those faux smiles and joking winks that his now coworkers laid on heavy with their regulars. 

With this in mind, he doesn’t know why he wasn’t prepared for when you stepped out of the Jeep. Slamming the door shut behind you, your arms were full with an apron that was definitely not green, along with an oversized water bottle and what he thinks is either a cardigan or jacket. A tote bag slung over your shoulder looked to be stuffed full as well. You were a walking cliche for the type of person that people would expect to work at a coffee shop. The type of person that embodied all those jokes of if an alternative person isn’t making my coffee, it’s not going to taste good. 

Eddie should know; he’d been the butt of many of those style of jokes given that he also fit into that category. With his long hair, with his sparse tattoos, with his new nose ring – he knew he was as much of a cliche as you were. 

Didn’t stop him from staring at you, suddenly wide awake. 

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” Nicole jokes as she rounds the front of your Jeep, stopping and looking between you and Eddie before she says to you, “You’d think after a month’s vacation you’d be happier to see me.” 

You take two steps forward, lining up right between Eddie and Nicole, and suddenly contort your face to be such an over-exaggerated smile that it’s nearly a grimace. Eddie is so caught up in the scrunch of your nose, he nearly misses the way you grit out a sarcastic “Better?” from between your teeth. 

“Oh, that’s the winner,” Nicole cackles, keys jangling as she shakes them and leads the two of you towards the front of the store. Over her shoulder, she continues to joke, “Keep on smiling like that, and I sense a twenty dollar tip in our future.” 

Eddie still hasn’t said a word. What is he supposed to say? All he can do is trail slightly behind you, doing everything in his power to not let his eyes roam over your legs or backside. You were just wearing black jeans, in line with the same dress-code everyone else followed, but they were doing you favors. 

“Y’know, I think I already saw John’s truck this morning,” your voice was surprisingly pleasant despite the insinuation Nicole had made that your first impression should be grumpy. Far less gritty than Eddie’s would have been had he spoken up, “Think I can sweet talk that out of him? Maybe I’ll ask about his wife. Or- Oh!” you exclaim, bursting with sudden energy that should give Eddie a headache this early, “Put me on bar! I’ll douse his drink in caramel how he likes, that’s sure to tug on his wallet- Sorry, I mean heart-strings.” 

Nicole continues to laugh as she fumbles with unlocking the door, and it’s not lost on Eddie that he has never made any of the fellow baristas laugh like that. Although, to be fair, he has never been quite as enthusiastic as you. He didn’t seemingly bleed sunshine like you. Here the three of you were, outside in the dusky beginnings of a morning, and he could have sworn that the sun had already risen from the light that seemed to emit from you. 

It should have made him nauseated. It kind of did, actually. 

You turn suddenly, just as Nicole finally turns the lock, and face him. Your smile is subtle, eyes so wide he wouldn’t notice the bags even if you had any. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” 

You stick your hand out and he can see you sticky with it – with hopefulness, with friendliness, with kindness. His stomach churns. 

Nope. Not a chance. 

The moment Nicole opens the door, he’s barely muttering his name back to you, and is rushing past you to enter the store. His shoulder brushes against yours, and he has to tell himself repeatedly he did not just shoulder-check you. He has to tell himself that it’s okay he didn’t meet your level of enthusiasm. He has to tell himself that you’re just another barista, someone else who makes coffee for a living and that this new energy you bring is just due to that vacation that Nicole mentioned. 

It’ll fade. He’ll be fine. At some point, his stomach has to stop churning. 

—

It doesn’t. 

Your energy doesn’t falter, to his surprise. Not only are you sunshine personified, but you’re also damn good at your job. Eddie can only imagine how sluggish he’d be if he had a month off from anything, especially a job, but it doesn’t even seem as though you have to dust any of your skills off for the day. 

You offer to take over opening up the ‘drive thru’ aspect of the store, brewing all the coffees and teas without complaint as Eddie lingers in his misery of shuffling through the tasks of opening up the food portion of the store. As he’s sorting the croissants to be replenished, implementing the technique of FIFO (first in, first out), he can hear Nicole still cackling at whatever you’re saying in the back of the house as you clean the syrup pumps. When he’s labeling all the new breakfast sandwiches for the day with their best-by dates, he can hear you humming a few feet away from him over the clicking of the sticker gun in his hand. And when the clock finally reads 5:30 to signify the time of opening, you’re putting on your apron, tying it around yourself more securely than Eddie always lazily did. Even your black apron seemed to fit on you better than his did, as if you were more made for this job than he was. As if you had years of experience to carry on your shoulders, and God, were you carrying them with grace. Constantly smiling, constantly joking. He’d once thought Nicole incapable of even breaking a grin, but he’d hardly gone longer than a minute without hearing her laugh during the time of your opening together. 

God, he sort of hated you. 

You never even mentioned how rudely he’d shrugged off your introduction. Occasionally, he’d even caught you looking his way during the conversation, a soft expression on your face as if you were ready to include him in all the inside jokes at a moment’s notice. 

He made sure to consistently stare straight ahead, never once seeming to glance your way when you wore that expression. 

You were just too nice. You were putting all the other openers to shame right before his eyes, himself included, and he hated you for it. 

Once the store is open, John is the first customer in drive, as always. Eddie wears the headset (the one you’d grabbed for him, sanitizing it and slotting a freshly charged battery in without him even asking. God, he hated you.) and listens in to you greeting the awful bastard, and his stomach does another flip. 

“Good morning, John,” you chirp happily. He couldn’t see your face from around the corner, but he could only imagine that you were wearing a smile. Maybe you even had that damn camera on so that the customers could see you just as you could see them. 

He waits. Anxious to hear John’s grumpy reply, be reassured when someone else also didn’t match your energy. The man had never been pleasant a single day that Eddie had worked thus far. Simply barking out his order, acting offended when someone didn’t recognize him. 

If anyone was going to be cruel to you, Eddie would bet all five dollars in his pocket that it would be John. 

But even John wasn’t fucking mean to you. 

He had replied in the most cheerful tone Eddie had ever heard leave the man’s throat.

“And who am I speaking to?” he almost sounds teasing. It fans at Eddie’s irrational irritability. 

“I’ll give you three guesses.” 

He hates the way your customer service voice was so similar to just your normal voice. A bit squeakier, a bit more polite, but still bottled sunshine. He hates how nicely it caressed his eardrum as compared to the grate of some of the other barista’s tones while on drive thru. He hates that some deep part of him secretly hoped that Nicole stationed you there your entire shift, and that if she did, he would fight tooth and nail to keep this damn headset on. Just to hear your voice. Just to hear your light.

“Only three?” John’s gruff voice scoffs, “There’s only one person who works here who is this damn cheery before eight in the morning.” 

Nicole laughs from where she’s bent over to put down a few of the sanitizer buckets by the bars, shaking her head as she also listens in over her headset. 

“I’m making it easy on you, then,” you say as you suddenly come into view for Eddie. He’s trying to replenish the sandwiches and protein boxes that the store keeps on display for the customer by the register, still working through his morning tasks as he realizes you’ve completed yours.

Man, he fucking hated you. 

You don’t miss a beat as you begin to tap one of the espresso machines awake, punching all the right buttons to pull John’s espresso shot before you turn to make your way towards the cold beverage station. “You still drinking the same thing, old man?” 

“I’m not old.”

“Right, and I’m not already over-caffeinated,” that’s a lie. He hasn’t seen you touch a drop of coffee this entire time, “Just pull on up. It’s a billion dollars, or whatever your total normally is.” 

John’s cackle is cut off by him pulling away from the speaker box, effectively disconnecting the two way mic. Even Eddie finds himself nearly grinning at your reply, but he stops himself. Because you’re annoying. Because no one should be this witty this early. Because the ability to make others laugh this often should be a cardinal sin. 

He stops the grin because he hates you… right?

You do manage to get a tip out of John. Eddie sees it with his own two eyes. It’s a quick deposit of whatever spare change the stingiest man Eddie had ever had the displeasure of meeting has lying around his car, and it happens so quickly while you’re leant out the window to pass the man his receipt that he always requests that Eddie almost convinces himself it didn’t happen. But it did. He saw it with his own two eyes, as he tripped over his two left feet, effectively nearly knocking Nicole over with him. 

The look she gives him makes his stomach twist this time as his heart lurches. It’s a knowing look. It’s despicable. 

She doesn’t say a word until later into the shift, once more baristas are scattered across the floor and peak is in full swing. Eddie isn’t kept on food, and you aren’t kept to manage taking orders or run the window – he’s the one reassigned to the window position as you are moved to the cafe bar. He’s tasked with quick connections before handing out drinks to bored business people, as you fly through making drinks for both mobile orders and any customers that choose to physically walk into the store. 

Nicole puts herself on the position of ‘DTO’ – she greets the drive thru customers over the headset and takes their orders, her tone not nearly as honey-sweet as yours had been. She’s lacking in jokes, she sticks to a script that must have taken her years to make sound even remotely natural. 

Eddie’s just grateful he doesn’t have to wear a headset and listen to her directly in his ear. 

Rush has died down when she turns to him and cocks a brow with her hip. He has the window shut, fiddling with his thumbs as he anxiously awaits for the partner on drive bar to finish making the iced white mocha for the customer currently sitting on their phone. He’s sure the look she shoots his way is in regards to the fact that he isn’t ‘connecting with the customer’ or putting himself through insufferable small talk. 

It isn’t.

“Do you not like her?” 

His head shoots up, fully meeting her curious gaze, “Excuse me?”

“Y/N,” she clarifies, “Do you… not like her?” 

“I don’t know her,” he weakly defends himself.

He had been a dick to you this morning, hadn’t he? What a weak defense for being a bad person to someone who makes this entire store glow simply by being here. 

“You should give her a chance,” Nicole speaks softly as she leans back on the counter that holds the order screens, “I… She can be a lot, but she’s one of our best. Think of her as the people’s princess, so to speak.” 

He knows you’re one of the best here, just in the short few hours he’s caught glimpses of you. He has no idea how you’re so quick with making drinks, or how you manage to hold such genuine sounding conversations with all of the customers who stand right at the hand off plane. He just gets irritable when they stare at him with prying eyes as he tries (and fails) to keep up his pace. 

“I… I can see it,” he nods, bringing a hand up to pinch his bottom lip, “I mean, John clearly loves her.” 

Nicole gives a pointed look, “He does. She doesn’t take his shit – him and his wife bring her gifts for every holiday. They know her damn birthday and bring her cards. It’s insufferable.” 

He cracks a shy smile at that, “They bring her birthday cards?”

“They bring her birthday cards,” she echoes back to him. Eddie finally receives the drink he was waiting on and turns, quick to hand it out with a soft mutterance of ‘have a good day’. Once he’s finished and the drive thru is officially empty, he faces her once more, “You don’t have to like her as much as everyone else. I know you’re still new and adjusting but… she’s one of the best for a reason.” 

“Because she can turn out drinks like it’s no one’s business?” Eddie questions, side stepping and lifting his chin in your direction as you finish yet another drink, as if to prove his point. 

“That,” Nicole shrugs her shoulders and pushes off the counter, “And because she actually gives a damn.” Eddie’s brows shoot up as he waits for her to continue, “She knows these customers, man. Learns about their lives, hears them out. Remembers the small things. She’s the same way with all of us, too. She once got turned down from being a shift lead because she’s too nice. Have you ever heard of someone being shot down from a job for that?” Nicole pauses, and Eddie can only shake his head, feeling the ends of his ponytail brush the back of his neck, “She has the management experience – she knows how to run this place. Sometimes, I see it. The way she steps up and takes responsibility. She chooses to be that kind even if it makes her seem like a nut job. She chooses to let people hear walk all over her, because she cares. She cares more about treating us as humans or whatever than she does an upgrade in pay.”

“Makes sense they wouldn’t make her a shift, then,” Eddie dares to say, which earns him a sharp look, “I mean, management positions aren’t for the weak of heart. You have to make tough decision-”

“Once, a man was harassing one of our baristas. This dude who was married. Came in like clockwork and picked up a mobile order under his wife’s name, wouldn’t take no for an answer and kept flirting with one of our poor girls. I’ve never really been afraid of her, but I was every time that man stepped foot in here,” Nicole grabs a rag and starts to wipe down the counters with a low whistle, as if she isn’t spilling serious store lore right now to Eddie. As if she isn’t bringing on more questions than answers, “She’s not weak of heart. She’s good of heart. And if she hadn’t been on vacation, she would have been your trainer. You don’t have to like her, like I said, but it would do you well to give her a chance.” 

Trainer? 

Carmen had mentioned something about another barista being the usual trainer. She had even tried to joke around with Eddie that he would have liked the other girl better, something about how she was funnier and easier to get along with. 

You. You were the girl she’d been talking about. The people’s princess, as Nicole had put it. 

Eddie opens his mouth to say something in reply, although he isn’t quite sure what he can say. 

God, he had been a fucking dick. And Nicole was matching sure he felt all seven levels of Hell, of guilt, for it. 

It ate him alive for the rest of his shift. His stomach churned with it. All that guilt gnawed on him from the inside out, using his bones for toothpicks, and he already knew what he needed to do without Nicole saying it.

—

“Did that hurt?”

The two of you got off your shifts at the same time, as most openers do. At ten o’clock precisely, Nicole was shooing the two of you off the floor, two fresh baristas taking both your places as you scurried to the back. 

He’d overheard the joke made ten minutes prior, Nicole speaking to a fellow shift lead about who would be replacing you, already mourning your absence. She didn’t make such a joke about Eddie.

“Huh?” you look up quickly from where you had been carefully rolling and folding your apron into a bundle. 

Eddie gestures vaguely to his nose again, repeating himself, “Did it hurt?” 

It was the best he could do – pathetic small talk about the nose piercings of yours that had caught his eye. 

You grin radiantly, and he tries to swallow down that instinctive voice that whisper hate, hate, hate. “Which one?”

Right. You had multiple nose piercings. A hoop that matches Eddie’s own, only on the left nostril rather than the right like his, and that septum piercing. He’d probably look dumb to ask about the nostril considering he had his done, and should already know that it definitely doesn’t feel nice. 

“The septum,” he clarifies, “That combination, though, um… It looks sick.” 

Oh, he sounds so fucking stupid right now. He wishes the sticky floors beneath the two of you would split and swallow him whole. 

“Eh,” you shrug, finally glancing away from him to finish wrapping the strings of your apron snugly around the bundle you’d made of it, “My nostril honestly hurt worse. If you’re thinking of getting one,” you pause, and look up, offering him a look of pure mischief. Heart, stomach, mind. They all lurch with that look as you whisper, as if letting him in on a secret, “Do it.”

“I don’t think I could pull it off,” he’s quick to blurt out, eyes widening, resisting the urge to take several steps back and put distance between you two. 

Fuck, he didn’t hate you. It hits him like a truck – this shift had managed to slip through his fingers so quickly. The fastest one to date. Between all of your jokes, all of the laughter you managed to pull out of others and that he had to fight down, the day had flown past as easily as a shift really could. 

He regrets spending the shift moping. He regrets ignoring your introduction. He regrets not giving you a chance. 

“I think you could,” your tote bag now hangs from your shoulder, and you have your keys prepared in one hand as you hold your water bottle in the other, “Everyone says that, but if you can already pull off the nostril, adding a little septum to the mix never hurt nobody.” 

Is your face stuck like that? Stuck with a subtle and shy smile pulling at the lips, making the corners of your eyes crinkle in the slightest? 

He hopes not. If it is, he’ll never be able to have a normal conversation with you. He’ll always be too distracted, too infuriated, too overwhelmed. 

“You’re a very optimistic person,” he almost lets it slip out as a scoff, but refrains, Nicole’s words echoing in his mind. It would do you well to give her a chance.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” you casually say to him. 

“Did you just quote Star Wars to me?” 

Eddie is aghast, staring at you with even more awe than before. And you – oh, you look so goddamn proud of yourself and the way you’ve left him shellshocked, smugly lifting your chin and smiling more intentionally. You’re smiling so widely that your eyes pinch nearly fully shut and even more of that sunshine is now flooding the backroom up to Eddie’s knees.

“I don’t know,” you start to step around Eddie, carrying an air of arrogance that would only be so endearing from someone who had been proven to be as kind as you were, “Did I?”

You never give him the chance to answer. You leave him there, standing in the middle of the back of house and not even clocked out yet as you walk away with a bounce in your step and a quick have a good day, Eddie! over your shoulder.

When he’s finally off the clock and having given a half-ass goodbye to everyone on the floor (which no one replied to as enthusiastically as they had yours, by the way), you’re still sitting in your damn yellow Jeep. You give him a slight wave through the windshield as he makes a beeline for his van, and he doesn’t even bother to return it. Pretends he doesn’t see it. Looks straight ahead. If Nicole is watching from the drive thru window that serves as a front row seat to the entire interaction, she’s going to rip him a new one next shift they work together. 

God, Eddie wishes he hated you. 

Instead, he’s left hoping that next time he opens, you’re there to make the time fly. Maybe he’ll be the one quoting Star Wars to you. If he can ever get the stick out of his ass, that is.

taglist: @josephquinnsfreckles

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[satyricplotter]

(suggestive, slightly explicit content at the end)

Even though you’ve been expecting the visit for most of the night, the Red Hood knocking at your balcony door at 1 in the morning still catches you off guard. You scramble off the couch in a sleepy daze, book falling off your lap and cracking open on the floor. For one long second, the only thing you can think of is that whoever your last assignment was has managed to find you, that you’ve finally been too sloppy and left a trail with which to track you.

That’s your first thought. Your second thought is, of course, Barbara. But before you can reach your phone to shoot your boss a SOS, or, at the very least, an alert, a second rasp at the window panes freezes you on the spot.

“Will you open the damn door?” Red Hood’s unmistakably robotic voice grits out. “It’s raining cats and dogs out here.”

You trip in your rush to open the doors, limbs loose and clumsy with relief. Hood shoulders past you with a grunt, fingers prodding at the back of his head to get at the latch of his helmet. He takes it off in a smooth motion, his hot breath forming a white cloud against the cold air of your running AC. You lock the balcony back up after him as he goes around your apartment, setting his helmet on your dinner table and shrugging out of his jacket. He means to stay apparently. You could’ve lent him an umbrella if he wanted to go back out there. Probably would’ve been best.

See, you don’t like the Red Hood much.

He invites himself over to your kitchen, opening cabinets here and there until he chances upon the dinnerware and pulls out a glass. The Gotham public infrastructure is in such state you have never once attempted to drink out of the tap, but you don’t stop him when he does. It is, technically, allowed. And he had the pitcher full of filtered water right under his nose, so. You wait impatiently as he downs two whole glasses of tap water and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand (there is a perfectly usable kitchen towel draped over the oven handle).

He glances over, notices you staring. The corner of his lips quirks up. “How obedient,” he mocks. He pats at his sides, pulls a folded envelope from somewhere in his body (the Bats have endless pockets, you’ve come to learn) and tosses it on the table. “There’s your file. You better be fucking thankful. Traipsed through half the city in this shit storm just to get you these.”

“Thank you, Red Hood,” you say politely, picking up the rumpled envelope and eagerly flipping through the files. “Much appreciated.”

Red Hood rolls his eyes at you, eternally put off by your insistence on following the proper channels of conduct. “Whatever. You got anything to eat?”

“Help yourself,” you tell him.

You walk back to the couch with the file in hand and leave him to make himself whatever he will, already too distracted by the information within to care that you’re gonna have to make a second grocery run when he’s done with your fridge. Red Hood rummages through your cabinets, pulling out far more stuff than he should for a midnight snack. At one point, he asks if you’ve had dinner, and you respond him with an absentminded (and truthful) negative. The files he’s brought are the latest Robin’s swiped from the team’s ongoing investigation on a dicey arms exchange deal that may or may not involve three out of four of Gotham’s biggest conglomerates (sans, of course, Wayne Enterprises). It’s your job to process the info—a task too menial and too tedious for Oracle and Red Robin, respectively, to handle. Besides, Tim’s far more useful on the ground.

It must be about twenty minutes of you pouring over the pages scattered over your coffee table when the man speaks up again. “Dinner’s ready,” he says.

You look up to see him setting two plates of steaming stir fry on the table. He’s taken off his gloves, his utility belt, the domino mask and rolled up his sleeves—the whole nine yards. Only missing the apron. The food looks lovely, but of course it does. Cooking is listed as a specialty in Red Hood’s file, right along with marksmanship and hostile takeovers.

Your lips quirk up at the unexpected kindness, but you shake your head. “None for me, thanks.”

“I said,” Red Hood says, placing his gun on the table menacingly. “Dinner’s ready. Come eat.”

Well. So much for kindness. You’re about as dumb as Red Hood’s subtle, which is to say only at your benefit and very much at will, so you only sigh and push the papers aside. He watches you rise and sit, and pick up the fork, before he does the same. You eat in silence.

After a few bites, you stop being disgruntled at his coercion and grateful that he’s got something other than a protein bar in you because you were, in fact, quite hungry. That’s not something you can say—or at least not in any way which he would accept, so you just shut up and eat your meal happily. That seems to be enough for him, as he watches you finish the whole plate with a satisfied expression.

“Good?” He asks.

“Yeah, actually,” you beam.

Even when he stands and brings the dishes over to the sink to wash, you are reluctant to leave your spot at the table. You watch him rinse and sponge the plates and pan, the knife and spoon and cutting board, and your afternoon tea mug. He washes his hands thoroughly and rinses his mouth with the dubious tap water again. A thorough, judicious man. He’s played remarkably nice this evening. You wonder if Oracle’s been pulling his ear to leave you alone.

When he finishes, he walks slowly the remainder of the narrow hallway of your kitchen back to the dinner table and leans against the threshold. The long line of his body catches you off guard, always so unexpectedly graceful despite his musculature, his brutality. You hold his gaze serenely, trying not to cave under his scrutiny.

This is why you don’t like the Red Hood. Every time he looks at you, he sees you wholly. As you are. Not, crucially, as you want. It has been this way since the first time he laid eyes on you—a single glance and he had taken the measure of you. No further explanation, no time to make amends. And what’s worse: he expects you to be honest. He expects you to say what he can read in your face. He doesn’t let it go when you deflect, when you coat your truths in niceties. He wants it raw and open.

You can’t play dumb with Jason Todd.

He breaks the silence first. “Were you expecting Grayson this evening?”

The non-sequitur catches you so off guard you break eye contact accidentally. What’s Nightwing got to do with anything?

“No?” You say, evidently baffled. “Nightwing’s been off-world all week. Why would he be coming around?”

He cocks his head to the side, sucks in the bit of flesh below his lower lip. "So you knew it was me who'd be coming around?"

"Obviously?" What is he going on about? He clearly doesn't believe you, either. It's childish when you stomp your foot and whine, but he always brings out the worst in you. "I'm serious, Hood. I've been waiting for you all evening. Just you."

Jason pushes off the wall and approaches, staring you down with slightly raised eyebrows. “Then, if you knew Dick wasn't coming with, what are you looking so fuckable for?”

Despite how much it bruises your pride, you cannot help but sputter. The staring is one thing, the passing brushes are another—even the stupid pulling at your pigtails like you’re both in kindergarten is… permissible. But this? Coming at you so straightforwardly when all you know how to do is circumvent and hide? Desperately, you respond to the one thing in that sentence you can make sense of: the accusation.

“I don’t like Nightwing,” you whine. Jason fixes you with a look of dry incredulity. You huff. How you despise him. He can’t even let you lie. “And I don’t dress for him either.”

“Hm.” He reaches over to pull at the neckline of your admittedly skimpy top, his knuckle brushing against your chest. “Sure.”

You bat his hand away, and stand up, but that leaves you much closer to him than you expected. Or wanted. “This is not fuckable,” you grit out. “This is… pajamas.”

Jason cranes his neck to take a close look at you, every bit as assessing as the first one had been. One of his large hands comes to play with the hem of your shorts, pushes it up just a smidge, and the pads of his fingers are rough and calloused against your outer thigh. Your eyelids flutter, and he has the nerve to smile.

“That’s a blatant lie, you know,” he says, dipping his head low so the words brush against your lips. “Try a little, huh?”

“This seems like a you problem, my guy,” you snap, so close you might as well be speaking into his mouth. You need to get away. You don’t.

Jason’s smug when you gasp after his hands close around your ass and bring you forward, flush against his body. The hardness in his pants trapped between you, a pressing weight just below where it should be. Should be? What are you—but Jason adjusts before you can scold yourself, lining up your crotch with his and grinding. It feels bigger this way, which is insane because it's already pretty fucking huge, and a hot flash of desire runs through you lightning-quick and just as obliterating. You slump against him, head on his shoulder.

“That’s my problem,” he murmurs against your ear. His thumbs press just under your asscheeks, playful. “You gon’ do anything about it?”

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Astray far away. Ch.2

Adar x reader | ch.1 - ch.3

You spent your first day in the Uruk village

Meet Grasho the clothes maker, she's a fun one!

WC:2.5k

It was morning again when you woke up.

Or, at least you thought it was morning. It was difficult to tell time with the sun blocked, but the noise outside made it clear you slept longer than everyone else. 

You laid in a house only partially damaged. The first thing in your view was a neatly folded set of clothes and a pitcher of water, along with small fruits as well. 

You ate in silence and got dressed, learning the clothes consisted of uniform pants the attacking troops wore, and a black cotton tunic, too large for your frame.

The pants had some repairs done on them, the front and back of one thigh had messily stitched closed holes that were clearly from an arrow, and light discoloration was still visible around the patches. The embroidery on the side showed they belonged to the attacking troops, so had Adar truly sent someone to take these off a fallen soldier and get them ready for you? 

As you pulled down the tunic over your body you grazed a sore spot on your ribcage, wincing and recalling the night before when Adar's clawed glove had carved your skin. 

You pulled one arm free from the garment and threw it over your shoulder to try and inspect the area, pulling aside your breast to be able to see.

To see dried cuts, upside down to your current view you needed a moment to figure out what it said and pull down the tunic in a quick motion as you realized.

ADAR sat in raised cuts, soon to be scarred into your flesh for your remaining days.

Once dressed you set out into the area, shocked when you stepped outside and saw the change already made to what was once a torn down village. 

An Uruk walked past, just as you stepped outside, he sniffed at you and a wide toothy grin appeared on his face. There were more all over, giving you similar looks. One even offered you roasted meat. "You gotta eat." He offered, staring down at you before moving on without another word

"They did all of this in a couple of hours?" You wandered off to where other townsfolk worked. 

They met you with confused looks. “Hours?” Their voices sounded in disbelief. “You slept through the entirety of yesterday.” Another one scoffed. “Orcs guarded the damn door, even.” 

It was clear they weren’t amused with how differently you were treated.

“Get back to work, you!” An Uruk shouted from behind you, his hand ending on your shoulder. “Lord Father wants to see you, come on.”

Following the Uruk through the newly built town you took the chance to look around, seeing a whole tribe working and living.

When you rounded the last corner you spotted Adar, his attention towards a wrapped up bundle in an Uruk’s arms. 

“Lord Father, I brought ‘er.” The Uruk who escorted you placed you in front of himself, earning the Lord Father’s attention. He thanked him and sent him off again, waving you over to join his side where he stood. The Uruks at Adar’s side looked you up and down, so much it gave you chills. It was until you got close enough and they could sniff you out. To all the Uruks, the second you were in reach you were suddenly a friend. 

Adar took a step aside for you to be introduced to Glûg, his second in command, and Glûg’s family. The mother offered you a peek at her child and made conversation while Adar and Glûg spoke off to the side in a tongue you did not speak.

You stared, perhaps a bit too long but you couldn’t help it. You had never seen many Uruks before in your lifetime, let alone a newborn.

“Are you feeling well, child? You slept for quite a while.” Adar came and took you aside, speaking to you softly, wanting to keep the attention off you in case you felt under the weather.

“Just my ribs, the cuts burn pretty badly..” you held your arms, suddenly self conscious about that night and your activities. The nasty glares from your fellow Southlanders did not help at all either. 

“Come. I’ll tend to your wounds.” Adar led you away to his private quarters. “I’m the cause of them, after all.” He added under his breath, just for you to hear. 

Once inside he sat you down on his cot, suggesting you’d remove the tunic you wore and take one of the blankets to cover up while he prepared a healing salve. 

“How did you learn to do all of this?” Adar kneeled in front of you, holding a mortar with ground herbs. “It smells so sweet.” 

With two fingers, Adar scooped up some of the mixture. “You smell honey, it binds the herbs. I’ve had a love for plants and their various purposes for as long as I’ve had access to them.” Adar’s touch was gentle so as to not hurt you, carefully spreading the mixture over the cuts. 

His mind brought him back to that night where he let his walls down after the victory. The night you managed to worm your way into his personal life. He did not regret it, or even think bad of it but his feelings were still unclear. He wondered about yours as he tended to you but did not dare to speak of it. 

“Is it common for Uruks to sniff new people?” You sat up straight, having dropped the blanket from your shoulders so your wound could be dressed properly. 

Adar’s focused gaze changed into an amused one. “While I enjoy you being curious about Uruk behavior, no. They sniff because you smell of me.” 

“Oh,” you looked aside where the black tunic you wore sat folded on the cot. “It’s the tunic, isn’t it. It’s yours.” 

“That is one of the sources, yes. Among ..other things.” His gaze traveled lower for a second and you took the hint. “You smell me because of our night together.” 

Heat rose to your cheeks at the implication. Could the Uruks really smell that you had been intimate with their leader?

Without warning the front of Adar’s quarters flew open and revealed Waldreg who came with news. He wasn’t given a second to speak before he was ordered to leave, being yanked back out by two Uruks who passed by and heard their Lord Father’s anger.

You had clamped your arms over your chest the moment you noticed someone coming in, but you were convinced you were seen, let alone in front of Adar like that. What was he going to think? Would be talk? The others were going to hate you even more now.

When Adar’s attention went back to you there were tears welling in your eyes. Your breath hitched as you held back sobs, fear taking over. “H.. he saw me. Us.” You kept your arms around you as you let the tears spill, unable to stay calm under these issues. 

In a try to calm your nerves Adar draped the blanket over your frame again. “I understand it is different for other kinds,” he started as he sat back in front of you. “But here, among Uruk there is no shame in this.” Still he held the blanket closed around you, respectful of your preferences. 

“If you wish to blend among us better, I suggest you find the garment maker, she’ll have something altered to fit you and does not have my scent all over it.” He left your side then to go clean up the leftover salve and put away the used items. 

“I’d also bathe, to get rid of the otherwise more permanent mixing of our scents that’s still on your skin. Tomorrow morning at the earliest, the salve has to set.” 

With the wound dressed and your clothes back on your body you set out to find the clothes maker. It was still strange to walk as a mortal among the Uruk, especially seeing the Southlanders be snapped and snarled at while you were mostly being left alone. 

Except by the women. On your wandering path you were snatched off your feet and into a small crowd of females who swarmed you in an instant.

“You have laid with Lord Father.” “He has bred you. Tell us all about it!” They whisper-yelled over each other, the questions easily blending together.

“Lord Father never lets us please him.” “He has no interest for Uruk women, only fair ones like you.” “Look, she even wears what is his.” A hand came to pull at the tunic you wore. “Ah, I stitched those for Lord Father. Off a dead man I took them.” Another grabbed at your trousers. 

You took the opportunity to ignore the assault of questions and change the subject. 

“Then I must thank you.” You spoke to the one who was still tugging at your trousers. “Are you the clothes maker?” You watched her eyes light up at the question, frantically nodding yes and starting to ramble. “Yes yes I am! I make things from cloth and scrap. Pretty dresses too, but none fit us Uruk. Lord Father picked me for the job, says I have talent for handworks.” 

It was clear she was proud of receiving compliments on her works. By the time she was done talking the others had moved on already and the two of you were on the way to her home and workplace.

“So what’s the lady looking for? Simple to walk around in? Something armor for battle? Or fancy for Lord Father?” Grasho gave you a toothy grin as she nudged your shoulder. 

“Please, something simple works just fine. But eh..” You shied away a little at the upcoming request. “You don’t happen to have any underclothes in my size?” 

You watched Grasho move around all giddy and dig through piles of what looked like fallen soldiers’ garments. 

“Anything for our lady.” Clothes flew around the place as muttering sounded. Soft ‘no’s and noises of disagreement left her until she emerged from the piles. “Hah! I knew I kept those around somewhere!” She held the undergarment up in victory before giving it a sniff. “Eugh, needs a wash first.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at her antics and decided to stick with your current trousers until washing was finished. 

“Simple, yes? I have some, let me see I’m sure, yes!” Again she rummaged through the stacks and found a simple dark colored long shirt. It had a long patch of a lighter colored fabric along its side, as well as mismatching sleeves.

“Come on. Try.” Grasho held it up to you with an excited look. “Gotta see if it fits Lord Father’s lady! She must look good.’ 

The more time you spent among the Uruks, even if it had been as little as it is now, your night with Adar came with an acceptance of his kin. 

“Lady? Where did your head go?” Grasho was in your face now, poking right on the wound on your ribs making you jump and apologize for zoning out.

“Fit, now? You remember I told you about the underclothes, right?” You fidgeted with the ties on your tunic.

“Keep the pants. Just need to fit the top.” She motioned at you to hurry. “Come on!” 

You remembered Adar’s words then.

‘Among Uruk there is no shame in this’ 

You steadied your racing heart with a couple of deep breaths “Okay.” and slowly rid yourself of the tunic you wore.

“Ooh” Grasho leaned down and put her hands on you immediately, making you tense at the contact. “Lord Father’s personal patch up. Pretty bandages, only the best for his lady.” 

You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around your chest and hide, but if you were going to stay you needed to learn to live like the Uruks. And the woman in front of you paid no attention to your chest, just the bandages below. 

You decided to speak to distract your racing mind.

“You know I’m not really his lady, right? He just cared for me.” Your eyes followed Grasho’s moves as she put the dress on you and scribbled on it with a soot stick.

“Lord Father laid with you. He never does with anybody.” She piped up and poked your cheek with the stick, leaving a black dot on your skin. “You are a special one.” There was a serious tone in her words all of a sudden.

“Okay. Off now.” You were being maneuvered out of the dress so the soot wouldn’t smudge or rub off on you, and Adar’s tunic was kindly returned to you. When you put it back on your stomach rumbled out loud, reminding you of the fact that you hadn’t eaten after your small breakfast. You didn’t even know where you’d get food. Would you go find Adar and ask him?

“Now now,” You were grabbed by the shoulders and practically shoved out the door. “You go find the cook and eat! Krod makes tasty stew.” Grasho happily pointed you in the right direction. “I will fix and wash your stuff, bring it tomorrow. Half house, had guards before, yes?” 

You barely got a chance to answer her before she had disappeared again. So you set out in the direction she pointed out in search of food. It wasn’t difficult with the smell of what you expected to be the stew filled the air, all you had to do now was follow your nose.

Quickly you found the tent serving food, almost bumping into someone with how distracting the smell was. 

Taking a quick look around you noticed the person you almost ran into was a Southlander who gave you a disgusted look and turned back to wait in line for food. 

Further in front of the line you saw Uruks join in front of the humans, dismissing them and moving them further back in line. It felt like you were going to be eating scraps tonight.

That was, until your arm was grabbed and you were moved along the line and placed next to someone almost at the front. You recognized her.

The one who took you along the line was Glûg who put you with his wife. 

“You can go wherever you want. Not a single Uruk who will tell you no.” With a tug on the string of your tunic he let you know what he meant without any more words and joined his wife at her side. 

The food was so close now you were almost drooling in anticipation.