#so they treat emails like text messages

[countingnothings]

me when i agreed to take on this volunteer role: i will gently remind people that i only check my emails once a day and never on weekends!

me today: *new, passive-aggressive email signature*

[ashlynlovestlou]

au where abby and reader try to break up :( emphasis on try because they just can’t stay away from each other :( they keep talking and updating each other on things until its too much :( and they get back together :)

(i put my whole back into this pls be nice)

꩜ cw: no smut! abby x reader , reader works at a plant nursery , use of pet names

masterlist

the breakup was rough, to say the least. abby was your first everything. your first kiss, your first girlfriend, your first time, and your first everything. letting go of that was the most heartbreaking thing either of you had gone through.

for the first couple of days post-breakup you could hardly eat and sleep. your bed felt so cold and so empty without her next to you. you even made a lame attempt to line some pillows up to make it seem like she was there. and for a moment, it worked. but her warmth wasn't there for you to wrap yourself in. her heartbeat wasn't there to listen to. and her arms weren't there to hold you.

despite the fact that you were no longer together, you still talked. but less than you usually did. so many messages went unsent, so many calls you hesitated calling.

the first time either of you said something to one another was when you texted her about the job you had been wanting for months. she knew how much you wanted to work at the plant nursery down the street from your apartment, even before you split up. so when you got the email after your interview saying that you got the job, your immediate instinct was to tell abby.

"i got the job!" you had texted her.

"thats so amazing, sweet girl." she responded so quickly that it made you think she was anticipating you to text her, "i'm proud of you."

and just like nothing had happened, you were smiling down at your phone, just like you were before you started dating.

but that butterfly feeling in your stomach didn't last long. it fizzled out when you remembered you were no longer with her.

over the course of a few days you chatted about little things. your first day at your new job. abby's dog, alice, catching a squirrel in her backyard. little, minuscule check-ins. nothing too serious.

until a week later.

"want to get coffee?" she texted you one day, while you were busy watering plants in your denim overalls.

it caught you by surprise, to say the least, but you knew it wasn't a date. just two friends getting together for a cup of joe. not romantic. strictly platonic.

no matter how much you wanted to run back into her muscular arms and re-familiarize yourself with her touch, you couldn't. you shouldn't.

"sure." you text her shortly, without the need to ask which coffee shop or what time. while you were dating, you went every week to the same coffee shop at the same time on the same day and ordered the same drinks.

⋆┈┈｡ﾟthat weekend ｡┈┈⋆

the second you walked through the doors of the coffee shop your nostrils were filled with the scent you missed so much. freshly brewed coffee grounds and warm pastries. the faint sound of chattering from the patrons enjoying their own treats.

and there she was.

sitting at a two-top table, two drinks in front of her. she was already looking at you, as if drinking in your image. even though you were devastated and still a little heartbroken from the previous events of your relationship, you did a good job at finding distractions. which is probably why you don't look quite as miserable as she does.

"hey." she greets you as you sit down across from her, "i um.. i ordered the drink you usually got."

she remembered.

the mug was still warm, so she couldn't have been here long.

"thank you." you nod your head once, "you didn't have to do that."

"its no big deal." she shrugs, taking a sip of her coffee. black coffee, to be exact. you never understood how she liked the bitter taste of it, "how have you been?"

"good." you answer quickly. so quick that she has a hard time believing you. in reality, you were good. but you weren't great. you would never admit to her how you would accidentally cook too much food, because you were used to cooking for two people. you would never admit how many times you've accidentally set the table with two plates instead of one. how you would say 'i'm home!' when you walk through the door, even when nobody was there to listen, "i'm uh.. how about you? how are you?"

"im alright." she says.

but not good. you tell yourself in your head.

for a little while the two of you just chit-chat back and forth, talking about nonsense for half an hour before you notice abby fidgeting. she can't sit still, and you have a gut feeling you know exactly what's wrong.

"sweetheart, i cant keep doing this." she finally breaks, interrupting your rant about how you hate one of your coworkers.

"wait, huh? did i say something wrong?"

she shakes her head, glancing around the coffee shop like she's afraid to make eye contact with you, "we shouldn't have broken up."

oh.

your heart falls to the pit of your stomach, "what?"

"i need you more than i thought i did. i miss you."

you stare at her, eyes wide and lips slightly agape. you wanted to hear these words, but you never thought that you ever would, "are you.. are you serious?"

she nods her head, looking back at you.

"abby, i... i dont know."

"baby." she breathes deeply, desperate for your forgiveness, "dont make me beg."

you exhale, your cheeks burning crimson. you had waited so long for one of you to finally say something about the breakup. you waited so long for one of you to speak up about the need for the other.

without another moment of hesitation, you lean across the table, boldly smashing your lips into hers.

she tastes sweet, just as she always had. she was wearing coffee and the mint chapstick you left at her house and she never returned it, because she liked being able to have your taste with her.

she smiles against your lips, baring all her teeth. when you both pull away you can see her little dimples on her cheeks, the skin underneath her freckles a light shade of pink.

"so.." she says, folding her hands together in her bulky lap, "is that a yes?"

[syoddeye]

~1.2k words. Price x gn!Reader. CW: controlling behavior, stalking/location tracking, brief sexual content

After your abrupt ‘engagement’, you argue. Refusing to unpack your things at John’s place—your place, now—you explain it’s normal for couples to discuss things like living together and marriage before they happen. John disagrees.

It’s supposed to be a surprise, sweetheart. And isn’t my place better? Bigger?

He watches you pace around his flat, a little smug when you finally set out your toiletries. Isn’t this much simpler, he whispers, rubbing your shoulders as you tearfully list your couch for sale. No more back and forth. Significantly lower bills and rent, as he insists on paying for more than half. His furniture is newer, too, though the place could use some color. He’s happy to take you shopping and let you pick new decor. 

It’s not the couch you’re upset about. It’s the loss of your own space. Again, you attempt to explain. John shushes and comforts you in his favorite way, on your back, buried deep in a slow grind. He holds you at the knife point of pleasure, at the very edge, and asks if you really hate his place so much or miss your lumpy, old furniture. Guilts it out of you, withholding, until you concede you don’t hate it and please please please—

The first week runs long. He bends you over in the kitchen, joins you in the shower, and pushes you against the door when you get home from work. Where you once complained of not having enough of his attention, you find yourself barraged. You stop by a new bookstore at lunch on a Friday, and he calls, voice tight, the jingling of his keys louder than any bullet. Where are you? Who are you with? A bookstore? Lovely, send a selfie. You nearly die of embarrassment when an employee catches you awkwardly holding up your phone in the romance section and scuttle out.

It happens whenever you go somewhere without him. A coworker’s birthday happy hour. A short visit to meet a friend’s new puppy. A long walk at the park. Even when he is occupied, John finds time to badger you. After he hounds you at a work dinner, demanding a photo with your boss, you decide enough is enough. The mystery app needs to go.

Through careful fishing and research, you learn your coworker's girlfriend's best friend knows a tech guy. You set up a dummy email, exchange a few messages, and agree to meet at the coffee shop across the street from the office. It's not the most brilliant location, but it's believable enough when you mention to John that you're treating a coworker to lattes that afternoon. He squeezes your thigh when he drops you off and wishes you a good day.

The man—no names, for everyone's safety—is overcharging you, but it's worth it if it works. You don't want to think about what will happen if it doesn't. He meets you at a table with a small toolkit. He's fidgety and quiet, but polite and more interested in the puzzle of the app than the circumstances. The fewer questions, the better. He asks you to order drinks while he gets to work. You order, pay, chat with the barista about their handmade earrings, and when you turn to check his progress...He's gone. Phone and all.

You panic. 

John. 

John will know. He will call and text. Your mind leapfrogs to the worst scenario—what if he follows the thief, thinking it's you? How could you be so stupid. You abandon the coffee, barely hold off the waterworks, and sprint back to your office. Shoving into your manager's office, you beg to use their landline. It's an emergency.

For the first time in weeks, John doesn't pick up the phone. You try twice before your boss's worried side eye forces you back to your desk, tail tucked between your legs; so much for an emergency. You think of borrowing a coworker's phone to at least call the police and report the theft, but you know it'll make things worse with John. Your only option is to wait until five o'clock.

Like always, John waits out front. You force a smile and slip into the passenger seat with a knot in place of your heart. Your chest has never felt tighter.

He's on the phone and shoots you an apologetic smile, then points at the digital display. Laswell. Work. You suppose it gives you more time to find the words to explain what happened.

John misses the first turn on the usual route home. Then another. Your eyes dart to him, but he's absorbed in the drive and his phone call. They're talking about Urzikstan, his words clipped and terse as they typically are on calls when you're present. You grip the edges of your seat, your stomach turning over when he gets on the road leading out of town and into the hills. You rake your memory, thinking of where he could possibly be taking you.

Eventually, forty-five minutes into the drive, the town far behind you, he ends the call. He drops his phone into the console and pats your knee. The jolt from his palm prompts you to blurt out the lie you concocted, not wanting to give him a chance to become upset over your errant location.

You tell him: It all happened so fast, John. At the cafe with your coworker and set your phone down on the corner of the table. As a man left the shop, he grabbed it on the way out and ran off. You tried calling, upset he didn't answer, and you didn't know what to do.

John hums, his expression unreadable in the dimming light of day. He answers your frantic confession by pulling off the road onto an overlook and telling you you've arrived with a small smile.

It's a little chilly, but he tucks you into his side and marvels at the view of the valley. He still hasn't addressed the 'theft'. It worries you, thinking of his festering anger. He glides his hand down your back, squeezes your waist, and then quietly tells you to quit your job.

I don’t think that place is good for you.

You look up and find John staring, smiling, but you’ve seen those eyes before.

Those people are a bad influence. You’ve never been careless like that. I make more than enough for the both of us, anyway.

Before you think of a response, he drops to one knee, and pulls a ring from his jacket. In front of the sunset, he professes his love for you in a real proposal.

Make me the happiest man in the world, and I will do everything in my power to keep you happy.

You're unsure if you imagine the emphasis on 'keep', but you are suddenly quite aware of how far away you are from civilization, without a phone, with a man trained to kill. Tears slip down your cheeks, and when you accept, the words shudder out of you on the exhale. He kisses the rest of the air out of your lungs. Despite the open sky above you, it's suffocating.

See? You like surprises, sweetheart.

Deep breaths. Smile and nod.

Will you get the champagne out of the boot?

The weight of the engagement ring on your finger feels like an anchor. You stare at it, glinting in the fading sunlight, and wordlessly open the rear door to find a picnic basket. Champagne, chocolates, flowers—and nestled in the center, your phone.

[theblackfemininesociety]

✨This is your sign to declutter you life:

Start with your socials: Unsubscribe / unfollow the uninspiring, redundant, low frequency content that isn’t adding value to you or a reflection of who you are become. Also, delete or archive any photos that don’t align with the woman you want to become.

Empty out your inbox: there’s no reason why you have 1,000 unread emails or spam text on your phone. Unsubscribe and delete the unnecessary messages and emails! Only subscribe to things that align with the woman you are becoming! And for my shopaholic besties, unsubscribe those tempting stores that is declining your saving account ! Remember there’s nothing soft about being an aesthetically cute but broke woman. 😉

Take a social media break: this is for my extroverted and social media thirsty besties, it’s time to disconnect. Just a week. Cut it off and if it’s too much to bear, Limit your time on social media for a week! This also includes a people detox, put your phone on DND. Fall back for a bit and indulge in self care. The tea you love to indulge in can wait and your loved ones will reach out on their own if needed but please have some me time 💆🏾‍♀️

Clean your space: dedicate a day or days to completely clean your apartment/ room. I am talking about that closet that you’ve been avoiding and that cabinet that hasn’t been opened because it’s out of reach. After that, treat yourself, light a candle order some food, or take a long hot spa like shower. You will feel so much better in a clean space. Clean decluttered environment!

If you don't use it, Throw it away: I don’t know what it is exactly but I know there’s items in your space right now that simply take up space! And when you clean you probably move it around or organize it better. If you don’t use it, throw it away! If it’s worn down throw it away! If you have time to donate it, do so. Lately as for me., If I don’t donate it right away it’ll stay there until “I have the time” so lately I’ve been practicing the “do it now” method. Which is exactly how it sounds. If you have time do it now if not in this case of decluttering and cleaning, throw it out.

Journal: Take some time to reflect and write out your thoughts and feelings. Nothing beats putting a pin to paper (or stylus pen to iPad) and writing down all that’s in your mind.

Mediate & Pray: In our fast-paced world filled with constant distractions and never-ending to-do lists, it is imperative to find moments of stillness and connection. One powerful way to achieve this is through the practice of meditation and prayer. to quiet the mind, find inner peace, and connect with our own spiritual essence. Both prayer and meditation are powerful practices that can bring numerous benefits to our lives. They provide us with a sense of belonging and purpose, reminding us of what really important.

Need more motivation & support? Follow us on INSTAGRAM!

[marymary-diva17]

Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii sweetie!!!

Can I request a mother's day special for mo'at? I know neytiri is like the #1 go to for stuff like this but mo'at needs love to!!

Like, what if the sully family (you can add eytukan if ya like) giving mo'at a day to herself and treated like a queen that she is.

Thank you luv! Have fun writing this! ,💙🩵💙🩵💙🩵💙

There comes a day when the women in your lives get a day off to relax, and some love for all the work and support they give to their families and people. So that day had finally come after many months of hard work, now it was time to show the women in your lives it time for a day off. The perfect gift to have a day off from their lives, and for them not to be worrying about everything else around them.

y/n, mo'at. and neytiri " ......." the three women are sitting on the couch of the sully family home as they look, at their families after they explain their mother day gift.

Jake " this is the mother day gift well the start of it"

y/n " it very wonderful Jake"

mo'at " very much wanted and enjoyed but please explain more"

Jake " oh yes well you three will have a nice times at the spa , with no calls from work or anything else related to work for this trip time"

neytiri " but what if something comes up that need to be dealt with"

neteyam " we will handle it we already set up some message for text and email, telling everyone you are on some vacations time and will not be able to some time"

kiri " that whatever they need help on or done can be put on hold of offered to someone else to deal with, at the moment"

tuk " we will make sure you three have a good time off"

lo'ak " we been planing this for a while so are going to make, sure you all enjoy this mother day after all you had done for us"

y/n " okay but are you all sure you will be good on your own"

Jake " we will be good honey there no need to worry"

neytiri " okay well mom and sweetie I think we should enjoy our day"

mo'at "yes"

y/n " I will love some time at the spa I ..." you had been cut off when your phone started ringing getting everyone attention. You had picked up the phone.

y/n " oh maybe I should .. " lo'ak had taken the phone out of your hand and soon held it to your ears.

lo'ak " hello I'm sorry to say but y/n l/n- sully is not available at the moment she on vacation, but if there anything you need from her I can take a message ... oh hello uncle norm yes I will tell mama bye"

lo'ak " he wanted to say him and uncle max will take over your lab make sure you projects are attend to while you are gone, he said it was nice I was taking your calls" the families laugh at lo'ak reaction soon the three room had left their rooms, and headed toward the spa area.

Spa time

mo'at " this is a very good time having some time at the spa"

neytiri " yes it this mother these last few months have been, very long and hard"

mo'at " I'm proud of you both for making lives for yourselves and having a family as well"

y/n " thank you mo'at after all you have been doing you also deserve this vacation"

mo'at " thank you I have been thinking about taking retirement" you and mo'at had become quite as you both looked at mo'at as she said towards words.

neytiri " are you serious mother"

mo'at " yes I been working for all these years maybe it time for me enjoy retirement, and use all the money to have some fun and spend it on my grandkids as well"

y/n " that sounds like a good idea"

mo'at " I have been doing so much work maybe it my time to pass down, the touch to you my daughter and the others to take over and have success as well"

neytiri " are you sure mother"

mo'at " yes I'm sure I will spend couple more years or less but I will be there to help you"

neytiri " what will dad have to say about this if was still with us"

mo'at " we had plans to retire together or after each other and travel the world, spending time with our family and friends enjoy time together ... after all we had gone but that day never came he soon left us before they came true"

neytiri " mother you should still do it after all you have done you deserve a official break"

y/n " yes that true mo'at you have us and your grandchildren as well to keep you company and busy"

mo'at " thank you girls" soon neytiri and mo'at looked at you it seems like the spotlight was now on you.

neytiri " have you spoken to them today"

y/n " I made a call sent some cards along with texts but like always they will go unanswered, and the cards will be retuned as well ... it happens every holiday"

mo'at " I thought after all these years they will soon come around, but it seems like they haven't"

y/n " I can't make them see my and life I have now maybe in time they will or maybe not but I have the perfect family here after all"

neytiri " yes the perfect family"

mo'at " perfect as can be the great mother has blessed us"

hostess " ladies we have some snack and drinks for you all to enjoy, for you time here at the spa"

mo'at " we really should treat ourselves I can't let my son in law work and grandkids work go to waste"

y/n " that is true"

neytiri " so true" The three women had enjoyed their day together and getting a treatments fit for queens, Jake and the kids did get a good package deal for them. Once they were gone they head back to where they were staying to spend time with the family, and just to have a good time with them and enjoy the vacation with no worrie about everything else away from where they are staying at the moment.

[3-2-whump]

Wrong Turn

<prev next>

Divine Judgment comes

Thank you @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz , this chapter would not be what it is without you beta-ing for it!

Obligatory Author's Note: So, it's pretty obvious we're nearing the end of Tom's story, but at this point, it's pretty open ended. If you'd like to stop here and imagine he mansplains-manipulates-manslaughters his way outta this trap, then by all means go ahead. Fanfiction is a thing, canon divergence is a thing, I encourage it, if anything! Just, you know, tag me or let me know in some way. But let's get right to it!

TW/CW: slave whump, intimate whumper, (brief) dehumanization, whumper turned whumpee, kidnapping, leaving off on a cliffhanger

Thomas J Costa, you are a fucking genius, the mob boss thought to himself. This was one of the best two weeks of his and Khaled’s shared life together. Two weeks of coming home to a sparkling clean penthouse, a plate of either half-cooked or slightly scorched food (hey, the boy was trying), and a submissive bedmate made him perversely wonder why he didn’t try this scare tactic sooner.

He checked his watch. It was only half an hour until he’d usually leave for home, but he decided he’d been at work long enough that day. Just as he was about to log off of his desktop, an email of high priority chimed. He opened it, then groaned. That meeting with the stakeholders of White Shore Resort: Miami was tonight, and he’d completely forgot. As much as he’d rather not do it tonight, he did not need to burn this bridge, of all bridges. So, with a reluctant sigh, Thomas put on his coat and shot a text home. He’d left Khaled with the spare cellphone he’d given him when he was in the hospital that one time, a dense brick of a device that could only perform basic call, text, and photo taking tasks, specifically to send him messages like these.

To: Holes Forgot about a meeting I have tonight. Be home late. Wait for me.

With that sent, he tucked his phone into his coat pocket and begrudgingly left.

The boss was a little more than surprised to find his car keyed and his tires slashed. What surprise he did feel was quickly replaced with burning rage as he marched his way to the guard shack and banged on the door. “Nico!”

Michael’s nephew opened the door, brown hair amess and blinking in confusion as if he had just woken up from a nap. “Boss? What’s up, what’s wrong?” he asked, pulling his coat around him.

“Don’t even - somebody’s slashed my tires on your watch!” Thomas grabbed Nico by the arm and yanked him along across the parking lot. He practically threw the young guard at the defaced car. “Look at this! Did you see who did this? What the fuck am I even paying you for if you don’t even know who did this?!” he roared.

“Shit man, I-I’m sorry! What can I do to fix this?” Nico asked.

Tom checked his watch again. Despite the meeting being on the other side of the city, and the whole setback with his car, he knew he could still make it. “You,” he decided, “are going to drive me! No arguments, let’s go!”

Nico’s mouth opened and closed mutely like a fish before he threw up his hands in a shrug.

It was a very awkward drive in Nico Clemenza’s cluttered Jeep. Some people kept the interior of their cars spotless, some people treated the interior of their cars like a large storage locker, and it became very clear which one Nico was that evening. Thomas must have counted at least three first-draft essays, one notebook, four pairs of unwashed athletic clothes, and a pair of sneakers back there. At least the weather was cold enough out that they didn’t stink, which was a small mercy of being trapped in such a disgusting car. He wanted to retch, but this was his best and quickest option to get to that meeting on time. Maybe I’ll just make the kid drop me off a couple blocks away, and I can walk there, he thought to himself.

Meanwhile, Nico himself seemed visibly on edge as he drove stiffly and uncomfortably with the boss in his car. It was enough to make himself feel tense. Thomas sighed. “Look, Nico, bud, I know you don’t necessarily approve of how I handle your dear little friend, but there is no reason why things have to be so tense between us personally,” he said. “I’ve never actually done anything to you, have I? Like, I’ve never physically harmed you or nothing. And I’m on great terms with Bennie and Michael, so why don’t you just relax a bit? I’m not gonna kill you, I swear.”

Nico nervously glanced at him before focusing back on the road. Thomas shook his head. There was an impassible power barrier between himself and some of the younger guys in the organization, one that wasn’t there before he became the boss nearly eight years ago. It made people act all fake and freak out over little things as they forgot that he was just a person, too; like how Nico completely missed the exit they needed to take.

“Hey, wait, the Antechamber Taphouse was back that way,” he reminded him. Nico kept driving, not responding as his eyes remained fixed on an unseen destination. “Nico, hey, Nico!” Tom snapped his fingers in front of the driver’s face, hoping to get his attention. “Nico, you missed it!”

“No I didn’t, because that’s not where we’re going,” Nico relied cryptically.

“Yes, it is, though, I told you we were going there!” He brought this fingers up to Nico’s temple and poked at it. “What’s wrong with you?” Nico did not respond as he pulled off at the next exit and drove them further from Thomas’ intended destination. “Take a left, and another left,” he instructed. They might just be able to make it to the taphouse if they took the detour Thomas knew about.

Nico pulled off at the next exit and ran every red light as he took the exact opposite directions, driving them closer to their unknown destination. The passenger gave up dictating directions once he realized this dumb fuck behind the wheel wasn’t going to listen to him. Whether it was because Nico didn’t know the area and was stubborn enough to spurn all directions, there was not much Thomas could do until they got where they needed to be. With a final grumble, he whipped out his phone and started sorting through emails. Confirmation of reservation, reminder of reservation, junk mail, junk mail, junk –ooh, a user called ‘there-a-Glock-in-my-sock-85’ responded to my Reddit question!

It was only once the car came to a stop and parked that he looked up from his phone. Far from the urban core of his intended destination, he found them parked at the docks, just outside the empty warehouses. ‘Something is wrong’ seemed like the understatement of the moment here as Thomas tried to determine Nico’s true intentions. 

Then, the door to one of the warehouses creaked open. Nico unlocked the doors and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Alright, sir, come with me,” he said.

“Where are we?” he asked, unbuckling his own seatbelt.

Nico did not respond, only silently opening the door of the car as he pivoted his body to get out. The boss finally figured out there was something much larger at play. He thought about the young guard’s sketchy demeanor and their conveniently desolate location before remembering what Nico had said the last day he saw Khaled.

“But, he didn’t do it, sir! He had no part in it! I can prove it, just listen to me!”

His jaw dropped as he made the connection. “Wait a minute, you were the one who put that hit out on me last summer?!” The lack of an answer was all the confirmation the boss needed. “Oh, you little shit!” Thomas grabbed Nico by the shirt collar and yanked him away from the door. He pulled Nico by the back of his hair and slammed his face into the dash board –once, twice, and one more time for good measure before pushing Nico out the open door and crawling into the driver’s seat himself. He was just about to close the door of the Jeep and lock it until a chillingly cheerful voice called out from the shadows.

“Where you going off to, man? You just got here!”

Tom immediately unsheathed his pistol, aiming at the source of the voice amongst the dark. A pair of cat-like golden eyes gleamed in the darkness as the boss of Juicio Divino emerged like a phantom from the dark warehouse entrance. Six more phantoms materialized alongside him with their own weapons drawn and aimed at the Costa boss. Julio’s eyes briefly flickered down to his accomplice who’d been thrown out of the car before fixing back on Thomas again. He lazily grinned, his teeth shining unnaturally white in the dark night. “Why don’t you step out of the vehicle and come on in here?” It did not sound like a request. Six guns remained trained on his body behind the windshield.

Thomas growled like a cornered animal as he reluctantly set his gun on the dashboard, got out of the car, and put his hands up. Attacking Julio directly would guarantee he’d be killed, but surrendering and giving them what they wanted now would at least open an opportunity to gain the upper hand later, he reasoned. Although he doubted this wild cat would ever give him the chance.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump , @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[sports-on-sundays]

It kills me to see all the requested: nope! In your fanfics

How about, reader struggles to sleep due to the stress of her work & travelling so he comforts her and helps her sleep? I’ll take any f1 driver or barca player.

help me sleep / Pedri González

Summary: Pedri x girlfriend!reader

Warnings: censored cussing, sobbing, work problems, stress, anxiety

Requested?: YEs! yEs!!!!! YES, MATE, IT IS REQUESTED!!!!

Author's Note: First request, baby!!! I love you so much bestie! <3 I'm so happy you saw my subtle-not-subtle begs for requests 😭!!! And I hope it's okay I chose Pedri; the other day I was having major I-Miss-Pedri syndrome that we've all been having for the past however many months (I don't even want to think about how long it has been) so I decided as a tribute to my boy, the first request on my blog should be him.

I say 'tribute' as if he's dead or something 😭

I feel like I'm acting way too excited about this request for it to be normal, but that's okay! I'm happy, and I owe it all to you! Now, let's get into this-

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock went the clock on the wall. That stupid old clock that wasn't even set to the right time. You sat on the living room couch, at 2:34 A.M., dealing with work sh*t.

You walked in this evening, feeling ready to literally collapse, and was greeted by your boyfriend as the welcoming committee. It was sweet. He had bought you your favorite treat and flowers and everything and let you snack on it. Had a little snuggle with you. And the moment you stood up, telling him you had to unpack from your long work trip, he pulled you back down on the couch. "No way," he had said. "You're tired. Your bags can wait 'til tomorrow. For now, just relax."

And he really had convinced you. He really had. Soon after that, you had gone to your bedroom and gotten snuggled in together, and within minutes, you were fast asleep.

Only to wake up three hours later. You stared at the ceiling for a solid fifteen minutes, unable to fall back asleep as the stress of work and everything you hadn't gotten done and needed to get done crushed you.

Realizing there was no chance of you falling back to sleep now, you slipped out of bed as slowly as you could, as to not wake up your boyfriend, and quietly walked (or rather, stumbled, because of the extreme lack of sleep) to the living room.

And so now you sit on the couch, barely alive, feeling like a lump on a log but on steroids, dealing with work sh*t.

Suddenly, you get a message from one of your co-workers, though. Bad news... You click on it, and in the moment, with everything you've already gone through within the last seventy-two hours, this is enough.

You swallow, your phone slipping out of your hands. I'm trying so hard. How could my job be on the line? Your head falls into your hands, and you let out a angry groan, letting out quick, little breaths.

God, I can't do this. I can't do this anymore. I need help. Please, I need help. I just can't keep doing this any longer. I can't do this anymore.

Your eyes well up, and that turns into a tear. And that tear turns into another one. And those tears turn into crying. And crying into weeping. Tired, pathetic, pitiful weeping, until you're flat-out sobbing, unable to control it. The world spins as another glowing text comes in on your phone on the rug and your laptop shows more emails and the bags in the corner of the room are still full of your things from the work trip and and and and and...

Suddenly, strong, warm arms around your trembling body. You lean into your boyfriend's body, blubbering between gasps, "Pedri you weren't supposed to wake up... I know you're going through a lot too... I don't want to stress you out... I'm sorry..."

"Shhh," he soothes, rubbing your back. "Do you really think you're on your own? My love, we help and love each other. You can be vulnerable. I know it's hard. Don't you think for a second that I don't want to help you."

"This isn't your problem..."

"Your problem is my problem, because I love you," he mutters close to your ear. He gently closes your laptop and powers off your phone. "You don't need to worry about that right now."

"Pedri-" You grip his shirt, looking at him slightly manically. "Yes I do. I could lose my job."

His jaw tightens, but he says, "What you're doing is impossible. If you lose your job because it's too hard, then maybe you shouldn't be in this job. And it's not because you're a failure. It's because you're expected to do much more than anyone should be able to handle. If you lose your job, I'll be the first to support you until you can get a new one. Okay? But we don't even need to worry about that right now, okay?"

"But-"

Suddenly he takes your wet, tear-stained cheeks in his hands, and looks at you earnestly right in the eyes. "But right now, you need to calm down. Come on; why don't we go to the bedroom, okay?"

"Uh- y- yeah," you get up, feeling terrible at how much a mess you are. Pedri walks to the bedroom with you, his arm around your shoulders the whole time. He fetches a damp rag and gently wipes your face with the cool towel. You shut your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as Pedri pulls the blanket up to your torso. You lean back, sitting upright on the blanket.

"Can I get anything for you?" he asks after he finishes, taking your hand gently.

You shake your head 'no'. "Just sit down. All I need is you."

He nods and slips onto the bed and under the blanket next to you. Straight away, you lean your head on his shoulder and clutch his hand in yours. "Y/n, you know that it'll be okay," he murmurs. Not even a question. A fact. You know that you'll be okay.

"But Pedri, what if..."

"No 'what if's right now, okay?" He pulls you closer to you, rubbing your shoulders. You sit quietly together for a while, before Pedri slowly sinks into a laying down position, pulling you down with him. You snuggle close to him, resting your head on his chest. When you yawn, he says, "You're tired. Anything I can do to help you sleep?"

You breathe gently. "Just... talk to me."

He nods and starts whispering. At first, you listen to the sweet little things he's saying as he gently strokes your hair, but soon you're too tired to comprehend them. Soon your eyes are fluttering shut, and your mind is switching from daytime thoughts to nighttime dreaming.

Within your dream, you feel a soft kiss on your forehead and Pedri's perfect sweet-as-honey voice murmur, "Buenas noches, mi amor."

[annieqattheperipheral]

you have to read this in full!!

i gotchu from behind the $wall:

The day Luke Prokop shook the hockey world by coming out, he needed to get away.

And stop looking at his constantly buzzing phone.

It was July 21, 2021, and the right-shot defenseman had just become the first openly gay hockey player under an NHL contract. The Nashville Predators’ No. 73 pick in the 2020 draft was just 19 years old and hadn’t even turned pro yet. He didn’t know how it would impact his future. His nerves were fried.

But one text message was impossible to ignore. He didn’t recognize the number but certainly knew the name.

“Hey, it’s Auston Matthews. I wanted to congratulate you. I look forward to sharing the ice with you someday.”

Prokop was blown away. The Toronto Maple Leafs superstar wasn’t the most famous person to reach out — that honor goes to Elton John — but the fact that so many NHLers, including one of the league’s best and most powerful players, were offering support meant a lot.

Now 21, Prokop still hasn’t taken the NHL ice, but on Wednesday he took a step forward, being recalled by the Predators’ AHL affiliate in Milwaukee. He could become the first openly gay player to appear in an AHL game Friday night for the Admirals in Rockford.

As difficult as the decision to come out was, Prokop told The Athletic in an extended conversation recently that he’s been mentally and physically freed by it. He doesn’t have to hide. He can be himself, on and off the ice. Heck, he can even date.

“It’s been massive,” he said.

Teammates and fans have welcomed him in his journey toward the NHL so far, from Calgary, Edmonton and Seattle of the junior WHL to, most recently, Atlanta of the ECHL. They treated him like he was any other player.

Not that there’s not room to grow. Prokop figured more players would come out after he did. They haven’t, not that he would rush anyone’s decision on that. He’s also been disappointed by the developments over the past few years with the NHL’s inclusion efforts, including the Pride tape “debacle.”

He can only control his own actions, though, and doesn’t regret his decision.

“I’d like to think I’m a realistic person,” Prokop said. “I know hockey is not going to be forever. As much as (when I came out) I would have loved to keep playing, I was OK with not playing any more if it didn’t work out — just being able to live my life the way I wanted, to be myself.

“But now, I don’t want to stop playing. It was definitely nerve-wracking. You never know what the reaction is going to be inside hockey, outside hockey, because no one has done it before. We kind of went out on a limb and hoped for the best. It’s been way more positive than we thought it’d be. You’re going to have some keyboard warriors, which there were a few, but I was expecting more.

“I did not expect the amount of support I got from NHL players. That was really cool.”

- - - - - - -

The Matthews text and Elton John phone call the morning after were memorable, with the gay rock legend welcoming him to the community and offering his email address if Prokop ever needed anything.

Prokop found even more comfort in a moment that came a few days later — the first time he played hockey since his announcement. It was a four-on-four league in Edmonton at Meadows Rec Center, a place where pros and NHLers competed and kept in shape during the offseason.

Prokop was on a team with Colton and Kirby Dach. The other team had Philadelphia Flyers goalie Carter Hart and the Boston Bruins’ Jake DeBrusk. During warmups, Prokop found himself near mid-ice. The first guy to approach him was DeBrusk. The two had met previously through mutual friends. DeBrusk tapped Prokop’s shin pads with his stick.

“Congrats,” he told him. “I’m really happy for you. If you need anything, let me know.”

“I didn’t know what the reaction would be,” Prokop said. “So that meant a lot.”

Prokop was returning that year to the Calgary Hitmen (WHL), the junior team he had played for the previous four seasons. But there had been a lot of turnover on the roster and, of course, a lot had changed for Prokop. So he decided to address the team in its first meeting in training camp.

“Everyone knows what I did last summer,” he told his team. “I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. There might be a lot of media asking you for an interview. If you don’t feel comfortable, you don’t have to do them. If you have any questions for me, come ask me. I’m an open book. I just don’t want you guys to feel uncomfortable.”

In that dressing room, Prokop had heard plenty of the uncomfortable language that’s not uncommon for any locker room. He even admitted using it. He didn’t want to out himself. He wanted to act straight, be “one of the guys.”

“I heard it, but it wasn’t all the time,” he said. “I also took it from the perspective that these guys don’t know any better. It’s hockey language. It’s how guys talk. They don’t mean it in a harmful way. They use the word ‘gay’ as a filler at the end of a sentence to make something stupid. ‘Well, that’s so gay.’ I wasn’t comfortable with it, but I used it myself. I didn’t want to seem like I was out of the mix.

“Some guys texted me (after I came out), ‘F—, sorry if I said anything to offend you when we played.’ I’d just say, ‘Guys, you had no idea.’ The lesson is you don’t know what everyone is going through. The words you say do matter. Make sure you think before you speak. It’s a silly rule you learn in kindergarten. It applies to life when you’re 22 or 35 and never goes away.

“The way hockey is going with the language, guys are naturally changing their language. I’ve heard a change in language on every team I’ve been on.”

Prokop said that season was the best of his career, both from a production standpoint and a personal one. He was traded to the Edmonton Oil Kings early in the season and had 10 goals and 33 points in 55 games for them, helping them win the WHL’s Ed Chynoweth Cup and advance to the Memorial Cup.

Luke Prokop won the WHL’s Ed Chynoweth Cup with the Oil Kings in 2022. (Courtesy of Oilers Entertainment Group)

Luke Pierce, then an assistant coach for Edmonton and now the head coach, said the staff and management had discussions with the leadership group before acquiring Prokop — making sure they were comfortable with it, feeling out whether their room could handle the attention. Pierce said he asked one of the captains, Blues prospect Jake Neighbours, for his perspective. Neighbours had known Prokop since they were 10 or 11, growing up playing in spring tournaments together. He told Pierce and the staff there would be “zero issue” and he’d be a great addition.

Neighbours said nothing really changed, that Prokop “fit right in” to the team. Pierce at first wondered if players would have any issue with rooming assignments on the road, but nobody blinked. Pierce noted that Prokop would joke about situations and even opened up about his boyfriend coming to visit.

“He put everybody at ease,” Pierce said. “I often tell people, if the outside world could see how the group of men interacted, it would be just a tremendous inspiration on how we should treat everybody.”

Pierce and Prokop pointed out how this generation is more comfortable and equipped to handle LGBTQ+ inclusion issues. Everyone seems to know someone, be friends with someone, or be related to someone in the community.

“I just don’t think guys really care anymore,” Prokop said. “They might be nervous as they have this stereotype version of what a gay guy might look like, sound like, act like. Like me, coming to a team, they think I’ll act a certain way, look a certain way, but they’ll realize three minutes into talking to me that I’m not that.

“Hockey is part of me. It’s who I am. Guys totally forget (about me being gay) when I’m at the rink. They’re not afraid to ask questions. But other than that, it never really comes up. That’s how I wanted it to be. I wanted them to know, but we can all go out and play. I never wanted to be a distraction.”

- - - - - - -

The NHL’s decisions around Pride jerseys and stick tape weren’t a distraction, Prokop said, but he has gotten frustrated about it.

He understood the issue over wearing sweaters during warmups — “jerseys weren’t really their choice” — but lamented that the fact the focus was on the handful of players who refused to wear them and not all the others who did. The NHL’s initial banning of Pride stick tape, then its reversal, was a whole other topic.

“To take away choices from players was really confusing,” Prokop said. “Some of them don’t really care. For some, it was near and dear to their heart. To take it away was mind-boggling. From the players’ side, the support was there. Zach Hyman talked about it, Travis Dermott. I like what they did. They didn’t make a big deal about it before — they just did it. Let fans see the rest, and it’ll take care of itself. There’s a massive amount of support from players in the NHL.”

What do the Pride tape and sweaters mean for someone in the LGBTQ+ community?

Prokop didn’t recall noticing them growing up going to Oilers games. He never got to see someone who was gay using Pride tape on the TV screen. He had to deal with it himself — “jump over those barriers without any help.” But Prokop continued pursuing his hockey career whereas “a lot of people don’t feel comfortable pursuing their career without that exposure, without feeling like they’re being seen.”

“I think with the Pride tape stuff, they were trying to show support for their older fans,” Prokop said of the NHL. “The fans that have been watching hockey for 40-50 years. That’s not how you grow the game. You want to get the younger generation, put these guys in the best situation to promote the game. Sometimes I don’t think the NHL does that the correct way. The Pride tape is one example.”

Prokop has been part of two Pride nights since he came out, one with the Edmonton Oil Kings and another with Seattle. The Oil Kings staff approached him after not having that event on their promotional calendar. They planned it in two weeks and it was a big hit, with around 8,000 fans in attendance.

“Some guys told me it was the most impactful game they’d been in during their career,” Prokop said. “They said they didn’t realize how many Queer fans they had. I don’t think they realize how much my community watches hockey, plays hockey and cares about hockey.

The Seattle Pride night was fan-driven, which made it unique. Thunderbirds fans noticed that other rival teams had a special night for Pride and made a push for their own, making bracelets and T-shirts. Prokop told teammates they didn’t have to wear the stick tape — he knows how superstitious hockey players are. They all wore some, for him.

“I always look at the perspective, the other side of Pride nights — why do you have them if no one on the team is gay?” Prokop said. “The point is that it’s for the fans. For me, it means a lot to play in them to show my community and be a representative on the ice.”

While education is important, Prokop said any real change in the NHL when it comes to inclusion will start with other players coming out. He’s not putting any timeline or pressure on that. He didn’t have one. But that’s when players in the league will see a different perspective, get more comfortable with it.

“Otherwise, it’s always going to be a story,” Prokop said. “I also can see why guys don’t want to come out. Especially in the NHL. They’ve been very successful, so why change? I kind of saw that from the perspective when the whole Pride jersey story came out. My phone was blowing up. I don’t think guys want to have to deal with that. There was a responsibility for me to talk about these topics. I don’t think guys want to do that. I can see it from that side, why they don’t want to come out.

“I don’t think anything is going to change unless someone else does. Someone else will step up. It’s only a matter of time. I thought there’d maybe be two, three of us by now. But it hasn’t happened. But I know there’s going to be someone else soon. It’s math. There’s what, 700 players in the league? There’s definitely a few more.”

- - - - - - -

While there have been some derogatory comments coming from the stands on a few occasions, Prokop has been encouraged there have been none from opposing players.

“Zero,” he said.

Most of the feedback he’s received, even on social media, has been positive. And it’s not just the comments like Matthews’ that stick with him. Two high schoolers in Seattle, Kaitlin and Jo, reached out to him over Instagram. They are part of the LGBTQ+ community and were struggling.

“Like everyone, they just wanted someone to talk to,” Prokop said.

Part of Prokop’s pregame routine is usually to hang by the bench and listen to music. On many occasions, Kaitlin and Jo would come by and the three of them would just chat for 10, 12 minutes. They’re the fans that Prokop saw every game above the tunnel on his way to the dressing room. They’ve stayed in touch. Prokop even did a Zoom meeting with their high school class last month. “They have a special place in my heart,” he said.

When, and if, Prokop makes his NHL debut, he says he’ll have a special secret plan for them.

Whether Prokop lives his NHL dream remains to be seen. He’s praised the Predators for their support from the first time he did a group video call with the staff. Former NHLer Mark Borowiecki, now a development coach, has been someone Prokop has leaned on often, not only for on-ice advice but for help getting through things mentally.

Scott Nichol, the Predators’ assistant GM, likes Prokop’s potential.

“Big right-shot defensemen that can skate, move the puck. They don’t grow on trees,” he said. “He just needs to polish up his game in some areas in the defensive zone. He’s got the tools. He’s got the skating ability. It’s just patience and embrace the process.”

Prokop is grateful for his support group, from his parents, Al and Nicole, to his brother, Josh, and sister, Alanna. He’s kept in touch with Heather Lefebvre, who is a specialist in hockey engagement and alumni relations with the Oilers Entertainment Group. They talk almost every day. What sticks out to Lefebvre is how young Prokop was when he came out (19), and while he wears this “trailblazer” cap, he’s still standing alone.

“I think this generation is more ready for it than past generations, for sure,” Lefebvre said. “It says a lot to me that nobody else has come out in the year and a half since he has. He’s the only openly gay player under NHL contract, but he’s not the only gay player under NHL contract.

“That’s where I think we have work to do. Is it great that he’s been accepted and can do his thing? Yes. But he looks at the positives, which makes me really happy for him. But that doesn’t mean there’s no negative.”

Prokop takes the positives in his off-ice life, too. He lives with Alanna in the offseason back home in Edmonton. He’s found teammates to share in his hobbies, like golf (he plays 40 to 50 rounds a year). He loves to read, from biographies to sci-fi. He watches basketball more than hockey and has more than 25 jerseys. He cooks. He got into puzzles during the pandemic and is bullish about doing them on his own.

Prokop also feels comfortable getting out there on the dating scene and not having to hide it from teammates.

“Obviously, the lifestyle of a hockey player is tough for some people,” he said. “I’m trying to find the right person to connect with. I’m a softie, a romantic guy. I love love. I’m always on the lookout for that right person to spend the rest of my life with.”

Prokop doesn’t see the label of being the first openly gay player under NHL contract as a weight. It’s more of a responsibility. He has a platform and wants to use it. He’s realistic, “dreaming about winning the community service award more than the Norris Trophy.”

Making the AHL jump or someday the NHL jump won’t define him.

“One of my main goals when I came out is that if I could have an impact on one person outside of my family and friends in my lifetime, I’ve done my job,” he said. “I think I’ve done that and more. And I want to continue to do that.”

[ohnococo]

Fight Night | CHAPTER 6 | MMA Fighter!Sukuna x Reader

It felt like a silly idea, taking big scary Ryomen Sukuna to get a little treat to calm him down, but your real aim was to get him outside, in the fresh air, and away from people who will remind him of everything that’s happening. For a little while at least. “Ice cream.” His response doesn’t make it feel like any less of an odd suggestion. You roll your eyes at his dubious tone. “Okay, frozen yogurt. Or are protein shakes and almond butter the only dessert you’re allowed?” This had to be the tenth sigh of the phone call, but it’s a little different - that reluctantly receptive sigh that you think could possibly maybe be reserved for you alone.

Sukuna gets some bad news about his fight, and you take him out to get his mind off of it.

Notes: We're dipping into the sweet here just a little by taking big bad Sukuna out for a little treat.

FIRST CHAPTER

LAST CHAPTER

With how cold Sukuna could come across, and with how much hand wringing you’d done over his sparse communication, you’re pleasantly surprised to find that his word does mean something. He did start to text you more often. Starting with a day later no less. Even with the conversations being seemingly mundane, you almost preferred it to seeing him in real life. You didn’t have to hide how much he made you smile or how his playful brashness made you laugh just a little bit more than it made you roll your eyes, you didn’t have to hide that maybe he had you a little bit smitten.

But then sometimes you didn’t prefer it. When the lack of tone made it so you started reading too much, or maybe too little, into his messages. It was already hard enough to tell what was standard behaviour from him, and what was vulnerability. You felt like what would mean next to nothing from someone else could possibly mean more from him, but the dead air between messages sometimes left you too much time to overthink.

This kind of constant back and forth with your own thoughts had you doing things you wouldn’t normally do, but then again most of your time with Sukuna had been a little unusual. Sometimes it worried you how far gone you were when it came to him, despite your first chunk of time together being what most would consider a foundation of red flags for a budding relationship. It worried you even more that you didn’t regret any of it. Here you were though, walking into everything with Sukuna with a new approach, and doing it willingly, happily even. You were even actually typing out the words “hey why don’t you just call me?”

It would have been unthinkable in most instances. Phone calls were only when absolutely necessary. When some business hadn’t gotten their shit together enough to let you just email them. When you just had to make an appointment you’d been putting off for days. But here you were, after finally getting Sukuna to text you and let you know he thought of you more than once in a while, and you were asking him to talk on the phone just to hear his voice.

Earlier he’d gone from asking if you’d talked to your manager about his behaviour, giving his far-too-intense for an office job suggestions on what you should say to him, to suddenly not messaging you back for a while, something that had become unusual for him over the last several days since your little lunch date. He was often as busy as you’d expected him to be, but if sparring or training or speaking with his management interrupted your chats he always preempted it with a text saying he would get back to you.

This time there was just nothing, not long enough to worry you, but enough to have you curious as to what was happening. When he did respond it was simply with the word ’fuck’ before you watched and waited as he typed and typed and typed.

He’d gotten a call telling him that his opponent might have been seriously injured during training. Then he’d just gone off, sending longer texts than he had so far and you genuinely couldn’t tell if he was just mulling over possibilities and outcomes or venting to you. And the thought of it being the latter had your heart racing, so you needed to hear his voice. Needed to hear if he was really treating you like a confidant for his emotions because the thought of that just felt so real.

He was apparently receptive to your suggestion of just discussing it over the phone, since doesn’t even text back to agree, he just calls straight away, and you take a little breath before answering.

“Hello?”

His voice doesn’t really give you an immediate answer to whether he was just filling you in or if it was more. “They just confirmed, anterior shoulder dislocation.”

He’s straight to the point as always, so you catch up as your conversation picks up where it had left off. “A dislocated shoulder, ouch… so he can’t fight?”

“No, he can’t. Apparently he got into a scrap with his team over it and only made it worse, he wanted them to hide it so he could still fight. He needs surgery though so that’s six months of recovery alone.”

He sounds unimpressed, though you can’t tell if it’s because the guy managed to get himself injured or if it was because he wouldn’t even have a chance of being cleared until two months after the fight was meant to happen. When he lets out a sigh of frustration, you suspect it’s the latter.

“So that’s bad? The guy you want to hurt got hurt?”

Sukuna’s tone is different than usual, bothered while he talks as if his thoughts were racing along an entirely different road than yours were.

“It means we can’t fight, and that means I’m going to be stuck with some nobody dumb enough to come in on short notice against me.”

He hadn’t told you who he was supposed to be fighting, but you’d looked it up on your own. It was apparently someone tough, a highly anticipated match. Some people even seemed to think this Toji Fushiguro could beat Sukuna, though from what you’d read that was still an unpopular opinion. It was a moot point now though.

“You’ll probably win against whoever it is though, right?”

He sucks air through his teeth, “I’d win either way, but I’m wasting my time for a boring fight.”

You can hear him shuffling around on whatever furniture he was on, then you can hear his heavy footsteps as he starts pacing around his home, just short of huffing and puffing in a way that lets you know that your suspicions were correct. He absolutely was venting to you.

“It’s a waste of my time, we have a minimum wait between fights too so it’ll wipe out almost the rest of the year for me. Unbelievable. I can’t even imagine what kind of fools he has on his team to have him dislocating his fucking shoulder.”

“Well…” you’re already starting before you think better of it, and when you hesitate for a moment he’s pressing you, not so far into ranting that he doesn’t want to hear what you have to say.

“Yes?” His tone makes you feel like you shouldn’t continue on, but it also lets you know that he won’t be letting you keep your thoughts to yourself right now.

“I mean, you did say you go all out in training too, right?”

“I don’t train with people who don’t know their limits. He should’ve stuck to boxing so he can just show up and win fixed fights like the rest of his family.”

That, you know nothing of though, but the shift to personal attacks feels like a little much. You can’t offer a solution. So you offer what you can.

“There’s nothing you can do about it right now though, right?”

He sighs heavily, and you can hear the soft squeak of whatever he’s sat himself down on. “Right.”

“Then why don’t we go get ice cream?”

It felt like a silly idea, taking big scary Ryomen Sukuna to get a little treat to calm him down, but your real aim was to get him outside, in the fresh air, and away from people who will remind him of everything that’s happening. For a little while at least.

“Ice cream.” His response doesn’t make it feel like any less of an odd suggestion.

You roll your eyes at his dubious tone. “Okay, frozen yogurt. Or are protein shakes and almond butter the only dessert you’re allowed?”

This had to be the tenth sigh of the phone call, but it’s a little different - that reluctantly receptive sigh that you think could possibly maybe be reserved for you alone.

“Fine.”

He says it like he’s begrudgingly agreeing, but you can’t help smiling wide as you note that he hasn't exactly put up any fight at all. “I know a good place.”

Another sigh, softer than the last, “I can tell you’re smiling, you know.”

You don’t mind.

As you watch Sukuna pick out the toppings for his frozen yogurt you’re surprised at the sudden discovery that he just might have a sweet tooth. You were expecting him to choose one of the low sugar options, then top it with little chunks of fruit to somehow make it as close to a healthy snack as it could get. He doesn’t though, opting for vanilla then having the woman behind the counter sprinkle over crushed cookies and dark chocolate chips.

He catches your brow raise, throwing it back at you, “Mind your business.”

You put your hands up, looking away as he’s handed his cup and a spoon and you choose your own toppings.

When you’ve made your choices and it’s time to pay, you lightly bump your hip against Sukuna’s, trying to get him to back away from the register as you pull out your wallet with your free hand. He doesn’t move, so you remind him of his words during your last date, “You said I could pay next time, remember?”

He tilts his head to the side, mouth forming a line as he lets out a curt “Hm.”

Clearly he’d hoped you hadn’t remembered that little agreement, but he moves to the side nonetheless, taking your frozen yogurt from you so you have the use of both hands to pull out your card.

You note the price as you finish paying, and wave at Sukuna to follow your lead to the outdoor seating, calling over your shoulder as you go, “I’m getting the next one too.”

“No you aren’t.”

You feign a confused look as you’re out the door before him, “Sorry, I can’t hear you.”

He’s catching up with no effort in a few long strides as you hold the door open, face betraying he was much more amused than his tone would have you believe, “You’re hard work.”

As you take your seats and he hands you your frozen yogurt, you give him a dubious look. “Can’t be as hard as body slamming 400 pound men and throwing tractor tires or whatever you do all day.”

A brief flash of surprise on his face tells you you’re closer to what he does than he thinks you realise. You know you are though, you’ve seen the little highlight reels where he turns over heavy tires, flips training partners over his shoulders, bares his teeth menacingly into the camera as a sheen of sweat and oil applied by some filming assistant makes him look godly. He didn’t look all that different from those videos when you first met, but right now he looks softer. Content.

You look down at your cup as you bring your spoon to your mouth before speaking, “I don’t want to talk about that right now though.”

“Too boring for you?”

The face you give him is one he’s earned many times before, but this time it’s less ’give me a break’ and more ’give me a little more credit’. “I wouldn’t bring it up if I didn’t care.”

His brows raise, like he’s surprised, like he doesn’t know if he can believe you.

“I just don’t want you to worry about everything with that Toji guy right now.”

His brows lower, and you feel like he’s decided he does believe you as he gives you a knowing smile. “Okay,” he nods, changing the subject, “we were talking about your work-“

“I don’t want to talk about that either. Let’s, y’know, take it easy. Talk about happy things.”

“I’m happy.”

The sentiment, and how matter of fact it’s said, catches you off guard. Then Sukuna is putting a spoonful of his frozen yogurt in his mouth, eyes still on yours, and you can’t help smiling.

“You’re happy? Not even any complaints about how this isn’t real food?”

He huffs, gesturing to the cups filled with their little frozen swirls, “This is different than greasy burgers.”

You tilt your head and raise your brows in a doubtful look, “Whatever you say, Sukuna…”

His eyes narrow at you, as if warning you to be careful about doubting his logic, but the venom runs out almost immediately as he smiles, shaking his head. “Have dinner at my house, Uraume will make us something a lot better than that.”

“I don’t know if I can lie to their face about liking boiled chicken breast and steamed broccoli.”

Now the annoyance is a little more genuine, “You liked my recommendation last time, didn’t you?”

It was nice, but as much as it pained you to stray from your half-joking narrative that Sukuna was a flavourless protein devouring machine, you won’t lie to him. “It was good, yeah.”

He points his spoon at you, as if it were putting you in your place. “Just as I thought. Don’t doubt me.”

You pretend to mull it over, as if you were going to decline spending time with him. You never had before, the both of you knew that, but he humours your little act as he eats. “Sure.”

Then, you do actually think about it for a second, remembering your agreement.

“Dinner at your place though… isn’t that a little dangerous?”

He drags his spoon around the bottom of his cup, gathering the last melted bits at the bottom, and the corners of his mouth quirk downward as he shrugs. “I agreed that I won’t fuck you. That’s that.”

Hearing him bringing up fucking, even in the context of how he won’t be doing it, has your heart beating a little faster, blood rushing upward and downward at the same time. It makes you shift in your seat, and when you look him in the eye he seems pleased by that so you force yourself to sit still.

Though the way your body is reacting is betrayed by the question you can’t help asking, “Until… when?”

His face is smug for a moment, sparking eyes and half cocked grin only making you want to press your thighs together a little tighter, but then he wipes any expression from his face, neutral as he speaks, “That’s up to you.”

“Oh…” you aren’t sure what to say to that, not having realised the ball was in your court. It sends your mind racing, and this time it’s Sukuna keeping this outing light, dipping his head lower to catch your eye and pull you out of your thoughts.

“You eat too slowly.”

There he is, practically begging you to roll your eyes at him again. You were beginning to think he thought it was cute with the way it made him smile. “Is that your way of asking to try mine?”

“No.” He reaches across the table with his spoon, taking a bit of yours and eating it.

“Uh, excuse you?” You narrow your eyes at him, holding your own spoon in front of your cup as if to parry any further attempts to steal a bite.

He’s smiling at your very much unserious display, before he’s scrunching his nose and dropping his spoon into his empty cup, “You have terrible taste.”

You do eat slowly, compared to Sukuna at least, but it’s nice to talk with him between bites. It’s even nicer to talk afterwards too, even with the sun set and the light from the shop through the window illuminating your faces. Every so often you can’t help thinking back to Sukuna telling you that he was happy. It felt good, like some kind of victory. A victory that somehow gave you butterflies and left your mouth watering at the same time.

Apparently Sukuna picks up on it, during the tenth time you replay it in your mind as he walks you to your car in the parking lot.

“I talk about fucking you once and you’re practically giddy, what am I going to do with you.” He's clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, chiding you, but then he’s just smiling down at you in a way that somehow telegraphs to you exactly what he’s going to say, “You’re just too cute.”

That hasn’t helped anything, and like usual when he pulls that little word out your brain is effectively scrambled. So instead, you lean in, getting up onto your tiptoes, and kiss him.

It’s hard work, or rather he makes it hard work as he remains standing straight. He’s barely tilting his head down and you have to brace your hands on his stomach for balance, gripping lightly at his shirt to deepen the kiss. He lets you, and there’s something thrilling about taking the lead with him for a moment, even as you strain to close the gap between your differing sizes.

It’s only for a moment though, until you’re settling back down onto the heels of your feet, regaining your balance, and he decides there’s too much space between you. He leans down and into you properly, one hand on the back of your neck, the other wrapping around you to pull you into him. It’s slow, and soft, but it doesn’t stay that way for long once you’re wrapping your arms around his neck and running your fingers through his hair. Then, he’s sliding his tongue into your mouth, backing you up til you’re pressed between him and your car.

His hands play at making your kiss something less appropriate, if making out against a car five feet from a froyo shop could be considered some kind of appropriate. Running across your back, rubbing at your stomach, thumb sliding out enough to just brush the bottom of your breast. Travelling down your sides, squeezing at your hips tight enough to have your blood rushing downward even more quickly than before, but his hands always return to their place at your waist, warm and firm and holding you up when his touch leaves you dizzy and desperate.

Then, he pulls back, his gaze intense on your mouth while he clenches his jaw, lost in thought. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, lets it out through his barely parted lips and leans in until his nose is gently pressed to where your jaw meets your neck. You lean back, happy for him to go further, but he doesn’t, pressing a kiss to your neck, then your jaw, chaste but firm enough to have you leaning slightly with the pressure, then he steps back.

“I’ll see you sometime this week.”

“Yeah.” It’s all you can say, having felt how hard he was when he was pressed against you and knowing you would have let him fuck you in your car right in that parking lot if he’d only pushed a little harder. But he didn’t. He was behaving, so you were too. “See ya.”

You turn to unlock your car, and he turns to go to his own, before he’s stopped as you speak.

“Hey, will you let me know who you wind up fighting? Or do I have to read it online like everyone else.”

He lets out a little laugh, then looks pleased that you seemed to care. “I’ll text you.”

CHAPTER 7

[roosterforme]

Old Habits Die Hard Part 10 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: Life isn't as sweet without Sugar.

Warnings: Angst and swears

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (fuckboy college student Bradley)

Check out my masterlist

Bradley took the long way back to his fraternity house, letting himself feel like the piece of shit that he was. He blew it with you. He knew he was going to all along, but that didn't make this moment any easier to deal with. 

He liked you so much. He liked your voice and the way you looked. He liked how smart you were. Loved the way you treated him like he wasn't a total fuckup. Looks like he had proved you wrong. 

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he yanked it out hoping it was you. But it was just an email. He opened his text messages. You were the only person he had been talking to recently. He thought about texting Hannah, thought maybe he'd feel better if he told her about you. Maybe he would another day, but right now he didn't deserve to have anyone treating him nicely. 

The thing that killed him was that he fucked this up so badly, but he'd never even had you. You were never his to lose. He couldn't even get all the way there. 

He headed back to the house and was immediately met with Phoebe's pouty lips on the front porch. 

"What happened?" she asked softly, running her fingers through his hair. "What did she do to you?" Phoebe pressed a kiss to his cheek, but he brushed past her and went to the kitchen. Phoebe followed him the whole way there. She was wearing a tiny skirt and her bra, and she had an enormous collection of beads that rattled when she walked. "She's a bitch, Bradley. Literally so uptight. I'll make you feel better."

Just then Tyson walked in, and Bradley remembered every word he had told his fraternity brother about how he and Phoebe were totally over. 

"Hey, man," Tyson said, eyeing him carefully as he headed for the fridge. Bradley reached behind him into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of vodka while Phoebe rubbed her body against his. 

"Phoebe. I told you about this already," he whispered as her hands slid up inside his shirt. "Phoebe, please."

"Come on, Bradley. I'm not asking for much," she purred. "And you know I'll make you feel so much better."

"No."

"Fuck you!" she said before storming out. 

Tyson tapped Bradley's vodka bottle with his can of beer before asking, "Should you be drinking that?"

"No," Bradley replied, gulping down a lot of the liquor before stopping to breathe. "Probably not."

"Let's trade," Tyson said, trying to get Bradley to switch drinks with him. 

"I'll be cool, man. Just enough so I can go pass out in bed."

Bradley was well on his way to that point, drinking enough so he'd be able to bypass Phoebe or Willow or any girl who wasn't you. Unfortunately he wasn't able to bypass Jeff on his way to the stairs.

By this point, Bradley was swaying a bit, deep in his thoughts about you, and how you were supposed to be sleeping over with him tonight. He was already getting used to the way your body felt next to him in his bed. He was already upset you wouldn't be there tonight, snuggling up with him to keep warm in this drafty house. 

"I knew you'd fuck it up," Jeff told him, pulling him back from his thoughts. 

Bradley staggered forward, and Jeff let him slam into the wall.

"Shut up," Bradley told him, continuing toward his room.

"But, now that I know she's easy, maybe I'll hit it for fun."

Bradley spun around, ready to hit Jeff. "Don't talk about her like that, like she doesn't fucking matter."

Jeff was laughing at him, and Bradley was seeing double. 

"You treated her like she doesn't matter, bro," Jeff said in a mocking tone. "Same way you treat every girl."

Bradley knew that wasn't true. He knew it deep inside. He'd been good before. To Hannah. And he'd be good to you if you ever decided to give him another chance. 

But right now, he felt like the biggest piece of shit in existence. Jeff shoved past him, and Bradley was instantly itching for a fight. He felt his fists clenching. But he closed his eyes and thought of you. The way you'd trusted him. The way you'd let him hold you. He didn't have any fight left. 

---------------------------------

You curled up in your bed, ignoring texts from Janessa except to tell her that you were okay and at the apartment. You'd showered off all of the smeared glitter eye makeup and scrubbed the feeling of Bradley off of your skin, but now you just felt pathetic. 

Weren't you supposed to be the smart one? The one who didn't fuck up like this? You weren't in love with him. You weren't. But you could have been if you let yourself. He was smart and sincere. And he had been sweet.

You let yourself think back to him telling you about his mom and wanting to go to flight school. And the way he held you on your couch. You let yourself cry as you rolled over and tried for a very long time to fall asleep. 

You never changed out of your pajamas on Sunday. You barely even got out of bed. When you picked up your phone around noon to check your messages, you saw a text from Bradley. You were going to have to delete his number and block him, because he definitely hadn't lost your number like you'd asked him to. Before you could stop yourself, you opened the message. 

I'm sorry, Sugar. I miss you.

You dropped your phone to the floor next to your bed as tears sprung to your eyes. Why was he trying to be sweet now? He'd been groping the most desperate looking girl you had ever seen in your life barely twelve hours ago. And why? Because he thought you shouldn't have been talking to Max? Well if Bradley was allowed to be reactionary, then so were you.  

You hung off the edge of your bed and grabbed your phone, wiping your tears with your hand. Then you started to pound out a response to him, beyond angry at yourself for even giving him attention, but wanting him to feel some of your wrath. 

You miss me? That's funny. Didn't whichever desperate girl you took to bed last night keep you warm and play with your hair after you fucked her?

You really didn't feel much better after you hit send. And you definitely didn't want to be able to put a specific face to whichever girl he randomly hooked up with last night. And now you were picturing the girl from the party in his room, wearing his ugly tie dyed tee shirt and cuddling with him. 

And you were crying again before you could stop yourself. Another text notification went off, but this time you read what he had to say without responding. 

I didn't take anyone to bed. I only want you. 

-------------------------

Bradley only got one text out of you, and then radio silence. He sat at his desk in his boxers and stared at all of the stuff you had left here. You might be missing your differential equations notebook, your hair elastic, and the pair of your socks that he had washed with his laundry. He thought about texting you again, or walking to your place and dropping them off. But he felt like that would equate to giving up any hope that you'd even talk to him again.  

So he kept your stuff on his desk and flipped through your math notes, skimming all of the neatly written equations. He could vividly picture your tattoo in his mind. Just the thought of it made his skin warmer, his heart beat faster. 

Why had he touched Willow? Was he insane? He was jealous over some meathead pawing at you, so then he went and did the same thing? For revenge? For attention? For a poor excuse to try to make sure you liked him as much as he liked you? As a way to test himself and see if he was ready for a girlfriend?

Whatever he had been thinking in that moment, it was wrong. All wrong. Everything he did was wrong. Even when he thought he was doing the right thing, he was still wrong. 

At least he had been too drunk to have crisp memories of the glass table breaking. It was all fuzzy and dull around the edges, making it easier for him to skim over the memories instead of paying them the attention they probably deserved. 

Bradley scrolled past his conversation with you and selected Hannah's name instead. He typed up a novel, told her all about you and about what he did. Asked her for help. He rambled on so much, he would be surprised if she wrote back. 

He was starving, but he'd been avoiding leaving his room for hours. He didn't want to see anyone, but he pulled on his tie dyed Grateful Dead tee, the one he associated with you now, and made his way downstairs. 

The entire house was trashed. There was spilled beer all over the hallway, and the living room had cups and trash thrown everywhere. "What the fuck," Bradley muttered, stepping over what looked like vomit. There were a few people still passed out on the couch, and Mardi Gras beads were randomly draped across most surfaces. 

And of course he would be the one to do most of the cleaning up, because he always was. It was probably why the fraternity brothers accepted him in the first place. At least he would be able to focus on cleaning all afternoon instead of focusing on you.

He made his way to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal, and of course Jeff was there, looking like a hungover piece of shit. Bradley just kept his mouth shut and avoided even looking at him as much as he could, grabbing the milk from the refrigerator instead. 

"Hell of a party," Jeff mumbled. "Mardi Gras was always Chase's favorite one each year."

Bradley snorted. "Yeah, sure was. It was probably the easiest one for him to cheat on Hannah or smack her around without anyone noticing."

Jeff laughed loudly at him. "You've also got the cheating part down yourself, asshole. I love how you think you're better than the rest of us, when you're actually the worst one here."

Bradley was almost shaking with rage. 

"You think I was joking?" Jeff asked with a smile. "You think I was joking about what I told you last night? I'll fuck her so hard, she won't be able to think about you anymore. Something tells me she's already done with your sorry ass anyway."

Bradley knew Jeff was trying to get him to fight. He knew that's why Jeff never let him move on past Chase and Hannah. So he prepared a bowl of cereal as calmly as he could and carried it back up to his bedroom. 

------------------------------

By Monday morning, you were done crying. You absolutely wouldn't shed another tear. You were over it. You were over Bradley. 

You packed up your bag and realized one of your notebooks was missing. You searched your whole apartment before giving up and running to make it to class on time. And that's when you realized you must have left it in Bradley's room when he was helping you make note cards the other day. He had also been kissing the back of your neck and playing with your hair, but that was beside the point. 

The point was, you were going to have to text him and ask if you could get it back. "Fuck," you whispered to nobody as you walked into your first class of the week. 

Monday afternoon, you hunkered down in the study room in the library. Before you could chicken out, you texted Bradley.

Do you have my purple notebook? I need it back. Please let me know when I can get it.

There. That was almost civil. You started reading for a different class, but Bradley texted you back almost immediately. You were pretty sure he was supposed to be in an economics class at the moment. 

I have it, Sugar. It's in my room. Tell me when and where and I'll bring it to you. And maybe we can talk?

He was still calling you Sugar. You wished he would stop. You also kind of wished he would keep doing it forever. But since you wouldn't need the notebook until tomorrow, you asked him to drop it off at the study room on Tuesday afternoon. You almost dropped your phone when you looked up.

"Jeff! What are you doing here?" you asked, surprised to see him.

He just smiled and sat down across from you. "Came to study. If that's okay with you."

"Um, yeah. Of course. No problem."

You and Jeff worked in silence for a little while, and then he started asking you for help with some homework. And eventually you filled him in on how much you'd been studying for grad school entrance exams. 

"You'll get in anywhere you apply," he told you with a nod. "What's your top pick?"

"University of Chicago," you told him with a smile of your own.

"So you want to freeze to death all winter?"

You laughed. "Something like that."

It felt good to be able to talk to him again. You'd fucked things up so much, but at least he seemed to be able to be normal around you now. 

------------------------

Bradley launched out of his seat when his class ended and practically sprinted across campus to the library. He hadn't been here since Thursday when you and he had absolutely defiled the study table. You were the only thing he could think about now. 

As he neared the study room, he heard your voice and your laughter through the open door. He had your notebook and a small bouquet of flowers in his hand, ready to give to you. But now he felt sick again, because he could hear Jeff's voice too. 

"Hi," Bradley said, standing in the doorway. He put all of his attention on you, trying his best to avoid Jeff's eyeroll. 

"Hi," you replied, standing and walking toward him like he meant nothing to you. No smile, no kiss, no Beer Boy. "Thanks for bringing it."

You tried to take just the notebook out of his hands, but he made sure you took the flowers too. You looked him in the eye and shook your head, but you didn't throw them away like he was expecting. Instead you tucked the flowers and your notebook into your bag and said bye to Jeff before you breezed right past Bradley and out of the study room.

You were wearing the same shirt you wore the night he met you. Bradley didn't know if you had done that on purpose, but it was messing with his head so much at the moment, it took him a second to turn and follow you.

"Can I walk with you?" he asked when he caught up.

"It's a free country. I can't stop you from walking across campus." He knew you had your lab now, so he followed you there. You were doing your best to lose him, walking through groups of people so he had to keep stepping behind you. 

"Can we please talk, Sugar?" he begged as you neared the building. 

"Stop calling me that. Did you paint your door yet?" you asked, waving to someone you knew and then ducking inside. 

"No," he replied. "And I'm not going to." Then he almost ran right into you when you stopped abruptly and turned around to face him in the middle of the crowded hallway.

"You should."

"Sugar, listen. I know I fucked up, okay? I know. I was jealous of that fucking guy you were talking to, and then he was touching you." You turned and started to walk away, and Bradley followed you once more. "Wait, please! I just want to tell you that I think about you all the time. I want to be your boyfriend."

You stopped again, just outside of the classroom door. "If you had asked me that on Saturday afternoon, I would have told you yes." Then you ducked inside, pulling the door closed behind you. 

"Fuck!" he yelled down the hallway, running his hands through his hair. 

-----------------------------

You were fine. You were having a great week, really. With all of your newly found free time, you were getting a lot of studying done. But you couldn't ignore the notes that Bradley kept leaving for you on the study room table. You hadn't seen him since Tuesday afternoon, but he must have been around. The note you found on Friday said, "I loved it every single time you called me Beer Boy."

If you let yourself, you could have started crying. You dropped down heavily onto your chair and started your homework, trying not to think about Bradley. When Jeff showed up, he sat down where Bradley used to sit, in the chair that was closer to you instead of the one across the table.

"Hey," you said, barely looking up from your book. 

"Wow," Jeff replied in a soft whisper. "You look gorgeous."

You could feel yourself flush, which was ridiculous. You weren't interested in Jeff at all. You didn't want to encourage this. Now your mind was drifting to being here with Bradley when you'd been wearing a skirt last week. 

"Thanks," you told Jeff with a smile. "You know, I'm really happy you're here again. I was a little afraid I was going to have to keep studying by myself all the time now."

"You're happy I'm here?" he asked, grinning and sliding a little bit closer to you.

You licked your lips, trying to fight the urge to back away. "Yeah... I mean, as a friend. I'm happy that you are here in that way."

But Jeff leaned in and kissed you, his hand sliding over your knee and up your bare leg. 

"Jeff, come on," you pleaded, hoping he would stop on his own. The door was wide open, and you didn't want to have to make a scene. "Stop."

"What?" he asked softly, pulling his lips away from yours and narrowing his eyes at you. "I thought that was the kind of studying you liked to do in here."

"Jeff." Your tone was louder, laced with a warning as he let his eyes dip to your chest. You felt like your sweater was barely covering anything, the way he was looking at you.

"That's how you liked to study with Bradshaw, right?" he asked, shoving his hand higher. 

"Stop it."

But you didn't have to say anything else, because Bradley was suddenly there. His bag hit the floor along with another bunch of flowers, sending petals flying as he yanked Jeff out of the chair. 

"What the fuck?" Jeff grunted as he was hauled to his feet, his hands finally leaving your body.

"Are you okay, Sugar?" Bradley asked you and you just nodded, mainly shocked to see him here again. He looked so good. He was wearing the ugly tie dyed shirt and a backwards cap.

"Yeah," you told him with a nod.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Bradley asked Jeff, shoving him to the far wall. "Suddenly you can't hear now? She's telling you to stop."

But Jeff just shoved him back. "You wanna be a little bitch about it? Or are you gonna hit me?"

You couldn't quite figure out the deal between these two, and Bradley had told you that it wasn't about you, but it still felt personal. You could feel the tears gathering in your eyes as Jeff continued to shove Bradley.

"You think I won't fight you?" Bradley asked in a calm, even tone that had Jeff stopping in his tracks. "You think I wouldn't be absolutely delighted to get expelled for her?"

Jeff just chuckled. "She doesn't want you. You can't keep your hands or your dick to yourself."

You watched Bradley's fists clench. "I was willing to get expelled for Hannah, and she and I were only ever just friends."

"Stop it!" you said, jumping to your feet once you got a grip on the situation. "Both of you need to fucking stop!" You went to stand between the two of them with your back to Bradley. You could feel his warmth radiating behind you, and you could hear his ragged breathing.

"Don't touch me again," you told Jeff. "I mean it." You thought about the pepper spray in your backpack and a smirk appeared on your lips. He just glared at you first and then Bradley, and grabbed his stuff. 

"And you... I told you to lose my number," you said, rounding on Bradley. "But you keep leaving me little notes! And I don't want you to get expelled for me! It's not your place to even be here. I can take care of myself."

"I know you can take care of yourself," he said, looking abashed. 

"What are you doing here anyway?"

"I brought you more flowers."

You looked at the petals strewn about the floor next to the door and then back at Bradley. 

"Will you please talk to me, Sugar?" His face was so sincere as he looked at you, and you could feel everything inside you clench with need. You didn't want to cry again. You really didn't want him to see you crying and know it was because of him. "I'm sorry."

---------------------------

Beer Boy without his Sugar is just too sad. Thanks @mak-32 for everything. This fic is for you!

PART 11

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[stubz]

"I think Glip and Kal don't like me."

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, we just don't talk. Like it's fine when your here or Quip is here but when you guys leave we don't really talk."

"Have you tried? Like making small talk?"

"Yeah but its really awkward and short." Max sighs leaning back in his chair.

"Hmmm...oh my god Piper! Take that off Marl!"

He watches as his friend and co-worker runs off to deal with Piper running off with Marl, treating the youngling as a stuffie to dress. Marl cackled as they were carried off by the human.

"Too bad you don't talk to them like my Mapa, they are a chatter bug."

"Your Mapa is a chatter bug? Really Dali?" he found it hard to believe that Calis would be chatty. The ever so serious and stoic first mate.

"Yeah but only when Pomo gets them talking. Usually about go-sip."

"Gossip huh?"

.

"He sent the email to everyone. Everyone! He sent all the texts and messages between them to everyone to show them what she said about us."

"Oh my god what a power move...this dude is my hero." Quip nods in agreement.

"Want me to read em?"

"Max I would kill you if you didn't."

"Seconded."

..

"-I feel unsafe in this hostile environment. You told me it was fine, that I could go whenever."

"Go whenever? ...she left like a day before the wedding! A day! She had 3 goddamn months!! And hostile??? Says the woman who tried to call the cops on her own roommate for being 'too loud'!!" shouts Quip crushing the drink in his hand.

"It gets better."

"HOW?!" cries Kim

"Hold up! Pause! I need a new drink!"

"Oh get me one too will you?" the humans call out.

...

"-I'll be changing the locks and hereby request to you all who I have sent this email to to not contact her or respond to her. Thanks for reading and Tiffany, I'm willing to talk to when you come back from your trip. Bring your keys."

"Oh shit its done! She's dumped. He's dumping her as soon as she comes home!"

"I need a copy of this or just you to read it to me again and again for a month."

"Oh with pleasure, I love reading this. It never gets old."

"Thank you for sharing this. This was the best gossip I've had in years. Come on, desert on me!" she shouts grabbing her friends arms leading them back to the cafeteria.

....

"Hey Max!" he looks up from his lunch and sees Quip with Kal and Glip.

"Hey guys."

"I was telling these two about the shipwreck you told me and they won't stop hounding me about asking you for a copy of the email or in depth detail so here." he shoves his two embarrassed partners forwards to the human

"I'd love to hear it again but I gotta return something before the place closes. I'll be back in an hour, have fun!" he calls waving to them

"...so how much do you guys know?"

"...a bit but could you start from the beginning?"

"Like when she said she hurt her back a week after flaking on doing her part of the wedding planning."

"Gotcha. So she says that she hurt her back a week after going to the gym, which makes no sense because back injuries hurt right after or hours after the thing you did!"

"Oh she's lying."

"Did they kick her out of the wedding planning?"

"No, because they don't want to cause drama about this. Like its hard to subtlety make a person prove their back is hurt. Also the job they gave her was the smallest thing so."

"What was her job?"

"Making sure there was enough napkins and balloons."

"Get a hint Tiffany!"

"That's so sad."

.....

"So I heard you're gossip buddies with Kal and Glip?"

"Yep. Spent 3 hours sharing gossip."

"..."

"You wanna hear it?"

"Yes!"

"Thought you would. Wrote down the key notes of each story."

"This is why we're best friends!!"

[something-tofightfor]

On Deck Part 4: Starting Line-Up

Pairing: Jack Daniels x Female Reader Baseball AU

Word Count: 10,185

Rating: M - language, some mentions of past sexual situations, pining (but is it mutual?)

Summary: In the days following Jack's first visit to your place, you're forced to think through just about every possible future scenario. And when he makes an offer you're not expecting, you start to believe that there might be just a little more to it than sex for him.

Author’s notes: 

I absolutely love this chapter. If you skip ahead to the end, there's a picture included to describe the type of view Reader has. I know not everyone is familiar with baseball stadiums and the opportunities they offer for seating, but I also don't want to ruin it too early.

This chapter ALSO features Jack wearing the uniform in this artwork - and is the entire reason this AU was started.

(On Deck universe masterlist for all the extras!)

While there are a lot of baseball references within this story, you only need to know the basics to enjoy it and understand what's going on - we're not getting overly technical here.

As always, if you have any questions or comments, please feel free to reach out.

The starting line-up is the official list of players who participate from the beginning of the game onward. This may change throughout the season, as players leave due to or return from an injury. Starters are usually the team's best players at their respective positions, and as a result, being a starter often comes with notoriety A spot in the starting line-up is hard-earned. 

You didn’t hear from Jack the following day, but you didn’t expect to. 

Not because you thought he’d used you, but because you knew how busy he’d be between driving to meet with the team in Louisville and then heading back to The Cavalry and playing in that night’s game. 

All day, though, you thought about him - and about the previous day… and night.

Your experience with Jack was different than those you’d read about online, or heard about at games. He’d treated you as an equal, giving you a legitimate explanation as to why he did and didn’t do or want certain things in bed. He hadn’t flaunted his status or reputation throughout the night, and his interaction with the girl at the ice cream parlor proved that Jack was focused on giving kids a good experience when they met him no matter where he was. It’s not just when he’s in uniform. 

You opted to work instead of taking the day off like you’d planned, and he was on your mind as you did so. The memory of his voice rasping in your ear and the feeling of his mouth on your bare skin sent shivers through you while you were poring over spreadsheets and drafting emails, and it made the day go much faster. By the time you were done for the night, you were almost vibrating, the truth of what had happened settling in. 

You’d slept with Jack Daniels. 

You’d met him for something he’d clarified wasn’t a date, and invited him back to your place without a second thought. He’d been nothing but kind to you, and you hadn’t felt that he thought less of you for being so forward. There was a small part of you that wondered if he thought you were easy. But he’s known for being a flirt. He’s been with a lot of people throughout his career, and … 

There was no way to know for sure what was going to happen until you heard from Jack again. You’d need to see how he acted the next time you spoke before you could assume anything - though with Jack, you figured it wasn’t safe to assume at all. 

You wanted to tell Erin what had happened. You wanted her to know everything, because in reality, it was thanks to Caleb that you were even in the position to meet Jack in the first place. But it felt wrong to talk about the not-date, and even more wrong to kiss and tell… so you held off.

And when you woke up on Tuesday morning to a text message from Jack, you were glad that you’d kept quiet. 

Check my Instagram. 

Before even sitting up, you did, groaning at the sight of his newest picture - a promotional shot for that weekend’s games, featuring a close up of his nickname on the back of a bright yellow jersey, the tip of his black bat’s barrel visible where it rested on his shoulder.

When do I get to see the whole thing? 

You double tapped the picture after replying, and didn’t expect a response. But Jack started typing back immediately, his message a completely unexpected one. 

Friday, if you come to the game. 

“Is that an invitation?” Blinking at your phone, you chewed on your lower lip. It seemed like it. It seemed like Jack was making good on his promise that you’d see each other again because he wanted to. But this time, it wasn’t to meet for ice cream. Instead, it was a personal invitation to his first game back with The Statesman. 

This weekend has been sold out for weeks, Jack. I’ll need to find a ticket, but I’ll see what I can do. 

You didn’t have a chance to open a search for tickets before your phone was ringing, Jack’s name on the screen. What the fuck? Why is he calling me? Taking a few seconds to compose yourself, you took a deep breath before answering. “Hello?” 

“‘Morning, sunshine.” He laughed and then scoffed. “That was real cheesy, right?”

“A little.” But you were laughing, too. “You’re up early.” 

“Have to stay on schedule during the season.” He paused and cleared his throat. “And I’ve got some packing to do before I come back to Louisville.” So he’s cleared. “I’ll be back for Friday night for sure.” 

“That’s great, Jack.” You rubbed at your eye with one hand. “Bet you’re happy.”

“I am. I miss my bed.” You didn’t know how to answer him, but he spoke again before the silence stretched for too long. “And about a ticket … I can get you in on Friday.” What? “Actually…” He trailed off, and a few seconds later, Jack sighed. “Do you think your friend and her brother would want to come with you?”

“I can see. I’m not sure. It’s a Friday night, so she’s probably going to be with her boyfriend, but -”

“Invite him too.” Jack said your name. “Give me a couple hours, and I’ll let you know for sure, but four of you shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Jack.” Sitting up straight, you held your phone tightly with one hand. “It’s -”

“I know.” You could tell that he was smiling, and when Jack spoke again, you heard the laughter in his voice. “I want to.” You didn’t argue, lifting your free hand and biting down on one knuckle. I want you to, too. “I know you’ve gotta work today, but can I call you back later? I need to make sure I’ve got tickets, and -”

“Of course. I’ve got a meeting at 11:30, but aside from that, I’ll be able to answer all day.” 

You hung up soon after that, Jack telling you to have a good morning and you repeating the same back to him. But you didn’t get out of bed right away, instead lowering your phone and staring at the ceiling in shock. What the fuck did I get myself into? 

— 

He called back a little after 1 PM, his cheerful voice loud in your ear. “Tickets are yours. All you’ll have to do is go to Will Call and give ‘em your name and they’ll be able to help you.” 

“Four of them?” He confirmed. “Thank you, Jack. I wasn’t… I didn’t think you’d…” 

“Well I did. And you’re welcome. I hardly ever ask for anything, and the ticket lady the players talk to loves me, so this was easy.” But the confirmation that you had tickets raised an issue for you - and it required you to explain it to Jack. 

“Erin’s going to ask how I got them.” Leaning back in your chair, you stared up at the ceiling. “And I don’t want to lie to her.” 

“So don’t.” His tone was matter of fact, Jack’s next words shocking you. “Tell her I got them for you.” But that will bring up what happened the other day. “Didn’t you tell her you were goin’ out with me last weekend?”

“No. I didn’t tell anyone.” He was silent in response, which surprised you a little. Why is that a shock to him? Did he really think I’d tell people? “That’s not my style, Jack.” 

“I appreciate that, darlin’.” It made you smile again, especially with the way his voice dropped as he spoke the word. “But you tell her whatever you need to. You don’t need to keep me a secret.” 

“I don’t think I need to tell her everything to offer her tickets to a game, but I’ll keep that in mind.” He laughed at you, the sound turning into a groan - and you savored the sound of it, biting your lip before you continued. “I’ll let you know for sure after I talk to her, but I’ll definitely be there on Friday even if they’re not.” 

“Good. That’s real good.” Jack cleared his throat. “I’m gettin’ ready to go to the stadium now, so if I don’t answer, that’s why.” He doesn’t need to explain himself to me. I don’t… why is he doing this? “Talk to you soon?”

“Sure.” Your smile widened, and when the two of you hung up a few seconds later, you tossed your phone down onto your desk. Shit. 

Things were escalating quickly, thanks to Jack taking the initiative - and it stunned you. He hadn’t mentioned seeing you again, though, which gave you pause. But he’s going to be busy before Friday, and then he’s got games all weekend, so there might not be time. Maybe that’s why he didn’t suggest it.

A quick check of the schedule told you that the team was leaving for a short road trip on Sunday afternoon, which meant that he’d be on the go almost immediately. So it makes sense. I’ll just see him from the seats. 

It was somewhat disappointing, there was no way around it. But the fact that he’d invited you in the first place cheered you up enough that you reached for your phone again, opening your messages with Erin. 

Hey, got something to ask you. Call me when you’re done with work? 

— 

Her phone call came just after 5 that day, Erin’s greeting friendly but curious before she jumped right in. “You usually don’t ask to ask me things. Why today?” 

“What are you doing Friday?” Tilting your head back, you closed your eyes and enjoyed the heat of the sun on your face. “Friday night, I mean. After work?” 

“Troy and I were going to go to dinner, but that’s about it.” Perfect. “Why? What are you doing on Friday?” 

“Do you want to go to the Statesman game?” You paused, opening your eyes and looking out at your yard. “You and Troy and Caleb?” She was quiet for a few seconds and you were too, waiting. “I’ve got four tickets, and -”

“Isn’t it Players Weekend? I thought it was sold out. Caleb’s been talking about it for like a month.” 

“It is. And yeah, it’s sold out. But I was offered tickets. Free tickets.” 

“From where?” There it is. “Did they reach out because they saw your post about Caleb and Jack?” You thought of Jack’s words - of him telling you to tell Erin, of his assurances that it was alright for you to talk about knowing him. I’m still not going to tell her everything, but … 

“No. It wasn’t the team, Erin. It was Jack.” You heard her intake of breath, but before she could say anything, you continued. “He messaged me after he saw it the other day, and we ended up going out on Sunday night for -”

“You what?!” She screeched the words in your ear and then laughed. “Shut the fuck up.” 

“We went and got ice cream. He was up here to work out with the team and to take pictures for next weekend, and had no plans, so…” 

“So you went out with him. Fuck me, that’s wild. I told you making that post was worth it. So you went out on a date and then he offered you tickets for another game? Why four? Why not just -”

“I’m not sure.” Standing, you stepped out onto the grass, the blades of it cool against your feet. “But he called me this morning and suggested it. He specifically mentioned you and Caleb, but I have no idea where the tickets are, so I can’t promise anything.” 

“He called you? He must like you.” She laughed, the sound turning into a hum. “What else happened Sunday aside from the ice cream?” She was teasing you - and there was no concrete reason for you to answer her, but you did anyway. 

“He came back here for a little while.” Curling your toes, you let out a long sigh. “He didn’t stay the night, though. So -”

“Good for you.” She said your name, waiting until you were quiet to say anything else. “And now he’s offering you tickets. You definitely made an impression.” Your mind wandered back to the time you’d spent with him - to the way his mouth felt as it met yours and the way his hands skated over your skin as they explored your body. He definitely left an impression on me. “I don’t think we should tell Caleb where the tickets are coming from, because he’ll never let you hear the end of it.” She hummed, the woman clearly thinking on her end of the line. “But we’ll go on Friday. It sounds fun.”

“We can take one car. I’ll pick you up.” Walking back to your patio, you paused at the edge of it. “And … Erin? Maybe don’t tell Troy either. Jack said that I could tell you that they’re from him, but I don’t … I don’t know what’s going on, so -”

“My lips are sealed.” She laughed again. “I do have one question, though.” I can already tell this is going to be a doozy. “What’s he like? He handsy? Does he talk a lot? How does he kiss?”

“He’s … thorough.” Your cheeks heated as you spoke, your fingers curling around your phone. Very thorough. “And I would very much like to kiss him again.” A lot. Erin snorted at your reply, muttering the words I knew it under her breath. “He’s nice, Erin. Confident and a little cocky, but not insufferable about it. A little girl interrupted us while we were eating, and he didn’t get mad. He took a couple minutes to talk to her about baseball, and it was just …a relief, I guess? I don’t know. I’m glad he’s not an asshole.” 

“I am too. That would be really disappointing.” It would. “But I’m going to drive home now. Work kicked my ass today, and I need to eat.” She let you know that she’d get ahold of you after she talked to Troy and Caleb, and then you hung up, deciding to go back inside so that you could start dinner, too. 

While you cooked, you sent a message to Jack, giving him an update. You kept it simple, giving yourself no time to overthink your words. 

Erin’s in. Looks like it’ll be all four of us Friday. 

You figured he wouldn’t reply, but your phone vibrated a few minutes later with his answer. 

Real happy to hear that. It’s gonna be a good game. 

You thought that was it, but moments later another message came through - and there was a picture attached to it. Second to last time I’m putting on this uniform.

It was slightly blurry and off-center, but it was of Jack. He was dressed in his uniform and missing his hat, the grin on his face wide. You looked closer, seeing that he was standing in front of his locker, and realized that he’d likely taken the photo only moments before sending it. That means it was for me, and… “Shit.” 

If he’d sent you a photo, that meant he was probably waiting for a reply. You didn’t keep him waiting, sending back a winking emoji along with the text: Looking good, Jack - DAMN. But I think I prefer your other uniform. 

It was just flirty enough to let him know you appreciated it, and not over the top the point he’d think you were being clingy. But after a few minutes, you saw that the message had been delivered - and unread … which meant he’d see it after the game. And that means I have a few hours to relax. 

But you didn’t relax. Instead, you ate dinner on the couch and tried not to think too hard about the Friday night game. 

— 

You were a few minutes early to Erin’s on Friday, and Caleb was already waiting in the front yard when you pulled up. 

You heard him yelling for Erin and Troy, even with the windows shut. By the time he was reaching for the door handle, you were laughing, head tilted down and one palm flat against your forehead. “Hey, Caleb. Let me guess… you’re excited.” 

“Of course I am.” He settled into the back seat, buckling in. “Aren’t you? Won’t be as cool as what happened the last game, but my mom gave me money to buy a new jersey.” Well, for me, it’s even more cool, but you don’t know that.

“Oh yeah?” You caught his eye in the rearview mirror, grinning. “Whose are you gonna get?” The look on his face was answer enough, just like you’d assumed. “Jack, then. Hopefully they have one in your size.” 

Erin and Troy approached the car, the woman letting him pass her so that he could sit in the back with Caleb while she took her place next to you. But it was him that spoke first, greeting you and reaching forward to squeeze your shoulder before he was fully situated. “Thank you for driving. And thanks for the tickets.” 

“Yeah, thank you!” Caleb joined in, nodding enthusiastically. “Mom also said we’re supposed to -”

“My mother,” Erin interjected, reaching for the volume knob to twist the radio’s sound lower. “She said we’re supposed to buy you dinner tonight, as a thank you.” 

“It’s not necessary.” Heading down the street, you shrugged. “It’s not like I paid for these tickets, so if we split parking, it’s even.” 

“Still.” She elbowed you. “We’re going to buy you dinner and maybe a drink or two.” I might need those.

The four of you made small talk on the drive downtown, though the closer you got to the stadium, the quieter you got while they kept things going. Why am I nervous? It’s not like I’m going to run into him. 

But there was a chance you’d see him, and that Jack would see you. It seemed inevitable that Caleb would want to go back down closer to the field in an attempt to meet the man a second time. And if that happened, you couldn’t just hang back with Erin, letting Troy sit with the boy. No. I’d have to go, otherwise it looks like I’m avoiding him after he did something nice for us today. 

You were early enough that there was still available parking in the attached garage, and before you could do anything about it, Troy stuck his hand out the window, debit card held firmly between his fingers. 

Erin laughed about it as you pulled away to park, but all you managed was a tiny smile and quiet thank you before slipping into a space. Here goes nothing. 

The four of you joined the slow trickle of other fans heading toward the elevators. After getting on, Caleb inserted himself between Erin and Troy while you leaned against the far wall, chewing on your lower lip. 

“We have to go to Will Call first.” You looked at the preteen, raising a brow. “We can’t just run to get in line like last time.” 

He grumbled back that he knew, and you laughed, your mood lightening considerably. And as your group exited the elevator and turned toward where the ticketing windows were, you stayed that way. Troy offered to wait with Caleb so you weren’t all crowding the line, and you agreed, thankful for a few minutes of time alone with your friend. 

“He’s going to want to go and meet the players.” She spoke quietly, leaning closer to you. “What happens when you see -”

“Nothing.” You shrugged, taking a breath. “Or, nothing weird, I hope. He seems like the kind of guy that wouldn’t make a big deal of what happened.” 

“What about you?” You stepped forward, only a few people between you and the windows. “Can you be cool about it?”

“I’d hope so.” You looked over at her, grinning. “It wasn’t awkward when he left, so I think I did pretty well there.” She didn’t say anything else until it was your turn, Erin stepping forward with you and waiting to see what you’d say. “Hi. I’m supposed to have some tickets waiting for me. I think I’m on a list?” 

The man behind the glass nodded. “I’ll need to see your ID.” Reaching into your bag, you pulled your wallet out and then handed the thin card over, sliding it through the opening. He took it and started typing, his eyes on the computer screen in front of him. “Oh.” He hummed, tipping his head to the side, and then reached for the phone beside the device. “Hey, we need to send someone from SL down to ticketing to pick up a group.” 

You glanced over at Erin, confused, but her expression was the same as yours. SL? What’s that? Turning your head, you looked over at Caleb and Troy, the little boy seated on a stone wall while he looked up to talk to the man. Why do we need to be picked up? The sound of your name got your attention, and you looked back at the window, sucking in a breath. “Yeah? Sorry. I -”

“If you and your group will step off to the side by the door,” he pointed, still smiling. “Someone will be down in a few minutes to escort you in.” He slid your ID back to you. “Have a good night.” You thanked him, somewhat dazed, and turned toward the door, Erin close behind you. 

“We didn’t get tickets? What happens now? What did -” 

“Fuck if I know, Erin. I have no idea what’s going on.” She waved her brother and fiance over, the two of them meeting you moments later. 

“What’s going on? Where are the tickets?” Troy looked between you, frowning. “Do we need to -”

“Someone’s coming to get us.” You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your shorts. “I know nothing else.” Jack had seemed certain that he had tickets available for you, so you weren’t worried about getting into the stadium, but as to whatever else happened, you were clueless. Maybe it’s one of the lower sections. Maybe it’s the club section and we need wristbands or something. 

No one had anything else to say, and by the time the door opened a minute or so later, you were even more confused. But the woman - who introduced herself as Mary - put you at ease. “Welcome to Players Weekend.” She opened the door fully, greeting you by name. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to your seats for the game.” Sneaking a look at your friends after you thanked her, you caught Erin’s eye, the woman’s gleaming with intrigue. “It’s a little busy tonight, so make sure you stay close.” 

You did - following Mary as she led you down a short hallway and then through another set of doors and onto the lower concourse. You felt better one you were inside with the crowd, the thought that since you were in the stadium, that was all that mattered crossing your mind. 

But your thoughts blanked as she led the four of you toward a third set of doors and used a badge hanging from her belt to unlock them. “Where are we going?” Caleb broke the silence, the boy pushing forward to stand next to you. “I’ve never been in here before.” 

“This is the entrance to the dugout suites.” Mary looked down at him, her smile gentle. “Not many people have been in them before.” The dugout suites? Freezing at her words, your mouth dropped open. Jack, what did you do? “Come on. Yours is one of the cozier ones, but it’s one of my personal favorites.” A fucking suite? 

You walked down another hallway, the space curving to follow the shape of the stadium, and you realized that you were heading toward the Statesman’s dugout. Your head whipped to the side and you saw that Troy had put that together, too, his eyes wide and his grin threatening to split his face. “A suite? Right by where the players are?” Caleb was next to Mary, the boy’s voice loud. “Why are we -” 

“I don’t know.” She stopped in front of a door that had the words CHAMPAGNE LOUNGE engraved onto a golden plaque next to the team’s logo before reaching for the keycard again “But I do know that you’re going to have an amazing time.” She swiped the card and the light turned green. “Go ahead. Open the door.” Caleb looked back at you and you nodded, lips pressed together in a thin line. 

He opened the door and cautiously peeked inside, but as soon as he saw something, he darted in, leaving the rest of you standing in the hallway. Erin called after him, rushing forward and following him inside, but Mary only laughed, pushing the door all the way open and gesturing for you to follow. 

“The view is incredible, I don’t blame him for being excited.” 

She wasn’t lying. The entire back wall of the suite was windows so that the field stretched out in front of you, a cluster of seats on a small porch visible through the tinted glass. Caleb was busy pulling the door open to get to where they were, but you stopped just inside of the room, shaking your head. “This is too much, I just …” 

“My advice?” Mary looked at you, raising her eyebrow. “Enjoy it.” I will, but… “This is the Champagne Lounge.” 

“As in the team owner?” Troy stepped forward, arms crossed. “That Champagne?”

“Yes.” Mary nodded, giving you a wink. “He chose the decor, so that’s not on us, but …” You really looked around for the first time and had to bite back a laugh at the way it was decorated. I mean it makes sense, but … 

Everything was rustic and warm, the countertops and table surfaces made from gleaming wood. The floor looked a little rougher and worn, and you saw a few small area rugs scattered throughout the space, which made it more inviting. “You have a full menu available to you.” She moved toward the counter, picking up a small binder. “There are snacks and drinks along the back wall,” she pointed with one hand, flipping the pages open. “Left fridge is water and soda. The other is filled with beer, and there are a couple bottles of the Statesman/Whiskey collaboration for you to use.” He shield the binder up. “But if you want other kinds of mixed drinks, they’re all in here and you can order them to be delivered. Same with the food options.”

“How much -”

“Everything is complimentary.” Her smile was soft. “You’ll have an attendant that will come and check on you once I’ve let them know you’re in here, and they’ll be available whenever you need them through the tablet on the counter. But anything in this menu is fair game.” 

It made your head spin. You’d assumed that you’d have tickets somewhere decent - maybe in the lower level - but hadn’t ever even dreamed that Jack would get you a suite, much less Champ’s suite. 

“There’s also something for you in that box over there.” Mary gestured toward a white, rectangular box that was sitting on a small side table. What the hell is that? “There’s a bathroom back here,” she pointed at the side wall, and then put her hand on her hip. “The door does lock if you go out into the hallway, so once all of you leave the suite, you can’t get back in.” 

“Ok.” You nodded, blinking slowly. “It’s taking me a little while to catch up. This is … I wasn’t expecting these seats, and …” She laughed, asking if there was anything else you needed, and when you said no, she turned away and headed for the door, letting you know that someone else would be in a few minutes later. 

And once she was gone, you finally exhaled, covering your face with both hands. “You must have done something right. This is fucking insane!” Erin put her hands on your shoulders, saying your name. “How did -”

“I don’t know.” Biting your lip, you shook your head rapidly. “I have no fucking idea, this is …” 

“Are you guys coming out here?” Caleb poked his head in, his eyes bulging. “You can see the whole place. We’re right next to the dugout. I can see the steps where the players walk out onto the field!” Troy took a few steps forward and Erin followed, looking back at you. 

“Give me a second.” You could tell she was worried, but she still went, leaving you alone in the interior of the suite. After spinning slowly around to take everything in, you reached for your phone, fingers shaking as you opened your text with Jack. The last message was from him, sent hours earlier - and telling you to enjoy the game. 

You didn’t know what to think. You wanted to let him know you were grateful, but didn’t trust your voice not to waver in a voice message. So you settled for raising the device and taking a selfie, the suite and field visible behind you. 

This is too much, Jack. But thank you. I don’t even know what else to say. 

He was likely getting ready in the locker room - and you didn’t know if he’d even see the message before taking the field. But he’ll see it later. And he’ll see what time I sent it. You were just getting ready to put your phone away and join your friends when a message popped up on the screen. 

You’re welcome. But where’s your jersey? 

“What jersey?” You hadn’t ever told him that you owned one, but when your eyes flicked over to the white box again, your stomach dropped. He didn’t. Leaving your phone on the counter, you approached the box, dimly aware of the sounds of your friends talking through the open door. Using both hands, you lifted the lid, swearing as the contents came into view. “Jesus, Jack. What the fuck.” 

There was a note sitting atop the bright yellow fabric, and with unsteady hands you reached for it, heart pounding while you read the words. 

(Note text: Couldn’t start the game dirty. Thought you might want this though. JD)

You lifted it out of the box, holding it up in front of you. Immediately, your eyes were drawn to a black smudge on one shoulder, and you laughed as you realized what it was from. He’s worn this. 

It was the jersey he’d worn in the promo shots, and the smudge was from the bat where it had rested on his shoulder. And I get to keep it? 

Before you could second guess yourself, you pulled the jersey on over the clothing you wore, leaving it unbuttoned. Shivering at the thought that the last person to have worn it was him, you leaned back over and grabbed your phone before heading outside. 

Erin’s eyes widened at the sight of you, and Troy also looked surprised, but after a swift shake of the head from your friend, he stayed quiet. Please do. I don’t want to talk about this right now. 

Caleb was standing on one of the seats, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the ledge in front of him. Instead of saying anything to your friends, you focused on him, calling out his name. “We got a pretty good view, hmm?”

“Yeah. The on deck circle is right there. Theres a net in the way, but it doesn’t matter. We’ll get to watch everyone while they wait to hit.” What? You crossed the small space and stood next to him, also resting your elbows on the ledge. “Do you think I can take pictures of the batters?”

“I don’t see why not.” You eyed the ground in front of you, the Statesman logo almost mocking you. It’s so close. He’s going to be right there before he bats. “Just make sure the flash is off. I feel like it would be pretty distracting otherwise.” He agreed with you, nodding. 

“Hey, take a picture of us.” Erin leaned forward, holding her phone out. “We’ll send it to my mom.” You did as she asked, taking a few of the three of them standing in front of the netting. It was only then that Caleb saw what you were wearing, the boy asking you question after question that you answered with partial truths. 

You didn’t want to lie to him, but knew Erin was right; telling Caleb that you and Jack were in contact wasn’t a good idea. Not yet. Not until I know more about what this is. But seeing your jersey brought up the fact that if you couldn’t get back into the suite after leaving, there was no way for Caleb to get his. 

He was disappointed until the suite attendant appeared a few minutes later to take your food order - and then asked if there was anything else she could do for you. “Is there any way he could go and buy a jersey? We didn’t know we’d be in a suite, so we didn’t stop on the way, and he’s -”

“Of course.” She looked down at Caleb, grinning. “I can take you, or one of the adults here can come with us.” She pointed. “There’s a team shop right above where we are.”

‘I’ll go with you, buddy.” Troy stepped forward, reaching out to ruffle Caleb’s hair. “Might want to get one of my own.” He looked over at you and winked, and it took everything in you not to groan. Smooth, Troy. 

They left you and Erin moments later, and as soon as the door shut behind them, she whirled to face you, her eyes wide. 

“We’re in the owner’s suite. He gave you the fucking jersey he wore to do promo shots for this weekend.” She scoffed, raising her voice. “Fuck, that’s probably the first Statesman uniform he’s had on since he got hurt, and now it’s yours.” She paused, gesturing toward the field. “You must have been amazing in bed, because -”

“Erin.” Holding both hands up, you shook your head. “I’m just as confused as you are. He said he wanted to see me again, but when he asked about tickets for this weekend, he didn’t mention anything after, just… this.” You used one hand to indicate the suite you were in. “And by this I mean tickets. I had no idea it was going to be a suite. It’s too much.” 

“Maybe he’s hoping for a really nice ‘thank you’ blowj-”

“I don’t think so.” You cut her off, sinking into one of the chairs and crossing your arms. “I asked if I could the other night, and he said no, because we didn’t know each other well enough. And I don’t think that’s changed.” 

You didn’t want to admit that the same thought had crossed your mind - that Jack was being so generous because he expected something in return. But he didn’t hesitate to ask for things in bed. If it happens again, he’d just tell me what he wanted so that I could either say yes or no. 

“You’re joking.” She sat next to you, crossing her legs and leaning closer. I’m not. “Did … did you even have sex? Because if you didn’t, and he’s doing this? Then -”

“We did.” It was a relief to admit it, even though you hated the idea of spreading personal details. “And it was good, Erin. Like, really fucking good. But there’s no way it was this good, especially for him. You’ve seen the same things online that I have about him. No one’s ever … people would talk about him doing this for them. And no one has.”

“So maybe they lied.” She shrugged. “Maybe they said he wasn’t attentive or interested in more than one night because it was their way of dealing with the fact that he never called them again.” She bit her lip. “Maybe it was them wanting to get the last word in and make it harder for him to do the same in the future.” She reached out, taking your hand and squeezing it. “And maybe the ones that he did this stuff for, if he has in the past? Maybe they respected him enough to keep it quiet.” 

She’s probably right. You swallowed hard, turning your head to look through the netting and at the field. For everyone that had said something negative about their experience with Jack online, there had to be others with good experiences that had kept their mouths shut. And I’m one of those. “What would I do without you?” Squeezing her hand before you let go, you stood again and went back inside of the suite, Erin following closely. “Want a drink? We can open these bottles of Statesman, according to Mary.” 

She did - and by the time Caleb, Troy and the attendant came back a little while later, the two of you were laughing over your drinks, a few of the bags of snacks open on the table between you. Both guys had bought jerseys - Caleb’s was a smaller version of yours, while Troy was wearing one of the Statesman home blues, Jack’s last name and number on the back. 

The food arrived shortly after, and once each of you had made a plate, you headed back outside to sit in the seats and watch the on-field activity, Caleb narrating around mouthfuls of chicken tenders and french fries. 

You relaxed the longer you sat with your friends, and by the time the players started to come onto the field for warm-ups, you’d talked yourself into a state of calm. 

Sort of. 

You were fine until Jack took the field, a chorus of cheers coming from further down the third base line - the same as it had been when you and Caleb had seen him the previous week. Erin shot you a look but you ignored it, instead watching as he began his stretches, the same dark-haired woman supervising each movement. 

He looked good, and even though it had only been a little over a week since you’d seen him play, you could tell that he was stronger, too. “He looks better, right Caleb?” You nudged the boy, smiling at him. “Less hesitation when he -”

“He’s really stretching out those calves, hmm?” Erin cleared her throat. “He’s very flexible.” You glared at her and she wrinkled her nose and winked, but didn’t say anything else, even as Troy snorted into his drink. She’s not wrong, though. 

“Sorry we won’t get to meet the players today, kiddo.” Leaning forward, you propped your elbow up on the ledge in front of you before resting your chin on your hand. “I know how much you wanted to do that.”

“Are you kidding?” He turned to look at you, rolling his eyes. “This is way better. We get to see everyone up close.” You agreed - and so did Troy, and for the next few minutes, the four of you watched the players in silence, though your attention was specifically on Jack and his trainer. 

When he stepped out of view to talk to fans in the stands, you decided to go back inside and make yourself a second drink - the last one you were planning on having, since you had to drive home. Once it was mixed you lifted the cup to your lips, your other hand on the bottle. Just enjoy tonight. It doesn’t have to be more than this. You swiped your thumb slowly over where his signature was etched into the glass and took a deep breath before turning to head back outside. 

But when you reached the door, you paused, sucking in a breath at the sight of Jack crouched down in front of the netting and talking to Caleb, Erin and Troy. He must have caught your movement in his peripheral, because he looked up and nodded, his grin widening. “There she is.” 

“Hello, Whiskey.” You raised your glass, giving him a genuine smile, even as your heart pounded. “Welcome back to Louisville.” 

“It’s good to be here.” His lips twitched, one hand lifting to pull his hat off before he repositioned it on his head, never breaking eye contact. “You got the good seats tonight.” 

“We do. The good liquor, too.” That got a laugh out of him, Jack rising to his feet and straightening his shoulders as you brought the drink to your lips. 

“Enjoy yourselves. I’ve gotta get goin’.” He turned away and paused, putting a hand on his hip before he spun back to face all of you. What are you going to say, Jack? “Nice jersey, by the way.” You nearly choked on the liquid in your mouth at his words, and if Jack’s quiet laugh was any indication, he was very aware of it. You jackass. 

You caught his wink and then he did disappear, heading down the stairs and into the dugout. Ok, that could have gone worse. It could have gone better, too, but at least you hadn’t made a fool of yourself in front of him - which was the important thing.

The sound of Caleb talking about how Jack remembered him faded as you went back inside, setting your drink down on the counter and then gripping the edge of it, head lowered. The hard part’s over. He saw me and he knows I’m here, and he saw me in the - 

“He likes you.” Troy was right behind you, and even though you jumped at the sound of his voice, you recovered quickly, spinning to look at him. What? “He walked over and immediately said hi to Caleb, but he looked around and he seemed disappointed. And then you came outside and his mood changed.” Troy’s smile widened, and he stuck his tongue into his cheek briefly before saying anything else. “And if he looked for you, that means he knew you were going to be here, and -”

Shit. Is it that obvious? “I’m not going to confirm or deny a goddamn thing.”

“You just did.” Troy laughed, reaching out with one hand to squeeze your arm. “Good for you, though. He seems like fun.” You have no idea. “We should go back out there. The game’s going to start.” 

Wordlessly, you followed Troy back out and into the seating area - just as the request to rise for the National Anthem blared out through the loudspeakers.

— 

By the sixth inning, you weren’t worried about what was going on between you and Jack anymore. Instead, you were upset, because The Statesman were losing. 

It was no fault of Jack’s, though - he’d gotten a single and walked in his two at bats, the crowd giving him a standing ovation each time he headed to home plate. He’d also made a few really good plays at third - one of them throwing out someone at home as the other team tried to bunt in a run. 

The rest of the team was the problem, with errors made in the outfield, a dropped ball by the shortstop and three really bad pitches that had resulted in six total runs scored. There was still time for a comeback, and even though chances were growing slimmer by the minute, a three run deficit wasn’t too much to overcome. 

When Jack took his place in the on-deck circle, there were two men on and only one out. You stayed in the position that you’d been in for most of the game - arms crossed and elbows resting on the wall in front of you, leaning as close to the action as you could get. 

Watching him up close was special, and you’d snapped a few pictures in his earlier at bats of him bending over and adding the weights to the bat before he swung, as well as of him with it perched on his shoulder and in motion. It wasn’t just Jack that you photographed, but you paid more attention to him than the others. 

You were so close that you could hear the players grunting and groaning as they took their practice swings, as well as some of the things they yelled back to the other players in the dugout and on the field, and Jack was vocal. It didn’t surprise you after the time you’d spent with him, but if you’d said that the way he was on-field and with his teammates and the ump crew wasn’t a turn on, it would have been a lie. 

Because if the fans got into the game, Jack was on another level. 

He paused in his swings to watch the at bat in front of him, and after one particularly bad call, you heard his disdain for the ump - the man’s shout of “That wasn’t a damn strike even in a little league game!” clearly audible, as was the way he ducked his head toward the ground and kicked the dirt in a side-to-side motion with one cleat while he repeated the word “bullshit” under his breath. 

During a visit to the mound by the catcher, Jack looked over at where you were, locking eyes with you and rolling his, mouthing the word “bullshit” again. You laughed in return, mouthing the words I know, before shaking your head. It was easier than you’d thought it would be to interact with him, and part of you wondered if it was because it was pointed but not personal, and that he wasn’t hiding his actions.

The entire stadium groaned when the batter popped out and the runners couldn’t advance, but those groans turned into cheers when Jack’s walk up music started, and your breath caught in your throat again when he looked over at your suite before he headed to the plate, smirking and giving you a quick wink. 

“He changed his song!” Erin leaned over, elbowing you a few times. “This is my favorite one!” It was yours, too - and you’d always thought that it was a little inappropriate for an MLB stadium filled with kids - but that day, you didn’t care. 

He strutted toward the batter’s box as Pony blared through the speakers, and you didn’t look away for a second. And neither did any of the other women in this stadium if those cheers are anything to go by. 

He stepped into the box and then got ready, kicking at the dirt and using one hand to tug on the front of his jersey, making sure that the chain he wore was resting flush against his chest, and not on top of the material. He took a few practice swings and then tapped the bat against the plate, releasing a breath and nodding before settling the lumber back on his shoulder. 

“C’mon Jack!” You yelled the words and smacked your palm on the wall a few times, shaking your head. “Bring ‘em home!” Erin laughed next to you, but she also cheered, and then Caleb joined in, the three of you going silent just before the pitcher set and threw. 

It was a ball - so far inside that it almost hit Jack, but he stayed in place, cocking his head to the side as he lifted the bat and took another swing before settling it back in place. 

The crowd was loud - roaring out his name when Jack swung at the next pitch and made contact. The noise increased until it hooked foul, everyone wincing and groaning. He didn’t even run, though. He knew it wasn’t fair. Jack adjusted his gloves and then stepped back into the box, getting situated just in time for another pitch - that one ball two. 

“A single scores one.” Troy reached up, linking his fingers through the netting as he leaned closer. “A double will score both, and -” Jack swung and missed, and you lowered your head, swearing. Fuck. “Come on Daniels!” Troy let go of the fence and clapped his hands. “Just wait for your pitch!” 

He didn’t swing the next time and as the count ran full, the atmosphere in the stadium changed considerably. If no one scores here, the game’s over. It was a nervous energy that coursed through you, but when you looked back at Jack, you saw that he was still calm, his grip on the bat handle loose as he stepped out of the batter’s box and looked around the stadium. 

“He’s going to strike out.” Troy sat back, shaking his head. “This pitcher’s been too good today.” 

“No, he’s not.” Caleb scowled at the man, phone in hand. “He’s going to get a hit.” He jumped up and down a few times. “He has to.” 

“Whatever happens, it needs to happen now because I feel sick to my stomach.” You mumbled the words, lowering your head and groaning. “Come on, Jack.” You wet your lips and looked back at him, watching as he rocked back and forth, awaiting the pitch. 

You knew as soon as he swung that bat that he’d make contact - and when, moments later, the crack of the connection reached your ears, you knew it was gone. And so did Jack, the man keeping his eye on the ball as he headed to first, and then throwing both hands up into the air and cheering as he rounded the base.

“Fuck yeah, Jack!” You jumped up and down and then turned to hug Erin, the woman squealing in your ear before she let go and reached for Troy, who was shaking Caleb back and forth in celebration, the boy yelling in excitement. 

You focused back on the field - where the two men that had been on base were waiting at home plate for Jack. When he rounded 3rd, you cheered louder, clapping your hands and yelling out his name. There was little chance that he could hear you over the others in the stadium, and when he got to home and stomped on the base, the other two engulfing him in celebration and knocking his hat off, you wished that you’d had your camera out - and had gotten the moment on video. 

The three of them headed back in your direction, Jack at the center of the group, and even though it was fast, you didn’t miss his glance at your suite, or the tiny nod and smirk he gave you when you grinned up at him, biting down on the inside of your lip. Oh, shit. 

“That was awesome!” Caleb’s voice broke the moment, and when you looked over, you saw that he was following the three men with his phone. “And I got it all on video!” He lowered the device and then beamed up at you and his sister. “If I send it to you, will you post it?”

“That’s a long video to post, buddy.” Troy settled back into his seat, scrubbing a hand over his face as the next batter swung and missed. “But it’s really cool that you got it all.” He looked sad but agreed, and when Caleb looked at you again, you raised a brow. 

“You can still send it to me if you want, though. I’d love to watch it.” And to see if he got that smirk in there, because… damn. 

He told you he would once you were out of the stadium, and then Caleb tucked his phone away and returned his attention to the field, where the batter had just struck out, ending the inning. But they’re tied now, and that’s all that matters.  

For the next two and a half innings, neither team scored, which meant that it all came down to the bottom of the ninth. Jack was due to bat third, which meant you’d get to see him once more that night. And that might be it for a while. 

You’d taken advantage of the suite during the game, getting more to eat and drink, ordering ice cream sundaes that were delivered by your attendant, and watching a few at bats on the TV mounted to one wall instead of live in front of you. It was an experience that you’d never forget, and you’d heard your friends say the same throughout the night. 

Neither Erin or Troy had said anything about Jack’s wink or the nod, but you knew that they’d seen both. She wouldn’t spill your secrets to him, but you knew he’d likely ask, and part of you wondered what would happen if things continued between you and Jack, even on just a friendly basis. I’d have to tell them then.

The attendant told you that both bottles of Statesman were yours to take, and so between the 8th and 9th innings, you’d packed them up into the provided boxes and then tucked them into a bag that she’d left for you, along with the partially eaten candy and popcorn - figuring that they were just going to toss it anyway if you left it behind. 

And when the Statesman came up to bat for the final time, you rushed back out into the seats, standing between Erin and the left wall of the suite and drumming your fingers nervously against the concrete. 

That time, Jack paid no attention to the crowds while he waited to hit, instead crossing his legs at the ankle and leaning against the end of his bat, eyes on his teammate. “Just get on base.” You whispered the words, looking toward home. “Give Jack a chance.” 

The game meant very little in the grand scheme of things. 

The Statesman weren’t close to leading in the standings, and it would have taken a lot to get them to a contending position for the playoffs. But you still wanted them to win, if for no other reason than to top off Jack’s return. He did his part, though. He tied it up. 

And the man at the plate did his part, too, knocking a single between second and third, which meant that Jack got to the plate with one on and nobody out, his walk up song back to the one he’d used for his first two at bats. 

Caleb was nearly vibrating with excitement, his phone out and aimed at Jack once more - and you decided to do the same. Fuck it, you thought, pressing the record button. I’m just a fan right now. He took the first pitch - a called strike - and you watched him shake his head in disagreement, though he didn’t argue for too long. 

The second pitch slipped from the pitcher’s hand and veered downward, and even though Jack moved quickly, he couldn’t get out of the way. It hit the ankle guard he wore and bounced away, and for a few horrifying seconds, you worried that his return to the team would be short lived. 

The entire stadium booed, but the sound turned to a cheer when Jack bent over and pulled the protection off, tossing it to the side along with his batting helmet, and jogged to first. His trainer was close behind, the woman’s arms crossed over her chest as she assessed his condition and finally gave him the go-ahead to stay in. 

The game continued once she’d jogged back across the field and into the dugout, and you - along with thousands of others - watched anxiously, waiting. 

You didn’t have long to wait. On the third pitch of the at bat, he blooped a hit into shallow right, the ball hitting the ground and then skipping through the legs of the outfielder. 

The entire stadium roared, and the four of you did, too, cheering and clapping as the winning run crossed the plate. Erin wrapped you in her arms in celebration, but you kept your eyes on the field. I don’t want to miss this. Jack didn’t even finish rounding the bases and instead cut across the infield and headed for home, both arms out in front of him as he clapped and cheered. 

He’d lost his hat again as he hurried in, and by the time he was hugging his teammate, all of them jumping up and down, his hair had curled over his forehead - one lock hanging between his eyes. He got swallowed up in the crowd of people and you turned away, pulling free from Erin’s hold. 

“Hell yeah!” Troy pumped his fist in the air. “What a win.” It took a few seconds, but all of you managed to calm down and look back at the field, watching as the teams did their congratulatory handshakes and then broke for the dugouts and locker rooms. 

Jack got pulled for an interview, but you could barely see it, and so the four of you began to pack up, heading back inside after one final look at the field. The attendant was back, and she asked if you wanted a group photo before you left - something that Caleb agreed to for all of you. 

But once those were taken on all four phones, you had no reason to stay in the suite. She led you back down the hallway and to the main concourse, thanking you for coming and telling you to have a safe drive home before saying goodbye.

It was strange to be around so many people again after having no crowd to deal with for the entire night, but the mood was cheerful, and that hadn’t changed after walking back to the car and putting everything you carried into the trunk. 

You hoped you wouldn’t have to sit in traffic for very long. Because you’d gotten to the game so early and were on one of the lower garage floors, you got your wish. Only ten minutes later, you were out of the garage and on your way home. Caleb and Troy were having an intense conversation in the back seat, and Erin was leaning against her window, head propped up on one hand. 

“That was really cool.” You nodded, keeping your eyes on the road. “Make sure you thank the person that got those tickets for us.” You knew what she was doing - but refused to take the bait. “Or I can, if -”

“I’ll text when I get home.” You narrowed your eyes and looked over at her. “I promise.” You heard Troy snort in the back seat, but Erin thankfully didn’t say anything else. 

Caleb was the first one out of the car as soon as you parked, the boy yelling a ‘thank you’ at you before he sprinted toward the front door, bursting to tell his parents about the game. Troy and Erin hung back, and you were surprised to hear him speak first, after leaning forward to slot himself between the seats. 

“That was really fucking cool. Please, make sure you tell Jack that we appreciated tonight.” You assured him you would, and when Erin reached over to squeeze your knee, you cleared your throat. 

“Thank both of you for being … discreet.” Shrugging, you gripped the wheel with both hands. “I don’t want to make too much of -” You were cut off when your phone rang, and thanks to the fact that it was connected to your car via Bluetooth, they were both able to see exactly who was calling: Jack. “Not a word from either of you.” 

Erin laughed, but as you reached for the screen to answer the phone, she opened the door and got out, Troy not far behind. Your finger hovered for a second and then you answered, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “Hey, Jack.” 

“I’m not interruptin’, am I?” 

“No, I just dropped everyone off, and I’m getting ready to go home.” Backing out of the driveway, you turned in the direction of your place. “What are -”

“Come over.” You sucked in a breath, looking away from the road and toward the display. What? “I mean, if you’re not busy, and want to, you can come over tonight. You should come over.”

“I don’t know where you live.” You glanced down, realizing that you were still wearing your clothes from the game. “And I need to go home and change, I’m -”

“You still wearin’ my jersey?” Confirming that you were, you were relieved to hear his groan, Jack’s continued words spoken in a much softer tone than he’d been using before. “Then you definitely don’t need to go home. I’d sure like to see you in that without a net between us.” 

You stopped at a light, pressing your fingertips to your mouth and thinking. You wanted to see him again. You wanted to spend more time with him. And if he’d called you immediately after arriving home from a walk off win, he obviously wanted to spend more time with you, too. Fuck it. Why not? 

“Alright, Jack. Send me your address and I’ll be there soon.” 

—

Sample dugout suite view:

Alternate Players Weekend photo (thank you @stealyourblorbos):

[wambsgansshoelaces]

Turmoil: Chapter 3

Roman Roy x Reader

a/n: idk what it is guys, but I kind of hate this chapter. I feel like I didn’t hit the nail on the head this time but instead hit someone in the face. garbage writing aside, I hope you enjoy x :,)

Word Count: 2.186k

Your new apartment isn’t much of an upgrade, but it’s still nice, and you’re confident you’ll be able to turn it into your own.

After his drunken confession in the car, Roman had cried, thrown up in the toilet, and promptly passed out on the couch. You think it’s best you let him sleep. He’s exhausted himself like a toddler unaware of their body.

You sit cross legged on the armchair adjacent to the couch, leaving you able to keep an eye on Roman. Sure, he was an asshole, but he’d had way too much to drink and you didn’t want him to hurt himself.

The only part of getting a new apartment that miffed you was the fact that Logan had made sure it was a single bedroom. When you’d asked him about it, he’d given you some bullshit about how you had to keep up appearances. You know it’s about the money, but you find it pointless to say so.

You decide that since you have to stay up to make sure Roman doesn’t kill himself in his drunken stupor, you’ll start on the paperwork for Connor’s lawsuit. If he really wants to waste your time, like Roman had suggested, he’d found the perfect way to do it. You begin drafting, Roman tossing and turning.

As you begin to fill out the same forms you had many times before, your mind floats elsewhere. What Roman had said in the car had admittedly made your heart flutter. The idea that there could actually be something between you two was something, to your dismay, that you wanted to explore. But because he was so damn drunk, you can’t take anything he said seriously. You doubt he’ll even remember anything when he wakes up.

He keeps shifting in his sleep, troubled, and from your vantage point you can see beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

You set aside your laptop and find a clean towelette in the kitchen. You get some ice from the fridge, chill some water, and dunk the rag into it before bringing it back to the living room.

Perching on the edge of the sofa, you gently coax Roman onto his back and drape the cool rag across his forehead after gently pushing his hair out of the way. He visibly relaxes, lips parting in a sigh.

Your heart aches a little, staring down at him. In another world, this might have worked.

But you have to stay in your current reality. And the lawsuit wouldn’t draft itself.

You don’t realize you fell asleep until you wake up the next morning. Your laptop still sits on your lap, and the stiffness in your joints is searing. Roman’s not there anymore. You don’t think he’s even in the apartment. So much for you staying to take care of him.

You find your phone on the floor. No messages from Roman, and you know the apartment is empty now. You sigh, feeling a bit dumb.

There is, however, an obscene amount of text messages from Connor. You deign not to respond, for your own mental health. Apart from Connor making you want to chuck your phone into the Hudson, there’s a message you actually find a little endearing.

At the dinner you’d asked Shiv to give your number to Greg so you two could sort things out for when you had to go to Norway.

xxx-xxx-xxxx; Unknown

Y/N,

Congratulations on your engagement, you will make a beautiful bride! I know we have some things to figure out, so I’d like to take you out for a friendly dinner. Please forward my congratulations to Roman. He has me blocked on everything.

Gregory Hirsch

You type out a response, biting back a laugh. You both agree to a casual dinner in a few days time- your treat, you insisted.

You mute Connor, who’s continued to spam you, and scroll through your emails when Kendall gives you a call. You pick up, and he asks, “Is bribery a felony?”

“Yeah, but it depends.”

“So. Hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically…”

“A man owns a large conglomerate that earns him millions. A certain politician runs a campaign that, if they were to come into power, would destroy said company from inside out because of some, er, under the table acquisitions…”

“A monopoly?”

“That’s the word. This person can’t come into power, that’d ruin things. But how do you get someone to lose that’s statistically projected to win?”

“What connections does Logan fucking have?” you hiss.

“Not on here.” Kendall sighs. “Is Roman with you? He won’t pick up his phone.”

“He got completely blackout drunk last night and passed out on the couch. I don’t know where he is.”

“He’ll turn up. Don’t worry. Board meeting in two days, okay?” He hangs up. You don’t dislike Kendall at all, he just has his… own way with words.

You’re pretty sure you can get away with working from home today. You’ll have your assistant fax whatever crosses your desk while you rot on the couch.

She does. The pictures Connor promised come through, and you thumb through them absentmindedly. Some rings, a Rolex, a jade bracelet, more expensive bullshit you don’t think anyone needs. You’ll tally the prices, inflate for ‘emotional damage’ and your time, and serve the hotel.

Your assistant texts you something about Connor bitching about the jade bracelet and how it’s one of a kind and you need to get it back. You make a note to get her a fancy gift for putting up with this bullshit.

You’re happy to have a calm day to yourself. You lounge around on the couch, idly doing some work. You hear a key moving around in the lock before Roman shoulders the door open.

He falters when he sees you.

“Uh, I’m home.”

You look up at him blankly.

“What? What’s with that face?”

You sigh and turn back to your computer.

“Hey,” he whines. “What’d I do?”

“You got drunk, fell asleep on the couch, then got up and left in the early morning without telling anyone where you went.”

He kicks his shoes off by the door then comes over and flops down next to you. “I’m here now.”

“Whatever.”

“I don’t like this side of you. You’re making me feel guilty.”

“Maybe you’re feeling guilty because you did something wrong.”

“I literally remember nothing from last night. I woke up early and went to the gym. That’s it.”

“Kendall’s been trying to contact you.”

“Yeah. Board meeting.” He props his feet up into your lap. “Can we talk?”

“About?”

“Us.”

You sigh and set your laptop on the coffee table.

“I know I’m a jerk. And I know I was a dick the day we met. And the day after that. And this morning.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. “So I thought I’d atone for my sins and get you something.” He shifts, replacing his feet with his head and instead letting his legs stretch out on the couch. With one hand, he takes yours and sets it on his chest, and uses the other one to pop the box open.

You can swear you’ve seen that ring in your dreams before. It’s gorgeous- perfect, even. And it’s the right size.

“Roman,” is all you can say.

“Give me your left hand.”

You do, and he slips the ring onto your left hand’s ring finger. He inspects it, albeit lopsidedly from his vantage point tucked up in your lap.

“Are you sure you remember nothing from yesterday?” you ask quietly, your other hand still perched on his chest.

“Not a lick. Difficult day.” He shifts his gaze to meet yours. “I think, despite everything, we can be friends.”

Friends.

“Yeah.” You pause. “You didn’t have to get me anything, you know.”

“It’s the only thing I know how to do. Throw money at things.”

☾𖤓

The sting of Roman’s words stay with you for the next few mornings, then when you’re getting ready for the board meeting. You don’t really know why you’re disappointed. What were you expecting? Why were you expecting anything in the first place?

He’d left for Waystar much earlier than you did. There’s a weird sort of tension between you now, even after your conversation. You’re wearing the ring. You can’t bring yourself to take it off.

You finish getting ready and find yourself in the harsh lighting at Waystar. You close your eyes in the elevator, the fluorescent lighting pissing you off more than usual.

“Hey, everything alright?” Greg Hirsch nudges you gently as the elevator lurches.

“Oh, hey!” You try to snap yourself out of it, but you can’t seem to get rid of the strain in your eyes. “Yeah. Fine.”

“I know things get pretty stressful. Especially in the position you’re in. Things get quite difficult.” He glances down at you. “Um, that sounded like a threat. Which it wasn’t. I’m on your side, to be clear.”

You chuckle. “I appreciate it, Greg.” You talk about nothing as he walks you to the conference room, and he gives you an encouraging pat on the shoulder before you step in. Kendall looks like he’s about to shit himself, Roman’s face down on the table, and the few others that are there are concerned with themselves. Kendall gives you a stiff nod, his leg bouncing up and down.

“Forget how to breathe?” you ask him, trying to lighten the mood. He ignores you and keeps himself locked in his self-imposed hell. Roman sits up at the sound of your voice, pulling out your chair for you. As you settle in, the room begins to fill.

Logan Roy is late.

When he actually does decide to grace the room with his presence, it’s twenty minutes past the meeting start time. Kendall hasn’t gotten any calmer, and Roman’s chewing on his cheek. He leans towards you and whispers, “What if he knows?”

“If he knew, he’d have all our asses on the curb.” Even you’re beginning to get restless. “Does he always do this?”

“He’s always late, but never…” He’s hushed by his father hobbling into the conference room on a cane. The brothers exchange a glance you could never begin to understand, and Kendall gets to his feet.

“Sit, I’m fine,” Logan rasps. Kendall reluctantly obeys. “Don’t mind me, folks. I had an… accident on the way.”

Roman throws you a look that says what the fuck? and drags a hand over his jaw.

Thankfully, that’s all that Kendall needs. “You’re late.”

Logan scoffs. “What’re you going to do, fire me?”

Kendall swallows. “Just extending you the same courtesy that you would me.”

Frank clears his throat, and Kendall steels himself.

“I’m calling a vote of no confidence,” he blurts.

“Are you?”

“I am.”

Father and son stare at each other from different ends of the table. “You’re not.”

“That’s, uh, not how this works,” Kendall continues. “We vote in private. Then the verdict speaks for itself.”

“I’m not leaving this room,” Logan insists. “And I know how fucking corporate politics work.” His gaze sears over everyone gathered. “Did we know about this?”

He does another sweep of the room before his eyes land on you. You give a minute shake of your head.

Suddenly, he slams his hands on the table. “Fucking go on, then. Who wants me gone?”

The room is silent. You can feel your stomach churning. Roman sits tense next to you, barely moving- barely breathing.

“Let’s, uh, put it to a vote, then.” Kendall shakily gets to his feet. “All those in favor of ejecting Logan Roy from position as CEO of Waystar?” He’s the first to raise his hand, and you raise yours not long after. Three partners follow your lead. You turn to Roman.

His hands are tucked firmly under his arms. He stares blankly at the ground, seemingly dazed. You can see the emotions warring in his eyes. But you have no sympathy.

You begin to bristle, and Kendall lets out a strangled breath.

“A tie,” Kendall says deflatedly.

“I have two votes,” Logan practically shouts. “I’m going to ruin you,” he spits at Kendall. You give Roman a nasty look then push yourself to your feet.

“It’s not a tie. Nor did you win,” you begin, raising your voice as you go. “You are the subject of this vote. You are legally not allowed in this room, Mr. Roy. Any vote you cast is regarded as null and void. As your lawyer, I advise you to take your things and leave.”

He opens his mouth to speak, but you beat him to it. “I did not get a degree from Harvard Law for you to so blatantly disrespect it to my face. Your time here is over. Get out before I call the police and have them escort you.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmurs lowly.

“Really? Perhaps I will when we go to trial. You have quite a few hefty criminal charges hanging above your head, Mr. Roy. I’d hate to see them fall.”

[mebemilena]

Kiss it better

A/N: i'm writting one more for Maya's worst student. I had do edit because i noticed i somehow didn't paste the whole text from my email drafts. It was late at nigt, so i might have clicled something i shouldt. Anyway, thank you so much for reading me.

Summary: you woke up with a terrible pain in your neck and Maya offers to help. Funny thing is that her offer includes more than just a massage.

"Ouch.. my neck is killing me.", you texted Maya, rubbing the back of your neck. It was almost midday and you knew she'd be busy working or preparing her lunch, but of course she'd reply at some point. 

You were relaxing in bed when the buzzing of your phone made you turn to your side as you read her message. A few minutes of chit-chat followed by a sting on the left side of your neck again and you complained once more, rubbing it a little harder this time..

"I can help you. I'm pretty good with my hands.", you read on your phone screen and tried not to make a joke about it, but she was the one sending a suggestive emoji. You've been flirting playfully for a while but those were just you two fooling around, trying to make the other embarrassed. 

This felt a little different though. There was something about it.

Like you had nothing to lose, you accepted her offer and Maya came over an hour after that, just enough time to get her things done and buy you some treats. "Bananas are good for your muscles.", she signed when you gave her a questioning look as she handed you a bag with a few fruits.

You walked her to your room, showing her a few new things around the house. A picture of your cat, a shirt your mother had sent you, the cookies you had baked earlier. For the first time in a long while being alone with Maya was making you feel a little anxious. 

Once in your room, Maya opened her backpack and showed you a small green plastic bottle. "It's one of those lotions for sore muscles. Like those for athletes.", she explained without you asking and you just nodded. "Understand?", she asked.

You could only understand a few signs. "Kind of. What is it?", you asked, signing too slow for your own liking.

Maya was being extra patient today. "It's for your pain.", she explained, spelling the word pain at the end and you finally understood. 

She took a chair closer to your bed and told you to sit down. You obeyed and just then you noticed your height difference while you were sitting and she was standing.

As she moved around you noticed she was cleaning her hands with a small towel. "They sweat a lot.", she explained without you asking again, as if she could read your mind.

Maya walked to you and smiled, ready to start. You put your hair up. "Can you take your shirt off?", she signed and you made a face. "Sorry.", you apologized for not understanding. "Shirt off.", she signed, simplifying it for you. 

There were times you felt terrible for not studying more. Maya was a great teacher and she became a great friend. You felt like you were putting her down and it was frustrating how she'd try so hard to communicate while you were lacking vocabulary. You probably missed a lot of what she said sometimes.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you noticed her staring at you, puzzled if you understood the request or not. You nodded, finally giving her an answer. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath as you tried to act the most normal possible, taking your shirt off and instantly holding it to cover your chest. 

"It hurts here. I think it hurt when sleep.", you signed, trying your best to hold your shirt between your forearms and chest.

"We'll fix it. Try to relax, i told you i'm good with my hands.", Maya signed to you before applying some lotion on her hands. Your breathing got a little heavier as she walked behind you. 

Her hands were indeed skilled of course. She placed them on your shoulders and started applying pressure there, her thumbs rubbing circles on your flesh. You closed your eyes and let yourself lean into her touch.

After a while, Maya tapped on your shoulder. "Your muscles are tight. This might be due to stress.", she told you. "S-T-R-E-S-S", she spelled to you.

"Oh, makes sense. I have hard week work.", you told her.

While Maya pressed the knots on your shoulders, you hummed, too focused on the feeling of her warm hands. 

She tapped your shoulder again, lighter this time. "Are you speaking? I can feel your throat. Is it too much?", she asked. 

"no, it's fine. I like it", you signed, sticking to simple replies. 

Maya touched the back of your neck with one hand, her thumb massaging one side as her other fingers massaged the other side, like a claw. A very skilled claw that was making you lose yourself in a pool of relaxation, even though there was that soft stretchy pain.

Maya tapped lightly on your chin this time, waking you up from the transe. "Do you know what makes everything better?", she asked, kneeling in front of you, her eyes on you the whole time. 

"what?", you asked, ever so eloquently.

"Kisses.", she signed slowly. "Kisses heal everything.", she told you and you stopped breathing  when the tip of her nose slowly touched yours.

Maya gave you the space and time to move away if you'd like. She kissed the tip of your nose and walked back to her spot behind you.

You felt her lips on your nape and a small moan escaped you. Maya left open mouthed kisses on the side of your neck and up to your jaw, one of her hands  held your chin up and the other was stuck to your shoulder.  You held the urge to moan louder and closed your legs a little tighter, the pressure slowly building up in your belly. Since when were you that sensitive?

She kept kissing her way to the corner of your mouth, where she stopped. You held your breath and waited for a kiss full on the lips, but that never came.

You opened your eyes and saw her getting her stuff back on her backpack, cleaning her hands on that small towel again like nothing had happened. Your brain took a whole minute to process it all and registered that the pain in your neck had indeed got better.

You waved your hands, trying to catch her attention. "I think my legs hurt too." you tried and the blush on your face was not unnoticed.

Maya walked back to you, kneeling in front of you again, her hands on your thighs now.  "I can take care of that too.", she signed, a playful smile on her lips.

[soapoet]

PJO pick-a-card reading

Thalia Grace; How to be brave

this anon requested a reading for guidance and encouragement to harness the bravery needed to pursue dreams and desires in earnest without fear.

01.

When you face challenges, or come upon opportunities that speak to you but fear and anxiety speak louder, focus on what is on the other side of that which you dread. Who is the version of you that managed to overcome this? What does their life look like? What aspects have changed for the better? Then push yourself beyond the first, second and third save point. It becomes easier to move forward when you're looking to the horizon when what lies in your immediate surroundings frightens you or makes you hesitant. Treating scary steps as though you are just passing through on your way elsewhere will help you through it. Making that phone call, sending that text message or email may be a little nerve-wracking, but if you focus in the moment only on the purpose of it and the outcome rather than worrying about your wording, the reception, and whatever else your nerves may conjure up, you will get through the daunting task with more ease. After all, you're only passing through.

Another thing to note is that what works for others may not work for you, and this makes you no anomaly. It's normal, and you are not flawed. We all come upon situations and circumstances wherein the tried and true simply does not compute. Do not underestimate your problem solving abilities, and do not sell yourself short. Sometimes it is only you who truly understands the nuance and intricacies of your challenges, the potential consequences, and applying a one-size-fits-all solution could work against what it is that you want.

When your soul yearns for independence, act independently. Sometimes you must do what you must, even if the odds are stacked against you and the crowd is booing, not cheering. Prove them wrong. Choose to live the life you wish to lead regardless of the naysayers and their ideas of what is best for you. And remember that changing your mind is okay. If today your best life looks different from what it will look like a week from now, you are not wishy-washy, undecided, unreliable or incompetent, but a human being experiencing a change of heart and mind, generating new ideas and finding your own way. Your dreams are only as unrealistic as you consent others to judge them.

02.

You really ought to give laughing in the face of fear a try. It might just be menacing enough to scare it right back. Even if you already find yourself rather capable, you still do not give yourself enough credit, and you could easily push yourself further. You may hold back sometimes when you're caught up in worries about the consequences or the prospect of wasting time, but you could truly harness fear as a fuel. The life you wish to lead, once achieved, could inspire others and keep them from paralysis by uncertainty. Train yourself to say yes more often, and jump in head first precisely when you feel yourself hesitate and think you can't do it. Because you can. Within reason, it's perfectly okay to be a little reckless.

The journey should be equally revered as the destination itself, and it is the journey which has much to teach you. The more you leap into free fall to seize opportunities that further your pursuit of what you want, the less scary that dive into the unknown becomes, until it's not very frightening at all. When you feel doubtful of whether you're even headed in the right direction, continue onwards still, because chances are you have wonders and treasure troves of experience and knowledge to uncover from right where you are at the time and just around the corner. You can make necessary adjustments and changes along the way without fretting so much about whether it's the best choice. Fear of failure or a phobia of square one is only as scary as you let it affect you, and you can make use of that fear as motivation to fuel your pursuit of your goals.

Keep in mind that you don't need to be perfect right away. Everybody faces some trial and error, and there are many things we can only learn along the way, things exist which we couldn't have prepared for, so don't be so hard on yourself and think you don't have a green light because your plan is vague at best and missing information. The more you journey onwards and allow yourself to choose to live life as you desire every step of the way, the more times you'll face these trials which test your ability and tenacity to always choose what is in your best interest and aligned with your wishes, and the easier it becomes to work around push yourself to go and trust that you can handle whatever curveballs are thrown your way.

03.

Considering what all you've been through, you're already quite brave, though you give yourself no such credit, do you? Media often shows bravery in the extremes, and for someone so gentle it may feel outlandish to give yourself such a title. But bravery can be quiet, and it can be found in the smallest acts of kindness and our little sacrifices for the peace and comfort of others. When we taken on burdens of our fellow people, we are as brave as we are strong and kind, taking on more than our fair share.

You may struggle finding a spot in the sun amongst others, and worry you take up too much space or cast a shadow on another. Pursuing the things you wish upon yourself can often be an afterthought because you think so heavily on your duties of being there for others first, and get hung up on imagined chain reactions, paralysed by the idea that your moves may step on toes or simply allow you to share a spotlight with those you find more deserving. You should be kinder to yourself. And perhaps your best bet would be to embrace the shadows and work towards your goals quietly. When you're already fighting your own doubts, you should keep some things secret lest you invite the conscious or subconscious doubts of others into the mix. At least you stand a chance against just yours, so don't add more players to the opposing team before you're well on your way to achieve your goals and have something to show for to weed out any semblance of doubt in others before they grow roots.

If you have trouble taking the first step towards your desires, consider riding the dopamine waves from smaller, even more mundane achievements, and let it be the wind in your sails. Listen to guidance and ask for help when you need it, but know that you need not let it overrule your own ideas of how to proceed. Just as with tarot, take what resonates and leave what does not, and always trust your inner guidance. Your journey is yours, and the life you wish to lead should be built by your own hand to have your unique fingerprints on it, so fret not if you wish to do things differently than others who already have their success stories. Remember that there is no rush and you can take things one step at a time. You will always be equally behind and ahead of others so never worry that it's too late for you to do something. The impact of your achievements upon others who have and are struggling like you can yield priceless inspiration, so that they, too, may decide to follow their dreams because you showed them you could and they could too.

[commsroom]

minkowski takes forever to reply to texts because she treats it like she's replying to emails, and only ever responds in full, structured sentences with proper capitalization. she was taught the already kind of outdated two-spaces-after-period formatting and she still retains the habit in everything she types. and she's slow at typing. she has a signature on her texts with her full name and contact information.

eiffel takes forever to reply to texts because he simply doesn't want to, and/or he sees it and doesn't immediately respond, so he forgets about it forever. and when you do get a text from him, it's incomprehensible. he abbreviates entire sentences and references that nobody else could possibly decode. you get a text from eiffel that says something like "Ok thx. Smbg2mds 🥤" and, while you're trying to decipher what that could possibly mean, you get an almost three-minute voice message from him telling you the 7-11 slurpee machine is broken so he's going to mcdonald's. and it's like okay well that was the least convenient way you could've done any of this.