hi love! I was the one who asked about locs on your post!
i’m nearing the end of my graduate program and thinking about going for my phd in a few years. i’ve seen a lot of people loc their hair during this period for a multitude of reasons (time, stress, etc.) i guess my question is how much “effort” does it take to maintain healthy locs? i do a pretty good job of maintaining my type4 natural hair, but it’s super thick and is becoming overwhelming.
i’m mainly considering sisterlocs, but i’m interested in all loc forms 😊
Okay so boom.
Sisterlocs are not only locs that require the highest form of maintenance but they're also the most expensive to get and maintain. I know what you're probably thinking and no. Sisterlocs are a special form of micro locs that have a specified installation and retie process that must be done by a licensed sisterloc technician. It's not something you can do yourself. Very gorgeous! And worth it I suppose if you have the money and time though
There's a reason we joke that sisterlocs are a sign of wealth in our community 😭 plus (and I could be wrong) from my understanding sisterlocs are the only locs that can't be combed out or if they can be the time + effort + hair loss is much greater
TikTok - Make Your Day
Outside of sisterlocs there are wicks, free form, other micro locs, and traditional locs
Considering you're leaning towards sisterlocs I feel like it's safe to assume wicks and free form aren't options to you 😭 I personally have basic micro locs done via braids but micro and traditional locs can be started pretty much any way. I think twists are the most common starter loc method simply bc they loc faster but people do braids and coils too
When it comes to maintenance, everybody is different. I don't believe in one set way to care for locs. Sisterlocs from my understanding are kind of the only form of locs that have a stricter care routine. Reties are usually recommended to be done every 4-6 weeks, installation can cost up to $2K and reties can cost up to $500. But washing them and oiling them is a routine that's all you
Traditional and micro locs have way more wiggle room. I retwist my hair like every 3-4 months (although I'm trying to get it to 2-3) BUT I have extremely thick hair 😭 smaller locs with fewer retwists work for me. I mist them almost every day and I try to wash them once a week. I personally use argan oil and amla oil to moisturize my hair and scalp bc even as a loose natural my hair has always loved argan oil
Some people prefer a neater loc look and so they retwist every month. If you prefer a neater look I'd also recommend making sure you have a perfect grid pattern of your choosing
I didn't do all that 😭 I got locs bc I wanted something in between low and high maintenance. I got to a point where I enjoyed doing my hair but I was feeling burnt out bc even when I did do my hair more, I often did hairstyles that lasted a week or so.
There's constant discourse in the loc community about different care methods and how to maintain them but again you have to do what works for you. At one point conditioner was a huge heavy no no for washing locs but I've seen people who use conditioner and they're fine. While I don't agree with people who are super anal about their locs looking so neat all the time, whatever floats peoples boats BUT retwisting too often will cause thinning and breakage
For you personally, I'd recommend micro locs. You have thick type 4 hair like me so smaller locs with fewer retwists is something that seems more your speed bc the maintenance is less strict and less expensive and your hair can handle it. You can maintain micro locs all on your own without any professional help. If you simply like the look of sisterlocs, you can make your micro locs that small at a fraction of the cost and effort
And also our type 4 hair locs much faster. We can literally wash/wet our hair as much as we want soon after the starter loc process to get them to loc faster!
Thank you so much for taking the time to respond to my ask 💗
This was probably the most informative and helpful response I could’ve received!
I have heard that micro locs and sisterlocs are similar, but people get really strict when it comes to differentiating between the two 😭 Some of the videos I've seen have come off classist and texturist. I was leaning towards sisterlocks because of the interlocking installation method and honestly pics I saw on pintrest, but it seems micro locs can also be installed using the interlocking method yay🥳 My hair has gotten a lot thicker and tighter in curl pattern over the years, which is beautiful, but a lot more maintenance when loose (I get crazy fairy knots)
After reading this post, I’m definitely leaning towards micro locs. It's already easier to find stylists because sisterlock-certified stylists are sparse in my area
I'm a very indecisive person, so I want to make sure I'm making the right decision when it comes to locing my hair. Micro locs definitely seems like the best option for my hair and lifestyle 💗
Thank you so much for this post!! This was really helpful!
Yes bc I retwist the back of mine but the ones in the very front I typically interlock just bc it does last longer than a retwist so you can still interlock any locs it's just that sisterlocs require a license tech and a specific kind of interlocking to be considered sisterlocs
You can get your micro locs just as small as sisterlocs if you want and if you're indecisive definitely go with smaller locs bc it'll allow you to do a wider variety of hairstyles
And yeah not saying everyone who gets sisterlocs are texturists but texturists who get locs almost always get sisterlocs. There's unfortunately some overlap there bc smaller locs do imitate loose flowing hair the most and regrowth with smaller locs typically don't look as "bad" and I say typically bc again if you have super thick hair (like me) it's just going to be thick and full/big no matter what
hi love! I was the one who asked about locs on your post!
i’m nearing the end of my graduate program and thinking about going for my phd in a few years. i’ve seen a lot of people loc their hair during this period for a multitude of reasons (time, stress, etc.) i guess my question is how much “effort” does it take to maintain healthy locs? i do a pretty good job of maintaining my type4 natural hair, but it’s super thick and is becoming overwhelming.
i’m mainly considering sisterlocs, but i’m interested in all loc forms 😊
Okay so boom.
Sisterlocs are not only locs that require the highest form of maintenance but they're also the most expensive to get and maintain. I know what you're probably thinking and no. Sisterlocs are a special form of micro locs that have a specified installation and retie process that must be done by a licensed sisterloc technician. It's not something you can do yourself. Very gorgeous! And worth it I suppose if you have the money and time though
There's a reason we joke that sisterlocs are a sign of wealth in our community 😭 plus (and I could be wrong) from my understanding sisterlocs are the only locs that can't be combed out or if they can be the time + effort + hair loss is much greater
TikTok - Make Your Day
Outside of sisterlocs there are wicks, free form, other micro locs, and traditional locs
Considering you're leaning towards sisterlocs I feel like it's safe to assume wicks and free form aren't options to you 😭 I personally have basic micro locs done via braids but micro and traditional locs can be started pretty much any way. I think twists are the most common starter loc method simply bc they loc faster but people do braids and coils too
When it comes to maintenance, everybody is different. I don't believe in one set way to care for locs. Sisterlocs from my understanding are kind of the only form of locs that have a stricter care routine. Reties are usually recommended to be done every 4-6 weeks, installation can cost up to $2K and reties can cost up to $500. But washing them and oiling them is a routine that's all you
Traditional and micro locs have way more wiggle room. I retwist my hair like every 3-4 months (although I'm trying to get it to 2-3) BUT I have extremely thick hair 😭 smaller locs with fewer retwists work for me. I mist them almost every day and I try to wash them once a week. I personally use argan oil and amla oil to moisturize my hair and scalp bc even as a loose natural my hair has always loved argan oil
Some people prefer a neater loc look and so they retwist every month. If you prefer a neater look I'd also recommend making sure you have a perfect grid pattern of your choosing
I didn't do all that 😭 I got locs bc I wanted something in between low and high maintenance. I got to a point where I enjoyed doing my hair but I was feeling burnt out bc even when I did do my hair more, I often did hairstyles that lasted a week or so.
There's constant discourse in the loc community about different care methods and how to maintain them but again you have to do what works for you. At one point conditioner was a huge heavy no no for washing locs but I've seen people who use conditioner and they're fine. While I don't agree with people who are super anal about their locs looking so neat all the time, whatever floats peoples boats BUT retwisting too often will cause thinning and breakage
For you personally, I'd recommend micro locs. You have thick type 4 hair like me so smaller locs with fewer retwists is something that seems more your speed bc the maintenance is less strict and less expensive and your hair can handle it. You can maintain micro locs all on your own without any professional help. If you simply like the look of sisterlocs, you can make your micro locs that small at a fraction of the cost and effort
And also our type 4 hair locs much faster. We can literally wash/wet our hair as much as we want soon after the starter loc process to get them to loc faster!
Thank you so much for taking the time to respond to my ask 💗
This was probably the most informative and helpful response I could’ve received!
I have heard that micro locs and sisterlocs are similar, but people get really strict when it comes to differentiating between the two 😭 Some of the videos I've seen have come off classist and texturist. I was leaning towards sisterlocks because of the interlocking installation method and honestly pics I saw on pintrest, but it seems micro locs can also be installed using the interlocking method yay🥳 My hair has gotten a lot thicker and tighter in curl pattern over the years, which is beautiful, but a lot more maintenance when loose (I get crazy fairy knots)
After reading this post, I’m definitely leaning towards micro locs. It's already easier to find stylists because sisterlock-certified stylists are sparse in my area
I'm a very indecisive person, so I want to make sure I'm making the right decision when it comes to locing my hair. Micro locs definitely seems like the best option for my hair and lifestyle 💗
Thank you so much for this post!! This was really helpful!
rest in peace eryka caldwell. she was a 41 year old black trans woman stabbed to death by her boyfriend. she had so much life left and yet it was cut short by this man. i hope the world can be better for trans women of color (especially black trans women), sooner rather than later.
(edited to put emphasis on the fact that she was black and that her murder was a result of transmisogynoiristic domestic abuse.)
Summary: As life brazes forward for some of your friends, a New Year’s Eve party unlocks a new level of trust and comfort in Luke that you didn’t think was possible, open doors for a future you know has an expiration date.
Word Count: 5.7K
Masterlist
Six months ago, Brandon asked you to help him ring shop. You and Nia wear the same ring size and she may or may not have shared a wide range of dream rings with you the last…three years.
“This one.” You sighed, looking hopeful. “It’s the right cut, the exact band we were looking for and it’s pretty much everything she’s wanted wrapped into one ring.”
Brandon lifts your hand and examines the ring on you like you’re a hand model. “I like it. Just need to get it in gold.”
Your secret meeting at the jeweler turned into planning a “family vacation” to the Bahamas after Christmas for the proposal. Everyone was in on the secret but Nia. What she thought was a couples vacation to ring in the new year was actually a surprise beach proposal with a videographer and her family looking on nearby to celebrate with them afterwards. The thought of pulling this off brought tears to your eyes because Nia had been quietly expressing her frustration to you about Brandon’s hesitation to build a lasting future with her. You reassured her that the wait would be worth it, while trying not to make it known that you knew something she didn’t.
“Is this dress cute or do I look like I’m trying to be a Love Island contestant?” She holds up a two piece, an olive green top with a matching mini skirt that could make her look like she’s about to deliver an incredible recoupling speech.
You hold back a laugh. “Okay it is a little ‘can I pull you for a chat’ coded but, it’s a trip to the Caribbean. Please wear it. And…” you step around her to grab a long aqua blue dress that always made her look like a mermaid. “…you should definitely bring this one for dinner to ring in the new year.” No pun intended.
“Are you sure? You don’t think it’ll be too much?”
“Definitely not,” you smiled, taking the hanger off the rack in her closet. “It’s cute and fun and perfect for Seafire. I heard it was one of the nicest steakhouses in the area so this is a good choice.”
Nia stares at the dress and looks at her suitcase. She grabs a garment bag and tucks the dress and a pair of platform heels, sticking with the beach vibe and you can see the moment so clearly. Brandon on one knee, Nia completely caught off guard and the rest is history. You’re just happy to be a small part of this. And when Brandon texted you at 7PM on New Years Eve that he and Nia were heading to dinner, there was a small lump in your throat that you swallowed heading into the Olsen home. Luke looked over at you before ringing the doorbell. “Everything okay?”
You nodded, eyes slightly welled up with tears. “He’s really doing it.”
“That’s amazing,” he beams back, genuinely excited. You’d let him in on the plans last week before they left and you were pretty sure you heard him on the phone with the hotel concierge at the place they were staying at, discussing their champagne options. “I know Brandon’s probably shitting himself right about now.”
“He definitely is. But it’s gonna be good night, great way to start off the year I think.”
Luke hums in agreement, knocking on the door twice before his best friend comes into view, arms open. “Hey! You guys made it.” He hugs Luke like he hasn’t seen him in a year when in reality they had lunch together two days ago. You only know that because when Greg came with him to a Hornets game a while back, he made sure to tell you they have weekly lunch dates. “How are you, buddy?”
“Great,” Luke responds calmly, waiting for your welcome hug to be over so he can step into the home after you, “where’s uh—where’s my guy?”
“Oh, you mean Tucker? No worries he’s at Kara’s parents’ lake house with the kids. Won’t be anybody pinning you to the wall tonight, unless you guys are into that I mean it’s your business.” The last part was more said in your direction and you just laughed as Luke held your hand through the Olsen home. Kara had been a friend for the last year, you ran in similar circles so you saw each other often and now with your…arrangement with Luke, you felt comfortable reigning in the end of the year with Kara especially now that Nia was in a different time zone.
And besides, you’d already shared a bed and exchanged Christmas presents with the guy, you could survive a dinner party, drinks and some dancing with his friends for one night.
Some of the other guests have already gathered in the dining room, a few people you recognize, a sports psychologist Michael, who Luke worked with a lot after his concussions, and Michael’s wife Cori who shoots you a warm smile. “Well if it isn’t one of my favorite faces of Charlotte sports,” she stands, “tough loss today.”
“God I know,” you scoffed, taking a seat next to her. “Two game losing streak heading into a three game road trip is less than ideal.”
Kara materializes seemingly out of nowhere with a drink in her hand. “Today’s game is exactly why we have a martini bar,” she nods over to the kitchen counter where the hired bartender for the night is already mixing drinks for an older married couple Kara befriended at a charity event.
“You’re a genius,” you muse, heading for the bar.
Between that and the shrimp cocktails, honey lemon chicken scampi, prosciutto wrapped asparagus, the Caesar salad and the two dessert options—Biscoff crumble cheesecake or death by chocolate cake. You got the chocolate cake and Luke got the tiramisu so you could share both of them. The best part wasn’t even the cakes, although both were incredible, it was seeing Luke in such a relaxed element. Seeing his friendship with Greg in person was even better now that you’d gotten to know him and appreciate his humor and carefree nature. Kara even moved away from Greg at one point to sit with you because Luke and Greg would not stop giggling.
“I’m so glad you’re here, it’s been hell third wheeling with these two.” She sighs.
“I can tell,” you affirmed her, glancing over with a laugh as you watched them talk like no one else was in the room. It was honestly cute.
Kara asked you and Cori if you wanted to head out to the living room which had been turned into her version of disco. Silver balloons shaped like disco balls, a photobooth, a dancefloor, champagne flutes and fun 2026 themed glasses, hats and those ridiculous headbands, one you’d be going home with, with no memory of how it ended up in your possession. Somewhere between the photobooth and the karaoke machine, you lost Cori and it was just you and Kara again.
“So…how’s it going with your golden retriever?”
You let out a laugh, not denying her sentiment one bit. “It still kills me that your German Sheppard had him pinned against the wall. He said that’s the only time he’s been overpowered like that.”
“Tucker’s funny.”
“And he’s apparently got a thing against human golden retrievers.” You note, still as amused now as you were when Luke told you the story the first time. “But…he’s better than I thought. I know you’ve been calling him the perfect bachelor or whatever but he’s one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met—”
“Hey, there you are.” Luke says, looking relieved. “Thought I lost you there for a second.”
“You were talking to your BFF, I didn’t wanna interrupt,” you tease.
“You can always interrupt,” he says, his smooth voice sends goosebumps all over your arms and you’re so glad the long sleeves of your shirt keep you from telling on yourself. “I don’t mind.” His lips curve into a soft smile and you can’t help but get lost in his gaze for just a second before you hear Greg say that he and Luke are doing a duet of Don’t Stop Believin’. Of course two former jocks would select the most cliche song to woo the crowd. Greg also probably chose it to entice everyone to sing along rather than focus on their nonexistent vocals.
Kara had previously joked about feeling like a third wheel around Luke and Greg but whatever she just witnessed was about a million times worse. “Luke I think you better get up there.”
“Duty calls,” you echo and he laughs before giving you one more tender glance. It was almost as if he was trying to say something important, you just couldn’t tell what.
Then the opening chords of the song echoed through the speakers and you wondered how strong those drinks were at dinner or if the guys were just old and it was harder to keep up with their past liquor intake. The scene in front of you was oddly funny, people quickly joined in, knowing the words to the classic anthem and a small part of you wondered how often they’d actually done this. It wasn’t like him to be the center of attention, as long as you’d known him he shied away from compliments and praise but with Greg by his side he allowed himself to be more carefree, more silly. Not in a childish way, he just seemed comfortable.
You locked eyes with him and helped belt out the chorus to end the song, ironically also holding onto this feeling that you were doing something right, something way outside the parameters of your little date pact but then again if you were being honest with yourself, the rules had gone out the window weeks ago.
If this bubble you’d been in with him was going to expire eventually, why not make the most of all the time you had left?
A round of lemon drop shots came out on a silver platter after the guys stepped off their makeshift stage and you cheers-ed to their performance.
“It was a once in a lifetime show, that’s for damn sure,” you said setting your shot glass down.
“Meaning we hope to never see it again,” Kara adds in with a smile, one of her hands finding Greg’s back. She doesn’t look at all surprised that he’s sweaty, having put his all into the song.
Luke, prone to perspiration actually looks a lot better than his friend does. “I know myself. And my limits, had to take it easy today.”
Greg heads upstairs to change while you and Luke play a few rounds of Uno with Michael, Cori, Kara and a few others. Then there’s another round of lemon drops for everyone and by 11:20, people are dancing. On the muted tv is the Times Square New Year’s Eve celebration with the time displayed in the corner of the screen while Uptown Funk plays.
A mini Bruno Mars binge takes pretty much all of your energy and you realize that not only is it warm with all these bodies in the house but you’re slightly buzzed and need some fresh air before your head starts pounding. You carefully slip through the crowd and step out to the terrace. Not even five minutes later you hear the sliding door open and close. You don’t even need to turn around to know who followed you out here.
“You need a water?” Luke’s voice is quiet compared to the background noises from the music and the city. You nod and he twists open the cap before handing it to you.
“Thanks.” He nods and watches you take a few sips before handing it back, leaning over the railing.
“Everything okay?”
You nod, a smile forming against your will. “Five minutes!” You hear someone yell from inside. Neither of you had noticed it was already that late.
“I’m good, I just needed space from…the mosh pit.”
He laughs, stepping towards you to look at the city lights and really take in the subtle peace that’s overtaken everything else.
“Tonight’s been fun,” you tell him cutting into the silence. “I’m glad you brought me.”
“And I’m glad you said yes. Wouldn’t want you to miss an exclusive performance. We rehearsed for weeks.”
“Oh I could tell, you guys really put your backs into it.”
“Exactly,” he notes, reaching for his shoulder. “I’m gonna be sore tomorrow.”
You reach up and squeeze his trap muscle, “right there? Yeah that is pretty tight.”
Another voice yells “2 minutes!” but you don’t want to head back inside, your other hand settled on the other shoulder, gently squeezing the firmness through his t-shirt as people shuffle around inside. His hands gently settle around your waist.
“There’s this tradition…” you start, suddenly feeling a weight sitting on your chest. “…this thing couples do at midnight.”
“And what does this tradition entail?”
You look up at him, one hand sliding over so your thumb can trace the line of his jaw. “I think we’re supposed to kiss?”
“Really? Hm.” He’s doing his best impression of someone who’s confused, until a look of satisfaction blooms all over his facial features. “We don’t wanna break tradition, do we?”
The ten…nine…eight…seven…is both the fastest and slowest countdown you’ve ever heard. Luke is smiling and when he hears one he leans down, one hand on your waist the other resting at your neck helping your tilt your head up and his lips are on yours. He tastes like a lemon drop and a little bit of leftover whiskey from whatever drinks he and Greg ordered before dinner. The kiss is both gentle and firm like he’s been thinking about this for a while and is savoring the moment as best as he can without getting ahead of himself. Your hand that was on his jaw hooks around your other arm and you’re subconsciously pulling him in closer to deepen the kiss, and he lets out a satisfied hum, mouth still moving in tandem with yours as if you’ve done this a million times. It’s almost scary how quickly you’ve found your groove.
You give him another peck before detaching just a touch. “Happy New Year,” you whisper against his lips.
Luke leans down to press a quick kiss to your lips, then another against the corner of your mouth before smiling. “Yeah it is. A happy new year. A really happy one.”
“Oh my god let’s go back inside.” He heads in behind you, a hand on your back and a permanent grin on his face.
The two of you are hit with a wave of warmth from entering the house and immediately being handed a champagne flute and a wave of hugs and excited chants from anyone you crossed paths with.
“Hey man.” Greg practically sings, patting Luke on the back. “Happy New Year, buddy.”
His friend’s eyes are gleaming, this weirdly comforting twinkle there that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Not in the 14 years he’d known him. But, he decided not to say anything and maybe ask when the room wasn’t filled with half drunk parents who would certainly regret these decisions in the morning when their kids burst into their rooms at 7AM. And he loved Tate, TJ and Talbot more than anything in the world but he was glad they weren’t coming home until tomorrow afternoon so he could sleep in. Surely Kara had the same idea because he saw her knock back another glass of champagne and pull you and Luke towards the photobooth, immediately calling for him.
“Get in! We’re taking pictures. First day of the year, I wanna remember this with some of the best people I know.”
You all squeezed in tight, talking through poses during the first set of pictures, eventually settling for funny faces, those ridiculous silver 2026 glasses. Then there was a peace sign picture because…of course. And you turned around and kissed Luke again as the camera flashed to round out your photo strip. This kiss was much softer than the last, just as good. You would’ve kept going if you weren’t back to back with Kara and the last thing you wanted tonight was more questions. “Stop doing that.” You told Luke once it was just you and him in the booth.
“What am I doing?” He said it easily, thinking you were talking about the way he was caressing your thigh.
“That thing you’re doing with your face, stop it.”
He smirks, resting his head on your shoulder. “I’m a really happy guy celebrating the start of the year. Sue me.”
“If you keep looking like you’ve been drinking straight Everclear for the last hour, I might have to.”
“Everclear?”
“It was the first thing that had the most alcohol content I could think off so yeah…stand up Everclear, you’re drunk off one kiss.”
“Two.” He holds up his index and middle finger. Luke sighs, tapping your leg so you can get out of his lap, fingers laced in yours as you stand. “Are you good if we head out? I’m kind of tired of mingling.”
“Yes please my head needs to see a pillow. You’re lucky I lasted until midnight.” You step out of the photo booth and hold the curtain open for him to duck out behind you with his phone in hand and the Uber app already open.
“I am lucky,” he emphasizes. “Think I may have mentioned that.”
“Oh you did. Several times.”
Thankfully, most of the guests had already gone home so you thanked Greg and Kara for the incredible party and slid into the back seat of your waiting car, already half asleep when you got to Luke’s house.
Life did not slow down one bit after the 1st. The Hornets beat the defending champs 4 days later, in OKC which was probably the highlight of the season so far. They then immediately lost by one point to the Raptors at home and the 13-24 record and the tunnel fits and Tiktok trends seemed a bit futile. At least for the time being you could distract yourself from all things work related because the Panthers were in the playoffs for the first time in eight years and hosting the game. The city was basically one huge party.
They were calling pregame events the tailgate of the century.
Fans had been waiting for this day since the team clinched a playoff berth in their win against the Saints on the 4th, many had probably camped out waiting for the festivities to start. You on the other hand were giving yourself a pep talk to bite your tongue when you had to meet ‘you know who.’
“Superman and Clark Kent in the building man. I mean shit, we’re in the presence of real greatness.” Will shakes his head, adjusting his windbreaker even though there was absolutely nothing wrong with it.
Salem rolls her eyes, “why are you acting like you’re gonna meet your girlfriend’s parents for the first time.”
“I mean this with all due respect,” Brandon starts, looking in your sister’s direction, “he’s probably more nervous now than he was meeting your family.”
“Oh definitely,” she says, not even pretending to be offended.
You sighed, trying not to roll your eyes. You’d promised Luke you’d be civil as long as he kept the interaction brief.
Cam walked on stage and the crowd roared, reminiscing on the good ol days when he was the MVP of the league leading them to the promised land with his seemingly superhuman strength and refusal to be brought down easily. Too bad they never actually won the big game. He probably would’ve been an even worse person if he dove on that fumble.
“Did you help him with this fit?” Nia asked as the crowd got even louder when Luke was announced and pulled Cam in for a hug.
“I didn’t,” you tell her looking over, “can’t say I mind the pants though.”
You look at her and Salem and burst into laughter as the guys drooled over the former Panthers who solidified their lifetime to black, silver and process blue. All you could think of was your conversation with Luke from a few days ago when he told you the Saturday plans.
“Right so, you’d rather I don’t mention anything about him saying women should know how to cook. Or know when to be quiet.” You said with disdain coating every word.
Luke winced, running his hand down his face. “It would be really nice if you didn’t.”
“What if I just mention my favorite part? What was it exactly…”
“Women should allow a man to lead.” He whispered. “Okay, I know its bad. It’s really bad. And he’s an ass for saying it.”
“No,” you interrupt, still sitting calmly in your seat. That was scarier to him than anything. “What’s bad is him laughing at a reporter doing her job saying it was ‘funny to hear a woman talking about routes.’ The rest of it is deplorable. Vile. Embarrassing. Especially for someone speaking like he’s high and mighty when he has nine children out of wedlock, with three different women.”
“I agree.”
“You better. I don’t like him, Luke. At all. But…I will bite my tongue for this stupid little trip down nostalgia lane. Only because I want to hang out and watch the game in the suite and focus all of my energy on the real enemy, Puka.”
Luke smiles, kissing your forehead. “Thank you. I owe you.”
“Yes, you definitely do. And don’t think I’m gonna forget about this.”
Cam was a lot bigger in person, which would’ve been really attractive maybe five years ago before he started opening his mouth. You knew Nia and Salem felt the same because they both shook his hand and stepped off to the side visibly uninterested in any further interaction. Because he was smart and read the room, Luke kept the interaction brief and led your group up the elevator to the suite.
A full spread was waiting, a perfect view of the field where both teams were ready to go.
“Do you want me to grab you anything? The steak bites are really good.” Luke asks placing a hand on your shoulder, Brandon, Nia, Will and Salem were already grabbing food as you watched the Jumbotron, the words “Keep Pounding” flashed across the screen in preparation for the player intros.
“I’m fine, you can grab whatever you want. I’m not hungry right now.” The truth was that playoff nerves were eating away at you and the thought of food right now did not sound appealing. You wanted your team to play well, not take a bite of a piece of meat doused in garlic and butter.
Of course, you were right to be nervous. The last three minutes of the game were an emotional rollercoaster and you had no clue how Luke was so steady. “They’ve got it, they’ll score here.” It sounded like a promise, with a hint of a plea. Someway somehow the football gods heard everyone in the suite’s cries and the Panthers scored a touchdown with 2:39 left in the fourth, taking the lead, 31-27.
38 seconds later, the Rams scored a touchdown and sucked all the air and life, out of the stadium. Everyone knew it was over.
The walk down to the parking garage was pretty quiet, mood clearly down when Brandon pipes up and says “we may have lost the game but I’m still on cloud nine cause I won at life.”
You and Salem both fake gag at the same time. Then Nia kisses him and grabs his hand, telling him she loves him which makes you and your sister gag even more.
“Here are thing one and thing two are being haters, snickering about true love.”
“We’re happy for you, we’re just mourning.”
“Sorry I just can’t help it. I’m sad about the season being over but I get to spend every season, for the rest of my life, with my favorite person.” Brandon says with a shrug. “Every day is a good day.”
The grin he couldn’t keep off his face looked familiar, but you didn’t wanna compare Brandon’s face after gushing over his fiancée to Luke’s after your first kiss but admittedly your mind did go there. Just for a minute. Only for a minute. And after those scary 60 seconds you realized you really needed to come back down to Earth and lock into your real life for a while.
“Two priorities for the next few weeks,” you said, setting your coffee down. “The All-Star push for Melo and a Rookie of the Year campaign for Kon.”
You stood, iPad in hand as everyone’s attention shifted toward the front of the conference room.
“Melo’s numbers speak for themselves. We don’t need to convince people he’s good at basketball. We need to remind people why fans love watching him and he needs to be in LA next month. I want a great highlight reel first, clips from the entire first half of the season, then personality content. Make it impossible to ignore him.”
A few heads nodded around the room as notes were jotted down. Some had their laptops out looking to clip together jaw dropping game footage to post on every social media platform.
“For Kon, we’re building a narrative, highlighting his brand as the future of the franchise. The production is there. One of the league leaders in three-pointers made, not just rookies. That needs more exposure.”
You swiped to the next slide.
“Let’s look at successful award campaigns across all sports. What’s working versus what isn’t? I also want to explore a feature with The Athletic. Let people get to know Kon beyond basketball, make him human with a normal personality not one of those NIL robots please. His family, his journey, the fact that he was somehow both a lottery pick and an underdog who has exceeded expectations.”
“Puppies?” your social media manager suggested. “We partner with Tranquility Sanctuary, bring adoptable dogs in, get content with the guys and promote adopt don’t shop.”
You thought about it for half a second before nodding. “I love it. It’s good community outreach and good content. See if they have availability during the homestand.” The you glanced around the room. “Take an hour to brainstorm independently. Email me your ideas by this afternoon. And remember, I want actionable concepts, not just clickbait.”
Ideas came across your laptop screen longer than a wedding guest list, some were useful, most were redundant or boring or just plain confusing. You wanted to say stupid but that was unprofessional so you just said it in your head.
“Let’s go through the mic’d up content first since practice just ended. We’ll go through Melo’s first, he probably, most likely, has more stuff we’ll need to cut out. More perfect basketball cinnamon roll less…gooning.”
Your assistant tries and fails to stifle a laugh before clearing her throat seeing you glare at her. “At least Kon might actually be a cinnamon roll?”
“For now.” You sigh, thinking about the atrocities that go on in a locker room, especially after hearing a few horror stories from Luke. “Let’s just look at the All star numbers to start. We’ll listen to these clips and look at these mock graphics. And we need to talk to operations about player availability.”
“Got it. Merch is also coming in to meet with you in an hour, they have ideas for Dell Curry’s jersey retirement.” She doesn’t look up from her computer, sorting through tunnel fits from the digital marketing. “So much to do, so little time.”
You wanted to crawl under your desk at the honesty because you knew it was true and you knew those coffee orders were just the beginning. And the worst part about loving your job and being good at it is that, time seemed to both stand still and move at a speed that should be illegal. To be honest, you didn’t really know how many days you’d been in and out of the office, approving and disapproving of countless ideas and looking at engagement numbers on Tiktok, Instagram saves and how this increased focus has impacted ticket sales.
Spreadsheet cells were blending together, a mild stress headache was making you nauseous and your phone had been ringing on and off for the last hour despite being on do not disturb.
With a deep breath, you picked up your phone. “When someone doesn’t answer, that usually means they can’t talk.”
“Can’t? Or don’t want to?” Luke waited for a response he knew he wasn’t getting and he could hear you typing, picturing you locked in your home office at 9PM. He hated that image. “Question for you,” he continued.
“Luke I can’t right now. I’m super busy, I have a bunch of work to get done and—”
“One question,” he says again like your sentiments didn’t phase him. “Did you eat today?”
“Luke August—”
“Did you…eat today?”
You let out a short laugh, not amused, even a little. “I had lunch.”
“What’d you eat?”
He really wasn’t taking the hint and you didn’t want to entertain this tonight and yet, you didn’t hang up. “I had coffee. And Cheez-Itz. A lot of them.”
His laugh almost successfully makes you stop working for the day. All you had to do was ask him where he is and you’d meet him there and that would be the end of it. “That’s not real food, at all. Open the door, I brought Nalan.”
“Did you bring garlic naan?”
He could hear your footsteps walking towards the door and Luke forced himself to stop smiling, reminding himself he hadn’t seen you in 8 days, not 8 months. He pushed his shoulders back and adjusted the bag in his hands as you opened the door. You let him and the food smell hit your nostrils and provided a borderline painful reminder that humans do in fact need sustenance.
“What are we working on?” He asked, walking into your kitchen and grabbing plates.
“We?”
“Yeah, I can help.”
You scoffed, heading back to your work station. “Okay fine. Tell me everything you can on potential designs for a Kon Knueppel bobbleheads,” you show her the mock models, “these three are awful. And any ideas about off the court games? What do you know about the Whisper Challenge? Or celebrating 20 years of the Spectrum Center?”
He makes eye contact with you after you finish half of your to-do list, immediately giggling like you just spoke a foreign language. “Yeah I got nothin’. I’ll leave it to the professionals. But…to be competitive, you gotta eat.” He slides the plate over to you, arms crossed until you take a bite.
“This is amazing, thank you. Seriously.”
“No problem,” he assures, digging into his own plate, feeling really good about his carefully thought out decision. The last thing he wanted was to interrupt you while you were working but he also didn’t want you working yourself into the ground because there was another question he wanted to ask but didn’t know how you’d react. Especially with The Athletic reaching out. And the bobbleheads. And whatever metrics and other techy stuff he didn’t understand but would listen because it made you happy.
“Right now I’m working on Black History Month stuff, merch options and we have a meet the team event in a few weeks so that really needs to go well. What have you been up to?”
He looks at your computer, taking a glance at the upcoming schedule. “Super Bowl week is coming up so I have a few work things to do there. NFL Honors, that kind of thing.” Luke rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat nervously.
“Okay…what is it? You look like you’re about to say something bad.”
“It’s not bad. I just wanted to ask you something kind of crazy. But you can say no if it’s too much.”
You narrow your eyes at him, thoroughly lost. “I thought you already asked your question, about lunch slash dinner.”
“Linner?” He poses the question and you’re about to tell him to stop when he shakes his head, places a his hands on his hip and says “dunch?”
“You have to stop.” You were not going to give him the satisfaction of laughter, not about that. “First you asked if I ate. Now you have another question?”
Luke gives you a look you can’t quite name. “The food was just bonus points. I’m going to San Fran for Super Bowl stuff and was wondering if maybe…you wanted to join me? I know you’ll be in LA the next week for All Star so”
“You were thinking we’d spend two weeks in California together?”
He nods. “If you have a lot to do I get it. Just thought it’d be fun to get to away, maybe stomp on grapes with our feet or whatever people do in California for extended amounts of time.”
“They do make wine with their feet. And eat a lot of avocado toast.”
“I like avocadoes,” he says confidently.
“Can I think about it?”
Luke smiles. “Of course you can,” he packs up the food and places the containers in the fridge, “I’ll let you finish up.” He walks over and gives you a hug, placing a slow kiss to your lips. “Don’t work too hard?”
“No promises.”
The decision didn’t take much deliberation, you wanted to go. You wanted to spend time with him and work remote and maybe go to the beach. And see Super Bowl week in it’s controlled chaos. It was a perfect chance to network and be in really cool rooms with really cool people. One person you wanted to see more than others but that wasn’t really pertinent to the issue at hand. The good thing about your job was that anything could be done over Google Meet or via email. Time away from Charlotte would be nice to recharge, to not have to be “on” the week before your biggest networking weekend of the year.
You pulled out your phone and texted Luke, actually excited to go on this trip.
Summary: The third month of your little arrangement brings friendship, gifts and some complicated revelations.
Word count: 5.3K
Masterlist
“Are those earplugs?”
Luke nods, not saying a word, tucking the small case into the side of his bag. “They’re in case you snore. I’m a light sleeper.”
“I absolutely do not snore.“ You tell him. “I said that already.”
“That’s what they all say,” he notes, backpack hanging over his shoulder, “then I wake up thinking a grizzly bear is out of hibernation and has moved into our room. These are a contingency plan in case that happens.”
“Fine.” You sigh. “But when you wake up and the room is so quiet you can hear a mouse sneeze, you owe me chocolate chip cookies. Baked from scratch.”
He smiles, heading towards his car. “Deal.” Luke tosses his bag in the backseat and grabs your suitcase after shaking on his promise. “You know we aren’t moving to Charleston. This is all for one night?”
“I’m an over-packer,” you say calmly. “It’s my fatal flaw.”
“Fatal? Well gosh, we gotta work on that then.” Luke gets in the driver’s seat with a sigh, “you ready?”
You nod, plugging in your phone, ready to play some music. “I know the unspoken rule is that the driver chooses but I know you’ll play a stereotypical song like ’Life is a Highway’ and Nickleback.”
He presses his sunglasses against his face with a small laugh. “Rascal Flats is an American staple and Nickelback well...I’ll give you that one. That might be too far.”
The trip to Charleston was originally supposed to be a quick day trip but Nia kept adding things to the itinerary, some Christmas snow thing that was prettier at night and with the three hour drive there was no point in driving home afterwards so a hotel was booked. Better to figure out now if sharing space with him felt easy before wedding week.
“Did you bring gloves?” Luke asks, interrupting your borderline daydream.
“No. I won’t need them.” You tell him confidently. He gives you a look but doesn’t say anything else, putting the car in drive.
Three hours passed by quickly, you try to stay awake but at some point Luke listens to an audiobook, THE WAGER by David Grann about war and secret missions and it lulls you to sleep, quickly. He turned down the volume a few notches once he noticed your head leaning against the window, smiling to himself as he turned his eyes back to the road. It was a special kind of compliment to be comfortable enough to have someone trust him to sleep while he drives. It meant you felt safe with him and he didn’t want to take that for granted.
You’d stayed at the Charleston Place before, on a girls trip. That time was spent sampling mimosa flights and trying not to look at your phone every five minutes to see if you’d gotten your dream job. That felt like a lifetime ago. This stay felt earned. You’d worked hard enough to not have to work through an extended weekend trip, trusting the people on your team to execute your vision and you’d gotten to know Luke so well that a casual getaway didn’t feel like extra pressure.
Somewhere in the last few weeks being with him stopped feeling like work and more of a thing you looked forward to. Nia and Brandon weren’t really a test, just another piece of your life you were excited to share.
Every time you introduced him to someone from your inner circle was a step forward in his mind. And there was no bigger step than 48 hours straight of getting to experience what a real life with you would look like.
Hour 3
Bags were placed neatly in the room, there were so many perks to sharing a room with a man who used to bring down grown men for a living, like never having to carry your suitcase. And Luke was neat, almost alarmingly so. One of those fully grown adults who color code their closet and actually lay out their clothes and hang them in the closet even for a one night trip. Not that you were a slob or anything, your clothes were carefully packed and arranged in a way that was meticulous to other people but your system made sense.
Nia’s system? Made no fucking sense.
You loved her more than life but having to follow her rigorous itinerary felt closer to climbing Everest.
“She does know we’re only going to be here for today, right?” Luke asks, scrolling through the plans carefully detailed on his phone. Approximately three minutes after you told Nia you were down for the couples trip, she demanded Luke’s number and created a Charleston group chat with you, her, Luke and her boyfriend Brandon. “How are we going to get all this done?” Luke grabs his jacket as he watches you walk towards the door, room key tucked into your wallet.
“Please don’t challenge her, I swear she can probably hear us from here.” You tell him with a laugh, typing in your first location. “Can we split a cinnamon roll? I’m not hungry enough to eat a whole one but I need food in my body if we’re drinking.”
Luke nods, looking at your phone to confirm the address. “Yeah that’s fine,” he smiles without glancing up from the screen. “Did you already look at the menu?”
“Yeah? You don’t do that? I’d like to know what my options are before I get there. Either I find what I like and I’m excited to go or the menu is shit and I’m just there to pass the time.”
“Gosh, you are something else.” He says, shaking his head.
BKeDSHoP was the highest rated bakery based on Nia’s Tiktok recommendations. Luke held the door open and you thanked him before walking in, immediately engulfed in a warm hug and the smell of maple glazed donuts. You have no clue how your best friend spotted you so soon because the place is packed, but you assume she’s been staring at your location since you texted her that you were leaving the hotel.
“How was the drive?” She asks, hand staying on your back as she gives Luke a one armed hug.
“Perfect. I pretty much napped the entire time.“
Nia smiles, “same. B had on some stupid financial podcast about the state of the economy. I wanted to jump out of the car on the highway but decided to nap instead.” That gets a laugh out of Luke, who’s just introduced himself to Brandon. They were in the middle of a casual conversation before the simultaneous slander.
“Mine may be giggling now but he put me to sleep with his audiobook so he has absolutely no room to talk.” His chest felt tight at you casually claiming him and gave you a soft smile. Nia looked over at him and then looked at Brandon to see if he saw that too. He gave her a nod but didn’t say anything. The four of you grabbed a seat, sharing cinnamon rolls and ordering caffeinated drinks in preparation for the tightly packed day. First on the list walk to walk off the sugar rush. The guys walked a few steps behind you as you entered a small shop. Everything in Charleston was decked out with Christmas decor, the small boutique was filled with stocking stuffers and little trinkets. Originally, the plan was to browse, pass the time until it was time to hit Blind Tiger. That was until you spotted the cutest gold bracelets.
“They’re 14K real gold. Starlight petals. My grandmother was a jewelry maker, these pieces were kind of her thing.” The owner says with a fond look on his face.
“They’re stunning,” you note, nudging Nia who of course was looking at candles. “Should we be those people and get matching bracelets?”
“We definitely should.” She says immediately, holding one in her hand. “How much are they?”
The fact that there were price tags on the items wasn’t very promising. “They’re $210 each.”
Brandon walks over, looks at the bracelet and then his girlfriend. “You want this one?” She nods. He chuckles lowly and kisses her cheek, walking over to the register. Luke is already waiting, card in hand as the owner is holding the bracelet that he’d just been showing you. You hadn’t even noticed him leave and now Luke was buying you jewelry without batting an eye.
“Look at them,” Nia practically coos, “they’re so cute. I’m really happy you found an adult, he’s so chill and Brandon is obsessed already I can tell. He’s trying very hard to be normal around him now but I know he’s gonna be bringing up career stats after a couple Tiger Ciders.”
You wanted to laugh but all you could focus on was Luke and Brandon walking back with the tiny bags that held your bracelets. Nia thanked Brandon with a quick kiss and they did another quick lap. He wanted to show her this antique watch collection he and Luke had seen earlier. You looped the bag around your wrist and pulled out your phone, immediately opening Venmo to give Luke his money back.
“I wouldn’t do that.” He says calmly. “I’m just gonna send it back.”
“What do you mean? You don’t have to pay for my stupid day trip memorabilia.”
“You’re right. But I want to.” You gave him a look. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. You can pay me back by helping me pick out an ornament. My mom gets me one every year, I wanna return the favor.”
“Only if you let me pay for it.”
He thinks about it for a second, like you’ve just offered to donate him your kidney. “Sure, you can buy the ornament.”
Hour 8
Christmas, supposedly the “greatest time of year,” was sometimes nauseating. Arguably the second hardest time of year after Valentines’ Day to be single. Luckily you technically avoided that battle this holiday season and could peacefully people watch at the bar. Practically everyone you knew called you a commitment-phobe, but that wasn’t exactly the case. You didn’t fear commitment, you feared what commitment meant, what it could turn someone into.
The last thing you ever wanted was to be a part of those couples you rolled your eyes at in public. Or make so many sacrifices and compromises to make the relationship work that you hardly recognized yourself. And it was little things, like Brandon pulling out Nia’s chair and ordering her drink like she’d suddenly become mute and broken both arms. You might’ve been considered a hater because yes, to some people the gesture would be considered sweet. To you, it felt like losing a little of your agency, having someone know you to your core to know simple things like what your drink order was in a new place was a level of closeness that made you itch. It was almost as bad as the performative couples who sit on the same side of the booth when they’re alone. Or that couple in the corner of the bar, by the gigantic nutcrackers making out like they aren’t in public. As you walked around the room, Luke nudged you as the four of you walked past a couple in matching quarter zips that almost made you stop and stare as the couple continued rubbing noses.
MERRY AND MARRIED EST. 2025.
The slogan was printed in bold red and green letters for patrons to see. People passed by and congratulated the newlyweds and you had to take a sip of your drink and keep walking, giving them a smile. That was the absolute best you could do given the loud circumstances.
Your second Crimson Noel cocktail was definitely going to be a double.
“What’s that face for?” Luke asks, taking a seat next to you. Brandon had gone to the restroom and Nia had stepped out to answer a phone call.
“This is my people watching face. I’m observing. And...fueling my own anti-relationship agenda.”
“You look horrified.” He chuckles lightly, trying really hard not to fully laugh as he glances over at the newlyweds again. “The nose rubbing is a lot, but they seem happy.”
The comment earned him a sideways glance and a groan, “please don’t tell me you’re a matching Christmas sweater in public kind of guy.”
“No, god no. That’s way too far.” He looks mildly offended and watches you visibly relax at how fast his response was. “I think it’s nice that they’re in their own little love bubble and are just existing like no one else is in the room. If you like someone enough, you do things you wouldn’t normally ever do.”
Your eyes narrow, “like rubbing noses in front of strangers?”
“Okay well maybe not that specifically,” he rubs the back of his neck. “But there is something kind of heartwarming about liking someone enough to do ridiculous stuff,” his voice softens just a touch. “Stuff you probably wouldn’t agree to otherwise.”
Luke clears his throat as soon as he says the last part, dangerously close to putting his foot in his mouth and making this whole thing weird. “Anyway,” he shrugs, sliding his mug over, “do you wanna try some of this? I think I accidentally ordered the drink of choice straight from the North Pole.”
His tone makes you extremely suspicious. “Are you only asking me that because you want to try my drink?”
“Yeah,“ he says plainly, snagging your cocktail without shame. “This is good.” Luke glances at the cup like he just consumed a life altering concoction. “Wow, this is annoyingly good.”
You glance down at his seasonal Moscow Mule and taste it. “Not bad. Mine is still better though, I’m gonna need that back,” sliding his mug back towards him, you reached over to grab your glass, grazing his fingers as he handed it off. “Thank you.”
When Nia sat back down at the table she noticed the soft smile on his face as he watched you finish your drink and took a mental note to bring it up later, figure out what all that was about. But Brandon came back and asked if everyone was ready to order an Uber since the sun was starting to go down. The part of the trip you’d secretly been looking forward to all day.
Hour 12
Let it Snow Experience. Of all the videos Nia had sent you over your to-do list briefing that one stuck with you. The twinkling beams of light bursting from every square inch of Holiday Headquarters, leading down a festive trail, right at the hotel you were staying at. There were so many people walking up and down the path, families looking for the toy train models and the colorful light display probably illuminating the entire city block. You didn’t know where to look or what you wanted to capture with your phone. Nia and Brandon took couples selfies and you and Luke were too busy capturing the lightshow to think about date things. “This is probably one of the coolest things I’ve seen. Light shows in Charlotte have nothing on this.”
“When you were playing did you even have time to do fun Christmas stuff?”
He thought about it for a second and shook his head. “It was always towards the end of the season so I was too sore to be on my feet for long periods of time if I didn’t have to be so we mostly watched movies and ate food at the house. So this is really nice.” He sighs, eyes lifting towards the top of the tree where the lights were starting to flicker like raindrops. The awe in his face was something you needed to keep forever. You snagged a picture of him staring up at the view and it brought a smile to your face. He looked like the epitome of joy in its purest form.
“Did you just take a picture of me?”
You nodded instead of verbally responding, still admiring your photography work and maybe your muse. “You wanna see it?“ He steps to the side, leaning over you to see the photo. “You looked so happy, I had to.”
“I am happy,” he affirms, putting his phone in his jacket pocket. “Thanks for inviting me.”
“Thanks for coming.” It’s a little colder tonight than the forecast predicted and the slight gust of wind sends a chill down your entire body. Luke doesn’t say anything watching you shiver as you walk back towards your friends. You and Nia walked hand in hand, talking about how beautiful it is, walking down to where people had gathered for the fake snowfall to kick off the holiday season. You came up to a giant, carefully decorated Christmas tree in the center of the hotel square, lined with fake presents at the base of the forestry as another chill forced you to tuck your hands into your sleeves.
“See I knew you were gonna need gloves,” Luke whispers beside you. “This isn’t me saying I told you so but...I did.” The look on his face wasn’t smug exactly, but you knew he was pleased with himself for being proven right. He slipped his hand into his jacket again and handed you a glove.
“You only get one.”
The question hung in the air for a few seconds as you put it on before his large, very warm hand engulfed your ungloved fingers. He didn’t say another word. Neither did you. Instead, you stepped closer to him to steal a bit more of his body heat as Nia leaned back into Brandon who kissed the side of her head. Fake snow suddenly poured from somewhere higher up than you could see in the dark but it definitely made you feel like you were in some fairytale winter wonderland. Some kids had their mouths open and Luke casually whispered that he wasn’t sure they should be eating that stuff and all you could do was laugh.
Holding his hand wasn’t uncomfortable or weird, it started out as a survival tactic to avoid frostbite but you didn’t want to let go. And you didn’t. Not when you were back inside, listening to carolers and the little figurines. The other glove was off by then but your hand found its way right back to his as you got hot chocolate and cookies before heading back upstairs to get changed for dinner. The rest of the night was easy, dinner was normal, casual conversation filled with laughter. No work stress, even though you did check the score of the Hornets game as you walked by a tv but other than that the day was well spent. He had his glasses on by the time you were done with your nighttime routine, looking every bit like a classic version of a beloved reporter at the Daily Planet.
“Really good day trip,” he says, pulling the blanket back so you can slid in easily.
“It really was. I miss my drink from the pub though, gonna be thinking about that for a while.”You sigh, pulling the comforter up to your chest. Seemed like you’d been out of your room for a couple hours but an entire twelve hours had passed and you’d spent most of it on your feet. Being in bed was a well earned reward for all the steps you’d accumulated since you set foot in Charleston. “We need to figure out how to recreate it,” you yawned, sinking deeper into the mattress.
“Or we could just come back?” He suggests. “There’s no way you remember everything that was in that drink.”
“I definitely took a picture of the menu. I’m copying their signature cocktail so I can have it whenever I want.”
He laughs, asking you if it’s okay to turn the lamp off and you nod. “Goodnight, I got us late checkout so we can sleep in.”
“You’re amazing,” you say, yawning again. “Goodnight.”
Hour 20
The last time you’d woken up after 9AM with no cares in the world was probably college and it felt amazing not to have any pressing responsibility. Just coffee and a platter full of breakfast essentials and a guy you were starting to really like hanging out with outside of your temporary agreement that had a looming expiration date. “So...what’s the verdict?” You began, taking a bite of your French toast. “Did I snore?”
“You did not.“ He smiles back. “Guess I owe you a batch of cookies.”
“Damn right you do. Extra chocolate chips please, and I want them chewy. I want cookies, not bricks.”
“Yes ma’am.”
“We never actually got to debrief our Charleston trip and we’ve been home for a week.” Nia says over the phone as you looked through your emails. Pride Night was a major success and you were keeping a running list of thank you gift baskets to send to sponsors while getting ready for the next themed night, Holiday Hoopla against the Wizards. “I noticed a few things and it would be dense of me not to bring it up.”
“What are you talking about?”
You were a little concerned and the weird feeling in your stomach scared you even more. Because what if she said she didn’t like Luke? And why did the sudden thought of that make your stomach hurt?
“It’s nothing groundbreaking,” she promised. “Just that I get it. I see what you see in him. He’s sweet and he clearly gets you because you didn’t seem annoyed, not even once about couple activities and you were smiling in the morning when we left and—”
“Okay I get it,” you stopped her with a laugh, pushing down that bout of relief that it wasn’t the alternative. “Luke is, really great. And um, he’s actually coming over to my parent’s house this weekend to watch the Saints game with us.”
Nia is silent for a while and you know she’s trying to be calm and normal about this. “First you allow him to drive for multiple hours and share a hotel room with him. And I heard no complaints. Even after you’d spent a full 24 hours straight together while he’s very clearly sprung.”
“He’s not sprung.”
“Oh babe. That man made small talk with Brandon about Bank of America’s primary software in the middle of the day.” She points out. “He likes you. And he wants your people to like him and he’s trying. On top of that he’s willingly hanging out with your dad which is inevitably going to turn into him dissecting football like he majored in analytics.” The sad thing is, you couldn’t even tell her she was wrong because you knew that was exactly what was gonna happen.
“Alright so Luke, honestly, what do you think about Legette? I mean he should be our number one receiver but I’m just not seeing anything spectacular. Horn Jr. and McMillan have been making more plays consistently.”
“Could be a sophomore slump,” Will says walking back into the living room, three bottles of beer in hand. “Everyone’s got a full year of tape on you, it’s harder to make a difference.”
Luke sits up, thanking Will for the drink before quickly switching gears. “Look, I couldn’t be a receiver. You gotta know the play and know where you’re supposed to be and when and get the timing right with your quarterback who’s going through his progressions. And Bryce has been great this year but you never know if the defense is gonna blow up the play or if he’s gonna get you the ball where you can be useful. Then you got guys trying to tear your head off once you do make the catch and...I do not envy those guys. I think Xavier’s a great talent and he’ll hopefully find his way within the offense. He’s young, so is most of this offense and they’re peaking at the right time.”
Will scoffs in disbelief. “Dude, are you always this nice?”
“I’m not being nice!” Luke defends himself. “The NFL is hard man, it’s best on best every time you step out there. Our defense is just lucky it’s Tyler Shough out there and not Drew Brees, that’s the last thing I’ll say.”
Your dad, Will and Luke all shared a glance before erupting into laughter. A part of you was happy to hear evidence that the guys were bonding and enjoying their quality time but the realistic part of you, the part that sat at the front of your heart and mind felt like this was cruel on your part. Allowing Will and your dad to fall in love with a guy who wasn’t going to last, who wasn’t going to be around next football season. No look of awe in their faces as he broke down film from his perspective, granting them a front row seat to the mind of a football savant. And you were the monster that was going to rip that experience away from them.
“Hello...did you hear what I just said?” Salem waved a hand in your face and you were back in the dining room, back where your feet were instead of where your mind had wandered out of guilt.
“Sorry,” you shook your head, lightly pinching your nose to re-center yourself. “Sorry I just—doesn’t matter. When’s the dress fitting?”
“Next Thursday, mom’s place. You and the girls meet us there at 2 for champagne. I have my fitting first and then we’ll look at where you guys are at with yours then we can do a late lunch?”
Your mom nods, looking at her notes trying and quickly failing to cater to her favorite client of all time. “Baby girl, you are going to love the alterations we made. Everything you asked for. And then some.”
“Mom, is that a threat?” You ask with a laugh and Salem joins in.
“This lady thinks she’s a vigilante with a sewing needle.”
“No I don’t. Can’t a mother be excited for her daughter’s wedding? Lord knows my other child may never ask me to design a dress.”
Your eyes widen as Salem’s laughter doubles in volume. “Now how did this become about me? Can you focus on your wedding child maybe?”
“Mommy’s scared her golden child is gonna fumble a fu—freaking superhero.”
“Nice save,” your mom deadpans. “And that’s not what this is about at all. I just want my princesses to look the part on their big day,” she looks over at you, “if that’s what you choose. No pressure. My golden girl.”
Salem rolls her eyes, “aren’t parents not supposed to have favorites?”
Your mom stands and asks “are you guys hungry? I’m kind of hungry.”
“See how she avoided the question? That’s a damn shame.”
“What was that?” Your mom yells from the kitchen.
“I said I love you!” Salem yells back.
Nobody usually lasted long after a few bites of your mom’s famous smothered chicken, mashed potatoes and roasted carrots. It was historically impossible so you and Luke bid your goodbyes before the post meal exhaustion hit. On the drive to your place, Luke asked if he could make a quick stop at his house for your surprise.
“My cookies,” you said proudly, rubbing your hands together.
The platter was sitting on the counter, looking all perfect with your name on them. “Can I have one right now?”
He couldn’t believe he’d just found your weakness, a simple chocolate chip cookie had you beaming in his kitchen at 10PM and if he had to bake a dozen cookies every day for the next decade to keep that look on your face, he would. Rather than saying that insane intrusive thought sitting on the tip of his tongue, he takes the plastic wrap off and holds the plate out so, watching you take a cookie. You want to keep a strict poker face as you take a bite but it’s really fucking good. “Did you brown the butter?”
“I did.” He says, setting the plate down and folding his arms over his chest. “Is it good?”
He felt like a contestant on a Food Network show presenting his dish to a judge he really wanted to impress.
You take another bite, closing your eyes, “this might be top five best chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever had in my life.” It’s soft, the chips are still gooey even though he’s been at your parents’ house for a few hours and you know there’s chocolate somewhere on your lips. Before you can reach Luke hands you a napkin and you toss the rest of the cookie in your mouth before cleaning off the excess crumbs and chocolate. “Did I get it all?”
Luke shakes his head, pointing aimlessly as you run the paper towel back and forth on your face.
He laughs and steps toward you, holding out his hand so you can place the napkin in his palm. “Here. I got you.” The motion is so quick there’s no time to even feel awkward about it. One minute he’s leaning against the counter the next he’s focused on fixing the vicious assault his chocolate chips have made on the bottom right corner of your lip, the tiny speck is defeated but he doesn’t take a step back. For a second you think he might say something else or even take a step closer to you but he doesn’t and you’re too frozen where you stand to make a move.
The silence sits for a moment longer before Luke tosses the paper towel in the trash, walking towards the living room. “I got you a Christmas gift.”
“What is it?” You press him, quickly matching his stride in anticipation. He guides you to a long box in the corner of the room and lets you open it. Inside, tucked between the cardboard panels is a painting, one of a kind, from a local artist you and Salem have quietly been following for years. You’d only mentioned her once in passing and couldn’t believe he remembered.
“You said you needed things to decorate your office with. Figured this would be a good start.”
“It’s stunning,” you marveled, eyes slightly welling up, “but why a pearl?“
“Pearls are rare to find but worth the lengthy search,” he begins, “not every shell has one. So you have to search, sometimes for a really long time until you find one. And the artist told me that throughout history, monarchs and elite figures have used pearls to signify power and luxury. It just...represents you pretty well, I think.”
“Luke this is...how much did you spend on this?”
“Doesn’t matter, it’s a gift. Merry Christmas.”
Before you get too emotional you pull him in for a hug, he immediately melts into your touch, arms wrapped around you like he’s done this 100 times. A small but sincere “thank you” vibrates against his chest. You look up and meet his gaze, “now I feel shitty.”
“Why?”
“All I got you is a new fishing set. You got me this super thoughtful gift and I got you new rods and state of the art line.”
“Hey, that is thoughtful. I needed new fishing gear. I’m sure I’ll be using it in the next couple weeks, not a shitty gift at all. Very…un-shitty.”
“Un-shitty? God you are such a doofus.” You tucked yourself into him again, giving him one more squeeze. “Seriously, thank you. This gift is perfect.”
He rests his chin on your head and sighs. “You’re welcome. Let’s get this thing in the car and get you home.” Thank goodness he was carrying the painting or else the urge to hold your hand again might’ve taken over. The drive to your place and back was pretty quiet and he rested his head on his steering wheel before heading up to his room, thinking about how royally screwed he was. You’d hugged him for the first time today, initiated the physical contact and had even gone in for more and he’d already memorized your touch, exactly where your head rested against him and the slight twinkle in your eye when he explained the gift. Luke had meant what he said about the pearl, rare things were worth waiting for. Worth protecting.
⋆⠀pairing: mat barzal x darling!reader.
⋆⠀word count: 8k.
summary: things are growing increasingly hot and cold between the two of you. just when mat think you're cold, suddenly things are red hot (smut, 18+ mdni).
⋆⠀author's note & warnings: an anon sent me the most delicious concept so i had to break out the pen. more plot than porn, oral (m. & f. receiving), includes language, teasing. read more for #13⠀⋆⠀series masterlist.
There was a satisfaction Mat carried in realizing he knew the best route to get to your apartment and a back-up route if traffic was bad—not to mention he was on a first name basis with your doorman. He had a key fob, too, for access to the garage, the entrance, the elevators, and your front door, though he never entered without you opening the door for him first.
Tonight was supposed to be easy. You were going out with a group of his friends, plus their girlfriends, to a nightclub your publicist chose specifically for the paparazzi known to be lingering in the area and the nosy unknowns eager to post a video of spotted celebrities for 15 minutes of fame or the rush of being an anonymous insider for DeuxMoi.
It didn’t take you very long to open the door after he rang the doorbell. By the time he glanced down at his watch and back up at the dark, glossed wood, the hinges were already sighing open. The first thing Mat noticed was the glint of jewelry draped over your collarbones in the form of delicate chains catching the dim hallway light. He knew your lips curled at the edges when you watched his eyes drop to your chest, always smug at how effortlessly you seemed to make him drool.
Your voice reached his ears, evidently mid-conversation with who he was sure was Ameera or Imani, when you turned away from him, barely sparing him a glance, and padded back barefoot to your bedroom. The apartment smelled like florals and citrus, just shy of nauseating, and was impeccably clean except for the tornado that seemingly always tore through your bedroom and walk-in closet when you had to get ready on your own without your stylist’s supervision.
Mat followed you inside, shutting the door with his elbow because his hands were full with his phone in one, a bottle of your choice tequila in the other. He slipped out of his shoes the instant the door was shut, something he learned to do the hard way after you’d blown up at him for what was potentially the smallest speck of dirt tracked onto your cream-colored rug. He set the bottle on your marble countertop—another hard lesson learned—and wandered toward the living room, falling back onto one of the couches that he was learning was more firm than the other options in the area.
You’d been fighting, then you weren’t, then you were fucking, then you weren’t. More recently it seemed like you were doing both at the same time, which made your moods all the more difficult to predict. Despite how confusing it all was, Mat couldn’t help but admire the way you moved, even when you were blatantly ignoring him.
You fluttered in and out of the doorway to your bedroom, bouncing between thoughts and tasks: adjusting the clasp of a bracelet with your teeth, sending Imani a picture of your shoes, ordering Mat to take a shot of tequila with you, then pausing mid-stride to frown at your phone screen. Mat watched from the couch, recklessly letting his eyes trace the curve of your waist where your little black dress dress clung and your exposed brown skin shimmered slightly under the apartment’s soft lighting.
“You know that jacket we got you in London? The one with the pockets on the chest?” you quizzed, finally acknowledging him properly, black heels hanging off your fingers as you reappeared in the doorway. Your dark eyes flickered over him, scrutinizing his chosen outfit of a cream-colored henley tucked into dark wash jeans before landing somewhere on his face. “I have it here somewhere. It would probably go great with what you’re wearing.”
Mat blinked, still distracted the “we” that rolled off your tongue so sweetly just a few seconds prior.
“Uh. Yeah, sure,” he managed, swallowing when you tossed your heels down and padded toward the hall closet, resuming your conversation with Imani on the other end of the line about something Mat wasn’t sure he quite followed. The sound of hangers sliding against the rod made him glance up from his lap, where his fingers had started tapping restlessly against his thighs.
You emerged with the jacket draped over your arm, holding it out toward him with a tilt of your head that sent your hair tumbling over your shoulder.
“Here. Try it.”
It was cliche, the way his heart skipped a beat at the command in your voice. So, without thinking twice, he stood, fingers brushing against yours as he took the jacket, sharing each other's warmth for half a second. The fabric smelled of your perfume, a bright scent that always clung to your belongings from the frequency at which you spritzed yourself throughout the apartment.
“Turn around,” you instructed, already stepping closer before he could comply. Your hands settled on his shoulders, spinning him with an efficient impatience. He caught a glimpse of your reflection in the large hallway mirror, lips pursed in concentration, the tip of your tongue just visible between your teeth, as you adjusted the collar, your fingertips skimming the back of his neck.
“Yeah,” you murmured, mostly to yourself, smoothing your palms down his arms before stepping back. “You should wear it tonight.”
He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how close you stood when he turned to face you. “Guess I’m wearing it then,” he said, his voice low.
The jacket was firm, a little heavy on his shoulders, but he liked the way you looked at him when he shrugged into it, like you were pleased with yourself for putting him in it. Your fingers ghosted over his chest, adjusting the lapels while he held his breath. “I wasn’t giving you a choice anyway,” you said, lips twitching with a smile as you picked lint off his shoulder.
You vanished back into your bedroom, and Mat exhaled, rolling his shoulders to settle into the weight of the jacket and shake off the heat at his collar. He caught his reflection in the hallway mirror and reached up to tousle his hair, just to have something to do with his hands.
“How far are we going tonight?” You called out from the bedroom, voice floating to his ears from what sounded like your bathroom now. “PDA-wise.”
Mat trailed over to your bathroom door and leaned against the doorframe, watching as you reappeared, smoothing gloss over your lips before blotting them together. The soft pop of your lips that followed made his mouth dry. “Kisses are fine,” he cleared his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Hands, whatever. Not like we haven’t done worse in public before.”
You hummed. “True,” you murmured, twisting the cap back onto your lip gloss.
The rustling that followed told him you would be assembling your things to toss in your clutch, but Mat didn’t move from his spot in the doorway, content to watch your fingers pluck makeup wipes, your various makeup products, and your phone from your vanity before you straightened to glance at him. He half-expected a jab or a coy remark, but instead you reached for the back of his head, fingers curling into his hair at the nape of his neck, and pulled him down to meet your lips.
The kiss was brief, just long enough for him to register the warmth of your mouth, the slick glide of your gloss against his lips, and the soft exhale you let out through your nose before you pulled away. “Just wanted to test the transfer,” you murmured, half-smiling when his eyebrows drew together in confusion.
He didn’t process the words, not with the way his pulse thrummed under his skin and hammered in his ear. “The… the what?”
You rolled your eyes, thumb swiping at the corner of his mouth where your gloss had smudged. “Don’t worry about it,” you said, voice lilting with amusement as you turned back to the vanity.
The dim, golden lighting of your bathroom caught the high points of your cheekbones, the curve of your throat, the dip of your collarbones where those delicate chains still rested. Mat nodded absently, flexing his fingers at his sides before shoving them into the pockets of the jacket you’d insisted he wear.
“Where are we meeting your friends?”
Mat blinked, still tasting your gloss on his lips, and pulled his phone from his pocket with fingers that felt oddly weak. “Uh—at some place in Chelsea,” he said, scrolling past missed notifications to double-check the reservation. “Said they’d be there by 11.”
“I can call a car if you don’t want to deal with an Uber,” you said, strutting past Mat and out to the hallway where you bent over to do up the straps of your heels that twined up the length of your calves. The movement made the hem of your dress ride up the backs of your thighs, revealing the black lace of your underwear to his view before you straightened.
When you made no move to adjust the hem of your dress but made sure to catch Mat’s eye in challenge, he laughed hoarsely. “This is what we’re doing?” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face, eyes shifting repeatedly between yours and the strip of skin still exposed.
You straightened your shoulders, feigning innocence. “I don’t know what you mean,” you lied, typing rapidly into your phone to call the town car while Mat watched, jaw tight.
He gritted his teeth, his jaw flexing in thought. With a huff he finally stepped forward, crowding behind you to adjust the hem of your mini dress with a rough tug of the fabric. A suggestive hum of approval slipped from your lips as you leaned back against him, tilting your head back just enough to fall against his shoulder.
“Aggressive…” you murmured. “Is this better?”
He grumbled, rolling his eyes with a, “You’re a pain in the ass,” but didn’t step away. The heat of your back pressed against his chest made his breath hitch, fingers tense where they still held the fabric of your dress.
You laughed, twisting slightly to glance up at him through your lashes before slipping out of his hold, casually remarking, “Car’s here.”
“You’re being weird,” you announced, though your focus didn’t waver from the phone in your hand.
The ride in the town car had been nearly silent so far. Mat was busy updating his friends, tapping away at his phone, leaving you to your own devices which mostly consisted of scrolling through Instagram and trying to pretend you weren’t eager to get your hands on him. It didn’t help that the jacket you’d returned to him still carried your scent, courtesy of the spritz of perfume you snuck in your closet before handing it off to him.
Mat cleared his throat, finishing his text before he turned his head in your direction. “I’m being weird?”
You glanced up at him then continued swiping through your phone. “You haven’t said a word to me since we left.”
“After that fucking stunt you pulled at your place?” Mat muttered under his breath, returning his attention to his phone.
When he felt you look up again he lifted his eyes towards the window, developing a sudden interest in the blur of passing streetlights. “Are you gonna pout all night?” you asked, voice light for the moment.
Mat exhaled through his nose, thumb tapping against his phone screen harder than necessary. “I’m not pouting,” he denied. “Just feels like fucking whiplash sometimes. Kissing me unprompted, pulling stuff like that when we’re trying—”
“We literally had sex three days ago,” you cut in, voice dry as you sat back in your seat. “Pouting over a fucking kiss is dramatic even for you.” You rolled your wrist dismissively, the motion catching light from passing billboards and casting fractured gold across your skin.
Mat scoffed. “You know that’s not—”
“Then what?” you growled, twisting in your seat to face him fully. “Are you upset because you got blue balled or some other stupid—”
His voice was low and strained when he cut you off with the harsh hiss of your name, fingers tightening around his phone until the screen dimmed from inactivity. “It’s this,” he gestured between the two of them, “interrogating me every time you don’t get the attention you want. I’m not being weird at all. You’re bored, leave me out of it.”
The car slowed at a red light, casting them in the neon glow of a nearby sign. “You think I’m bored?” Your eyes narrowed.
Mat didn’t flinch. “I think you like starting shit with me because it’s fun for you. Now we’re arguing and I have no clue why.” He turned his head finally, meeting your gaze head-on. His hazel eyes seemed much darker in the neon flicker of the city, the sarcasm that often defined his tone replaced by a heavy, simmering tension. “I don’t get it.”
You held his stare even as the car began to roll forward again, your silence becoming a weapon. You didn’t snap back, just let him attempt to beat you at this game of attrition, this test of who would blink first. Your eyes took on a predatory curiosity, tracing the tight line of his jaw and his chest rising and falling in a shallow, agitated rhythm. The silence continued until the town car slid to a halt across the street from the entrance of the club.
“I’ll suck your dick when we get back to my place if that’s the issue,” you hummed, the words barely a ghost of a sound against the sudden silence of the car. You didn’t look at him, instead focusing on your front facing camera to check your makeup one last time.
The door on Mat’s side of the car clicked open as he cursed under his breath with a shallow roll of his eyes. It was like foreplay to you, he thought to himself, the forced arguments meant to rile him up only gave you a rush. He still wasn’t sure why you loved the arguing so much, and he was starting to question if the payoff of the (admittedly) best sex of his life was worth the psychological warfare that preceded it. Yet, as he stepped out into the warm city night, rounded the front of the town car, opened your door, and offered you a hand, the sight of you stepping out of the car, all sleek, poised, and radiating an effortless kind of power, made the annoyance evaporate.
You drew close to his side after he shut the door behind you, wrapping your hand around his bicep with a squeeze that felt more like a marking of property than a gesture of affection. As you crossed the street toward the club’s entrance, he could see the long line that wrapped around the building and two men wearing all black, leaning against their motorcycles with professional cameras hanging from their necks. Mat felt the sudden, instinctive shift in your posture; your shoulders squared and your chin lifted, naturally falling into step with him.
“Are they inside already?” you asked Mat, your voice shifting into that smooth, melodic register you reserved for the public. You leaned your head against his shoulder, the movement seamless, as if you were leaning on him for support rather than calculating the exact angle for any cameras catching your approach.
“Yeah, they’re probably already halfway through the first round of drinks,” Mat replied. He shifted his arm, sliding his hand down to lock his fingers with yours.
The bass from inside the club bled through the walls, a rhythmic thrum that Mat felt in the soles of his shoes. He pulled you through the crowd, ensuring you were still close to him every so often with the quick turn of his head as you ventured to up to the rooftop of the club where Mat was told his friends were already drinking.
The rooftop air was a welcome contrast to the stifling humidity of the dance floor below, though the atmosphere remained thick with the scent of overpriced cologne, cigarettes, and booze. As you stepped out from the elevator, the bass hit them in waves, vibrating through the glass railings that overlooked the glittering sprawl of Manhattan’s West Side. Mat’s friends were clustered around a large circular booth, a sea of laughter and clinking glasses that dimmed the moment the couple arrived.
“Finally!” one of the guys, Kyle, shouted, raising a bottle of vodka. “We thought the paparazzi had actually managed to kidnap you both at the curb.”
Mat grinned, the tension from the car ride dissolving as he leaned into the familiarity of the group. He didn’t let go of your hand, and you didn’t let him, allowing him to continue leading you toward the booth. As you approached, you separated to be absorbed by the group.
You had met all of Mat’s friends and a majority of their girlfriends by now, though this was your first night out with them. You played the part of the supportive, glowing girlfriend to perfection, your voice honeyed as you greeted them, dishing and accepting compliments before being pulled away for shots. Mat watched you out of the corner of his eye, failing to fight the urge to let his gaze run over your exposed skin and the way you commanded the space without even trying.
The first kiss of the night was completely inorganic.
Kyle was still swinging the now quarter empty bottle of vodka around, pouring distilled alcohol directly into the open mouths of every member of your group. Mat made a face at the burn, accepting the bottle while gesturing wildly to Sammy, Blake, and Ellie mid-story. He passed the bottle off to Sammy when in the periphery of his vision, he saw a phone angled towards him and you just a handful of steps away. A few months ago he would’ve brushed it off—if he had noticed it at all—but now, it was hard not to realize when people were failing to film him discreetly.
Neither of them missed a beat.
His eyes met yours. Mat didn't hesitate, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him, the movement instinctive and firm. He tilted his head, capturing your lips in a short kiss, settling his hand around your hip, and pulling back when you wrapped both arms around his waist.
“You saw?” you spoke, just loud enough over the music that he heard it, though the glow of the phone had already vanished back into a clutch.
“I saw,” he murmured, his lips grazing your forehead as he spoke.
You stepped back and mouthed, ‘Check me out,’ before spinning away to rejoin the girls, tugging Ellie along with you. Mat didn’t need to be told twice, he appreciated the excuses to let his eyes wander. He turned back to Sammy and Blake, only to be met with three different looks of amused disbelief.
The second kiss of the night wasn’t for the benefit of the cameras.
You had drifted away from the section, following your group out to where a mass of bodies danced in the center of the rooftop. Mat had his arms looped loosely around your waist, his chest acting as a shield against the jostling bodies, while you leaned back against him, controlling the pace of your dancing.
It started as a whisper, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he snarkily commented on the absurdity of the DJ’s transitions. The comment prompted a turn of your head accompanied by the sound of your laughter followed by the turn of your body to face him fully.
“Your hair looks nice like this,” you commented. As one hand fell over his shoulder, your other dipped into his dark hair, fingers massaging the scalp and making the noise of the club fade into a dull hum beyond the focus of his immediate attention. “The jacket was a good call, too. I love how it looks on you.”
Mat felt the last remnants of your argument dissolve, replaced by a magnetic pull that always seemed to override his common sense. He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you in until you were sealed tightly against him.
“You love how it looks because you told me to wear it,” Mat countered, though the bite was gone from his voice, replaced by a low, gravelly, private warmth. He leaned down, his nose brushing against yours, breathing a soft exhale against your lips.
“I do,” you admitted, your voice a velvet murmur that vibrated against his chest. “But you still look good in it. I mean it.”
Mat’s eyes drifted shut, his senses narrowing down to the feeling of your hands sliding up his chest and over his shoulders, and the overwhelming scent of that bright, floral perfume. He was the one to lean in first this time, teasing you with a slow, deliberate descent until his lips brushed yours. The kiss was deep, tasting of salted vodka and the expensive gloss that had long since smeared, and for a long moment, the energy of the rooftop vanished.
When he finally pulled back, his gaze was heavy, anchored by a level of adoration he knew would make your ego swell. Undoubtably, that swollen ego prompted you to tug him into another kiss, one sloppier and more hurried. He couldn’t help the wandering of his hands, nor could he bring himself to be concerned with the mussing of his hair at your touch. Chasing your lips felt like the only priority in his mind, a reward for surviving the tests of the evening’s beginning.
Your hands cupped his jaw with just enough pressure to make his head swim. Just as he began to lean back in for more, you broke the connection with a soft, teasing pop of your lips, glancing over your shoulder to ensure a few nearby onlookers were indeed cognizant of the moment. You laughed at his flushed cheeks, muttering something he didn’t quite catch over the crescendo of the music, before sliding your arms back around his neck.
As the night progressed, the group migrated toward the lounge area, the high of the vodka shifting into a lazy, content hum. Mat felt his brain become overrun with static when you slid into his lap and pulled his hands onto your thighs. Feeling the tension in his hands, you slid your hands over his, guiding your fingers to lace through his, grounding him in the heat of your skin. He caught Kyle’s eye, a slow, knowing smirk crossing his friend’s face, and Mat just shook his head, a quiet laugh escaping him. He was completely gone, orbiting your center of gravity, oblivious to the open teasing from his friends.
He tucked his chin over your shoulder, leaving kisses along the curve of your jaw and down the side of your neck as the conversation around them dissolved into a blur of background noise. He squeezed at your thighs, happy to hear your contended sighs in between your laughter and the vibration of your voice when you spoke lowly into his ear. By the time you finally decided to call it a night, the group was practically stumbling, the high of the evening settling into a heavy, dizzy lethargy.
The walk to the pizza place Geneva, Kyle’s fiancée, recommended was a chaotic procession of laughter and leaning on one another for support. The girls, you, Ellie, and Geneva, led the way, your heels clicking a frantic rhythm on the pavement, while the guys trailed behind, recounting the night’s highlights in loud, exaggerated tones. Mat, however, was still barely listening. He was drifting, focus anchored to the woman walking just a few paces ahead of him, wrapped up in the jacket you demanded he wear earlier in the night. The way your hips swayed under the hem of that dress, the effortless grace of your stride, the way you would periodically glance back at him with a smile and an excited ‘babe’ rolling off your tongue naturally. It left him struck.
The pizza shop was busier than Mat expected it to be at this hour—nearly 3 in the morning—which he found to be quite the lucky break for the lack of space. The narrow interior forced the group to huddle close, shoulders rubbing, as you waited for your pizzas to slide out of the brick oven. You didn’t seem to mind the proximity. In fact, you leaned further into him, your back pressed against his chest as you chatted with Geneva.
Mat felt the warmth of you through the thin fabric of your dress, his arms instinctively circling your waist to keep you from being bumped by other patrons. Eventually, Geneva slid into a conversation with a pair of strangers also waiting for your food. So, you shifted, turning your head to look up at him. The fluorescent lighting of the shop was harsh, but it only seemed to highlight the clarity of your almond eyes.
“Was it too much tonight?” you asked quietly, in what was a pretty rare display of genuine concern.
“What, the PDA?” Mat murmured, his voice dropping an octave. He tightened his grip on your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer. When you nodded, he replied, “No, no, it wasn’t too much. I actually think we could’ve pushed the envelope more.”
You let out a soft, melodic laugh, the sound vibrating against his chest. “I have to draw a line somewhere.”
“Where’s the line?” Mat pushed back.
You shrugged, allowing your hands to rub over his exposed forearms, your touch light. “Wherever I decide it is for the night.”
“Yes, ma’am. Whatever you say,” Mat said snickering when you shoved him weakly in the ribs.
You spent the next twenty minutes eating your slices and walking the rest of the group home, the night air finally beginning to bite through your clothes. By the time you reached the final door, Blake gave him a heavy pat on the shoulder through a hug goodnight. “You’re absolutely fucked, man,” Blake whispered with a knowing, pitying grin. “She’s got you fuckin’ barking, bro. Good luck.”
The two men fell into each other with loud, lingering laughter, the alcohol having worn off enough for the clarity of a joke to hit. Mat waved him off, his eyes already drifting back to you, busy tapping at your phone from a small distance.
Just as soon as you were alone, you demeanor shifted. The warmth you had projected for the group didn’t vanish, but it hardened into something more controlled.
“The car will be here in three minutes,” you announced, your voice returning to that cool, poised register. You didn’t look at him, your thumb dancing across the screen as you let your friends know that the two of were on your way back to your place after a long night out.
Mat blinked, attempting to predict what version of you he was getting for the final leg of the journey. The switch was often so sudden it almost made him dizzy; one moment you were a warm presence against his side, and the next, you were a sculpture of marble, distant and unfeeling. He shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the curb as the black town car slid into view up the street, its headlights cutting through the midnight haze of the city and shifting between parked cars on either side of the street.
“The girls said they hope you’ll come out with us more often,” Mat said quietly, shoving his hands in his pockets, hoping it would keep him from reaching for you.
You hummed, though you kept typing. “That’s sweet. Tonight was fun.”
The interior of the town car felt smaller than it had on the way there. It was almost as if Mat couldn’t avoid you, the leather seats trapping them thigh to thigh as the driver navigated the late-night traffic. The silence wasn’t cold, but it was heavy, charged with the residue of the night’s performance and the sudden absence of an audience. You were focused on your phone, the blue light reflecting in your eyes as you scrolled through the photos you’d taken at the club.
You shifted, angling your phone to take a few more shots in the dim light of the car. You didn’t look at him, but your free hand reached over, your fingers curling around the nape of his neck and pulling him toward you. You didn’t kiss him, you simply held him there for a second, your eyes shifting to the camera to capture a suggestive shot of your lips peppering his jaw, your manicured nails digging slightly into his skin. The flash went off, a brief burst of white that left spots in Mat’s vision.
You repeated the motion twice more, capturing a series of blurry, high-tension frames that highlighted the slope of his shoulder pressed against yours, the expanse of his hand on your thigh, and the curve of his lips against your cheek, carefully cropping out the rest of his face to maintain that elusive allure of access for your followers. Each time the flash died, you retreated back into your screen, your thumb flying across the glass as you shared the photos with Ameera and Imani. Mat sat frozen, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, feeling like a toy being played with by a master strategist. He wanted to reach out, to pull your phone away and demand your full attention, but the thrill of being wanted—even if it was in such a calculated, performative way—kept him hooked.
“Do you want to see them before I post?” You asked, casting your gaze his direction for the first time in ten minutes. You tilted the screen toward him, showing a shot of his jawline and a smear of your makeup on his collar.
Mat didn’t look at the screen. He looked at you. The blue light of the phone cast a ghostly color over your features, making the gold of your jewelry shimmer. He felt a sudden, sharp surge of irritation that you were still fabricating the moment rather than simply allowing it to happen, but that irritation was swiftly eclipsed by the way you shifted in closer, your thigh brushing against his.
The drive ended with a soft exhale of the brakes as you pulled up to the curb of your building. The transition from the car to the elevator was a blur of hurried footsteps and grazing touches, a frantic race toward the privacy of your front door. The moment the lock clicked shut behind them, the curated poise of the evening collapsed. You didn’t wait for him to speak or for the tension to present itself through another petty argument.
Instead of the cold shoulder he had braced himself for in the car, he got the sunnier version of you. You were chatty as you slipped out of your heels, disappearing into your bedroom to cast them aside in some corner of your closet. Mat stood in the entryway, his hands still hovering awkwardly by his sides, wondering if the switch was a trap.
He watched you wander into the hallway, brushing past him, and into your kitchen, the dim lighting casting a warm, amber glow over the marble countertops. You moved with a feline fluidity, your hips swaying in that dress as you leaned back against the cool stone of the island.
“I had fun tonight,” you murmured, your voice dropping into that low, honeyed register that usually preceded a shift in power. You didn’t move from your position against the island, but your eyes traced the line of his throat, lingering on the spot where your makeup had stained his collar.
Mat audibly breathed out, his shoulders dropping an inch. He stepped into your space, his large frame blotting out the amber light of the kitchen. “Are we gonna talk about what you started in the car earlier?”
You tilted your head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. You reached out, your fingers grazing the lapel of the jacket you’d insisted he wear. “What did I start in the car, Mathew?”
Mat let out a sharp, ragged laugh, the sound vibrating in the small gap between them. “Don’t do that.” He reached out, his hands finding the curve of your waist and hoisting you up onto the marble island. The movement was sudden and commanding, a rare moment where he reclaimed the tempo of the evening. You gasped, your legs instinctively wrapping around his hips to steady yourself, your dress bunching up around your thighs.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you whispered again, though your eyes were dark, dancing with a mixture of mischief and hunger. You arched your back, pressing your chest more firmly against his. Your fingers slid from his lapel to the back of his neck, your nails grazing the short hairs there, smiling to yourself when you saw his eyes flicker down to your lips and his throat bob as he swallowed.
He sighed through his nose, letting his nostrils flare as he stared at you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the lingering notes of your floral perfume, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just below your ear. His hands settled on your thighs, the grip firm and possessive, grounding them both in the sudden, heavy silence of the apartment. For a few seconds, the script, the calculated posts, and the performative kisses were stripped away, leaving only the raw, humming electricity of two people who spent far too much time pretending you didn't genuinely want each other.
You let out a soft, shaky breath, your fingers tightening in the hair at the nape of his neck with a physical reaction you couldn’t curate or control. You liked this version of him, the one who let himself be this longing, this desperate for your touch.
Mat didn’t give you time to retreat into your guarded shell. He shifted his weight, pressing his body flush against yours, the friction of his trousers against your thighs sending a jolt of heat through them both. He broke the silence with a low, guttural sound, his lips finding the hollow of your throat and leaving a slow, deliberate trail of kisses upward toward your jaw.
“You’re so stubborn,” he murmured, guiding your head back with one hand, his voice a gravelly vibration against your skin. Your eyes fluttered closed, your guard finally crumbling as you leaned into him. “Always have to have the last word.”
Your response was a soft, breathless laugh that died in your throat as he captured your lips. The kiss was a desperate, hungry thing that tasted of equal parts late-night adrenaline and stubbornness. Your hands slid from the nape of his neck to his chest pressing into the tense muscle of his pectorals, pulling him closer until there wasn't a sliver of air left between them. The marble island was cold against your legs, but the heat radiating from Mat was a searing contrast that made your head swim.
He groaned into the kiss, his hands sliding from your thighs to the small of your back, hoisting you higher against him. The friction of the movement caused a sharp intake of breath from you, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You felt the rhythmic thrum of his heart against your chest both fast and frantic, and entirely too honest.
Mat shifted his focus, his lips leaving yours to trace a jagged path down the column of your neck. He knew exactly where the skin was most sensitive, the spot just below your jaw that always made your breath hitch. When he found it, he lingered, his tongue and teeth taking turns in grazing the surface.
Your hands abandoned his shoulders, sliding down to the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers were steady, though your breathing was anything but, as you popped the first two buttons in a rush. You pulled the fabric open, your palms flattening against the warm, toned expanse of his chest. You could feel the vibration of his low, needy sounds against your skin, a sound that fed the large part of you that loved knowing exactly how much power you held over him.
Mat’s hands traveled upward, his palms sliding over the smooth fabric of your dress until he found the zipper at the back. He didn't hesitate, the metallic slide echoing in the quiet kitchen as he lowered the zip just enough to let the cool air hit your skin, though the heat radiating between them made the draft negligible.
His mind always seemed to blank in moments like these, when you were so firmly placed within his reach, giving him permission to stop thinking and start feeling. Mat’s hands slid under the loosened fabric of your dress, his palms cupping the curve of your waist. He nosed along the line of your shoulder, giving you space to finish pushing his shirt open. When your nails finally grazed the skin of his chest, he let out a shuddering breath, his forehead resting against your neck for a fleeting second.
The marble island felt like an altar to your mutual stubbornness, a place where the bickering of the day was finally traded for something more honest. Your legs tightened around his hips, pulling him into the cradle of your thighs. You tilted your head back, your eyes drifting shut as he found the sweet spot on your neck again, his kisses becoming more demanding.
Your fingers tightened in his hair, your head lolling back as a soft moan escaped you. The sound was a victory for Mat, a raw confirmation that the poised, untouchable version of you had officially left the building. He shifted his weight, his hips pressing deeper into yours, establishing friction between them.
Your dress fell to the floor, leaving you exposed to both his hands and his eyes, though Mat barely had time to admire the silhouette of your body before you were pushing him back. You slinked down from your spot on the counter and found your way to your knees, hands working the button on his pants. The sudden change in height sent a surge of heat through him, his back hitting the edge of the island as he looked down at you, his expression full of dazed adoration.
When you finally freed him from the constraint of his trousers, you paused, tilting your head back to look up at him. Your eyes were heavy-lidded, the almond shape softened by a haze of desire. “I told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?” you murmured.
He let out a strangled sound when you wrapped a hand around his cock, your palm warm and firm. You built him up with the slow twist of your wrist, your gaze locked on his, challenging him to stay composed even as his breath left him in ragged bursts. Your tongue met his tip first, a wet, swirling heat that made him chest heave and his fingers grip onto the edge of the island behind him. Mat groaned, eyes squeezed shut as he focused on the sensation of your mouth enveloping him.
You worked with a focused intensity. You knew exactly how to tilt your head, how to use the suction of your lips to draw a low, guttural moan from deep in his throat. Every time he tried to reach down to pull you closer or guide you, you would lean back just enough to tease him, your eyes sparkling with satisfaction of the effect you held over him.
The contrast of the cold stone against his back and the searing, wet heat of your mouth was almost too much to process. He felt the vibration of your humming against him. He was unraveling, stripped bare by the focused rhythm of your tongue.
You paused for a heartbeat, your lips sliding off him with a soft, wet sound that echoed in the silence of the kitchen. You let your gaze trace over the tension in his abs and how his chest heaved. Your lips pressed together, delivering soft pecks to his angry red tip, smiling to yourself at the breathy whimpers and whines slipping past his lips.
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” Mat choked out. His skin was flushed from head to toe, his fingers white-knuckled where they gripped the edge of the marble. The vulnerability of the moment, of him completely at your mercy, of his pride discarded on the kitchen floor alongside his pants, made the build-up that much more intense until he finally did spill over the edge with a moan peppered with the crack of his voice.
You didn’t move for several seconds, staying poised between his thighs, your chest heaving in a mirrored rhythm to his. You looked up at him, a small, triumphant smile playing on your lips as you watched him drift back to earth.
He felt the cool air of the kitchen settle over his skin as he came down. His hands found his face, palms sliding over his cheeks as he let out a long, shaky exhale as if deflating his lungs. He looked down at you, who was still kneeling between his legs, licking the sticky residue of his cum from your fingertips.
“You okay?” you asked, your voice returning to that soft, honeyed register.
He nodded, swallowing against a parched throat. Before he could conjure up the right words to say, you shifted. You stood, reaching behind your back to unclip your bra in one fluid motion. The garment pooled on the floor beside your dress, leaving the soft curves of your breasts exposed to the amber light of the kitchen. Your fingers dipped into the waistband of your underwear, dragging the silk down your hips with a grace that made Mat’s pulse spike all over again.
“Whenever you’re ready,” you whispered, holding his gaze as you turned over your shoulder to slink away from the kitchen and towards your bedroom.
Mat swallowed again, watching the sway of your hips as you retreated, the sight acting like a second wind that surged through his veins. He didn't bother with his trousers, leaving them in a crumpled heap of fabric by the island. He followed you into the bedroom as if under a spell he wanted no part in breaking, the door clicking shut behind him, severing your connection with the rest of the world.
He followed you to the edge of your bed, kneeling before you, bringing his face between your thighs. Your legs fell over his shoulders as you held yourself up on your elbows, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from making a sound. Mat didn’t rush it, he wanted to savor the way your composure finally frayed. He worked his way up the inside of your thighs, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin, helping your hips threaten to lift from the mattress.
Your fingers tangled in the sheets, twisting the fabric into tight knots. You felt the raw, honest hunger in his touch. When he finally found your pussy, his tongue pressing against your center with a rhythmic, insistent pressure, you let out a sharp, broken cry that echoed through the quiet room. You moved against him with a desperate urgency, your body reacting to the heat of his mouth, the friction pulling the sweetest sounds from your throat.
As the peak climbed, you reached down, your fingers dragging through the sweat-damp strands of dark hair, tugging to pull him closer. You couldn’t handle the distance anymore. You wanted the weight of him, the friction of skin on skin that no camera could capture in this privacy.
“God, you look so pretty eating me out. So good for me,” you whispered.
His eyes closed as he continued working you over, submitting to the command in your voice. Mat’s tongue focused on your clit alternating between circling and sucking. The curated distance you spent all day maintaining was gone, replaced by a raw, shivering need that only he could satisfy.
“Wish I could take a picture of this,” Mat murmured, his voice a low, ruined rasp against your inner thigh. He paused for a second, his eyes shifting up to yours, mirroring the way you had toyed with him in the car.
Your answer was a sharp whine that sounded like a plea. You arched your back, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him back toward your center with a desperate, uncalculated force. “Stop talking,” you gritted, your voice devoid of its usual poise. “Just… finish it.”
He chuckled but relented, his tongue returning to your center. He focused every ounce of his attention on you, swirling and pulsing against you until your world narrowed down to the point where he made contact with your body. “You’re so mean to me,” he breathed against your skin, a playful contrast to the intensity of his actions.
The tension finally snapped. Your breath hitched, then broke into a series of gasps and sobs as a violent wave of pleasure coursed through you. Your hips bucked, your heels dug into his back as you clung to him, your voice dissolving into a high, incoherent sound that almost shook the quiet room.
From his view between your legs, Mat watched carefully to ensure you came down peacefully. He sprinkled the lightest kisses along your thighs, rubbing over your sweat-slicked skin with his palms to ground you as the aftershocks of the orgasm slowly faded. The silence that followed it was a soft, shared exhaustion that prompted both of them to bask in the glow, even for a little while.
You let out a long sigh, your limbs turning to lead as you sank deeper into the mattress. Your fingers, which had been clutching his hair with such desperation, now rested lightly on his shoulders. For a fleeting moment, the wall you kept between you seemed to have dissolved entirely. You looked at him, your eyes hazy and vulnerable, bringing that familiar, dizzying pull in his chest.
He shifted upward, sliding his body over yours with a careful slowness, mindful of the way your frame seemed to fit perfectly beneath his. He leaned on his side and propped himself up on his elbow, staring down at you.
Your hand reached up to pull him down, cupping his jaw so he could meet your lips in a kiss that was slow and sweet. There was no camera here, no PR advantages directing your angles, and no audience to convince. For a few minutes, you simply existed in the quiet orbit of each other, listening to your synchronized breathing and the distant, muffled hum of the city filtering through the glass of the high-rise. Mat let his hand slide down the curve of your side, his thumb tracing the dip of your waist with a tenderness that often got lost in your bickering. He felt you relax beneath him, your guard dropping just enough to let out a soft, contented hum.
It was in these moments, that fragile, post-coital silence, that Mat felt the most terrified. It was much easier to deal with you when you were standoffish, vague, angry. It was much harder to handle the woman who looked at him like this, with such unfiltered softness. He was sure his eyes told you that you were worshipped, just as you longed to be. And for right now, if that’s what it took to get you to look at him like this, then he would accept the fear.
ru’s letters💌: there are some embellished truths about Jack in my version of him, do not take them as canon, this is fanfiction after all. Forgive any mistakes, not edited 💕
𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
Jack Abbot who lived a life of solitude after the divorce from his wife, Shannon. Work, gym, sleep. The occasional outing with friends and colleagues. The occasional date that sometimes ended with something more. And he was content with that, at least that’s what he told himself.
Jack Abbot who two and a half years as a single man has not had a connection that lasted longer than four dates. He was a man focused on his work and his patients and that gave him fulfilment but even he could admit to himself that he was lonely.
Jack Abbot who after a session with his therapist went out and adopted a cat. A black kitten who was about to be euthanised because of her health issues. Her little golden-yellow eyes looked at him through the cage and he just knew that she had to be his. By the time he arrived back at his home, Jack had everything that he would need be a ‘cat dad’ as they called it. A name for the kitten however, that was to be determined.
Jack Abbot who never flaunted his wealth. He was a smart man who, from a young age, invested his money wisely. He knew that he would need something to cushion him after his service and unfortunately his pre-planning saved him a great headache after losing his lower limb. Jack who if you didn’t know him personally would take him for what he is at a simple appearance. A simple man who worked more than he enjoyed living life.
Jack Abbot who after a typical night shift was already calculating how to spend his day off. Grocery shopping, buy breakfast and then home. He didn’t want to do anything else with his two days off but be in his house with his kitten.
However … that all changed when he saw the flashing hazards of a Mercedes coupe and a woman dressed in pink from head to toe pacing back and forth. Her beautiful face pulled into a deep frown as she furiously typed on her phone. The feeling he got when he first saw his kitten, he was feeling it now. So he slowed down his truck.
Jack Abbot who asked “You alright darlin’?” And your tears following after you trembled out a “no” pulled something out of him that had been dormant for a while. He never wanted to see you cry ever again. So he asked questions as he changed your tyre - pretty surprised that a modern Mercedes like this even had one in the back.
Jack Abbot who tried not to blush but failed as he felt your eyes on him as he worked, ignoring the pinch in his stub from the position he was in. He was going to fix your tyre and not complain about his aching body.
Jack Abbot who asked for your name and when you gave it to him, he locked it in his memory. A name he would never forget even if this moment would be fleeting. He was kind of annoyed that changing your tyre was quick, he wanted to bask in your scent for a little longer.
Jack Abbot who tried not to wince as he stood to his full height only to be nearly knocked off his feet when you dove into his arms and wrapped your arms tightly around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He chuckled at your gratitude as his arms naturally closed around your back and held you. God you felt good in his arms and that should have frightened him.
Jack Abbot who looked into your brown eyes and took in your wide smile. “God, you’re beautiful.” He murmured which caused your smile to be wider.
“Thank you.” You giggled and then you pulled away which Jack tried to not show his disappointment. “I have to show my gratitude somehow. You literally saved my life.”
“There’s no need for that darlin’. I was just helping out a stranger.”
“You just told me you were coming from a night shift, I can pay for your breakfast or something.”
“What you can do for me is get back in your car, get home and rest your pretty head.” He watched you poke your bottom lip out and he had to bite his own to stop from doing what he was thinking of doing but he picked up on the fact that you don’t like being told no.
“I feel bad, there’s gotta be something more that I can do for taking your time.”
Jack Abbot who in that moment, feeling bold did something he hadn’t done in a very long time, he made the first move. “Why don’t we switch numbers and we can discuss later how you can thank me.” The flirtation undertone could not be missed and you picked up on it.
Jack Abbot who savoured the kiss you left on his cheek after you swapped numbers and got back into your car. “I’ll be seeing you Dr Jack Abbot.”
“Yes, you will darlin’. Yes you will.” He mumbled as he watched you drive away. He stood there for a moment letting his feelings settle as they registered. He felt giddy and that excited him.
Jack Abbot who as he drove away, smiled to himself as he knew that his life was about to change.
Princess!Reader who since being born was the apple of your parent’s eye. You were the only girl child in a family of four boys to a father with only brothers as siblings. So yes, it made sense how you become the princess of the family.
Princess!Reader who grew up stressing your father to the point of baldness but he catered to your every whim. And that was a pattern your uncles and your brothers followed through with.
Princess!Reader who due to the high standards set by the men in your family fails to have successful relationships with the men of your age. You don’t tolerate disrespect, incompetence and laziness. The manosphere talking points don’t work on you. You just leave and never look back.
Princess!Reader who despite being spoilt, was raised to be a hard worker. You graduated top of your class in high school and your undergrad degree. Now you were finishing your master’s degree with a distinction and your interior design business was finally blowing up.
Princess!Reader who also loved spending money as much as you made it. And you were fortunate enough that the allowance from your family - even at twenty-eight - was overflowing. You were a lover of the mainstream fashion houses but you preferred LaQuan Smith or Pyer Moss over Chanel.
Princess!Reader who has the men in your life at your beck and call for whatever problems arise in your life. You didn’t know what it is like to ever have to figure out how to fix something manually.
Which is why when Princess!Reader’s tyre blew at the side of the road and you couldn’t reach any of your male family members, you were close to having a panic attack. It was past 7am in the morning, the roads were empty and you were staring down hard at the deflated tyre with a mean mug hoping somehow it would fix itself.
Princess!Reader’s whose head shot up when you heard the rumblings of a truck coming closer. It stopped in front of you and the window rolled down. You were momentarily frozen as you were struck by the beauty of the man that was staring back at you. His thick greying curls and freckled skin were impossible for you not to notice.
“You alright darlin’?” There was something about the tone of concern in his voice that caused your bottom lip to tremble and for the tears to fill up in your eyes. “No.” The sight of your tears, the handsome stranger immediately put his truck in park and hopped out.
Princess!Reader who explained your situation and the stranger immediately jumped into action. Fortunately for you, everything that was needed to change a tyre was in the trunk. And you loved watching a man hard at work.
Princess!Reader who as you watched his muscles flex as he worked on your car decided that, this was your man now. You swayed as he tried to hold conversation with you.
“So what’s your name darling?” He asked and Princess!Reader answered and asked the same.
“The name’s Jack. Jack Abbot.”
Princess!Reader who never thought the kindness of a stranger would lead to the best romance of your life.
ru’s note 💌: SURPRISE! I’m back again. I was working on some thangs. This is one of them. I really hope you love it. I’m trying to bring something a lil different to the Jack Abbot/Shawn Hatosy space. Hoping to be posting more soon 💕.
Please have a moment of silence for the people who were killed instead of freed when news of emancipation finally reached the furthest corners of the american south.
have another moment for the ledgers, catalogs, and records that were burned and the homes that were destroyed to hide the presence of very much alive and still enslaved people on dozens of plantations and homesteads across the south for decades after emancipation.
and have a third moment for those who were hunted and killed while fleeing the south to find safety across the border, overseas, in the north and to the west.
black people. light a candle, write a note to those who have passed telling them what you have achieved in spite of the racist and intolerant conditions of this world, feel the warmth of the flame under your hand, say a prayer of rememberance if you are religious, place the note under the candle, and then blow it out.
if you have children, sit them down and tell them anything you know about the life of oldest black person you've ever met. it doesn't have to be your own family. tell them what you know about what life was like for us in the days, years, decades after emancipation. if you don't know much, look it up and learn about it together.
This is Juneteenth.
white people CAN interact with this post. share it, spread it.
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