Summary~ Baseball player!Calum doesn’t like people wearing his number on their baseball merchandise but when he spots you in a bar after a game, he makes an exception
A/N: I’m making most of this up and in reality I know fuck all about baseball
Word Count - 1217
You were brought up on the game, a born Red Sox fan, since the day you could set foot into the stadium you’ve pretty much never missed a game, your grandfather, then your father, now you’re on your own, well kind of, you’re never alone among your “Own kind” so to speak and the stadium folks know you.
Every week you don your freshly washed an ironed Red Sox shirt and make your way down to get use out of your season pass. Lucky number ‘2′ - Calum Hood.
“[Y/N] we were worried you wouldn’t be here,” Stan on the door grns opening the just locked gate.
“Late home from work,” you scan through the season pass and log on.
“I think Lou still has your seat saved,” he slaps you on the back as you move along and you run through the stadium to your usual spot.
“See, I told you she’d be here, now move along,” Lou the snack vender waves you over.
“Thanks,” you grin.
“Can’t have you with abad view”
You’re quite the personality in the stands, the loudest mouth the Sox have got at their home game, especially when they win.
This game has you barely in your seat and when its all over, with a huge victory to the Reds your entire section erupts.
“To the bar!” someone yells and with that a bunch of people are piling out of the stands and to the local team bar not far away.
For that Saturday you find yourself sat on the bar surrounded by red sox fans, chanting and singing the night away. It get’s to about 10pm when you see a ruckus in the crowd and suddenly you catch sight of the genuine number 2 shirt and Calum wearing it. He has a guy by the collar.
Suddenly you hear him yelling, “Two is my number, my business, not some bloody fashion statement”
The bar goes silent as the guy slides his shirt off and drops it to the floor, “Well then you better see to her too”
The finger points to you and before you know it Calum Thomas Hood is making his way to you.
“Seems we have a problem here..” he mutters quietly.
You look down and then into his eyes, “You want me to take my clothes off?”
A few people start laughing around you.
He doesn’t answer but turns to the barman, “Jack and coke please”
“I didn’t know you were so against people supporting your team,” you say to him a small while later when he’s sat on the bar stool next to you.
“I’m all for people supporting the team, the logo, the banners, the hats, just not my number,” he takes a sip.
“Why make an exception for me then?” you ask.
“Because, if someone found out that I got a girl to strip becase she was wearing my t-shirt number I’d have girls waiting at the locker room wearing them,” he laughs a little.
“Didn’t peg you as the big headed type”
“I’m not, it’s just the truth,” he laughs again. “Besides, isn’t there another number you could wear on your shirt, surely James Hicks number 6 is more deserving of your affection, isn’t he like 37th hottest guy inn sport?”
“You think I’m just here as some kind of groupie..”
You slide off the bar and drop to the floor, now a lot shorter than him still on the stool.
A little offended you smirk a little and turn to him, “Want to come back to my place?”
He smiles a little, “Let me grab my coat”
You’re majorly conflicted as Calum flirts with you, his hand resting on your knee in the back of the cab, he’s been your favourite player since he joined the team 3 years ago, when he made the winning hit in the world series he took over the spot of James Hicks in your organised hierarchy of baseball players.
You flip on the lights as you walk into your apartment and Calum’s hand stays permanently fixed to your waist.
“This may be a little creepy,” you say, leading him to the room he assumes is your bedroom.
“A little creepy can be good”
When you turn on the light he is met by the sight of your lounge room, with reclining sofa and tv opposite, set against your baseball memorabilia collection.
You wander over to the shelves and pick up a popcorn bag, “1999, my first red sox game, I was 3
“2004,” you pick up a hat, “The first time the Sox won a world series in 86 years, I was 8
“2007,” you reach for a signed picture. “They regained their title from 2004, I was 11″
“I get it,” he rolls his eyes.
“No,” you stop him, “2013, The Boston Red Sox win their World Series title once again, I remember this one well because I was 17 this time, they win with an almost record playing hit from newcomer number 2, a risk in the first place but it played out well, flew straight into my hands”
He wanders across the room and takes the ball from your hands, “Definitely not just a groupie then”
“No, not just a groupie, I’m also a huge baseball fan”
Your faces only seem to be a matter of centimeters apart, then millimeters and suddenly your lips are together, his tongue running along your bottom lip to kiss you properly. Your arms snake around his neck and his hands slide down your sides rubbing the skin that’s visible on your hips. He sits down on the arm of the sofa and lets you slot yourself in between his legs.
As his hands slide up your back and under your shirt you mutter against his lips, “Now you can get what you want”
“And what’s that?” he pulls away to ask.
“To get me out of your number,” you reach down and pull of your shirt.
His head falls into your neck and his kisses down your collarbones, grinding against your core. You shove his chest so he falls back onto the sofa and you manage to straddle his waist. You rake your fingers over his skin and help get him out of his shirt too before unbuckling his jeans His fingers fiddle past the rest of your clothes until there’s nothing left between you.
An endless stream of curses flows from his mouth as he takes you by the hips and eases himself into you, bucking his own hips at the contact. Your back arches as a knot builds in your stomach and you moan out.
He continues until his breathing gets heavy and the two of you ride out your highs and fall down onto the sofa down into a mess of tangled limbs on the sofa.
The next morning you wake up, alone, and sad at that realization. Then as you look around you notice a note hung over the baseball;
I had to go to practice, but I’ll be at the bar again at about 5pm Also I left you a present.
Confused about the note you walk out into the first room of your apartment to see your No. 2 tshirt laid out next to a larger version.
My little brother used to adore Spider-Man. T-shirts, Halloween costumes, cups, blankets, baseball caps– Spider-Man merchandise could be found anywhere and everywhere in his room.
When my uncle would come over to babysit, he would simply say, “Spider-Man sucks,” when my brother would ask to watch those old movies. No big deal, right?
My mother just asked him if he wanted to go see Civil War with us, being sure to mention Spider-Man was in it (not even two years ago, Peter Parker was literally all that this 7-year-old would talk about), and he just replied “No, Spider-Man sucks,” before walking away.
The PF Pop Shop Tour arrived in Chicago late last month, inspired and excited to team up with local shop owners Brian and Autumn Merritt to host the first pop shop of 2014 at Sir & Madame, Hyde Park.
After perusing some of Chicago’s coolest thrift and antique shops for inspiration and ideas, build-out began for our vintage baseball-themed pop shop installation. Stack-Aly and Ouigi Theodore of the Brooklyn Circus curated found baseball posters, heritage PF ads, baseball equipment and lifestyle merchandise from the Sir & Madame mix to create a backdrop perfectly fit to highlight styles from the newly launched PF Vintage Pack.
DJ Jay Illa set the mood for the event with a special party mix crafted just for us (now available for download on our Facebook page). Photographer and blogger Trashhand captured the vibe of the event and stylish Chicago crowd with some stunning photos. Stay tuned for video coverage from Bradley Murray of Square 56. A big thanks to all who came out to support us – it was great to meet you. We love Chicago!
stiles wakes up first and thinks lydia doesn’t know he spends the first hour of the day running his fingers softy through her hair and over her skin and watching her sleep beside him because he still can’t quite believe it but lmao i’m avoiding the question uhhh stiles probably whilst lydia showers and then they mess up the bed covers all over again bye
has sole posession of the T.V. remote
lydia, duh. she has these lectures and conferences she needs to watch about the advancement of molecular biology but stiles gets his movie nights, besides, he loves watching her in her element
is the bigger cuddler
both, but stiles is more open about it, and lydia secretly enjoys it a hell of a lot
does the laundry
they take turns on laundry duty
mows the lawn
stiles thinks he should do the man job because penis but he loses control of the mower a lot and lydia laughs into her coffee as she watches him
shops for groceries
they get them together frequently, but stiles likes picking things up after work if he feels they should cook something special or lydia does on nights their in laws visit
comes home drunk at 3am
hmm, stiles on the night of his bachelor party and they’re already living together but scott and him and isaac and liam just get drunk at a star wars convention and stiles loves every second of it
lydia, mostly, in his shirt in the mornings. stiles likes to when lydia sleeps in some days
remembers to feed the fish
lydia constantly reminds stiles and he acts like he forgot when he does it frequently to rile her up because she’s so cute when she’s mad
decorates the apartment
lyds, because if it were up to her boyfriend she’d be stuck in a star wars/baseball merchandise show like nope
stiles, and lydia laughs and lets him drag her to the middle of the kitchen at 3am and dance to their out of tune duet
falls asleep first
lydia always does when watching movies, nestled into his embrace, and stiles almost immediately passes out after long work days