#and if this was the case only during summer i would get it - morning is less hot than afternoon

[thesixthstar]

deeply wish that any of the local orgs doing invasive plant management or creek cleanups would hold volunteer days for people who wake up late. Every time i find one their events are all "show up at 9 am on a saturday" and like. my friends. i would love to clean a creek but i'm naturally a night owl - aka i go to sleep at like 2 am regularly even though i have a 9-5 job, so sleeping in on weekends to catch up on sleep is critical to my continued survival.

[iluvbuckets]

wild thoughts

paige bueckers x fem!reader

summary: paige had always just been your brother's best friend. your little brother's annoying best friend. on a typical summer trip to your family's cabin, you start to realize maybe paige isn't so little and annoying anymore.

warnings: lots of plot!, hella teasing, a little body worshipping, overstimulation, oral + fingering, thigh grinding, paige comes in her pants, switch!paige but bottom!paige would also be accurate, praise of course

word count: 9.3k

notes: this was NAWT supposed to be this long but i got carried away lowkey. i'm considering writing a part 2 for this bc i love this dynamic

song: wild thoughts by dj khaled, ft rihanna and bryson tiller ❝when i'm with you all i get is wild thoughts❞

read part 2!

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it was always funny when someone at your college found out that paige bueckers follows you on social media–the paige bueckers, star of uconn women’s basketball. 

because to you, she was just paige, your little brother, elijah’s, best friend who was over at your house so often you had to wonder if she had her own. she yells at the television at three in the morning over video games, paces around your house over basketball games, and eats your snacks out of the cupboard. she had been around so long that she is practically your parents’ third child, and they never let you forget it. there were pictures of paige hung around the house like they birthed her, not just pictures of her and your brother either–her high school basketball pictures, her senior pictures, pictures taken at her tournaments, you name it. not only that, but your grandparents would ask your parents about her like she was a grandchild. she was always invited to family holiday celebrations and family vacations, and while she rarely came to the holiday celebrations in favor of her own family, she never missed a vacation.

you never had a problem with it per se, but she was just your brother’s friend, so she was annoying by default. your brother was annoying, therefore she was too. which, honestly, she was. she was loud, spontaneous, and maybe even exhibited some warning signs of ADHD, and did you mention she would eat your snacks out of the cupboard?

you remember the day elijah met paige, because you definitely did not want to be there. you were seven and he was five, and it was his first ever practice for basketball (well, actually for any sport). it was a small, co-ed recreation league, so they advised parents to stick around during the hour-long practice just in case. even though you had made a compelling argument that you were obviously very mature and old enough to be left alone, your parents forced you to tag along with them. 

practice was running smoothly, elijah looked like a natural, until about thirty minutes in when he bumped right into paige, sending her to the floor. now typically, you would probably expect a little five-year-old girl to sit and cry on the floor after being hit like that, but not paige. she got right back up and shoved him as hard as she could onto the ground. clearly not expecting that reaction, the coach quickly grabbed paige to hold her back like it was a genuine fight (which maybe it was to her–she had definitely looked pissed). after a quick time-out, they forced paige to apologize to elijah, which she was clearly reluctant to do, but she did so she could be put back into the game. they hugged it out and have been practically inseparable ever since. 

your parents loved to tell that cute story to anyone who would listen.

when it was time for them to go to kindergarten, your parents and paige’s parents made sure they were in the same class. they constantly got in trouble for talking without permission, going off topic, and playing pranks in the classroom. they would get disciplined, but it never seemed to work because it continued all through elementary school. 

as all of you grew up, you didn’t hang out with your brother and paige that much. you were a whole two years older with your own activities, own friends, and own hobbies which didn’t really align with what they were interested in. 

there was one day when paige was in fifth grade and you were in seventh grade, when you heard a knock at your door. you were sitting on your bed reading a book, though it was a homework assignment for class so you would’ve rather been doing anything else. you expected it to be your dad since he always knocked now that you were thirteen, but after you shouted come in!, you saw an eleven-year-old paige bueckers standing there. she was wearing a t-shirt from her basketball league, a pair of black basketball shorts, nike elite socks, and her hair was in a pink nike tie headband with a ponytail. she looked nervous, like she didn’t know how to talk to you even though you had known her for six years at this point–like she hadn’t slept at your house literally last night. 

“some of the girls at school were making fun of me,” she said, playing with her fingers and not making eye contact. 

you immediately closed your book so you could set it to the side, patting the spot in front of you as a gesture for her to sit down. she did it hesitantly, still not looking up at you. 

“why?” you asked, like you were baffled that someone would do that. which you were. paige had always been sweet and kind to anyone she talked to, and never had a problem with anyone. if she did, it was probably basketball-related, and she would talk it out with them right after she got off the court. 

“they were saying i act and dress too much like a boy so i couldn’t sit with them,” she replied quietly.

you sighed. “don’t listen to them, paige. kids can be mean. there’s nothing wrong with how you dress.” 

“but i do dress like a boy,” she said, finally making eye contact.

“what does that even mean?” you ask rhetorically. “you got those clothes from the girls’ section, right? so how are you not dressed like a girl?” 

“they all wear skirts and dresses,” she said like it was obvious. you knew it was true, but it wasn’t weird to dress like a tomboy. you had a tomboy phase growing up, but since you joined dance, you started being more girly. 

“so what? that doesn’t mean anything. i don’t like wearing dresses either,” you laugh. 

“yeah but–” she starts, pausing like she doesn’t know how to ask the question that’s sitting on the tip of her tongue. “how do i be more of a girl like you?” 

your face contorts into a sad expression at the question, not really expecting it at all. “paige, you don’t need to change how you dress to please some girls at school.” like a lightbulb went off in your head, you had an idea to offer a solution without changing herself too much. “have you ever painted your nails?”

the answer to the question had been no, which you were expecting, so you did. you painted her fingernails a pink color to match her headband and hopefully help her feel a little more feminine. you wish she didn’t feel the need to change herself because of a couple of mean words, but growing up outside of the norm was hard so maybe it would make it slightly easier.

after that, paige slowly seemed to start talking to you more. she would invite you to hang out with her and elijah and she would ask if you were coming to their games. you often declined as you had your own practices, games, homework, and friends to hang out with. you had started playing school-sanctioned sports so your schedule was busy. you had decided to play volleyball and run track, and paige would often accompany your brother and parents to your games and meets. 

following a particularly successful eighth grade volleyball season, you had decided to quit dance to focus on volleyball in high school. in seventh grade volleyball, the plays and positions had been very basic to get you used to it, but eighth grade was a whole new game. you weren’t particularly tall standing at 5’7, you weren’t short but definitely not as tall as most players. your coach tried you as the libero, and you fell in love with it. while this meant you were spending more time in the gym than you did before, it also meant that you had more free time to hang out with and support your friends in their own activities now that you weren’t going straight from the gym to the studio. 

you attended every junior varsity and varsity basketball game of the season in ninth grade, which also meant you attended all of paige’s games. though she was only in seventh grade, her skill level had caught the coach’s attention, and she was playing with the junior varsity squad. 

even though she was your little brother’s annoying friend, you had a sense of pride watching her play up two grades like that. the little girl who had grown up with you was turning into an unstoppable powerhouse. you shouted her name the loudest (well maybe her dad and her little brother, drew, shouted louder) when she would make her shots, and you would shout at the refs when you thought they made a bad call on her. 

one particular home game, you were standing in the hallway talking to a couple of your friends during halftime, eating some popcorn near the concession stand. you couldn’t help but overhear a comment from a couple guys who were standing near you from the other school. one of them was talking about paige. saying she’s overrated and other mean things that you didn’t want to repeat. your friends had told you to let it go because they were just jealous, but you couldn’t. you spun on your heel, approaching them with a rage you had never felt in your life. before they could even greet you, your fist connected with the nose of the guy who had been talking about her. the guy didn’t fight back, but you were walking away before he even could anyway. luckily, no one saw and you didn’t get in trouble because the guy was too embarrassed to admit that it was a fourteen-year-old girl who did it. 

when you got home and your parents noticed your bruised, swollen knuckles, they obviously questioned you. you lied at first, saying it was an accident and they just let it go, knowing you wouldn’t tell the truth. about ten minutes later, your brother came into your room to ask what happened. obviously, you told him the truth. he was so impressed, but you made him swear he wouldn’t tell your parents.

the next day at school, rumors flew about how you clocked a guy in the face. there were various reasons for why and you didn’t bother to clear them up, but paige knew the truth because your brother had told her. 

you hadn’t thought much of any of it until your dad pulled came into your room after one of her games shortly after that one. it was after the first game that paige had asked if you could get a picture after. she was nervous when asking and you immediately called your brother over assuming that’s what she meant, missing the disappointed expression on paige’s face. 

“be nice to paige, okay?” he asked. you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion because you were always nice to paige and had never really been mean to her to warrant a conversation like that. “i think she has a little crush on you.”

you hadn’t really considered that to be a possibility before, but now that it was pointed out to you, you were suddenly very aware of all of paige’s actions. her gaze lingered a bit too long, she laughed at all of your jokes, and you were the first person she looked at when she told a joke to make sure you were laughing. even though it suddenly seemed obvious, you weren’t sure if she even knew herself. she had never indulged in crushes or anything and had focused all of her attention on sports thus far. though, you did find it strange that she never seemed to have a crush on any of the boys in her friend group, but you figured that was just because she knew them too well. 

you tried to keep a distance while remaining friendly to hopefully defuse that., and you hoped she didn’t notice.

by the summer before you were in eleventh grade, you had a boyfriend for an entire year. since it had been so long (high school relationship-wise), your parents allowed you to invite him to your yearly trip to your grandparents’ house, which was a cabin on the lake. of course, the invitation obviously included paige, elijah didn’t even need to invite her anymore because your grandparents did themselves.

you didn’t notice the way her jaw would clench when he would put his arm around you, bring you food, throw you in the water, or get near you at all. she tried to ignore the feeling, but she had an overwhelming sense of something when she saw it. she didn’t know what it was, but she knew she didn’t like seeing you acting like that with someone else. she didn’t say anything though, didn’t make it obvious to anyone except maybe your bother who definitely noticed. he didn’t say anything, either. she had never said anything to him about the possibility of liking girls, let alone his sister, so he chose to stay quiet and wait for her to tell him on her own time. 

it was a long two weeks for paige, but she managed to get through it without losing her mind too much. 

even though you loved that boyfriend and so did your family, shortly after the school volleyball season ended and club volleyball began, you broke things off. it wasn’t entirely mutual; he definitely didn’t want you to leave, but he understood where you were coming from. both of you were busy and were struggling to make time for each other. he was picking where he was going to college for track, and you had just signed to play volleyball for creighton.

when paige heard the news, she was ecstatic–internally, of course. 

after the two weeks spent at your grandparents’ house over the summer and how she felt about you breaking up with your boyfriend, she had come to terms with the fact that she definitely was not straight and she definitely had feelings for you. it was a tough realization for her, even though when she tried to talk to her stepmom about how she was feeling, her stepmom made it seem like the most obvious thing in the world–like everyone already knew. it was a little comforting, but it was jarring at the same time. could everyone tell that she had feelings for you? she hoped people could only tell that she liked girls, not the girl she liked. even worse, she hoped you couldn’t tell because that would be mortifying. 

she didn’t want to try anything either, knowing it wouldn’t be a good idea. you were older, more mature, and she wasn’t even sure that you saw her as anything more than a little sister or something like that. she just silently yearned, dreaming about what could happen if she told you. did you know? would you reject her?

not that it really mattered anymore, though, because for the rest of the year and through your senior year, you barely saw each other. you went to quite a few games in eleventh grade, but twelfth grade was packed with AP classes and volleyball practices. you tried to get to a basketball game when you could, but it was tough. you rarely left the gym and often times found yourself doing your homework late at night in the lounge area of it. you had something to prove in college, and you were working your ass off to get it. and paige was busy too. between playing overseas and out of state, she was rarely at school. 

she managed to make a few volleyball tournaments, you attended a few of her games, and she attended your graduation, but other than that, time was passing fast, and you rarely stopped to take it all in. you had missed the family vacation that summer too. you were scheduled for summer training, but paige managed to go even after being overseas. she had sent you a text saying she missed you with a picture attached of her and your brother on the boat, which you responded back with something about how you missed her too and that you hoped she had fun with a selfie of you and your team in the school gym.

paige was giddy the entire two weeks about it. 

your freshman year of college went as well as you could imagine. you were a starter for the team, you had bulked up in muscle, and you had a 4.0 GPA. and not only had you had a good year, but so did paige. you made sure to text her when she did something worth celebrating and she was always happy to hear from you. she did the same for you, making sure she never missed an accomplishment. 

when she committed to the university of connecticut, your parents mailed you a uconn basketball t-shirt. you sent her a picture of you wearing it with a message saying “congrats, pretty girl <3 you’re going to do great things up there! i’ll be cheering you on the whole way”. of course, you didn’t think much of it. you had always seen paige as an extension of your brother, someone that you had always just been there, but paige thought her heart was going to fly out of her chest when she saw it. she hesitated to reply, but managed to send a quick and simple thank you back after a couple of hours. months later, you sent her another text with a photo of you and your roommates watching her play at the state championship on tv.

again that summer, you had to skip the family vacation, but she did too, so she wasn’t too beat up about it like the summer before.

through your sophomore year and her senior year, life couldn’t get any better for both of you.

until covid-19 lockdown cancelled paige’s final state championship. 

she was distraught, rightfully so, at losing her chance to play in her final game for hopkins and for another chance at a championship. you sent her some apologetic texts and even a phone call because you know this meant the world to her, but it was hard to cheer her up. the future of her college career was uncertain at this point and so was yours. you had to come home from school suddenly, but luckily you didn’t have to miss any of your season.

to get away from it all, she had gone to virgina to spend time and quarantine with her friend azzi. the house was definitely quieter without her around. you thought that you would be happy to finally get to experience silence in your home, but it just felt empty instead. and your brother felt it too. one more than one occasion, he had come into your room seeking comfort about missing paige. it brought you two closer together.

as the world slowly opened back up and you were able to go to college again, you were ecstatic that this time, you would have a piece of you joining. your brother had decided to commit to creighton, just as a student though. even so, it made moving back to school away from home so much easier, and you could always trust that someone would be at your games. your parents had done their best before, but since elijah was still in high school, it was tough. 

paige had an amazing freshman season and you texted her a few times to congratulate her, but you both were getting too busy to keep up like you used to. you didn’t really watch her games anymore and you didn’t text her for every game, but you managed to catch a few headlines about various awards she won. 

that summer, the family vacation was put on hold. your grandparents were nervous about the pandemic given that all the kids were in college and could bring it back, so you stayed in omaha to work on your graduate school applications. your brother went back, though, mumbling something about not wanting to live in a house full of your friends or paying for summer housing. 

and it was the same the next summer, too. 

paige wouldn’t have gone anyway, after her injuries that season. you texted her about those, telling you how sorry you were. she didn’t get to come to your college graduation and she sent you a congratulations text to make up for it–for both graduating college and getting into the graduate program you wanted, but you understood.

and you ended up having to repeat that for her junior season. you had sympathy for her because she would have to miss out on her entire season twice in a row, something she was working so hard for.

you didn’t talk to her much beyond that, but you could imagine she was devastated. 

luckily, her senior year went a lot smoother. she was fully cleared, and playing harder than ever before. after she announced that she would be returning to uconn for a 5th year, your dad called to let you know that you would be having a special family vacation at the cabin to celebrate. grandpa and grandma were healthy, paige was healthy, and it would be the first time in years that you would get to do the tradition–though it wasn’t much of a tradition anymore. you made sure that you could make it because you missed your parents, your grandparents, and truthfully, you missed paige. you didn’t have to miss your brother because you could visit him whenever you wanted, but you guess it would be fun to hang out with him just like old times. 

the drive to the cabin in your parents' car was so nostalgic, you almost had the urge to cry. the familiar view of trees lining the road, though there were several new houses and stores lining the route. when you were younger, paige would ride along with your family, but this time she was driving herself. you couldn’t remember why, but you didn’t really question it. 

when you pulled into the driveway, you saw your grandpa’s minivan and a brand new jeep in the driveway–a jeep you had never seen before. you furrowed your brows in confusion, wondering who the hell was at your grandparents house.

your dad put the car in park, immediately popping the trunk to get the luggage out and inside. if there was one thing about him, he certainly didn’t waste any time getting settled in here. you got out too, looking around to take it all in. you had always loved coming here, this house had so many memories.

usually, though, your grandparents were rushing to the porch at the sound of the car door to greet you with a hug and a kiss, but they hadn’t come out yet. you tried not to think about it as you grabbed your suitcase and carried it inside. you left your suitcase at the bottom of the stairs, not really feeling like carrying it up to your bedroom at the moment. you could see your grandparents sitting on the back deck laughing through the big windows of their living room, so you all walked toward the door to see what had them so occupied.

your dad was first, opening the door and immediately saying, “hey, what’s the deal?” 

“oh, shit! you’re already here!” your grandpa laughed, pushing himself off out of the chair to give your dad a hug. your dad quickly bent down to give your grandma a hug as she stayed seated in your chair.

“paige got here early! we must’ve gotten distracted talking about how amazing she is,” your grandma explained.

then your dad turned, opening his arms wide. “paige,” his voice was soft, “it’s so good to see you again, kid.” 

she stood, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “i’ve missed you.”

when your dad stepped away, you were able to catch a glimpse of paige, and you swear, time stopped for a few seconds. she looked wildly different than the last time you saw her in person, and the livestreams and photos didn’t do her any justice. she looked grown up, like an actual adult rather than the little girl you remember running around your house. her hair was pulled into a messy low bun, probably because of the heat, and she was wearing a gray fitted tank top with black shorts and sneakers. you noticed she had definitely been spending time in the weight room by the defined muscles in her shoulders. her features were sharper, face slimmer.

you were snapped back to reality when it was your turn to hug your grandparents, giving them quick hugs before turning to paige. you tried not to make it obvious that you were feeling a whole different way for your brother’s best friend than before as you said a hello and gave her a quick, probably too quick to not be obvious, hug. 

you knew it was going to be a long two weeks.

and the first week only proved that.

you found yourself staring at paige when she was doing anything–swimming, playing pickup basketball with your brother, sitting at the breakfast bar, playing cards with your family. and she definitely noticed. you made eye contact almost every single time. at first, you would immediately look away, but you started testing the waters and holding it. she almost always broke first. you hoped no one else noticed because you couldn’t help it. the veins in her hands, the accentuating lines on her abdomen, the new curve of her ass–they were all distracting.

she started getting bolder too. touching your waist or back just barely whenever she went by you, bringing you snacks or drinks, and making sure to always be on your team when you were playing games. your dad and your brother would snicker quietly, clearly assuming paige’s crush never subsided. 

it was friday night, and your grandparents had invited a few of the other families that lived close to come hang out a few hours ago. it was normal, you knew all the families that were coming, and so did your parents. your dad had grown up in this house, so they had all known each other for years. you had been talking to one of the girls for a while, trying to catch up, but you could feel paige’s eyes trained on you.

she was sitting across the deck from you at the table with your brother and a couple of the other kids from the other families. you didn’t know what they were talking about, but paige didn’t seem too interested at all. the only thing that was holding her attention was you and the seltzer she was holding in her hands. 

after around twenty minutes, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom. only, you didn’t even really have to go to the bathroom, you just could feel yourself getting antsy under the intense stare.

paige excused herself too, mumbling something about how she needed another drink. your brother didn’t see you go inside, nor was he really paying attention, so he didn’t even say anything as she chugged the rest of her seltzer and pushed the back door open. 

you had gone to the bathroom upstairs to splash some cold water on your face and give yourself some light affirmations in the mirror about how you would be able to get through this week without any issues or slip ups. it wasn’t really convincing, but you managed to peel yourself away from the bathroom to join your family anyway. you knew that if your dad even suspected that you irish-goodbyed him at his own childhood home, he would come searching for you to drag you back out–especially since he had been drinking. you took a deep breath before you started down the stairs, trying to calm yourself down so paige didn’t notice she was getting to you. 

when you got to the bottom of them and walked down the hall, you saw paige in the kitchen leaning against the counter. she was gripping it like it would run away, her head hung between her arms like she was struggling with something. with the way it made her muscles pop, you wouldn’t be surprised if drool started dripping from your lips.

“hey,” you said casually as you entered the kitchen. 

her head immediately snapped up to look at you, and she seemed stunned for a few moments, too shocked to even reply. she shouldn’t have been, she knows you are here and she followed you inside. you visibly chuckled at her, but she just watched you as you moved past her to grab a drink from the fridge. 

“need another?” you asked, grabbing a random can from the shelf and holding it out for her. she stared at it for a few seconds before slowly reaching out for it. 

“thank you,” she said quietly.

you cracked your own can open to take a drink, holding eye contact with her while doing so. she held her breath, clearly nervous about where this was going but you had a mischievous glint in your eyes.

“i’m glad you’re here,” you say, leaning your hip next to her hands against the counter. “i was beginning to think i’d never see you again.” 

she pushed herself off, copying your position while facing you to use the height difference to her advantage. holy shit, when had she gotten this tall? well, she had been that height since high school, but the new body made her seem more powerful in her stance. she used to be a lanky kid who grew too fast for own body to keep up. she seemed to have gathered her composure as she smirked. 

“are you saying you missed me?” she asked, seemingly assuming that she could make you nervous. you were a little nervous, but you knew you had the upper hand in this situation.

you tilted your head flirtatiously. “yeah, i did, but i didn’t expect you to look so...” you paused like you were coming up with a word to use, “different.”  

she raised her eyebrows in shock, struggling to swallow from nervousness as her lips parted. you glanced at them then back at her eyes, knowing what you were doing. she seemed to be searching any part of her brain for a coherent reply, but was coming back with nothing. 

you just smiled, taking a step back and walking back onto the porch to rejoin the conversation you had abandoned. and for the rest of the evening, you could feel paige’s eyes on you again, but you made zero effort to give her a glance back.

after the party had died down and it was far later than you intended to be awake, you sat in one of the chairs that had been left out with a drink in your hands, watching the water. you were below the deck, so just slightly out of the line of sight from the house so no one could see you and come interrupt your moment. that is, until you heard paige walking down the rickety old wooden steps. she jumped a little, like she had not expected to see someone there, but quickly recovered. you watched her for a moment before gesturing to the chair next to you in a silent command for her to sit down. she did, of course she did. 

“what are you doing awake?” you ask in an accusing way, like she was in trouble.

she laughed at your tone. “trying to figure out what different means.” 

admittedly, you were not expecting that answer or even anything similar to it. it took you a little off guard, but you were able to not make it obvious. she sat back in her chair casually, staring at you with intensity, waiting for the answer, and you did your best to match it.

“what do you want it to mean?” you asked.

“i don’t know,” she shrugged. “you’re the one who said it.” 

you chuckled and looked away, nodding at her words. she obviously had an answer she was searching for, and you had one that probably aligned with it, but you did not want to give it to her right away. 

“you’re not gonna tell me?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

you shook your head stubbornly, making eye contact with her again. “i think you know.” 

the air between you two was suddenly loaded, tiptoeing over the line that had never been crossed. you both knew where this was going, and you could cut the tension with a knife. though, she didn’t seem very patient to get the answer. 

her tongue darted out to lick her bottom lip. she hesitated for a moment, suddenly aware of how close your chairs were. “i want you to say it.”

you pretended to think about it for a moment, even adding a little hum for dramatic effect.

“nah.”

you figured that would be the end of that, that you had made paige just nervous enough to back down. she would go back into the house and overthink this interaction. but she didn’t. she leaned in toward you, her eyes shifting to stare at your lips instead. she stopped just before your noses were touching. 

“c’mon,” she murmured, brushing your noses together. “tell me.”

you consider giving into her game. you consider closing the gap and pressing your lips together in the kiss she’s obviously baiting for, to give her exactly what she wants. what she’s been waiting for. 

but you don’t. 

you bite your lip, turning your head forward toward the water.

“shoot,” you say as you stand, “i’m beat. think i better get to bed.” 

she stares up at you with parted lips in shock, thinking she was going to finally get what she wanted. and she will, you intend to, but not right now. you want to tease her, string her along a bit more, make her desperate for it. but you didn’t have much time left to do so.

you walk back up the stairs of the porch without looking back at her, proudly smirking to yourself like it was an accomplishment. she stares at you as you do, not even able to be annoyed at how that played out. she doesn’t know why. she always gets what she wants, so she didn’t know why she wasn’t angry, let alone annoyed.

when you made it up to your bedroom, you closed the door softly to not wake anyone and flopped onto the bed. you stared at the ceiling with your arms crossed across your chest, thinking about how you were going to approach this. part of you wishes you had just given in and gotten what you both wanted, but this was fun. it was fun to know that you had power over her, the girl who would call herself the ultimate rizzler. maybe she was back at school, but you had yet to see it. here, she was all nervous smiles and glances and gentle touches that could be mistaken for something else. you had been the ones leading the conversations that were loaded with anything but friendliness. 

even though he made jokes about it sometimes, you wondered if elijah would be mad about this. apparently, he used to love telling paige that you were home or that you’d be at a game to test her and see if she would react. she tried not to, but everyone could see right through it. which you had just learned this week from your dad after he had a few too many drinks. paige tried to play it cool, but you didn’t miss the blush that rose to her cheeks as he told the stories. 

well, even if he would be mad, it’s not like you have to tell him. it’s not like you’re asking for her hand in marriage. you doubt that paige would tell him anything because why would he want to hear that stuff about his sister? you definitely wouldn’t want to hear about him from girls that he hooked up with.

the sound of a door closing in the hallway broke you from your thoughts. you knew it was paige’s, that she had finally come inside for the night. even though you wanted to keep her waiting longer, your body betrayed you as you pushed yourself off the bed and walked to your door. your hand hesitated on the knob for a second, because really, what were you doing? but you opened it nonetheless. 

unfortunately, paige’s door was directly in front of yours. to make up for it, you stood stupidly in front of her door, contemplating just turning around and going back to bed. you didn’t know what to say or do once she opened it–if she opened it anyway. you almost wish she wouldn’t.

before you could even convince yourself not to, you knocked on the wood twice in an attempt not to wake anyone else up. you could hear shuffling from within the room, making your mind wander to what paige could be doing in there. you didn’t have too long to think about it before the door was creaking open, though. 

her expression was a mix of emotions–both surprised and not surprised to see you standing there. surprised that you were standing there knocking on her door in the middle of the night, but not surprised because you were the only other person awake. she stared at you for a few moments, not really knowing what to say. 

you didn’t know what to say either, but it didn’t matter. you reached your hand out to fist the collar of her shirt, pulling her down to your height and crashing your lips together. she made a surprised sound in the back of her throat, but quickly recovered to kiss back with an open-mouthed, heated intensity that you weren’t expecting. her hands flew to your waist, using them to tug you into the room. you used your other hand to close the door, so she took advantage of the opportunity to press your back against it, pressing your bodies together. you didn’t even realize that your hand had released the grip on her collar and had a light grip on her throat. 

you must’ve accidentally squeezed because she whimpered against your lips, snapping you back to reality. you pulled away breathlessly, a look of disbelief in her eyes. you just smiled, leaning forward to give her another peck. 

she tried to chase you, but you just whispered, “goodnight, paige.” 

and with that, you spun on her heel, opening the door and closing it behind you. your heart was racing from what you just did, and you almost wanted to skip back to your room from the giddiness. that wasn’t even your intention, but you knew it would definitely linger in her mind.

behind the door, paige was staring at it in shock. her hands were still in the same position they were in on your waist and her jaw dropped. one, because she couldn’t believe that actually happened. and two, because you really did her like that. like, what the actual fuck? she had half a mind to march her ass across the hallway and give her a piece of her mind.

she didn’t, though. she did exactly what you wanted–didn’t sleep, just stared at the ceiling wondering if she was hallucinating.

you thought that you would probably do the same, but as soon as you laid down, you found yourself falling asleep. 

at around 10am the following morning, there was a knock at your door. you groaned loudly, extremely annoyed that someone decided to wake you up from the best sleep you had in months. they were polite, at least, because they were waiting for you to answer instead of barging in (so it definitely was not your parents). you huffed as you sat up in bed, throwing the covers dramatically and padded over to the door. 

you turned the knob and pulled it open to see paige standing there with a disheveled bun like she had been tossing and turning all night, and a blank look like she was trying to mask how she was really feeling. it woke you up, suddenly remembering what you had done to her last night. before you could even say anything, she was using one hand to push you back into the room and closed the door behind her, eyes on yours the whole time. 

“good morning to you, too,” you laughed.

“you think this is funny?” she deadpanned. it definitely caught you a little off guard, and had you wondering if she was genuinely angry at you. you definitely wouldn’t blame her if she was, but you also didn’t really think it was that serious. 

“maybe a little,” you shrugged nonchalantly. though, you didn’t really feel nonchalant at the moment. your heart was pounding against your ribcage and you were struggling to control your breathing, but you hoped it wasn’t obvious to her.

she blew a laugh out of her nose, clearly unamused, and rolled her eyes. you watched as she bit the inside of her cheek, but you couldn’t tell if she was trying to figure out what to say next or if she was genuinely upset.

“y’know what you do to me?” 

you tilt your head slightly, raising your eyebrows like you’re confused–playing dumb. obviously you do, you both know that, but this was unclaimed territory. you had never really been friends, let alone anything close to where you are now, and everything changed last night. you would never be able to take back the one thing that completely changed the trajectory. 

“tell me,” you say so softly it was almost a whisper.

“i think you know,” she replies with a smirk, copying you from last night.

you hesitate for a few moments to weigh your options on where to go from here. you know you could keep asking and she would probably tell you, but she’s even more stubborn than you. you could leave her hanging for the third time in twenty-four hours, but what’s the fun in that?

“i do.”

she swallows hard, clearly not expecting an upfront answer like that. she completely expected you to dance around the subject like you had been–to keep her wondering and hanging onto an idea that she wasn’t even sure was real. not that she had a reason to doubt anymore after last night. her face was unreadable, but you could tell that she was nervous now. she didn’t expect that answer, and now wasn’t really sure what to do. she didn’t think she’d get this far, to be honest. 

instead of waiting for her to make the first move like you planned, you put your hands on her waist, fisted her shirt, and backed her against the door like she did to you last night. her breathing sped up enough for you to see the shallow rise and fall of her chest, relishing in the power you had at the moment. you pressed your bodies together and brushed your noses together, not wanting to close the gap yet. her lips parted as you did so, her eyes closing in anticipation. 

a smile rises to your face when you decide to pull away again, loving this game you were playing. she seemed to not return the feeling, though, because she automatically reached out to grab your throat and crash your lips together again. you expected it to be intense and fast like last night, but she kissed you slow and sensually like she was trying to savor the moment–like she didn’t know if this would ever happen again. 

you loosened the grip on her shirt to press your hands on the small of her back and press your bodies impossibly closer. she tangled her other hand in your hair, but didn’t pull. 

“you’re drivin’ me crazy,” she whispered into your mouth, but didn’t give you any time to reply.

the heat of your lips and bodies pressing together was more passionate than you had ever felt in your life. you didn’t know what it was–if it was the anticipation or the amount of want between the two of you. she was definitely still holding back, and you wanted paige to let her guard down fully. 

the hand she had on your throat slid down slightly to your chest, using the position to lightly push you backwards. you didn’t even take the time to think about what she was doing, but her intentions were clear when the back of your legs hit the bed. she gave you a light shove so you fell backwards, your back hitting the soft mattress with a soft thud. she didn’t waste any time grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head as she smirked down at you, exposing her black nike sports bra. 

you figured she would immediately crawl on top of you to continue kissing you, but she sank to her knees in front of you. you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch her curiously. she held eye contact as her palms smoothed over the skin of your legs from your ankles up to your knees. then, she leaned forward to place a soft kiss along the inside of your knee, trailing up your thighs slowly with close-mouthed pecks. when she reached the hem of your shorts, she placed a kiss to your other leg and trailed back down to your other knee, her hands coming up to smooth over your thighs. 

wetness pooled in your shorts at the touch. even though you would be content going slow if you were in her position, you wanted her to speed up and move to where you wanted her the most. it was only okay when you teased like this. 

and you thought she was going to give in as you watched her face get closer, but instead, she used both hands to push up your t-shirt to expose your abdomen and placed a kiss just above the waistband of your shorts. she started to trail her kisses up your stomach toward your breasts, but you interrupted her.

“paige,” you groaned in annoyance, trying to resist the urge to push her head down. 

she just laughed against your skin. “what?” she asked with a combination of amusement and innocence dripping in her tone.

you rolled your eyes with an exasperated sigh. honestly, you had no right to be complaining after last night, but that was your game to play. you were supposed to be the one in control of the situation, not her.

“i thought you were patient,” she accused playfully. 

“i never claimed to be,” you replied, but you knew exactly what she was referring to anyway. 

she shook her head, a light chuckle leaving her lips. one of her hands traveled from your shirt slowly down your stomach to your shorts, teasingly tracing over your clit through the fabric. the sensation was more intense than you thought it would be due to your lack of underwear. you expected her to move her hand again when she noticed, just to keep you waiting, but instead, she lowered her hand and mouthed over it through the fabric. you sighed, placing one of your hands on the back of her head.

her pointer finger hooked around the waistband of your shorts to tug them down. you lifted your hips directly into her face to assist her, causing her to laugh, but you didn’t even think about it. you just wanted her to stop wasting time, to stop teasing. once your shorts are off, she doesn’t do anything for almost an entire minute, just stares at you to take it all in. she almost wanted to pinch herself to make sure it wasn’t all a dream. 

“paige,” you impatiently groan again, “seriously.”

without any hesitation, she leans forward and flattens her tongue to lick a stripe from your entrance up to your clit while making sure she’s holding eye contact the whole time. you bite back a moan, not wanting anyone in the house to hear you. but when she starts to circle your clit with her tongue at a fast pace that you weren’t expecting, you can’t hold it back. her hips buck forward slightly and thighs clench together at the sound, loving that she is the one making you feel like that.

you should’ve known she would be good at this. you’re sure she has all the girls falling to her knees back in storrs, connecticut. she probably has so many girls crying over her, wishing they would be next, and you say a silent thank you to whoever taught her to do this so you could experience it. 

one of her fingers traces your entrance lightly causing you to grasp her hair, probably messing up her bun, but neither of you care. she pushes two fingers inside you and your back arches off the mattress. they curl inside you as she pumps them in and out slowly. the contrast of her tongue quickly circling and her fingers moving slowly makes you buck into her face, and she moans against you. you can’t help the way your eyes roll to the back of your head at the feeling. 

she pulls her mouth away to gauge your reaction, speeding up her fingers and using her thumb against your clit to make up for it. 

“does that feel good?” she asks lowly, but you couldn’t help but notice that she sounds genuine too. like she isn’t confident in her abilities–her amazing abilities, mind you.

you open your eyes to meet hers, seeing a genuinely curious glint in her eyes. “so good, paige. you’re doing so good for me.” 

her eyes widen, hips bucking forward again. you hadn’t even touched her yet but she was having to squeeze her thighs together to keep from coming in her pants. she couldn’t help it though–the teasing, the sensual kisses, your moans caused by her. it was shocking too, she doesn’t know if she has ever gotten off this much and this fast just from pleasing someone else.  maybe it’s because it’s you, the girl she’s been waiting for to finally look her way.

her mouth is back on you again, but this time, instead of her fingers moving slowly while her tongue quickly swirls, her fingers are moving fast too. they’re curling inside you desperately trying to find your spot. it’s so much, and you can feel the pressure building in your stomach already. 

“shit,” you moan, trying to hold back your release. “fucking me like you were made for me.” 

but then she moans against you again, and that’s all you need before your stomach tenses and you’re coming on her fingers. she keeps the pace, working you through it relentlessly which drags it out much longer than you expected it to last. 

you twitch as you begin to come down, but paige doesn’t stop. 

“w-wait–fuck, paige,” you stutter out. your hips attempt to buck away, but she throws her arm across your hips and squeezes to keep you in place, and your unoccupied hand presses against her forehead. you apply a little pressure, but not enough to actually push her off. it’s too much but it feels so good–you can’t decide if you want her to keep going or stop. 

“i’m not done,” she murmurs–or maybe whimpers is the more appropriate word. 

you moan loudly as your thighs clench tightly around her head, but she doesn’t care. she continues to fuck her fingers into you at an intense pace, circling her tongue like she wasn’t losing any stamina. it only takes about a minute before you’re falling apart again, but you can’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed about it. 

with your head thrown back against the mattress, you don’t even notice the way she’s clenching her thighs to hide her own orgasm. 

luckily (or unluckily), she slows her pace this time to help you work through it. when you finally came down, she pulled her fingers out causing you to wince at the sudden emptiness. then, she slowly stood, trying to cover up the way her legs were shaking a little bit. she sheepishly bit her lip, hoping you didn’t notice the way she had just came in her pants in a touchless orgasm. 

you do notice her legs shaking, though. you sit up, placing your hands on the sides of her thighs and smoothing over the skin. 

“you’re shaking,” your voice is soft as you say it, and she can’t meet your eyes. 

your hands quickly move up to tug her shorts down her thighs. when she realizes what you’re doing, she scrambles to help you. after she steps out of them, you move your hands to her hips to tug her into your lap. she complies, straddling your thighs awkwardly. clearly, she didn’t do this often either. you groan when she settles herself down completely, feeling the wetness through her underwear brush against the muscle of your thigh. not only that, but the way her clit is pulsing too.

“fuck, paige,” you moan, looking up at her with amazement, “did you come already?”

“no,” she replies a little too quickly. but you don’t miss the way her cheeks turn red.

“you’re so cute,” you laugh, leaning forward to press your lips together. 

she cradled your face in her hands as your lips move together slowly. you used the placement of your hands on her hips to grind her against your thigh.

“is that okay?” you whispered against her lips. 

she started to grind her hips slowly on her own, then whispered, “yes.” 

“i want you to make yourself come again.” 

you pulled your lips away from hers to kiss down her neck, nipping at the skin while making sure you didn’t leave any marks so she didn’t get in trouble with her coaches. she threw her head back in a moan at the feeling. 

“you look so good in my lap like this,” you reply. “so desperate for me.” 

her head drops to bury itself in your neck, a whimper leaving her lips. one of her hands gripped at the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling slightly. you couldn’t help but smile at her even though she couldn’t see it. 

“feels so good,” she whispered hesitantly like she was nervous to say anything. “never want to stop. i could fuck you all day.” 

you moan as your hips bucked up to meet hers causing your thigh to press against her harder. 

“fuck, i’m gonna–” she didn’t even get to finish her sentence before she was crying out and coming hard on your thigh, still sensitive from her orgasm earlier. 

“that’s it, baby. so good for me,” you say, smoothing your hands over her back in a comforting way. 

when she came down and stopped twitching, you wrapped your arms tightly around her waist and pulled her back as you allowed your back to meet the mattress, her lying on top of you. giggles erupted from her lips at the action which caused you to laugh at the adorable sound. 

“we should do that again sometime.” 

[gutsby]

Heavy Hitter

Pairing: Little League Coach!Joel x Reader

Summary: A kick in the dick is a strange way to get a man’s attention, but Coach Miller doesn’t mind at all.

Warnings: 18+. Protected p-in-v. Oral (m!&f!receiving). Blunt testicular trauma turned semi-sweet meet cute. Light bondage vis-à-vis coach’s whistle. Soft dom!Joel. Overstimulation. Age gap. Size kink. Some discomfort during sex. Brief mentions of drug use, vomiting, & SA.

Note: Technically not necessary to understanding the plot, but lyrics/references to John Mellencamp’s ‘Hurts So Good’ are featured throughout, so I’d recommend giving it a listen! :-)

Another note: Amy’s was my go-to when I lived in Austin for a summer, but I have no clue if that’s where the locals go lol

Word count: 17.3k

You woke Sunday morning with heatstroke, a hangover, and one very pissed off nine-year-old pinching your nose.

“GET UP!”

Your half-crusted eyes made as if to open, then failed. Shifting side to side in more of a grimace than a look, you squinted and spied your brother under a heavily lidded gaze and then caught sight of a uniform.

A baseball uniform.

Sam’s widely-loved Little League team, the Fireflies.

With an emblazoned logo of a lightning bug staring you right in the face, you realized at once you were fucked. You heard the shrill of your mother’s voice calling your name downstairs and knew you were double fucked.

You were supposed to be the one driving your brother to his game that day. But, rather than choosing wisely last night, you’d decided to play a two-for-one trainwreck and clusterfuck and drink yourself stupid until well past four o’clock in the morning. Now you were suffering the consequences—and would be feeling them tenfold if you didn’t get your ass out of the house and into the car with your brother before your mom stomped her way upstairs.

Without another word, you snagged your phone, your wallet, your keys, your purse, and your brother’s small arm to drag him behind you out the back door and left.

The events of last night were still little more than a blur.

Even a half hour later, pulling into the packed parking lot of Wright Field with the full brunt of a Texas summer’s heat beating down on your shoulders, you remembered next to nothing. There were bits and pieces, no doubt—a quick pit stop at Mayor Garcia’s political rally at seven, a few beers at Djarin’s bar around nine, Tipsy Bison at…ten, maybe? You couldn’t be sure. Everything from the time you took a hit of Tess’s dab pen between bars and several more hefty swigs from Marlene’s flask in the street left the happenings of the full night fuzzy at best. A trace of spearmint on your tongue and some upbeat ‘80s tune replaying in fragments were all that remained.

You were in sweatpants you didn’t recognize. A black satin bodysuit you only vaguely remembered putting on and shoes you were half-certain were Tess’s. Glancing down at the strange ensemble while you put your truck in park, you were truly more lost than you’d felt in a long, long time. Your hangxiety was at an all-time high, too.

“Help me get the stuff,” Sam said, sliding out quick.

‘Stuff’ meaning the snacks it’d been his turn to pack for the team: pretzels, granola, muffins, and Goldfish, along with drinks and some over-the-top fresh fruit medley your mom had prepared that morning. Luckily, your brother had packed all the shit himself while you were passed out in your room. For that, you were grateful.

You tousled his hair while you watched him try and lug two full cases of Gatorade out of the bed of your truck. Sam made a face, casting a sidelong glance to the field to make sure none of his teammates could see him, then huffed as he dropped the cases to the ground at his feet.

“Okay, maybe—” He puffed his cheeks out again, reaching for a big YETI cooler that looked to be even heavier, “—maybe I should carry these over on my own.”

You stared at him, incredulous.

“You kiddin’? This is a ton of stuff, Sammy.”

Sam winced, whether from the weight of the cooler he was barely able to fit his arms around or the nickname you’d used, you weren’t sure. The hulking plastic cube pressed heavy on his chest as soon as he tried to slide it off the truck bed, and, swiftly, you secured your hands under the thing to help him lower it down to the ground.

It was heavy as shit. Your mom must’ve thrown in a thousand extra oranges while he wasn’t looking.

“Fuckin’ A,” you hissed.

“Language,” Sam chided.

The cooler hit the tarmac with a resounding thud.

“Sorry. Why, uh…why don’t you want my help, bub?” You were genuinely curious, and a tad hurt, that your brother seemed not to want you there—he always had before.

“‘Cause,” he said, kicking absentmindedly at a small patch of gravel, “Just don’t…need it right now, ‘s’all.”

“That’s a load of crap.”

“Is not!”

You rolled your eyes.

You reached for the big white cooler in spite of your brother and started to lift, when he tried yanking it away—‘I mean it, I can carry it myself!’—and you nudged him off. He nudged you back in more of a push, and you huffed sharply to back off, I got it, we’re gonna be late. He pushed you again, hard enough to cause the cooler to slip out from your fingers, and when the thing dropped again, this time on your toes, you let out a piercing yelp.

“Sammy!”

“Sorry!!”

You probably would’ve pushed back again—and likely started a slap war in the middle of the parking lot, like you and your brother had long been accustomed to doing—were it not for the sound of a voice cutting in, calling out to you both from a row of cars over:

“Y’all need some help?”

Motherfucker.

You didn’t even need to turn your head to know the owner of that voice. You shot Sam a lethal look.

“We’re good, David, thanks,” you called back.

The ‘thanks’ was nothing more than a courtesy for your brother. That creepy old cunt could eat shit and die.

You forced a smile as you watched the assistant coach of Sam’s team approach through two minivans nearby. He had his black athletic shorts pulled high above his belly button, Fireflies tee tucked in as neatly as any one man could hope to have it, and a baseball cap pulled snug atop his sparse, greasy, strawberry blond head of hair.

With just one grin from him in return, you knew he was still convinced he would get to fuck you at some point.

You wanted to vomit but had no food left in you to do it. You tasted spearmint in your mouth again, and that nameless tune you had stuck in your brain kept playing.

And, true to his irksome, meddling nature, Coach David swooped in and had both cases of Gatorade stacked on top of the cooler and the thing hauled up in his arms before you could stop him or speak a word in protest.

“Sam, help your big sis out and grab the waters, would ya?” He said, nodding to the truck bed with authority. Before he turned back around, he shot you a wink.

While Sam went crawling across the tailgate and tried wrangling the case of Aquafina into his arms, you felt a presence at your shoulder. Then a gaze searing shamelessly into your cleavage, which had been rendered far more exposed than normal in your bodysuit. You wiggled your top up a little, fighting back a scowl.

“Fun night?” David chuckled.

“The funnest,” you returned without humor.

Sam shouldered the weight of the water with some effort, letting out a sound that he was struggling.

“Lift with your legs, buddy,” David barked. Then, to you, “If you need help with anything else, just holler, alright?”

Another goddamn wink. What was it with middle-aged men and winking? Fortunately, he had the cooler and the drinks weighing him down, so he couldn’t stay for long. He did, however, make sure to bump your ass with his hip walking past, and afterward, you could’ve sworn you saw a smirk growing on his face with wretched pride. Then he strode off in the opposite direction, toward the field. Just when he was out of earshot from you both, Sam plopped down with the case of water. He frowned.

“That’s why I didn’t want your help,” he muttered.

“Huh?”

But you knew what he meant.

David was far from the first man who’d ever hit on you in front of your brother, and he certainly wouldn’t be the last. Sam despised it; almost as much as he hated every guy who even thought they had a shot, and made you plainly uncomfortable. Just as he was about to continue, —and as if to prove his point—a herd of preteen boys passed by. All of them waved, grins overtaking their smug, dumb, prepubescent faces as they yelled out:

“Hey, Sam!”

Then, of course, one brave soul waved to you and said:

“Hey, Sam’s sister!”

And the whole group snickered amongst themselves and slapped the brave soul’s shoulder in congratulations.

You already knew what Sam’s expression would be before you’d even turned around to face him again.

“Alright. You win. Tote your stuff over there, and I’ll just…wait in the truck,” you said, hands raised in surrender.

“Okay.”

Then Sam was gone, trotting after his teammates with the water bottles still sloshing around in his little arms. You watched him, almost forlorn, and felt a bit too much like your mother, overcome with a memory of some soft- rock song you still couldn’t name and the sense that your baby brother was growing up way too fast for your liking.

The scary thing was that someday he could turn out to be like David. His teammates. Or worse. Maybe grow up, tune into a few misogynistic, braindead alpha male podcasts, and become the same insufferable, woman-hating douche you both detested. The thought made you shudder to even consider, and you were fairly certain it read plain on your face as you slammed the tailgate shut and started back around toward the front of your truck.

Contemplating just how much you wanted to save your brother from that fate, you almost missed something huge through the open back window on your way.

Glistening in the sun a neon green: Sam’s bag.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself. You reached inside.

You were certain he’d need it for the game, but you also knew if you set foot on that field you’d never hear the end of it from him. Gingerly, you hoisted the thing up, straining under what felt like a hundred pounds of old clothes, cleats, and a dozen other things, then started to pull it over your shoulder—considering your options.

The soles of Tess’s shoes, unfortunately, had little to no grip to do so. Stepping down from the truck’s running board with a bag in tow was tricky, and for a second, you slipped. You didn’t fall, but the bag’s strap did come to slide off your shoulder the second you pitched back, and the half-zipped tote was sent tumbling to the ground.

A dozen old baseballs went flying, bouncing, and rolling every which way across the hot concrete. You groaned.

Then you were on hands and knees in an instant, skittering across the cracked blacktop and fumbling for balls like a fucking idiot. You grabbed two, three, four, and— shit, you dropped half of them. You scrambled and crawled again. Deposited the balls one-by-one into Sam’s bag, knees scraping along pavement all the while, and gradually got to six or seven of them before you realized at least one more was missing from the batch.

You stuck your head under the red Jeep Wrangler beside you and heaved a sigh. You spotted the last baseball.

“C’mere, you little shit.”

You sank waist-deep beneath the car, stretching your arm toward the ball. You got about an inch away, straining desperately, before the back of your head hit something sharp and hard sticking out from the Jeep’s undercarriage, and you cried out loud, ‘O-OW! FUCK!’

Come on, baby, make it HURT— SO— GOOD!

You clawed at the ball with an exaggerated huff, grabbed the thing, and started crawling back, head throbbing.

Sometimes lo-o-o-o-ve don’t feel like it should.

Your brain was so steeped in pain, anger, and just a stabbing, generalized resentment for all ‘80s music and men—they were somehow to blame for this—that the second you spotted an all-too-familiar pair of dorky ass New Balance 608 Cross Trainers planted behind your feet, beside the car, you couldn’t help but groan again.

You knew those calf-high crew socks anywhere. Knew that David was just dying to crouch down any second now, ask you in the world’s most grating, flirtatious tone if you needed his help again. Then probably stare at your ass or tits another minute. You weren’t putting up with it.

So, with all the hostility you had reserved for him, the many men like him, and the headache that was just then taking shape at the base of your skull, you said, sharply:

“Hey, Coach, could you FUCK OFF?”

Sam’s good graces with the coaching staff be damned, you had to let this fucker know how you felt. Fair was fair when the man had literally been hitting on you since your freshman year in college and still hadn’t gotten the hint.

You crawled out from under the Jeep expecting a fight.

An appalled expression, grim look, sour gaze, anything.

What you weren’t expecting to find was a man who looked absolutely nothing like David—and everything like a shocked, scared, and very sexy man in skintight lycra.

“Fuck me,” you said under your breath.

You immediately wished you hadn’t.

Whether from embarrassment or arousal, you should not have said those words under any circumstances. Now the man was staring you down even harder, most likely shocked and embarrassed on your behalf. His brows were raised, eyes blinking in what looked like a haze; if you hadn’t known any better, you might think he was—

“Oh, hi! Hey…you.”

A little awkward and strange.

He was stupidly handsome, there was no denying that. Dazzling, even, with the force of a dozen different strong, prominent features in perfect harmony, dimpled cheeks, tan skin, and a sublime Tom Selleck mustache. But something in the way he was watching you now, like his gaze had never strayed across a woman’s form before in his life, put a pit of unease in your stomach. You found yourself staring back, watching him closely, wondering how in the hell you could feel both violently attracted and questioning, still, if this man might veritably kidnap you.

All a part of girlhood, really.

“Hi,” you replied anyway. Hoping he didn’t have a windowless van parked anywhere close by.

“Hey,” he said again. Again.

Chomping down on his gum and smiling.

Sexy, strange man was beaming at you now. Practically exuberant in the way his lips had been stretched to make a wide, happy grin while he stared and chewed away.

You couldn’t take this for much longer.

“Sorry, I thought you were—” you started.

“David?”

You paused to give him a quick once-over, as if searching for clues before you answered him. You found nothing.

“Yeah…David.”

Then you caught sight of a nametag. Miller.

Somehow, the man’s grin got even bigger—and with it, your raw discomfort. Why was he smirking like that?

Maybe you were paranoid. Maybe you were stupid. Maybe you had spent far too much time watching true crime shows to have any fair sense of impending danger, but this guy’s aura was downright intimidating and odd. When you saw him slip a hand in his far-too-tight gym shorts and fish around for something in his pocket, your heart clenched in your chest, and its rate nearly tripled.

“Funny findin’ these—” he said, pointing with his other hand. Then reaching toward your lower half, like he was ready to hook his fingers in the waistband of your pants.

Oh, hell no.

Your most-of-the-time reliable instincts kicked in, your gut tightened up, and, truly unable to think or stomach another man feeling entitled enough to touch you again, you found yourself lifting your most readily available limb to stave off the stranger’s advances as fast as possible.

Unfortunately for him, that limb was your leg.

Or your kneecap, rather, hitting him squarely in the balls.

You didn’t even bother to wait for a response. You knew damn well what a knee to the testicles would do to any man, so your fight turned to flight just as quick, and you took off sprinting across the parking lot. A strangled groan and a string of expletives were all you could hear at your rear, and frankly, you didn’t give a single fuck whether it hurt him or not—you needed to get away.

You ran as far as your legs would carry you, and then some. You ran past the cars, across the street, down the sidewalk, between two metal bins that nearly toppled as you passed, and all the way through the gate until you reached a tall, familiar building, gasping for air. In your panic, you’d slung Sam’s bag over your shoulder, but because it hadn’t been zipped, you lost about half of its contents while hauling ass toward the sports complex.

You’d beg for Sam’s forgiveness later. For now, you had only to try and steady your breaths and temper your nerves to the point of not appearing like a total fucking lunatic walking through the place right now. You paused in the middle of the breezeway to press a hand to your side—you hadn’t sprinted that fast in years, probably.

Families were still trickling into the stadium by turns, most too rushed or inattentive to give a shit who you were or what you were wearing. Others stared. It was the stern, disapproving looks you earned from several mothers that made you reconsider being there at all.

And then you saw Frank.

He and his husband were part of the ‘too rushed’ group, ushering their son ahead of them in a breakneck haste while they muttered and cursed to themselves that warm-ups started ten minutes ago, Bill, I told you not to stop for coffee! And Bill just grunted in reply, most likely.

You sidled up beside the latter, giving a quick greeting before joining them in their speedwalk to the fields. In all the sixteen years you’d been neighbors, you hadn’t seen a single event that Frank and Bill had arrived to on time.

“H— oh shit.” Bill didn’t bother to disguise his surprise when he ran a quick look up and down your person.

So it wasn’t just the soccer moms. You did look like shit.

“Mornin’, sunshine!” Frank chirped anyway, unfazed.

Their son, Nathan, cocked a brow but said nothing.

“Hey, Nate, would you mind giving this to Sam?” You held the backpack out to him as the four of you rounded a corner, about to part ways before the bleachers.

The kid nodded and took the bag. Then, shortly, he picked up his pace from a brisk walk to a jog the second he saw his team meeting up on the field. He broke off in less than a second, and you, Bill, and Frank were left to find seats in a sea of hot, metal benches. The taller of the pair was nudging your ribs before you’d even sat down.

“Dare I ask?” Frank whispered.

“I think somebody might’ve, like…tried to grope me in the parking lot,” you replied, slowly but at full volume.

That earned a couple more stares from the parents around you. Bill audibly sputtered and coughed.

The three of you had just sat down at a comfortable distance from first base when Frank turned to face you fully. His eyes were wide, all decorum momentarily lost as he leaned in to say, ‘No fuckin’ shit! Are you okay?!’

You nodded.

“No, yeah, I’m fi—”

“Who was it?”

That was Bill. You could already tell from the flare in his nostrils that some brutal, ruthless beating was being concocted in his mind for whoever had crossed you. You placed a hand over his, quickly, and shot reassuring looks between him and Frank before you continued.

“No, no, I mean, he didn’t actually— it was just…”

You had to cut yourself short, unsure of what the stranger had actually been trying to do before—

“I kneed him in the dick,” you finished bluntly.

That didn’t seem to appease either party. At all. If anything, it just caused their blood pressure to spike, as Frank’s hand flew up to his mouth, and Bill’s eyebrows leapt halfway up his face in visible horror and shock.

“Well who the— what man’s got the goddamn nerve to just—” The one with the sky-high brows seemed to struggle with his words, and right as he was about to reclaim them, a new presence nearby stopped him cold.

Or maybe he kept talking. You couldn’t tell. Truthfully, it was probably only you who’d gone deaf to the rest of what was said, because in that moment, you were met with a gruesome new discovery stumbling onto the field.

Walking with a limp from the dugout to the nearest umpire—practically bow-legged with how carefully he was treading to avoid disturbing his balls—was the guy.

Your guy.

Creepy guy.

Brand new coach of the Fireflies guy, by all appearances.

Suddenly, the man looked far less vile and menacing in his short-sleeved neon tee, shorts yanked up to his ribs in the fashion all Little League coaches were apt to do. His shoes—the same ones you’d mistaken for David’s—looked just as lame as before, but now you saw them connected to a poor old forty-something dude who volunteered to coach snot-nosed kids in his spare time.

He looked about as pitiful as could be, hobbling over to one man in a black-and-white striped shirt and shaking his hand. Then shaking the hand of another. Then exchanging some words, and obviously straining to maintain his composure as he spoke. Smiling kindly.

Trying to ignore the fact that his nuts were on fire.

You lifted a hand to cover your mouth.

Frank’s gaze followed yours.

“Is that—”

“Yeah.”

Shit.

The Fireflies lost 8-0.

The Morales City Catfish weren’t even that good of a team, and still, the boys had suffered a crushing defeat. Naturally, you saw uniform faces of dejection and gloom coming back up to you once the game had been called, and you could tell it would take a shit-ton of ice cream and encouragement to get the team over this funk.

Sam was so down he barely even acknowledged your presence, or the fact that you weren’t supposed to be there in the first place. He just sniffled, hung his head in abject shame, then accepted a quick side hug from you before turning away, crossing his arms, and trying his best to play it cool in front of the rest of his team.

“Uncle Frank, can you take us to Amy’s?” he called over your shoulder, where Frank and Bill were already consoling a similarly miserable Nathan behind you.

“Sure thing, sport,” Frank shot back. He knew just as well as you that two scoops of Rocky Road were likely the only things capable of cheering them up right now.

And, over the course of that long, ugly game, you’d come to learn that Frank also knew Joel Miller. Coach Joel.

Soft-spoken and sweet, salt-of-the-earth Joel Miller who was serving as the Fireflies’ head coach pro tempore while his best friend was taking time off to recover from gallbladder surgery. Frank and Bill most certainly didn’t disbelieve what you’d told them about your encounter with him, but on closer examination, it became clear to you all that there might’ve been a misunderstanding.

In other words, you’d probably jumped the gun on kneeing the poor guy in the dick. You felt like shit.

Particularly when you watched him walk off with David after the game to put equipment away, and you saw he was still struggling to walk without a conspicuous limp. You, Bill, and Frank had decided it would be best at least to talk things out with him, but now that the time was actually here, you were dreading going up to Coach Joel.

Luckily—or maybe unluckily—you didn’t have to.

You felt a light tap on your shoulder as the rest of your group was starting to leave. Sam and Nate were leading the way, and the adults in front of you were too busy talking to notice you’d been stopped. You turned around.

The first thing you saw was a stack of clothes.

You couldn’t bear to look up at the face.

“You dropped these.”

Right. Right. When you’d been flailing like a cat on a hot tin roof to get away from the man. Your cheeks warmed.

You accepted the clothes from Joel and were already starting to shake your head, when your voice clawed out of your throat, far too small and feeble for your liking:

“I am…so…so sorry, Coach.”

At last, you mustered the courage to meet his gaze. It was cool and indifferent as soon as you reached it.

“I thought— see, I-I didn’t know you were—” You sounded downright pathetic, stammering like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar, “I kinda—”

Then a new voice cut in.

“C’mon, we’re leavin’.”

That was Sam.

Gaze hardened to that of an almost-stoic, he stared at Coach Joel and didn’t even bother to mask his grim look.

He probably thought Joel was trying to make a move.

If only he knew how fucking far from the truth that was.

You swallowed and smiled sweetly all the same. Glancing down at the clothes in your hands, then nodding to his bag, you reached over to hand your brother his stuff.

“Coach Joel just wanted to give back some of the junk I, uh…accidentally dropped when I was walkin’ in earlier, Sammy,” you said, trying your best to sound relaxed.

But Sam just turned to the side, wordlessly telling you to put the clothes in the bag for him, and you knew it was because he wanted to keep mean mugging Joel as much as he possibly could while your attention was diverted.

Nine-year-olds were weird like that. Sam might not have had the guts to tell his friends off, or even a familiar ‘authority figure’ like David, but Joel was fair game. He was basically as good as a stranger to him and wouldn’t even be with the team for more than a couple weeks. So he stared him down and continued to frown while you re-zipped his bag, hoping he wouldn’t say anything dumb.

“Why’re ya walkin’ around so weird, Coach?”

“Sam!”

Clearly, you’d hoped a little too soon.

Your cheeks were on fire now, glancing between your brother’s pinched, insolent expression and Joel’s neutral one. It was like the latter hadn’t even registered the jab.

“Sam, you can’t just ask tha—” you started off in a hurried whisper, only to have your speech cut short.

“Old age, buddy,” Joel returned swiftly, words laced with the faintest trace of humor, “Threw my back out this mornin’ chasin’ after somebody, and now it hurts.”

The coach’s eyes didn’t even try to refrain from flitting over to yours when he said ‘somebody.’ You coughed.

Sam smirked, oblivious.

“Yeah? Who?”

“Wish I knew.”

“How come they were runnin’?”

“That’s what I’ve been tryin’ to figure out.”

Offering nothing more than a noncommittal shrug and a scrunch of his nose, Joel re-shouldered his bag and started to lift the other stash of equipment he had tied up in a mesh tote. He blinked a little harder as he did.

Sam looked down at the tote.

“You, uh…need some help with that?” he asked. For the time being, at least, intrigue had supplanted mistrust.

“Nah, ‘s’okay. I got it.”

“Sa-a-am!”

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Nathan with his hands cupped over his mouth, standing by the gate with his parents. Even at a distance, you could see the curious looks on Bill and Frank’s faces. You tried your best to appease both with a nod—‘I’m good, don’t worry.’

Then, before you even realized what you were doing, you found yourself turning back to Sam and smiling. Again.

Sweet and pleading and strained as you’d ever been:

“Go on ahead, I’ll help Coach carry the stuff.”

You weren’t sure why that statement felt so momentous, but it did. You looked back at Joel for half a second to find his eyebrows raised, as if he’d interpreted your message the same, and quickly, you both tried to conceal whatever you were feeling on your faces.

It was hard.

Sam looked between the two of you, suspicions seeming to creep back in for a second. He gave Joel, in particular, a pointed look, and for a moment, you thought he might change his mind and insist on coming along with you.

Then he sucked in a quick breath and remembered ice cream awaited him with Nate and the rest of the guys. His attention span was decent enough for a kid his age, but even that had its limits—and food was too tempting.

‘Whatever’ appeared to be his last, decisive thought.

“Hope your back feels better, Coach,” he said quickly, before he started off across the pavement, “See ya!”

At length, Sam called something over his shoulder about meeting you there, but you could tell he was already too caught up in the prospect of hanging with his boys to really care. You watched him sprint down the breezeway full-speed, and, just as he made it to the gate, he turned:

“Hope ya find that dumb sonovabitch, Coach!”

He was smiling extra big as he said it.

You wanted to yell back and tell him to watch his language, like he would always do to you, but he was gone before you could even start to form the words.

The little shit.

Once he had left, you and Joel exchanged a look that lasted no more than a second, and neither of you smiled.

The coach tossed his mesh bag your way with all the concern he might have had for a sack of potatoes. A heavy set of metal gear clashed and clanged around in your arms, and for a second, you staggered backward.

“Locker room’s that way,” he muttered. Nodding toward the back of the sports facility but saying nothing else.

Joel didn’t wait for you to follow along. He just went.

Kindness wasn’t so much an expectation as it was a foolish hope—that Coach Joel might be willing to make amends, forgive and forget, maybe even grace you with one of his dimpled grins once all of it was said and done.

So far, he hadn’t even looked your way, much less given you the chance to apologize. He strode ahead, quickly, as soon as you’d started walking behind him, then he pressed his phone to his ear and hadn’t stopped yapping away while you trotted on his heels and tried to keep up. Through the bleachers, the breezeway, and a near-labyrinthine set of twists and turns to get to the locker rooms at the rear of the building, Joel was like a wall.

As handsome and fuckable as a wall could ever be, but one whose face you couldn’t even see to properly read for any emotion, because he refused to meet your gaze.

The closest thing you’d gotten to contact was him nodding toward a supply closet on your way in, cupping his palm over the bottom of his phone and going, ‘There.’

“For the…stuff?” you asked dumbly, lifting your bag.

Coach Joel barely gave a hum of acknowledgment before turning away and resuming his phone call with vigor. Then he pivoted again, put a hand on his hip like he meant business all of a sudden, and pretended to be extraordinarily invested in this other, better conversation.

Or maybe he wasn’t pretending.

You didn’t know the guy.

You stepped inside.

Dropped the bag.

And when you returned, Joel was gone, leaving you to a long, empty, dead-cold corridor with no sign whatsoever of where he went—or where you were meant to follow.

Asshole.

It struck you then that not a single, sane soul would bother to haunt these hallways once the weekend games were over. It was just you and Joel and…Joel and you with nothing between but the stale, fetid air and echoes bouncing back and forth across the concrete walls. More sounds followed as you started down the hall yourself.

The first corner you rounded led to a door—Emergency Exit Only. You turned to your left, spotted another closet. Spun on your heels and tried going the other direction, only to find that the adjoining passage was shrouded pitch black. All but one fluorescent bulb that way was turned off. You stared into the darkness, it stared back, and through the soft, flickering glow of that one lone panel, you finally saw the entrance to the locker room.

It looked ominous as all hell.

Already picturing some axe-wielding psycho in the depths of the shadows, you walked ahead, unfazed. Hoping silently, stupidly, someone would jump out and rock your shit before getting to Joel, you treaded as slow as you possibly could. When you pushed the door open and not one serial killer bothered to stop you, you sighed.

“Coach?” you called.

No answer.

For a second or two, you contemplated whether or not you were even allowed to do this, but you went inside. Slowly. Taking two hesitant steps across wet, white tile, craning your neck to make sure no one else was around. Stealing a look in the mirror and seeing yourself cowered—whether from fear or dread, you couldn’t be certain—and shit did you look extra dumb wearing those big, grey sweats that were about two ass shakes away from falling off your hips. You walked up to the mirror and frowned.

The reflection you saw was unsettling—who the fuck gave you these, anyway? What happened to your skirt?

These questions and at least a dozen more began to percolate between your ears with growing unease, memories rehashed and scrutinized into the tiniest, bite-sized pieces. No matter how hard you stared and tried to remember, full recollection was always out of reach.

Such was the state of your mind that you couldn’t believe your eyes when they first drifted to your left.

It seemed too serendipitous, too crazy and coincidental and plainly on the nose to be something from reality staring you straight in the face. You blinked in disbelief.

Sitting in an unzipped bag on the floor was the skirt.

Your skirt—a flimsy little mid-rise denim number that you’d snagged half off at Kohl’s last summer. In there.

Folded at the top of an old nylon tote labeled, ‘MILLER.’

For the second time that day, you would’ve lost your lunch all over the floor if you’d had the food to do it. Instead, you found yourself dropping to your knees and yanking the skirt toward you, eyes widened with shock. Fingering the blue fabric in your hands like the material might disintegrate between them, staring at the thing and almost wishing it’d dissolve so this wouldn’t be real.

So Joel—Coach Joel, with his big bruised balls and all—wouldn’t have your skirt in his bag and know something about the things you’d done last night that you did not.

With this bizarre turn, and the way your day was going, it should’ve come as no surprise when next you heard:

“What are you doing here?”

But, of course, the voice did catch you off guard.

It was like Coach Joel had a knack for finding you in the worst possible spots, at all times. You rose to your feet.

“Wh— what are these doing here?” you snapped anyway.

Joel didn’t flinch.

“Oh. You found it,” he returned, voice devoid of interest.

Like this was no great discovery. Like this was old news. You took a step closer to him, still holding the skirt out.

“Yeah. What the fuck was it doing in your bag?”

“I meant to give ‘em back earlier.”

“Wh—”

“Figured it wasn’t the most appropriate time for that, with your son standin’ right there between us an’ all.”

Your son?

“My son?”

“The kid.”

“That’s my brother,” you said, exasperation only rising, “Why did you even have this thing in the first place?!”

At that, Joel paused. His brows drew in, and his frown grew deeper. Like he wasn’t sure what to make of you.

“So you lied,” he said, finally.

“Lied?”

“‘Bout how drunk you were.”

“I never said—”

“No. You said plenty,” Joel spoke over you, stern. Then, eyes narrowing, “If you can’t remember it, I was right.”

You couldn’t tell whether it was the tendency to interrupt or simply the condescending glint in his eye that you despised, but, by turns, you could feel the remorse seep out from your bones and any desire to make amends dissipate right along with it. And then there was that mention of ‘it’—was he insinuating something had happened between you two while you were blacked out? You gripped your skirt tighter and eyed him just as hard.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you spat.

The face across from yours was tough, but evidently not imperturbable. A shadow of some amorphous hurt passed behind his eyes, if only for half a second.

“You don’t…remember last night at all, do you?”

You didn’t.

You wished you did, but you didn’t, and it was just then beginning to irk the hell out of you that this man did. You couldn’t stand to be at such a disadvantage—or to have been at such a disadvantage if, in fact, he’d taken you home and done things you couldn’t even remember.

So, perhaps more cruel than you should’ve been, but feeling the need to reclaim some leverage, you said:

“Why? Were you, like, my pity fuck of the night and that’s why you’ve got my skirt? And tried groping me earlier?”

Coach Joel’s nostrils visibly flared; he stared even harder.

“No. No, I tried— those are my pants there, I was—” Growing agitated in the face of the accusation you’d just leveled against him and struggling to find the words to defend himself, Joel’s brows pinched tighter. His lips pursed, and he shook his head. You went on, undaunted.

“Yeah? So you normally fuck girls too drunk to even—”

“No.”

Joel’s response was immediate. Insistent. Voice carrying through the near-empty, wide and tiled room with all the force of a sonic boom. He hadn’t yelled at you, though.

And, before he could continue, you heard the very real scream of a door squeaking back on its hinges from the opposite end of the locker room. Heavy wood struck a doorstop no farther than ten or so yards away from you.

Joel coughed.

“Milleeerrrrr, you in here?”

Choked.

The next thing you knew you were being shoved in a shower stall to your left with Joel painfully close in tow. One broad hand appearing beside your hip like magic, yanking a knob, then slamming a hot and clammy palm over your mouth before you could scream at the spray.

A ruthless, ice-cold downpour had you both drenched in seconds. You would’ve leapt back or turned away if there were space at all to budge, but there wasn’t. And Joel had you constricted to his chest like a python anyway.

‘Don’t’ was all he whispered in your ear before turning.

Then shouting back, loud, “What’cha need, Big D?”

David cackled at the nickname. You inwardly cringed. Huge, glacial spates of water continued to shoot down your back, you squeezed your skirt in your hand like a vice, and the man behind you hugged your body to him even tighter as you squirmed and tried wriggling away.

“Just came to see if you needed a ride to Amy’s. The boys are all already over there,” David replied, and in turn, he was treading closer. Walking slowly to the stall.

Joel pinched your face like you were somehow to blame. You jerked a sharp elbow to his ribs, and he let up a little.

“Nah, man, I—” Joel began, ever-so-slowly reaching out toward the shower knob and turning it, “—gotta talk to Ezra, make a couple more calls. I’ll meet y’all over there.”

Outside, David made a low, disappointed huff. Then he plopped his ass on a bench from what you could hear.

“I can wait,” he said.

“There’s really no need—” You could feel the strain in Joel’s voice, picturing him gritting his teeth and wincing beneath the torrents of water. Slowly, the shower heated.

“Believe me, I’m in no rush to get over there,” David chuckled. The bench creaked as he leaned back.

Then, he added:

“Ain’t like Ms. Cum-On-Me-Tits’ll be there anyway.”

I beg your finest pardon?

You wanted to thrash out of Joel’s arms the second you heard the name—knowing damn well who he meant—but the big, wet arms out in front of you were pressing down on your chest like the oxygen in the air was scarce. Your lungs could barely expand far enough to breathe, much less venture to fight him off of you and leave.

“Ms. Who?” Joel said, sounding dumb as a bag of dicks.

“You know who,” David barked out a laugh this time, “The slut you were eyeballin’ the whole fuckin’ game.”

You’d kill both men with your two bare hands if you could—if you had to be subjected to one more second of this asinine ‘locker room talk,’ you just might off yourself, too.

Joel’s arms noticeably tensed around you.

“I don’t—”

“Sam’s sister, man. I don’t blame ya one bit. Pretty little thing like that, I’m starin’ at those tits every chance I—”

You ground your heel hard into Joel’s toes then, and he groaned. Loosened his grip on you just long enough for you to turn around in that tiny, compact shower and look up to pin him with the most vicious stare you could. He didn’t have to be the one saying these things for the words to sting and make you feel every bit as objectified. As far as you were concerned, and on top of everything else going on, his silence made him equally complicit.

Above you, a pair of brown eyes tried to apologize.

Or maybe just commiserate about how badly David sucked. Joel cleared his throat and cut back in.

“She’s…alright,” he said, eyes boring into yours as he spoke—then, pointedly, “Not really my type, though.”

“Bullshi-i-i-it!”

David sang an incredulous cacophony before continuing:

“Tell me, Joel, does your ass get jealous of all the shit that comes outta your mouth? Or is it used to it by now?”

In another sopping wet and raw moment of discomfort, Joel frowned. The water enveloping you both had slowly crept up to a more comfortable temperature, and just as a pinkish hue ascended his neck, you wondered if it was the warmth or something else that ushered in the color.

And the answer to that came much sooner than you expected—one superb cherry atop a monster-sized shit pie—when something stabbed your pelvis a second later.

Your mouth fell open as Joel’s snapped shut. He blinked; you stared; neither one of you possessed the courage to look down, but you knew what was standing there, stiff.

Then, as if to compound every last one of your problems and add the cruelest of insults to injury, David sat up.

Again, he laughed.

“You know I’m right!” he chided when Joel said nothing, “Got yourself laid after you left Tipsy Bison last night, and it still ain’t enough for a horny fuck like you, huh?”

Now you had to be sick. Your head was throbbing.

Glaring lack of food be damned, you felt the urge. Again.

You almost tore the shower curtain aside when Joel caged you back against the wall with his body, torso pinning yours, and you heard a far-off cackle once more—this time, accompanied by the sounds of David’s shoes squeaking as he stood. Boner momentarily forgotten, Joel pressed his body to yours on cool glazed ceramic and made a plea as he stuck his index finger to your lips.

And whatever that wordless message was, you were too mortified to meet his gaze. You just stood in place and stared over his shoulder as David made to leave outside.

Some words were exchanged; they barely registered with you. Joel told David, again, that he could drive to Amy’s without him—David said something about ‘big butts’ and ‘college sluts’ and promises of hearing the ‘whole story’ when Joel got there—and Joel hummed, noncommittal.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind the Fireflies’ asshole assistant coach, your hands went straight to Joel’s chest to shove him off as hard as you could.

“Hey—”

A short, emphatic ‘fuck you’ was obscured just slightly by the sound of the shower curtain being yanked to the left, your feet moving quickly underneath you, then the splashes of puddles as you walked—stomped—away.

You were back outside, exiting through a different door than David had and making it out into the hallway again.

“Hey—”

“Don’t care.”

Those words weren’t muffled at all. You stalked down the hall with your skirt in a fist and your whole body dripping.

You made it halfway before a hand found your waist, but you tried to keep going in spite of the pull. Straining.

And, personally, you would’ve liked to use your sopping wet denim just then as a projectile, launched directly into Coach Joel’s face. It would’ve been easy, smacking a creep upside the head when he clearly couldn’t comprehend a lick of difference between a ‘fuck you’ and a ‘thank you,’ but the weapon in your grip was virtually useless if you didn’t have the strength to lift it.

Or if Joel didn’t stop you then to make you face him, use one broad hand to burn a wet-hot imprint in your side while his other nudged a door open beside you.

Or if you didn’t stumble inside with one nudge.

If there hadn’t been a bone-empty coach’s lounge waiting behind that door, rattling with the sound and sheer force of the thing shutting swiftly behind Joel.

Then, before you could try and curse him out again:

“I’m sorry.”

“Bullshit.” You sounded like David saying it before.

You were already backing up in that tiny office space, wishing you had the willpower to just chuck your skirt and run, but of course, your pride was too great. Your curiosity was too wild, and your anger was unrivaled.

“Nothing happened last night,” Joel said, emphatic.

“Wh—”

“We didn’t fuck. Or do anything. I swear.”

That kind of candor was a first. You weren’t sure just what to make of it. Wordlessly, you dropped your skirt.

“David said—” you started again.

“David heard—from my little brother, if I had to guess—that we left Tipsy Bison together. And we did…but, uh…” Joel trailed off, shifting his attention to something of note over your shoulder, and then stepping, reaching carefully around you, “I just wanted to get you home.”

“To fuck me,” you finished.

“No.”

Joel tensed again as he shook a towel out in front of you, then draped it over your shoulders. You made a face at the coarse texture but stayed quiet as he wrapped you. He paused, pressed your arms lightly, then appeared to decide in the blink of an eye and one awkward cough that now was not the best time to be touching. You couldn’t deny the warmth was a welcome change as you stood soaked head-to-toe, yet nothing could uncurl the ice-cold fist in your stomach at the sight of him now.

Joel stood, still semi-erect in his five-inch inseam shorts.

A puddle was starting to form on the floor around you both. Joel’s breathing was slow; he stood so close you could feel it. Hear it. Smell it. He started to back away.

Before he did, you got a whiff of something light on his breath. Then some dim, misshapen word began to form.

Spearmint.

You stood and you stared. You saw an image flash before your mind—a memory. At some point in time, you had danced with this man. One night. Last night? Maybe.

‘I knew him as John Cougar. That’s how old I am.’

‘And he’s Mellencamp to me. So what?’

‘Means you’re too young for me.’

All the same, the man’s hand had tightened its grip. Splayed out at the base of your spine and drawing you closer, the fingers tapped along to a heartland rock tune playing loud across the way on the Tipsy Bison’s jukebox. Joel smiled and chewed. Chewed and smiled.

And chewed some more—still, to the present moment.

Joel Miller kept a pack of Wrigley’s Sugarfree Spearmint gum in the pocket of every clothing item he owned. He indulged in the stuff so often because it helped ease his nerves some. You knew this because he’d told you, right before his lips had grazed the corner of yours and told you, slowly, there were worse ways to smell than minty. You had proceeded to frown and demand a proper kiss.

But that night, last night, Joel never did.

“We didn’t…do it,” you said, question and statement commingled as you searched his face for an answer.

What you got in return was more akin to a wince.

“You were drunk,” Joel answered simply.

‘Blackout’ was implied by the tone of his voice. Then, when the same old muscles went tensing beneath the smooth, tanned skin of his jaw to keep chomping away—nerves shot to hell no matter how hard he chewed—Joel held your gaze and drank you in, as you did to him.

And the memories came trickling back, one by one.

“I— took that off myself, didn’t I?” Pointing to your skirt.

Joel’s eyes didn’t need to follow your own. He nodded.

“Stripped it off pretty quick when we got in the truck.”

You wanted to die. Now the mere idea of remembering was something more like an anvil hanging overhead, ready to drop any second. You sucked your bottom lip in.

“Kept on sayin’ to me, ‘I’m sober, I swear!’ and took the skirt off to show ya wanted to, y’know—” Joel paused to circle around the desk behind him. He went rummaging, quietly, then, “You threw it over your neighbors’ fence as soon as we got to your place. I had to fish it out later.”

Coach Joel made it through two, three, four drawers before finally setting his sights on the one he needed—the one where they kept old athletic clothes stored, it seemed. You watched him set aside a heather grey shirt of some minor league baseball team you didn’t recognize, followed by a pair of gym shorts.

It certainly wasn’t the most trendy attire, but it was dry.

Joel was still dripping wet when he motioned to the stuff. Before he could offer it up, though, you frowned.

“Wait— we were at my house?”

Joel smiled in that wry, humorless way of his and nodded. Pretended to inspect a smudge on his shoe so he didn’t have to meet your gaze and watch the first inklings of embarrassment morph into pure humiliation.

Your cheeks were on fire. You remembered it now.

How Joel had calmly set you up in the passenger seat of his truck, politely pushed your feet back inside when you whined and insisted you were fine to keep drinking, let’s go back, then artfully dodged a kiss that you’d tried to plant on his lips. You’d got his cheek instead and huffed.

“Joel, I am so, so sober, it’s insane,” you hiccuped, “Pinky promise we can fuck now if you wanna.”

“I don’t,” Joel grunted. He put the car in drive.

You must’ve gone back and forth on that topic for hours—or however long it took to get from the Tipsy Bison’s parking lot to your parent’s house in the dead of night—and Joel had been adamant. Insistent. He wouldn’t lay a hand on you until you’d sobered up and gone to sleep.

He’d somehow managed to wrestle you into a pair of his sweats after you threw your own skirt over the fence. He’d reasoned, pleaded, then outright begged you to follow his lead inside. When you refused, he had no choice but to throw you over his shoulder and—

“—sneak me into my room?” you said, words steeped in disbelief. Your parents would’ve murdered the man in cold blood if they’d seen him toting their half-conscious, fully drunk daughter over his back and into her bedroom.

Coach Joel was brave for that.

Kind-hearted, too.

And you’d kicked the poor soul in his balls the next day.

Suddenly—and conspicuously—your gaze fell to his dick.

“I-I…Joel, I am so…fucking sor—”

“‘S’okay,” Joel cut in, gently. Wincing at the memory and pretending not to see your eyes burn a hole in his shorts.

Your gaze was still fixed firmly on that spot when you saw his hand stir at his side. He reached into his pocket.

To your immediate chagrin, he withdrew a little wrapper.

Just big enough to house a strip of gum, but it didn’t, at least not anymore. Someone had removed the gum and flipped the wrapper inside out to write something down.

Joel’s fingers flattened it out some, and then you saw it: a phone number scribbled on the small silver parchment. The man in front of you held it out for no more than a second before placing it on top of the clothes on the desk and sliding the pile toward you. Clearing his throat.

“Forgot to give you this,” he said, “I was just, uh— tryin’ to pull it outta my pocket. Earlier. In the parking lot.”

So not trying to grope you. Or kidnap you in broad daylight. Or do anything even remotely malevolent.

Just trying to give you his number. Pointing to his pants.

No sooner had Joel set you down on your bed than you were squirming against your comforter, trying to drag his sweatpants down your legs with some effort. Joel immediately seized both of your hands at the waistband and shook his head. He yanked the pants up while you tried, unsuccessfully, to pull them down your body.

“This ain’t happenin’ now, honey,” he’d said softly.

“Why—” You fisted the fabric even tighter and attempted to wriggle out again, to no avail, “—not?!”

“One: you’re drunk…” Joel replied, voice even as ever. Tugging his sweats back up to rest comfortably at your hips, then rotating your body in bed so he could pull the sheets over you, “Two: date comes first, remember?”

You blinked in embarrassment—again—at the memory. Joel bit the inside of his cheek, as if remembering too.

“I promised I’d take ya on a proper date,” he said simply. Flatly, almost, “Y’know, ‘fore we did anything like, uh…”

And from one shared look alone, the two of you knew what would’ve followed after. Or had a rough idea of it, anyway. Perhaps feeling a bit too forward with that wordless admission, or still uncertain whether you even remembered the date he’d promised you in the first place, Joel looked down. He glanced over at the clothes and opened his mouth to speak again, probably to tell you to get changed, now, you’re fixin’ to freeze to death—and maybe you should’ve waited for him to say it.

Maybe.

Maybe you should’ve waited for Coach Joel to tell you that he’d step outside and give you some privacy while you changed, offer to give you a ride to Amy’s if you needed it. Keep things professional. Platonic. Put dates on the back burner for the time being and leave it at that.

But you were already so cold, and your inhibitions low.

Maybe some part of you wanted to make it up to Joel somehow—thank him for being so kind the night before.

So, instead of letting him speak, you hooked your thumbs under the waistband of his sweatpants, just like you’d done the night before, and started to pull down.

“Does the date have to come first?” you said. Soft, slow.

The wet and heavy fabric fell around your ankles with a less-than-sexy thud, but you stepped out of it calmly all the same. Your legs were met with another biting chill, the kind that was bound to seize your limbs when left bare below the waist—save for your bodysuit—and you felt a wave of goosebumps break out across your skin.

Joel stared as you stepped closer. He hadn’t evinced so much as a note of surprise, but you could tell from the glint in his eyes he had to have been thinking something.

‘Christ’ was all he muttered.

You drew nearer, until just the tips of your toes were about to graze his own, and you kicked off Tess’s shoes with a nonchalance you were amazed you were able to feign. Inside, your heart was hammering against your chest, and your stomach doing somersaults as Joel’s gaze drifted back up to your face. His chewing had slowed, but you could feel the faint fragrance of mint on his breath. You wished he would touch you, but he didn’t.

“Figured we could just...cut through the—” you started.

“No.”

It seemed Joel loved to interrupt. Loved telling you no.

You leaned back a little, both eyebrows raised. You were about to take a step away, sensing by the stern look that had crossed over his face that maybe he wasn’t in the mood to touch, or kiss, or do anything with you at all. As much as rejection would’ve felt like a punch in the gut, and likely compounded your embarrassment tenfold, you would never try to cross that line without his permission.

You’d just sucked in one last inhale of spearmint and failure when you felt a hand on the front of your top.

Joel’s index and thumb pinched the fabric.

They tugged you toward his body, gently.

At the first influx of relief, you smiled—thank fuck you hadn’t creeped the poor guy out—and started to reach for Joel just the same, but his other hand stopped you. Again, it was tender, but appreciably firmer this time:

Don’t touch me.

Your face fell. Hand dropped limply beside you and eyes winced with confusion as Joel continued to pull forward.

He brought you to a stop before your bodies made contact. Then he slipped his touch from your belly, up your sides, before eventually settling on your...shoulder?

He applied light pressure. You didn’t understand why.

When he pushed harder and made your legs buckle underneath you, the message rang a little more clearly.

Your knees made the gentlest splat atop wet hardwood, the office floor soaked from your body and Joel’s. You’d barely managed to keep your balance between his feet and had just started to tilt your head up to meet his gaze, hands instinctively reaching out and gripping his thighs for support, when the fabric rustled under your palms.

The soaked, black shorts were being peeled off, slowly.

You blinked up at Joel in disbelief. Did he seriously—

“Think you should say you’re sorry first,” Joel said.

Your heart thudded even harder. You scarcely had another second to process his words before Joel had pulled his shorts down just enough for a strip of skin to show; for the material of his boxers to glide down and leave the tiniest bit of plaid fabric to contain himself.

Coach Joel smoothed his other palm across the back of your head, nudging you closer without pushing you in it.

Amazingly, there was still a palpable undercurrent of concern, even as he had you planted on your knees in front of him. He stroked your scalp with his thumb.

“Nicked my balls pretty good this mornin’—least you could do is give ‘em a kiss to say sorry, right, darlin’?”

You continued to blink, still not quite capable of speech.

“Uhhhm—” you sputtered, only for Joel to intervene.

“‘S’just fine by me if you don’t,” he murmured, “Figured they’d feel a bit better with your pretty lips on ‘em is all.”

From the sweet and encouraging lilt in his voice to the gentle rubs of his finger going back and forth across the crown of your head, you felt a stab of saccharine pride. An urge to preen beneath his touch and soak in the tiniest streaks of affection wrought by the pad of one thumb and a smile taking shape lazily above you then.

Joel didn’t tug the waistband of his boxers any further; you did. The gears in your brain whirring alive with a desire to have him keep smiling at you like that, keep stroking your head and voicing his dulcet appreciation, you reckoned the effect was something akin to a drug.

You weren’t watching his cock when it finally sprang out. Your eyes were just glued to Coach Joel’s, holding his gaze and hoping he liked the sight of you there beside it.

Beside him.

Beside every inch of him, and— oh fuck were there a lot.

Your attention momentarily diverted, you peered up at Joel’s cock as it sat nestled against a small tuft of grey-black hairs at the base of his belly and almost coughed.

He was huge in every aspect. Your mouth fell open.

Seeing your lips so parted, Joel had to fight back a chuckle, it sounded like, and gently nudged your head.

“‘S’okay, baby. Just the balls, remember?”

Your gaze flitted back to his, visibly unnerved. Confused.

“Just…the balls?” you breathed.

At length, the short, shallow exhales from your lungs were fanning across Joel’s family jewels, and you almost couldn’t believe he wanted you to neglect his cock completely in favor of kissing them. You swallowed.

When your mouth reopened, caught somewhere between a look of curiosity and muted surprise, Joel pressed the pads of his fingers into your scalp once more. Prodding you gently toward the source of his desire without applying too much pressure on the spot.

“Right…there.”

Your lips latched onto the smooth, warm skin as he said it. It was strange, landing straight on a plane of flesh that you typically didn’t pay attention to until you’d licked and bobbed your head down his cock a few times. These soft and rounded globes felt almost foreign to you, as you curled your lips into one, gently, and then felt them spring back with a pop. Your mouth was watering.

Joel groaned at the slippery wet friction from that kiss.

While you stared and started in for another soft peck, Coach Joel sucked in a hiss of a breath through his teeth.

“Feels better already, honey,” he grunted.

You kissed the other. You ran your tongue along the underside and guided it back to your mouth so you could suckle some more, and the fingers noticeably tightened.

Another soft, punctured breath. Another rumbling moan.

“Fuck— baby, you look so pretty. Kissin’ ‘em so well.”

Feeling confidence swell in your chest, you locked eyes with Joel and opened your mouth wider. If you hadn’t been otherwise preoccupied, perhaps you would’ve felt a small twinge of embarrassment at the drool that leaked out of both corners of your lips as you did it, but, at any rate, you were busy, and evidently, the sight had only made Joel’s cock harder. Your eyes shifted to the stiff, thick, veiny member standing upright above you, all but pulsing with need, and you lifted your hand to touch it.

Joel brushed it away.

“Nuh-uh,” he tutted.

Without meaning to, you whined. Tongue ushering more of that soft, smooth flesh against your lips and jaw hanging slack as your cheeks stretched to accommodate as much as they verily could, you felt deprived, in a way.

You pressed your fingertips into his thighs, pleading.

And, as if to answer your question, Joel shook his head.

“An apology to me ain’t about what you want, darlin’,” he said, voice gravelly as he spoke, “Keep your hands off it.”

Something in his tone, though not unkind, grated on your ears like some of the worst news you’d ever heard. An aura you hadn’t been able to decipher until just now seemed to sink beneath your skin, made you sick with it—that feeling of dread that you’d disappointed the man. Perhaps it was because he was a coach, because he knew how to assume an authoritative stance and hold you to it, that you felt especially dispirited by his words. That simple, clipped ‘hands off’ hurt more than expected

You tore your gaze from his and resumed the quiet ministrations with your lips and tongue on his balls, bracing yourself tighter against his thighs as you did.

“‘M’sorry— I—” you said, voice muffled between kisses and gentle laps of your tongue, “—didn’t mean to, Joel.”

You felt the muscles in his legs stiffen as you bathed him with attention, spit smeared all over and lips working tirelessly to massage him, give him more pleasure.

“It’s alright, pretty girl,” Joel murmured, voice strained with the force of another moan clawing out of his throat. At length, he gave in—squeezing your head to him a little tighter and letting out a sound so obscene that you felt a new wave of warmth pool into your panties, trickling fast.

And, as if he could hear your arousal seep out, knowing just what his honeyed praises were liable to do to you:

“Good girl, just like that— fuck, your mouth feels nice.”

The sting of his last admonition was beginning to fade. Your lips worked hungrily over him, suckling and kissing and taking more into your mouth, as much as your jaw would allow. You were just about to try and squeeze all of him in, when you felt Joel shift in front of you slightly.

Then stepping back, crouching down to your level.

You probably would’ve fallen flat on your face had he not scooped you up in his arms the second after. Your knees were like jelly, your brain scarcely more functional and feeling a little self-conscious about the spit on your chin. You were just about to wipe it off with the back of your hand when Joel got it for you—using his mouth to do it.

Licking a stripe across the lower half of your face, mixing his own saliva with yours and tickling your cheek with his mustache in an act that seemed almost pornographic.

“You are so fucking sexy,” Joel murmured, teeth nipping at wet skin and lips pressing light kisses here and there.

Before you could respond, he turned you around and shoved you onto the desk. Pressed a hand to the small of your back, flattened you facedown on the table’s surface with your ass hanging over the edge, and then stepped behind you, quietly. Quickly. Working to rid himself of clothes that were still clinging to his body like a second skin, Joel shrugged his shirt off, yanked his shorts and boxers the rest of the way to his feet, then kicked all three articles of clothing aside as he drew closer to you.

You heard four drawers open beside you, underneath you, in quick succession. Joel was rummaging again.

Where excitement normally would’ve taken root at this point—pleasure pooling between your legs as the man hastily procured a condom and tore the wrapper open, worked it onto his dick—you felt uncertainty instead. Sadness, even. You kicked your feet back and forth, toes scraping the oak floor as though the friction might conceivably rouse something lighter inside you. It didn’t.

Joel returned, and you couldn’t see his face. He gave your ass a taut smack, then kneaded the flesh in his palm, and you couldn’t be sure if he was smiling or frowning or simply glowering down at you with a look of indifference. When you felt his touch graze over your hands and tuck them coolly at the small of your back, you wanted to tilt your chin some to face him. You didn’t.

Instead, you stared at the wall across from the desk and hoped that he liked whatever he saw. When you felt something wrap around your wrists, you didn’t protest, only bit your lip and waited for him to tie it extra tight.

Joel leaned in and dropped a quick kiss on your shoulder.

The knot he made was snug but not suffocating.

You really wanted to see him now, for some reason.

“This OK?” Joel said. He tapped your wrists.

Before you could answer beyond just a nod, though, he tugged the knot and made a noise in his throat that sounded like a scoff. He pressed something cool and light against your palm, and a shiver pulsed through you.

“Is that…your, uh…” you breathed out an awkward laugh.

He’d tied your hands behind you with his whistle.

“Uh-huh,” Joel hummed, sounding pleased.

And in the next, you could hear a trace of a smirk:

“Always wanted to tie a slut up just like this, y’know?”

Ouch.

Joel was great with praise, but his degradation hurt a bit. You squeezed the metal whistle and tried to pretend like there wasn’t a strangely painful lump taking shape at the back of your throat—it shouldn’t have felt like that at all.

You shouldn’t care what a total stranger thought of you.

That’s all Coach Joel was after all: a stranger to fuck.

But as you felt him unclasp the fastenings at the bottom of your bodysuit, tug your panties down, and line himself up with your entrance from behind, you kind of wished he wasn’t. Maybe you’d been mistaken in initiating this thing and would’ve been better off accepting the date like he’d offered. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel so weird.

At any rate, he was already gripping your hips in his hands and starting to ease himself inside you. Groaning at the pressure and warmth enveloping his cock and uttering curse after curse with just the head notched in. You could sense the slightest sting of latex at your center; Joel’s girth felt every bit as imposing as it had looked, and now your face was screwed up with a wince trying to take him in. Your clit was untouched, throbbing.

Just as you’d bit down on your lower lip with discomfort, Joel dropped his head back and let out a satisfied groan.

“Fuck me,” he grunted, “You’re so…fuckin’ tight.”

Next, ‘good girl’ was quick to become a strangled refrain on his tongue as he worked a couple inches in and out of your aching hole. It felt okay, as you’d gotten plenty wet on your knees for him before, but it stung with each stab of his hips, and your body had gotten overly tense. Worse yet, Joel was so focused on getting himself in that his fingers still hadn’t found your clit. They massaged your ass instead, evidently in awe of how small you looked taking him inch by inch; the sight mesmerizing to him.

“Joel—” you started to whimper.

“This what ya wanted all along, huh? Gettin’ fucked over my desk like a little slut?” Joel’s words were equal parts indelicate and venomous—even sexy as they crawled off his tongue—but the tone with his thrusts was too much. He was gripping too hard, pushing too far, being unkind in a way that would’ve been alright if you were a doll. But you weren’t. The least you needed was concern. So, gently, you let out a breath and turned your head.

“Joel—”

Before bottoming out completely, Coach Joel slapped your ass once again and groaned through his teeth.

“C’mon an’ tell me how much ya like it, baby, how—”

“JOEL.”

He stopped. From the corner of your eye, you spied a startled, half-blanched face. Joel pulled out immediately.

“Wh— hey, you okay, sweetheart? Hey,” the man said, leaning in and loosening the restraints on your wrists. When you nodded for him to keep untying, please, he tugged the whole thing off and turned you back around,

“Is everything okay?”

His eyes were much wider than you’d expected to find them, hands gripping you by either arm as his gaze scanned your face. Out of some unsettled feeling, it seemed, he drew closer, hastily, until your legs were nearly enmeshed and his hands cupped your cheeks.

“I don’t…like that,” you answered in a small, soft voice.

“You don’t…” Joel trailed off, blinking slow at first, then appearing to process your words and turn to stroking the cusp of your jawline with his thumbs while he did.

When it hit just how much you hadn’t liked that and why, he paled even more. Like he couldn’t get his touch to be apologetic enough, his eyes soft and glossy and sorry.

“Did I—” Joel leaned in, squeezing your face, “I’m sorry—did I hurt you any? You can tell me, honey, honest.”

“Not much.” And you tried to crack a smile, but the man wasn’t having it. He switched positions, hoisting you up.

He carried you over to the sofa. Held you in a semi-awkward cradle once he realized the couch was all but broken in two from decades and decades of use, then resigned himself, gladly, to just holding you in his arms.

Pretending not to see you make a face as if to say, ‘Joel, I’m alright now,’ he nuzzled his own closer to yours and started sponging little kisses near your chin and neck.

“‘M’sorry,” he mumbled again, voice now stifled by skin.

You tried not to get too squeamish, or giggle in his hold, but the fact was that his lips were so light—feather-like, almost—and the places he was kissing were so sensitive, you couldn’t help but let out a couple sounds that were half-laugh, half-strangled gasp. With each one of these, Joel would start smiling in between affectionate pecks.

And his dark, dampened curls, though striated with grey, framed his face in a boyish way; he grinned and lost a decade. You were amazed what a difference a glimpse of him could make, and now that he was caressing you, kissing you, your body knew it too, suffused with warmth

When Joel’s lips found yours, you almost forgot it was the first time he’d done that today. Or ever. You kissed each other comfortably, without a shade of pretense or pause, and found that your mouths worked so well together it was a small wonder you hadn’t thought to do that sooner. Joel pulled away, still holding your face.

“We did this backwards,” he said, sounding deflated, “Date first, kiss second, embarrassingly bad sex last.”

You shrugged. Smiling. Silently hoping Joel hadn’t felt your cheeks warm while he cupped your face like that and then tried deflecting that attention away by saying:

‘Two out of three isn’t that bad, Coach.’

And, just as swiftly as he’d brought you over to the sofa, Joel had you flipped and pinned under his body on the old, misshapen cushions and squealing out a laugh.

“I thought ya wanted it rough, honey,” he groaned against your throat. Kissing the skin as you giggled.

“And your idea of rough is—” you started.

“Callin’ ya names, slappin’ your ass, all that kinda sh—”

“—constantly interrupting people while they talk, too?”

Joel suspended his affectionate ministrations just long enough to swap his lips and tongue with teeth, giving your neck a light bite. For all his outward displays of Southern gentility and gentleman-like behavior, he was, after all, still a coach: the kind of guy whose primary sustenance was competition, whose ability to hold a conversation reflected the desire to dominate, always.

Maybe he didn’t like having this fact brought to his attention, stated so plainly as his body blanketed yours and his head burrowed even deeper into your neck. Joel squeezed the sides of your body, about to pull you closer, when you squirmed out from under him and sat upright.

You glanced down and saw that Joel had already chucked the condom. He was starting to lean back into the sofa, length standing semi-erect against the shelf of his belly while his hands fumbled over your thighs and hips. Trying to steer you into his lap, he muttered another string of apologies along with some words like, ‘I know.’

“You’re right, I know I’m bad about that, I—” he began.

“Get another.”

Now you were the one to interrupt, limbs resisting his pull as you nodded to the desk. Telling him to go.

“You wanna—”

“Yeah.”

When Joel blinked a couple times and didn’t move, you stood up yourself. He reached for you; you ignored him. You strode over to the desk where he’d retrieved the condoms the first time and grabbed the box, snagged a square metallic wrapper out of it, and walked back over.

You sat down beside Joel and didn’t wait for him to take the lead. You tore the packet with your teeth and, careful not to chomp down on the latex itself, pulled the rubber out. It wasn’t until you sank down on your knees in front of Coach Joel on the wet, hard floor that he stirred at all.

He grabbed your wrist before you could slide it on.

“C’mere.”

Again, you resisted his efforts to pull you into his lap—‘Joel, I wanna do it now, I swear’—and when it seemed you were going to remain as defiant as you ever had been, on the floor, Joel leaned forward and kissed you.

Somehow, he reached you even deeper than he had before. You were on your knees, chin tilting to his and lips parting, slowly, and Joel cupped both sides of your face to drive his tongue inside. Now he wasn’t just touching but tasting, too, his efforts quick to be accompanied by the gentlest of sounds from his mouth to yours. Thumbing your cheeks even harder when his tongue moved against yours and a grunt crept out of his throat.

“I wanna—” he said in between soft, strained breaths.

You already knew what he was going to say. You shook your head against his before pulling away. Watching him watch you with a hungry look and follow you to the floor.

“I need you to fuck me, Joel,” you cut in. You scooted back and spread your legs, and Joel crawled forward.

He murmured something about eating you out, licking that pretty pussy clean before he gave it to you again, but you just told him no, again, and fisted the damp grey ringlets at the back of his head to pull him closer to you.

Joel was already slotting himself between your legs, dismayed not to be able to taste your cunt but also keen to join you as you came to lie supine on the floor before him. His eyes were alight with curiosity, mouth opening and closing with the threat of a teasing word or two on his tongue until you started to slide the condom down.

You almost couldn’t believe it yourself: how forward you were being—sober this time. With the sting from Joel’s first entry reduced to a mere throb between your legs, the space where he’d been before was pulsing, blood pumping, and with each new second you could feel the need amplify. Your legs curled around his waist and pulled him closer, hips inching forward on hardwood beneath him to get his cock pressed flush with your heat.

“Take it…real slow this time.” Joel was already sliding a hand under your head. Cradling the back of your skull as his tip moved over the wet and sticky warmth that had pooled between your folds. His eyes searched your face.

Just sensing the weight of his gaze, his grip, the restraint from his lower half as it hovered over yours, you already felt safer. Silly, almost, for how much that wordless reassurance and concern from Joel came as a comfort—and had you writhing under him for more, now, please.

“We’ll get there, hon, don’t you worry your pretty little head—” And as he said it, Joel pressed a kiss to your forehead, “—and if it hurts any, ya tell me, alright?”

“I will, Joel, please,” you whimpered.

Smooth and bulbous and just a pinch too snug in that latex, the head of Joel’s cock made a dizzying squelch against the rim of your cunt. The tip was all it took to remind you just how big he was, how tough it was probably going to be to adjust to his size, how—

“Hey,” Joel said, voice grounding you immediately.

You looked up to meet his gaze.

“I’m still takin’ you on a date, by the way,” he mumbled, and you smiled, “If you wanna save this part for later—”

As though your bodies had both said ‘no’ at once, Joel’s cock eased forward slightly, softly, and notched into the slick ring of muscles that had kept your parts separate. The intrusion was barely an inch, and not your very first, but it felt like a novelty—something tender and delicate to steal a breath from your chest and Joel’s—and the stretch, now, was a welcome one. Your legs tightened at Joel’s sides, and his lips pressed over your own, briefly.

“This okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

“You sure?”

“Mmmh—ohhhh, fuck, yes, Joel.”

The words flew from your mouth without meaning to. Your hands moved up to his chest, his shoulders, squeezing his trap muscles and sinking your nails in the skin while a welt of pleasure blossomed between your legs. Joel kissed the corner of your mouth, smile already starting to tug at both ends of his. Then he kissed it again.

Joel swallowed his awe—and pride—and leaned closer.

“Shoulda been treatin’ her sweeter, baby, I’m sorry,” he hummed against your cheek. Then he sank his length even deeper inside and relished the soft pulse of you.

He was rutting gently with just half his dick, and still, your body and brain were on the fritz, all but overcome with that swollen, coiling bliss. You glanced down and were half enrapt with the heft of his stomach boring into yours. You trailed your fingertips over the soft plane of flesh, pinched it gently while Joel’s steady and shallow thrusts split you even further open, and you smiled, too.

“That’s a first,” he said, chuckle rumbling low.

“What? Fucking on the floor?”

“That— that too,” Joel tried to make the same amused sound but was interrupted by a groan bubbling up in his throat. You’d clenched, and he drove in even deeper, “You…you touchin’ my, uh…my stomach, I mean.”

You pinched it again, feeling soft grey hairs in your palm.

“Your tummy?”

Joel couldn’t help but grin a little at the word.

“My tummy,” he repeated, as if he didn’t believe it.

Again, you could’ve sworn you saw a flush of pink creep up the side of his throat, but you decided not to mention it. Instead, you just slid your hands back up to his chest and stretched your legs even wider to take more of him in. Joel obliged with the last remaining inch and groaned.

You moaned too, squeezing tighter. He’d just bottomed out, and you were already, somehow, on the brink.

It didn’t matter that you were getting fucked on the frigid wood floor by your little brother’s baseball coach, water pooling around you and between you and commingling with the minuscule beads of sweat that were starting to form on your bodies. Joel was as handsome as he’d ever looked, brow drawn inward and lips taking the shape of an ‘o’ whenever they weren’t sponging kisses over yours. The stretch you felt was approaching euphoric now, walls fluttering with each slow and gentle stroke inside you. Joel was deep, and he was measured—and he was careful in the force of his thrusts, taking pains to watch your expression for any changes or signs of discomfort.

He was praising you, too. Strings of ‘Right there, baby—doin’ so good for me’ and ‘Feels so nice’ and ‘Keep goin’ were like music to your ears, nudging you closer and closer to climax with every tender thrust. When Joel’s hand descended to your hip and the cadence of his own body grew a little more deliberate and fixed, you were certain he would be teasing out your release any minute. You wound your fingers through his hair, preparing to pull tight in anticipation of that heady, blissful feeling.

Evidently, Coach Miller wasn’t as ready. He wrenched himself out of your grip and withdrew the next second.

And, try as you might to contain the sound, a whine tumbled off your lips, followed by a ‘Joel!’ just as quick. A hollow feeling swallowed your lower half; you felt you had no other choice but to prop yourself up on both elbows, cast a despondent look between your legs, and groan:

“I was so clo—”

“Couldn’t wait. ‘M’sorry, honey.”

You might’ve liked to give him a little more hell for that—particularly observing the smug smile that had crawled onto Joel’s face as he said it—but the feeling was short-lived. Just when you opened your mouth to speak, you watched him glide down your front. He was painstakingly slow, then swift as soon as he slipped between your legs. His shoulders bumped your thighs, heedless of the feeling the motion would evoke, and came to rest with his face between them. Happy. Or pleased—even eager.

You couldn’t fault him for that enthusiasm for long, either, because the next thing you knew, Joel’s mouth was lowering further. Slotting his lips and tongue against your glistening folds and nudging you gently, teasingly, as if knowing exactly what you lacked in that moment. Your fingers found his hair again and this time were free to tug as long as they liked; Joel busied himself intently.

He flattened his tongue and licked a stripe up your slit. He lapped at your folds, collecting whatever sweet, tangy parts of you had trickled out over the stretch of that morning, and didn’t flinch when the jolt of pleasure it sent caused your hands to make fists in his hair. In fact, the sting on his scalp only seemed to make his actions that much greedier. He grinned when you whimpered.

“Still close?”

The fucking tease.

“N-N— No shit, Miller.”

You hated the way his mouth made a faltering mess of your own. In spite of the impairment, though, it was clear that this state wouldn’t last for long; a couple more strokes of his tongue and a soft, semi-complaisant suction on your bundle of nerves and you would be gone.

Coach Miller was mean, but he wasn’t so cruel as to deny you the sublime pleasure of getting to cum in his mouth. With one hand, he gave your thigh a comforting squeeze, and with the other, he trailed his touch to your entrance. When his index and middle fingers first slid in, he held your leg again and stroked the skin in small, tight circles.

“You’re good, hey. You’re okay,” he assured you softly, the fingers of his other hand sinking even deeper.

You felt pathetic and squeamish, but the heft of that one push just felt so good. Paired with his tongue on your clit and a vicious little suckling here and there, his mustache dragging back and forth along the cusp of your mound, it came as no surprise to you or Joel when next your body tensed and your lower half flooded with pleasure.

What little remained of your resolve not to cry disintegrated in less than a second—by turns, your thighs clamped down around Joel’s head like a vice, your eyes squeezed shut, and the whine that tore out of your throat was as shrill and piercing and high as you’d ever heard it. Succeeded shortly by a fuck, fuck, FUCK, Joel, fuck and a gush of warmth down his chin, your climax couldn’t have been more pronounced if you’d tried. Fortunately, the fully-drenched man beneath you didn’t mind at all; if anything, he saw it as a personal success.

Climbing back up your body, bracketing his bare, muscly arms about your torso, and gripping the base of his cock, triumph was there, painted clear across his every feature. It softened his face. Made his length even stiffer and more ready than ever to re-enter your warmth before you could press so much as a hand to his chest, sighing gently. Joel snagged your lips between his for a kiss.

“That’s it, pretty girl, keep goin’.”

His words were muffled by your mouth—a tiny gasp.

“Gonna make this last a little while longer, that alright?”

He breached the first two inches of your swollen, shiny, still-pulsing cunt as if to punctuate the question. All raw and tender from the last orgasm he’d coaxed out of it, and being stretched around his tip without fair warning, your muscles spasmed again. You both let out a breath.

“It’s— Joel, it’s—”

Another inch. Almost too good to bear. The man appeared to nod in understanding, before he smoothed a hand over your face and cradled it. He drove in deeper, while your voice broke off in some low, muffled whine.

“A lot. I know,” he finished, softly, as if commiserating with you while splitting you open on his cock, “I know it’s a lot, baby. You just tell me if it gets to be too much.”

His words had all the air of a calm, measured authority, spoken in tones you knew too well. He sank further. No inflection quite as stern or steady could have belonged to anyone else but a coach, you reckoned. Coach Miller, the hard-boiled voice of reason for the baseball team, so-called ‘silent type,’ object of every last housewife’s desire—and also the guy you’d kneed in the dick that morning.

It was only fair he got to return the favor in his own way.

Now he was holding your hip in his free hand, pinning you down to the floor while he started to ease in and out of your cunt at a generous pace. He knew you were spent. He sensed he was already on the brink himself, most likely. He also probably knew he couldn’t leave your limp, boneless body well enough alone before he felt the urge to make you hurt a little too—and enjoy it, of course.

Joel was all shining, hopeful eyes as he stabbed inside and found that spot, watching your own flutter closed.

“Coach.” It came out without much thought on your part. It just seemed like the right thing to call him, no matter how ethically grey or downright weird it was.

Joel liked it.

He squeezed your palm when it reached for his, and he brought it up to his mouth, peppering soft, sloppy kisses across the back of your hand while he fucked you into the floor. Shamelessly, he also used your grip on him to gauge how near you were to your next release. From what he could tell in the sights and sounds and frantic little clinches of your fist, you were close. Still loath to give in to that feeling, or else afraid to accede so quickly after the last, though, your breaths were labored. Timid.

“I-I-I don’t know if I can,” you cried, shaking your head.

Inside you, there was a big, swelling something taking shape at the pit of your gut, and with each new brush of Joel’s cock, it only got larger. The sensation was so keen and acute it might well be construed as pain if he kept at this any longer. You didn’t know if you could cum again.

“Go on an’ try, sweet pea,” Joel cooed and lowered your hand, still grasping his, between your trembling legs, “Won’t take any more’n a second or two, just touch—”

His thumb fumbled with yours and made a hapless little circuit on your clit, which almost shrieked at the feeling.

“—right here, and—”

“Fuck me,” you panted.

Your fingers and his were drenched in your nectar, all but oozing down with each slick, deliberate thrust from Joel.

“That’s what I’m doin’, no? Ya like it?” He couldn’t help it.

Frankly, neither could you. From the near-sated, happy-and-about-to-cum-on-your-dick glint in your eye, you sensed he’d know what you meant when you said, next:

“It hurts.”

“Good?” Joel grinned.

“So good.”

The man delivered a thrust that felt like it might puncture your lungs, and with it, your last resolve.

He drew even closer, until his nose and yours were brushing, smiles faint but there all the same, and his thumb guiding your own across your throbbing clit:

“Give it here, baby. Make me feel it.”

And you did. With one more stroke inside, you let it all flood out, cunt spasming and pulsing and leaking liquid heat down the length of Joel’s cock. He fucked you full, only the condom between you, and as your moans gave way to whimpers and whines, the noises in his own throat took on an even more desperate kind of timbre.

Your stuffed, overstimulated hole felt as greedy as it had ever been, and the man rutting into it was still needier. Using your body, squeezing your hand, panting out hot and frantic breaths that all but begged you to keep letting him fill your cunt—please, baby, feels so damn good, keep goin’. Try as he might to maintain the upper hand whenever he could, it was clear this time around he was fucked, top to bottom and ten ways to next week. He had a look that struck you as pleased, pained, and on the last trembling webs of cum being emptied from his body, Coach Miller held onto your face and kissed you.

While your highs died down, he stayed inside—still kissing, grunting, mumbling how good you felt. You barely had the presence of mind to hear it, but you smiled and let him go on. You’d made a mess of yourself.

Of Joel, too. Apart from the sheen of sweat and still-damp and dripping hair, his body was wrecked. Groaning. Lower stomach painted with your slick, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Now that the fucking was done and the room was mostly consumed by silence and strangled breaths, you had the distinct, albeit less sexual, pleasure of seeing some other things.

Like the way the joints in the coach’s knees made a pop when he tried to sit up. How the soft and weathered face pinched tighter, wrinkled further as he ventured to drag you with him, in what would eventually only be a semi-seated position on the floor, against the coffee table. How you straddled his lap, still impaled, and felt a groan vibrate through his chest when you tilted your hips the tiniest bit. He just might’ve grimaced if he wasn’t so spent and lazily fixated on you, eyes glued to your lips. He traced the seam of it with his thumb, looking amused.

“You really thought I was tryin’ to kidnap ya earlier, huh?”

Your cheeks warmed. You hoped he wouldn’t feel it.

“Well, you…you were reaching for me!”

Menacingly, you wanted to add.

“Grabbed you a couple times after that, too, didn’t I?”

And the smile on Joel’s face said he’d already felt the temperature rise in yours. You tried turning your head, embarrassed, but he held it, letting his palms sink in.

“Yeah, well, I’d say we’re even now, Coach.” Your words came out a bit muffled with his hands squishing your cheeks between them. Adamant as you were, defiance was hard to feign when the man was making you pout. You made as if to get up, but Joel just held on tighter.

“Far from it,” he said. He kissed your puckered lips, and you couldn’t ignore the little flutter in your stomach.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I owe you a date.”

You should’ve known he wasn’t the kind to give up, or forget, that easily. Even when you gave a playful push to his chest, pretended not to revel in the spattering of kisses he’d begun dropping along your collarbone—‘That’s a bad idea and we both know it, Coach’—he just pulled you even further into himself, and you felt your defenses falter, if only for a second. Maybe he was right.

“I can take you now,” Joel added.

“Like hell you will,” you laughed.

Your voice was even, but beneath it, the façade unsure. Joel was lifting you to your feet, then looking around.

“I know a place,” he continued, casual. His eyes scanned the room, and you surmised he was looking for clothes. When they landed on the shirt and shorts he’d left for you on the desk, he walked right over. He handed them to you. While you dressed, he grabbed another set from the desk drawer and began doing the same, going on:

“It’s this spot called ‘Amy’s.’ I hear they’ve got gr—”

“Joel.”

Your eyes met his again, expecting to find a smirk on his face. You saw no such expression. Instead, he watched you earnestly. Drew the drawstrings in on his too-tight shorts and smiled. You had to fight with every fiber of your being not to do the same as he strode back over and stood in front of you. You shook your head at him.

“Not happening,” you said. Your lips twitched once.

Meanwhile, Joel’s were stretching into a full grin.

Before you could stop him, he was pulling you out of the office. Leading you back down the hallway from earlier. Your footsteps echoed all through the concrete corridor.

“Think Sam’ll kick my ass when he sees us?” he mused.

“Probably just knee you straight in the dick.”

Even from where you were being tugged along behind Joel, you could feel him wince. He flashed you a sidelong glance, and you returned it with a half-apologetic smile.

“I kissed it all better, didn’t I?”

“I think you missed a couple spots, I dunno.”

And with that, Joel was smirking. Shooting you a wink.

You groaned at the memory of David doing the same.

“Please never do that again,” you begged him.

You strolled into the locker room together.

“Do what?”

“Wink.”

“Oh.”

Joel was slinging the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

“Is that…” he started.

“Creepy as shit? Correct.”

He nodded back in wordless acknowledgment, but deep down, you sensed he was most definitely going to wink at you again at some point in the day, just to piss you off.

You’d get him back eventually.

Or maybe kiss the few remaining spots left untouched.

You were about to tell him as much—maybe give him a preview of what was to come with some road head on the way over to Amy’s, for fun—when you paused. You and Joel were walking back down the hall and headed to the exit when you felt something vibrate in your pocket.

You pulled your phone out and checked the screen.

From: Sam

Leaving Amy’s now

Don’t need a ride 😁

Why the fuck a nine-year-old even had an iPhone was beyond you. You typed as you walked alongside Joel.

From: You

Where are you going?

You approached the set of exit doors and stepped out.

From: Sam

Movies. Frank’s driving us.

You were headed out to the parking lot, listening to Coach Joel argue his case for taking his truck to Amy’s.

From: You

Who’s us? Are y’all gonna need a ride back?

From: Sam

Sarah ☺️

The little shitbird never elaborated when he was talking about his plans. You followed Joel out to his vehicle and thanked him as he helped you into the passenger seat. You weren’t really listening as you focused on the texts.

From: You

Sarah who?

Joel was starting his truck. Cranking the A/C and the volume on the radio—an ‘80s rock station, of course.

John Mellencamp’s voice flooded the cabin, and you could feel Joel’s grin kick up. Luckily, it wasn’t the song.

Something or other about authority, you heard dimly.

Sam was taking forever to reply. You were on the way.

From: You

Sarah who??

“Everything okay over there?” Joel asked. He reached over and squeezed your leg to punctuate the question.

You blinked. You nodded once.

“Yeah, it’s just my brother. He’s…going on a date, I think.”

Again, Joel’s smile stretched wider, like this was news.

“No shit? He’s only like nine years old,” he chuckled.

“Yeah. Third grade going on thirty, this kid.”

You watched your text conversation as if staring harder might procure another message. It stayed the same.

Meanwhile, Joel was pulling onto the highway, and his palm was moving up your thigh. The music played loud.

Your gaze flitted to his, and in it, you saw a brazen look.

“Where’s he takin’ her?” His fingers crawled further up.

Joel would be pulling off to the side of this roadway if he didn’t ease up. You spread your legs a little wider for him.

“The movies, it sounds like,” you murmured back.

Then you grinned and were about to set your phone aside when it vibrated in your hand. You glanced down.

“Sounds like a fun place to go,” Joel hummed, probably thinking of all the things he’d like to do to you in a theatre

From: Sam

Sarah Miller

You scanned over that message and didn’t think twice. Something registered in your mind—a faint recollection of that name, and then a sweet, cheerful face you’d seen at Sam’s school before—and you had to smile a little bit.

You liked Sarah Miller.

You were glad Sam seemed to like her too.

Nerves easing a little bit now, you texted back. Telling him to have fun and be safe, call me when you need a ride home. You couldn’t contain the smile on your lips.

Apparently seeing this pleased look, Joel slid his hand to the inside of your thigh and squeezed again. He brushed the heel of his palm against your shorts, then inched it backward, so that he was grazing the soft heat between your legs. You squirmed a little bit but didn’t stop him. In fact, your teeth snagged your bottom lip, and you were subsequently forced to stifle a sound. Joel leaned over.

“We’re ten minutes out. Think you can be a good girl and cum on my fingers just once before then?” he whispered.

The truck was humming along. The air was warm. The music was as deafeningly loud as ever, and your skin was quickly growing damp with sweat, but you were game.

Biting down on the smallest fragment of a whimper, you nodded your head. Joel’s fingers dove under your shorts.

“Oh, but…” you trailed off, sucking in a quick breath. Remembering. “We gotta get back to my car right after ice cream. Sam’s probably gonna need a ride home.”

Joel groaned.

Evidently, he’d had other plans post-Amy’s.

“Can’t the girl’s parents drive ‘em home or somethin’?”

“It’s just her dad, I think. Sam and Sarah have been fri—”

“Sarah?”

Suddenly, Joel’s gaze was darting right. Meeting yours. The fingers that were moments away from plunging deep within your heat were drawing back. Halting.

“A friend from school,” you finished slowly. “Sarah Mill—”

Oh.

Oh.

“Miller? Sarah Miller?” Joel interjected again, eyes wide.

You’d never made the connection.

You just remembered the kid with the bright, warm smile and thought nothing else. What are the odds she’d be—

“My daughter?!”

It seemed Joel’s right hand had completely forgotten its former mission, in favor of freaking out about his kid with your brother, in a movie theatre. Alone. Protective dad mode had kicked in instantaneously, and you couldn’t help but smile seeing that development. You sighed at the loss of his fingers but almost wanted to laugh when you saw the truck’s navigation shift from the ice cream shop to the closest movie theatre. Joel’s nostrils flared.

“But our date, Joel,” you whined, tone all faux protest.

Joel shot you a look and glowered at your teasing smirk.

“You’ll get your date, sweetheart,” he answered. Promised. His grip tightened on the wheel and twisted. “Just gotta make sure my player knows how to behave.”

Something told you he wasn’t talking about baseball.

“Whatever you say, Coach. Whatever you say.”

[ssahotchnerr]

ugh imagine reader accidentally breaking or ruining something important to Hotch and panicking because they feel so guilty and think he’s going to be so mad when he gets home and he’s just such an angel and Hotch is more upset that reader is so upset than that something broke

in pieces

how sweet 🥺🥺 cw; fem!reader, established relationship, comfort and fluff <333 wc; 1.1k

"I'll see you soon."

Your voice wavered on the other end of the phone, Aaron didn't miss the nervous tone.

It was a huge contrast from the usual excitement, knowing you wouldn't be separated for much longer. The team had just landed; a case had taken them to Delaware for a few days, and he always called before coming home. This served a double purpose: to not freak you out at the sound of someone unknown entering the apartment, especially in the dark of night. And to let you know he was simply, finally, 30 minutes away.

But before he could inquire if you were alright, you disconnected the call, leaving Aaron with nothing but the sound of a few fading beeps.

He didn't speed on the way home, per se, but he succeeded in shortening the drive by a few minutes. Luckily, he was experienced enough with slightly riskier driving.

And once he entered the apartment, he hadn't even had the chance to remove his jacket. One foot inside the door and you had enveloped him fully.

Your arms squeezed his middle tightly, yet there was the lightest bit of hesitancy in your embrace. As if you feared he wouldn't reciprocate, or it wouldn't be long-lasting.

"Hey sweetheart, I missed you." Aaron spoke into your hair, turning to kiss the side of your head. The moment your body met his, it was as if the world stilled - like someone had gently flipped an off-switch for everything else. No longer did he have to be stoic professional, just Aaron. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry," you mumbled into his shirt.

He pulled back to meet your gaze, his hands remaining on your waist. A thumb grazed your hip comfortably, "What're you sorry for?"

He was certain that no matter what it was, it wasn't as bad as you thought.

"Your mug slipped out of my hand as I was taking it out of the dishwasher." You admitted, your eyes dimmed by the weight of your guilt.

Aaron blanched slightly, causing your heart to drop further. "The one Jack painted?"

Messily painted, but that was part of its charm. A project during an art summer camp Jack attended.

You nodded sadly, biting down on your lip.

It had been his favorite mug, a staple since - and before - you met him. The one that made you think back to the sleepovers early in your relationship; sitting on the counter in his kitchen in your (his) pjs, chatting and laughing softly together as he poured each of you a morning helping. He would then find himself standing in between your legs, kissing you and leaving you breathless with the bitter taste of coffee in his breath.

It hadn't taken you long to fall in love with him.

Aaron took a step back, keeping his hands on you as he looked you up and down, scanning for anything out of place.

"You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" He released you only to grab your right hand, turning it, and then repeated the motion with your left. Absent were any cuts or gashes, your skin as soft and familiar as always.

"No, Aaron, I broke it. It shattered everywhere." Your admittance ended with a small huff, clearly upset with yourself. The visual of it broken into multiple fragments across the kitchen floor made you sick to your stomach. You couldn't even salvage the pieces, ruined beyond belief.

The whole thing could've been avoided too, that was the worst part. You shouldn't have tried to juggle multiple mugs at once. You should've gripped onto it better. You should've just gone to bed instead of being proactive, leaving emptying the dishwasher until tomorrow morning.

You'd tried to catch it too - he knew that without having to ask. Hence, why he was so worried you'd injured yourself in the process.

"But you're okay?" He clarified, his eyebrows furrowing gently into a line.

"I'm fine," you insisted sharply, slightly annoyed he kept changing the subject, but you weren't focusing on what he was saying. His concern for you outweighing the casualty. Tears began to pool at your waterline, blurring him. "But it's broken. And I'm so sorry."

"Hey," he shushed you gently, attempting to soothe you. "Don't worry about it."

An exasperated tilt of your head, "but..."

"It was an accident, sweetheart." Aaron shook his head dismissively - at the situation, not you. "A mug is replaceable. Being chronic caffeine drinkers, we own plenty of them. Your fingers, however, are not. I care much more about those."

Along with his seriousness, he was still trying to coax a smile from you, and it was working. But the light shift of your face caused a singular tear to roll down your cheek. He wiped it away with the pad of his thumb before it got too far.

"I was worried you'd be mad." You sniffled, throwing your arms around his neck. "You use it practically every morning. I know how much it meant to you."

"I feel worse that you had to fret over the whole thing." A sympathetic chuckle shook through him, although his eyes remained somber. Aaron's expression was so understanding, you couldn't help but instantly feel relieved, the regret that had been haunting you fading away. "When did this happen?"

Your bottom lip protruded. "The night after you left."

"Honey," his words exited him in a soft breath. "You worried about this for almost a week?"

You nodded, and Aaron felt horrible he hadn't picked up on your unease through your short calls and texts. He was also saddened at the fact you hesitated to bring it up, wary of his reaction.

"You're sweet." He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss on your pout. "I'm not mad. Far from it."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"You're not just saying that?"

"No sweetheart," an amused chuckle shook through his chest, his hand roaming your back. "It's okay. Genuinely."

You sighed, feeling eased. Aaron threw an arm around your shoulder, tucking you into his side and kissing your temple.

"I missed you too." You said gently as your palm found his torso, your fingertips toying with one of his shirt buttons. A trace of light humor was present in your tone, "And I may have already taken Jack somewhere for a replacement. Not to spoil the surprise, but I wanted to make it up to you as quickly as I could."

"See, how could I ever be mad at you. I'm looking forward to having a new favorite." He shifted so he was facing you, pressing his lips against yours, soon smiling into the kiss. A soft giggle exited you. "C'mon, let's go to bed."

[vanilleandclove]

carried away; jack abbot x f!trauma surgeon!reader 

fourth of july always has always dampened a stain on your relationship, for the betterment of it, it helps you both understand each other a little bit differently.

warnings: ptsd episode. mass casualty event (mce), pregnancy & pregnancy issues, samira deserves a boy/girlfriend outside of the ed THE GIRL NEEDS NORMALITY AND CARE, aggressive patients, a damn bomb, whole lotta robby yap, langdon goes to rehab but is that really a warning, jack is halfway codependent (man has trauma), there will be a fluffy chapter maybe word count: 4.2k notes: had to search up bizarre stories from the emergency room & ask my immigrant, can do no wrong, dad his crazy stories (radiologist in the emergency department), only for him to ask if i was going to give up film school. if you're unfamilar with emergency depts in america, fourth of july is the peak holiday for injurys and chaos, happy summer for me.

prev - next

“Hey can I use you during the briefing, the Fourth is always a hectic day here, got some new faces and these kids aren’t familiar with how we run things during the summer” Robby asked you as you walked out of the lounge, seeing you lightly waddle as you needed to pee.

“Robby, these kids survived Pitfest- they can handle an independence day- but, sure, let me just handle this real quick” you grunted, feeling your bladder overwhelming full. This time around the life growing inside of you decided to fill and harass your bladder rather than morning sickness. Week 13, you couldn’t wait to get to at least the second trimester. 

You and Jack decided to tell Dana, Bridget, Robby, and Heather. They were the only ones allowed to know, even though it killed Jack to not tell his mom, slowly hurt you to not tell your sister or mom. Heather was ready to throw you a baby shower by the first day, Dana already bought clothes for your little bean. But Jack, Jack was a nervous wreck. Monitoring you closely while you slept and ate, helped you shower as if it was strenuous. He loved seeing your belly grow as small as it did from week 1 to 13. It felt like a year, to him it felt like time slowed just to spare him any worries. 

From babe; 

How’s work? Anything yet? I just fully clocked in lmao, you coming in today? Probably gonna get called in you know how it is every year Not really, this is the first time we didn’t go on vacation Dr. Abbot  Way too early for the teasing honey. I’ll pick you up if I don’t get called in. I love you and bug. We love you too- would love you more if I got lucky tonight. Depends on if you’re a good girl or not doesn’t it?

The most intimate time you’ve both had in 5 weeks was him giving you a foot rub, other than that nothing. You were either too tired and slept in- the pregnancy pillow he got you works wonders, woke up in the middle of the night with indigestion, or you put the lingerie on and then got emotional seeing him- sometimes all the three. You missed your fiancé more than anything.

Upon exiting the bathroom there was Robby grilling into everybody, “Doctor L/n will give you the rundown on how things go surgical wise on today”. 

“Surgery is usually bombarded- it’s a peak day for the entire ED, night shift comes and helps out when they phase in about two to three hours earlier” you announced, you ran this shit as if it were the Navy- courtesy of your man back at home who taught you how his C.O.s talked to him, “We deal with the stroke & heart related issues- I get the more severe cases therefore I am not always going to be down here”. 

You made your way to the board, “Trauma gets a designated 4 operating rooms today, we have three surgeons on call, all trained under me or my predecessor Doctor Greene- bless our lucky asses, Greene comes in to help every Fourth of July” looking directly into everyone’s eyes, Jack’s habit directly rubbed off on you, “Worst we’ve had was Fourth of July 2022, I was up a near 24 hours. We’ve had someone be given a bomb instead of an illegal firework- didn’t detonate, had to call the bomb squad when we were in the OR”.

“20 year old male, Mark Coleman, mom said he bought fireworks in Texas last week only for the fireworks to be an actual bomb- didn’t detonate in the field, bomb squad is already on the way” The EMT ran over to you keeping his voice lowered in order to not panic the crowd, supplying oxygen from the kids intubation, you nodded and ran over to change your gloves as you saw Jack in a woman’s chest cavity trying to stimulate her heart.

“What do you got?” he asked, thinking it would be more interesting, only to be given a concerned and almost scared look from you, “Doctor Shen, take over” John didn’t hesitate to replace Abbot, “Stimulate for another three, if no response send her up with Walsh and Greene”.

He discarded his gloves and placed a hand on your elbow to follow you to Mark, “Have bomb squad come in through the helipad, we can’t afford freaking out anyone down here, we have to operate on the west surgical wing anyway” you told Dana as she nodded.

“Wait, you're operating?” Jack questioned.

“Bomb squad’s going to be in there with me the entire time, I’m the only surgeon available and willing” you looked into his eyes almost as if you were being stern and for your selfish reasons of looking at him, “This is my department Doctor Abbot, don’t question my job, I won’t question yours”.

“I will question it if you’re putting yourself in immediate danger” he told you, searching for the exact feeling you were hiding, fear. 

“It’s my job Jack” you whispered to him before walking off. 

It was a three hour surgery with no one other than your surgical team and the bomb squad on the floor, Greene came in to help if something were to happen to you. Truth was Jack yelled at him over the phone when he told him that you “had it under control”- which you did, Jack barely built up the courage to open up about his war PTSD since he just started going to therapy, you weren’t exactly someone he wanted to handle a bomb extraction. 

When you went back down, he could breathe again, you took your losses as Mark may not be able to speak again as the bomb landed just in the right spot to strain his larynx. 

“There are also a lot of worried parents with children who are the spawns of satan. I had a mom that same year scream in both mine and Doctor Mohan’s face about her son falling into their active fire pit with soot all over his body, minor burns, earned a beautiful punch in the chest” you told them, seeing the smile on Samira’s face as she recalled the memory on the first year of her residency.

“I don’t give a fuck! He is screaming, just take him!” she screamed at you and Samira as you did the exam while explaining to Samira in passing.

“Ma’am there are no burns on your son, enough for it to be surgical or an emergency, we are currently swamped here. We are going to give you three cold compresses and some cream to help, only use Tylenol to control the pain because NSAIDs can be dangerous if he hit his head while falling in” you told her, giving her son a pat on the back as he shook from the bass of her voice as she screamed. 

“You fucking bitch, I pay your fucking wages through all of those fuckass taxes just for you to dismiss my fucking son?”.

You formed a barrier between you and her, making sure Samira wouldn’t be spat on or hit if the mom became even more aggressive.

“Ma’am I can assure you, you do not pay my wage or my coworkers wage, now please take your leave before I have security come and hold you in front of your son- now would you prefer that or the care we just gave you to handle this at home?” you responded, she got in your face only to take a step back and aim directly for your chest, Samira swore she heard a light crack before she screamed for security.

You were fine, winded, but fine none of the less. Jack spent the whole night back at your home kissing the middle of your chest as it began to bruise. You insisted it was because it gave him free reign to play with and admire your tits.

“It’s a hectic day for everyone, best advice I can give to you is phase your main patient load out of here by 4 or 5 pm, firework shows start around that time, by 8 pm you’re hopefully already home and night shift is here, we get all the road accidents here” you told them, “Just like Pitfest, if you cannot find Doctor Robinavitch, Doctor Collins, Doctor Abbot, or myself, the next level of command is to get approval from Doctor Mohan or- Doctor Langdon. Robby, Abbot, and I run things down here, we’ve been doing this together for the past 6 years, today is just one of those days that gets convoluted, now eat and hydrate, good luck”. 

When Frank got back from rehab, Abbot was impressed he put in the work. Heather and you knew he was going to be given his position back immediately and by May Heather had finally completed her residency program- Frank having to make up for the time lost. 

You all had a calm morning, taking a half day to resort for an oncall schedule. By 4 pm you were at home, resting on the couch as Jack made you the lunch you didn’t have time for at work. 

“So far nothing, might just be a quiet Fourth of July” you shouted at him from the living room. 

“Some of my old buddies from the VA invited us down to grill with them at 6, I told them maybe- depends on my wife” Jack said as he brought your food to you on a tray.

“Baby all of them are your age, so old?” you joked, giving him a kiss as he set down your food on the coffee table, “Also wife, Mrs. Abbot hasn’t even been engraved on my social security or Facebook”. 

“Last time I checked you have an Abbot in you”. 

“Unfortunately not in bed” you teased yet again. 

“Eat. Y’Might just pass out if I ravage you before eating” with every dirty joke you gave, Jack’s stoicism would top it. Made for good laughs over the years. Jack made you pass out once from overstimulation, scared the shit out of him, you found it quite sexy that made you feel that good- ever since then, he makes sure you’re hydrated.

You and him were no strangers to calmness in the cusp of afternoons to evenings, especially since you became pregnant, all you both wanted were quiet times like these. By 5:30, you both had showered and got ready for the barbecue Jack promised to attend. Only before you both got the call from Robby and Gloria to come in as there was a shooting at the Fourth of July firework show. Normally, you admired your fiancés punctuality, but he stood there pondering while staring into your soul. 

“You’re going?”.

“It’s a MCE, of course I’m going” you responded, grabbing your spare scrubs you kept hung up and sneakers, you were on your feet all day.

The reality of it was Jack was worried about another miscarriage, worried about you overworking yourself. He put limits where he knew you misconstrued them. 

“You’re being reckless” he blurted out as you packed your bag, you froze from the words that left his mouth, “I’m sorry honey but-“.

You swallowed the heartbreak that came with your fiancé questioning if you had the strength to get through this while pregnant. Swallowed the doubt that he put on you because he was worried, the doubt that only shined to you where he thought you couldn’t do your job while pregnant. The same doubt men put other women through because they think it’s not their place or they don’t belong. 

“We’ll talk about this later” you told him, shrugging him off as you walked away. Jack knew your limits under the guise of understanding you, though as much as it prided you both it had its repercussions such as right now. 

The car ride was quiet and tense, the air thick and both of your throats dry. You wouldn’t argue before work, everything stayed at home. As much as you knew where  his concern came from, you knew if something were to happen, he’d silently blame you in the deepest part of him even if his body rejected that fact. 

You took your leave ahead of Jack, feeling the light jerks of your stomach, there’s a version of you and Jack and you’re carrying it. You felt the weight of your chest as your breasts were sore from the bra and hormones. You saw both Javadi and Langdon outside as they handled triage, giving them the best of luck.

“What happened?” you asked Dana at her desk.

“Shooting at the park, we’re expecting 67 patients in the ambulances, maybe more depending on transport. You okay honey?” she questioned, seeing the tiredness in your eyes. 

“Yeah, some jerks but at least bean is moving” you lowered your voice. Normally, you wouldn’t feel your baby moving until a few more weeks, with your hyper vigilance and rotations to OB during residency, you knew the movement, the little soft jerks. You also knew you couldn’t wait for your womb to move away from your bladder and for the light aches of your hips to stop. “No sign of Greene? He never misses a year”.

Dana shrugged as she called her family, everyone around you called their loved ones as you just shrugged yours off. When Jack came in, it was your instinct to lean into his close proximity, your own way of telling him “I love you” while on the clock. His breath against the skin of your neck and the squeeze he gave your hand, it was going to be a long night. 

“Okay, this is not the first MCE you all have gone through, I hope we all are familiar with the protocol for tonight. Doctor Abbot, Shen, Collins, and myself are going to stay down here at all times. Your number one determinant for surgical cases will go to Doctor L/n, can’t find her? Go to Walsh, we have three fellows courtesy of Doctor L/n on standby in the ORs, send your patients up immediately, they know you’re coming” Robby announced, “SWAT and the police haven’t identified a shooter therefore they will be collecting any and all fragments of evidence taken from patients, upon extraction give it to an attending. Unfortunately, we are the only trauma center nearby, we are putting ourselves at risk for the shooter to arrive here”. 

Jack felt your body tense from behind him, his knuckles finding their way to rolling against your spine to ease tension. You waited a few seconds before speaking up. 

“Any and all cardio, neuro, pediatric, and advanced traumas go to me. Lower grade trauma, general, ophthalmic, and ortho will be split between Garcia and Walsh. Nipples to navel is no-man’s land if you for any reason believe your patient cannot get the most adequate standard of care for the situation, send them to surgery immediately” you told all of them, “If I am not available or are already in an OR, I can work on up to three patients per OR, I’ve done it before, I can do it again”. 

“You’re authorized for neuro?” Whitaker and Santos both questioned you, slowly being tempted to swap to surgery. 

“Neurosurgeons are hard to come by, no one ever wants to hire more because of pay grade. Therefore everyone else has to pick up the slack” you answered, “Doctor Rios is our attending Neurosurgeon, he taught me everything I need to know”. 

“Doctor Mohan and McKay, you’ll be with me and Walsh” you told both of them, “It’s going to be a long night”.

After dismissal you heard the distant sirens from the ambulances, giving Jack enough time to check up on you. 

“He’ll come by, he never misses a Fourth” Jack reassured you as you rapidly typed on your phone to Greene’s wife.

“His daughter’s family was over there, pretty sure they all went” you told him, shaking your head slightly before putting your phone away, “You sure you’re ready for this?”.

“Nothing we haven’t seen”. 

You looked at him once more, you saw the apprehension. Last Fourth of July he worked, a firework went off in the halls and sent him into a frenzy the rest of the night. You were a senior resident, just before you and Jack decided to finally take things seriously. 

“Doctor Abbot we ran out of chest tubes Princess told me-“ you walked into a room filled with blood all over the floor and no one else but Jack who was sunk down to the floor, prosthetic to the side of him. “Jack?”.

He remained quiet as he picked at his cuticles, blood trickling from his hand, there was a deep gash in the palm of his hand, blood flowing more as he flexed his hand. 

“Jack” you took a step closer just before he fixed his eyes on you, bloodshot and pupils blown. His hair was caked in blood, “Baby let me stitch-“.

“No” he spoke up, eyes never leaving yours. Luckily, it was cooled down outside, nothing too serious to begin with minus the car collisions that sent three families here. Jack had worked on one of the moms, the mom whose blood now coated the floor and him. “I couldn’t save him,” he muttered.

Your eyebrows furrowed, taking a look at the leftover chart to see if the mom was accidentally misplaced. Only to realize Jack wasn’t thinking coherently, “Baby, the Jamison’s mom is with Greene. She’s okay, he does thank you for stabilizing her”. 

“I couldn’t save him” a sob wrecked through his throat. You took your chances and got down on your knees, the blood on the floor staining your scrubs, making yourself be at eye level to him. 

You cautiously snapped your sterile gloves off to cup his face with your hands, only after you placed his spare hand on your chest where your heart was beating- erratically from the subsiding adrenaline. The blood from his hand coated your scrubs.

“Breathe with and repeat after me” you instructed, “Your name is Jack Abbot, you are currently in Pittsburgh as an attending emergency physician, in a trauma room with Y/n”.

He lightly breathed, his breath shuddered as he opened his mouth, “My name is Jack Abbot. I am currently in Pittsburgh and an attending emergency physician, in trauma room 3 with Y/n L/n”. 

“I am not overseas in war”. 

“I am not overseas in war”.

He calmed down as you tested it another three times. Upon the third he got up and let you clean and dress his gash. “What are you thinking?” you asked, silently giving him stitches. 

“I’m lucky to be with you”.

You smiled lightly, “You’re lucky it wasn’t Langdon who came in” chortling quietly, “three more stitches and you should be good cowboy”. 

“70 year old male, multiple GSWs to the chest, wife helped stabilize him on the field”.

“Mrs. Greene?” you called out as you walked away from Jack. 

Doctor Peter Greene was the 70 year old male with the 7 gunshot wounds to his chest. His wife, Lisa, was an anesthesiologist up until last year, she was barely 65.

“Oh my god Y/n” she sobbed before engulfing you into a hug, “Please help him” you nodded as you pulled away running off to the trauma bay they held him.

“Send him to the OR now, Samira you’re scrubbing in with me” you directed, “Cassie, Lisa Greene is out there, she’s bleeding from her legs I think she was shot can you check up on her?” both the girls nodded as you wheeled Greene to the elevator.

“Are you sure you want me to scrub in?” Samira asked as you reached the elevator, it was just you two- well three. 

“Samira, I’m pregnant” you confessed as the elevator doors closed on the two of you, “I’ve already miscarried once, I don’t plan on that again, I’m hoping his stubborn ass pulls through so my baby isn’t distressed from me being stressed, you being there is more than enough”. 

She looked stunned from the confession, smiling in the light of the situation, “Do you want me to get an OB down after just to see where things are?”.

“I may need you to sub in so I can sit down once or twice, I’ll be with you the entire time” you told her, just as you reached the third floor. The surgical wing was scattered as you made it to OR 4, your body stiffened up with worry as you realized it was the same OR. 

4 hours, it took you and Samira 4 hours to get every bullet, repair any tissue. You stood standing the entire time, your heels ached, knees slightly wobbly. Luckily, Greene was stable and okay, the ED only lost 2 patients that day, most non-surgical minus laparotomies split between your fellows and Walsh. You gave your graces to Samira as she beamed with joy, her job was her life, but luckily, you convinced her to finally go on a date every once and awhile.

The most important part, you still felt the light jerks. Peeing finally felt like liberation, what you really wanted was a bath and maybe a soda to substitute the craving for wine. You wanted to talk.

“Abbot?” you asked Bridget as her and Dana contacted the hospital officials to open the emergency department again. Bridget pointed up and you gave her a thumbs up. 

There on the roof, Jack was admiring the skyline with Robby. As the elevator dinged, Robby took his leave, giving you a smile and a nod.

“How’s Greene?”.

“Good, he almost woke up from the anesthesia, but other than that, stubborn bastard is asleep in post-op. His daughter came to drop off some clothes and food” you filled him in, the silence found the both of you in an unwelcoming way, “You doubted me today”.

“I did”.

“I became a surgeon at 22, by 27 I was already an attending” you started, “I’ve also was lucky enough to have Greene and Adamson as mentors, you and Robby as colleagues” you boasted, feeling the wind blow through your hair, “But, you walk into a room and patients don’t doubt you for a singular second. I walk in and it’s always a question of if I belong here- it’s not an age thing, that I learned a long time ago” you licked your lips before continuing, “I can feel our baby moving, at 13 weeks, I can feel it, I didn’t before. I think it’s because I’m a doctor, I am aware of the feeling. Let me put the limit on what I can and can’t do”.

Jack finally looked over at you, “I’m sorry” he started, sighing gently, “I feel you walk away and it scares the living shit out of me” raking his hand through his curls, “I feel selfish a bit, knowing you’re out of reach, that you’re upstairs operating and I don’t know what’s happening”.

You smiled at the sentiment of care, “I’m working” you told him, “I’m doing the job I fell in love with when I was a kid. Now my knees and back hurt both from age and the fact that there is a little Abbot in me” you took a second for him to smile, “This job gave me you, gave me some of the best memories I could imagine, I’d bargain the recklessness every single day if it meant I’m ending up with you”. 

He chuckled, moving away from his spot and climbing over the bars to hold you in his arms. He goes on the roof to admire the city, rather than the want to leave it. 

“Sometimes I feel like I’m back out there, fighting”.

“I know. You talk in your sleep a lot” you told him. 

You saved him as much as he saved you.

dividers by @cafekitsune

[yandereforme]

Yandere Batfam x Neglected Reader x Yan! King and Queen of the Winter Fae

Tw:

You’re Bruce’s biological daughter from a one night stand. You joined the family only a month or so before Jason’s death, which was definitely a big factor of the neglect.

You had one month where the house was good. You had been living with your grandparents, as your mother hadn’t been able to parent you, but they had gotten too old to care for you. So, your mother told Bruce about you, they did a DNA test, and voila! It’s a child

Your first month was tense but good. Bruce was distant and awkward but he genuinely tried. Alfred was always willing to talk with you. Jason was actually really nice to you, and the one time you met Dick, you really liked him.

However, everything changed when Jason died.

You were mourning too, having cared about him, but you were left alone in your grief. Bruce shut you out, rarely showing up to dinner or anything else. Alfred was more distant, colder. Dick wasn’t there. No one was.

Then, a boy with black hair and pale skin started randomly coming in and ordering your dad around, and Alfred welcomed him with open arms. Bruce took longer, but it wasn’t too long until your father started treating that way better than he treated you.

The thing you hated most about the whole situation was that you were absolutely being kept in the dark about something. The minute you entered any room three of them were in conversations stopped. Usually the boy, Timothy, would change the subject or just excuse himself. Then Bruce would go back to being Brody.

You got the message. You stopped going to breakfast or dinner with them. You faded into the background easily, and could go weeks without seeing Tim or Bruce. Alfred was more regularly, but never for long. In the morning before school when you get the bus, he packed you breakfast to go, which was nice.

You spent a lot of time outdoors, even during the winter. That was probably why you started, noticing the odd behavior of the air around you. You noticed the odd sound coming from the abandoned shed on the property.

You weren’t expecting to see a small being that looked like they were made of ice stuck in a mouse trap made of plastic, their oxygen being cut off, but you couldn’t leave them there.

When you entered the shed, having successfully broken the lock, you could tell the being was surprised. You spoke in calm tones, explaining that you lived on the property and you wanted to help them, but that you needed them to hold still.(in the back of your mind, you wondered if they even understood English. Hopefully, if they didn’t, your tone would help them understand.)

It took you a minute to figure out how the trap worked, but once you figured it out, you let the being free. They stared at you for a moment. They flew up to eye level with you for a moment, and touched your nose.

The little hand on your nose felt surprisingly nice. It wasn’t the bad, kind of cold, but rather felt like snow when it hits the tip of your nose. It made you smile.

The being winked at you, smiling and making sounds that you couldn’t quite understand, before they flew off into the sky, which you noticed was rapidly getting darker. You hurried back to the manor to get your dinner, not realizing just what you had started.

Edit: I’m so sorry I haven’t been writing lately! Things have been hectic, but summer starts soon, so I hope I will have more time to write! Also, in case you don’t realize it from reading this, the reader does not know the Waynes are the Batfamily, and the reader has not been publicly acknowledged as a member of the Wayne family. You were supposed to be publicly acknowledged after being there for a month and a half, but when Jason died, those plans got thrown out. 

[tangledinlove]

phone works two ways, you know

pairing: sam winchester x fem reader 5.2k

summary: stories of that one time sam surprises you, that one time you surprise sam, and that one time you surprise each other

contents: childhood bsfs to ‘i sometimes want to kiss you but like the normal amount’ to strangers trope will always be loved by me

notes: title from baby came home 2 by the nbhd. this is set during season one because ive only watched the first season of spn lol. this fact also makes me not liable for mischaracterization ok enjoy please!

— thank u to the lovely @locknco for editing this love ya

Nightmares follow Sam Winchester like a moth to a flame.

Most of the time, they’re about Jess. Before the nightmare even starts, he knows what he’s about to see because it’s always the same.

The steady drip of blood against his forehead.

The burst of unbearable heat exploding against the ceiling.

The guilt that creeps in every time without fail.

He wakes up from those nightmares with his heart pounding and a blanket of grief smothering his lungs.

But sometimes, Sam Winchester is lucky.

Sometimes, Sam Winchester dreams of you.

—

Sam wipes his eyes as he stands over your bed.

It’s your actual bed, and not one at a crappy motel in the middle of nowhere. It’s unfortunately humid since it’s creeping toward the middle of August, but Sam doesn’t care. It’s a pretty special occasion — you’re taking a break from hunting for a few days.

He’d been beyond surprised when you’d told him. Catching you at your house during the summer was near impossible with the way your parents ran you around the country, so all your free weekends were taken advantage of.

John had dragged him and Dean to a case just a state over from yours, and Sam had realized it was the closest they’d been to your house in a while. The second the bones had gone up in a pile of salty flames, he was halfway to the nearest bus station and on his way to your city.

The bus pulled in late, and the long walk to your neighborhood meant Sam arrived even later. He wondered if your parents were home and decided he hoped they wouldn’t be. The last thing he wanted them to see was the pitiful sight of him walking through their front door at four in the morning.

And despite the way you insisted it wasn’t true, Sam knew your parents didn’t like him. He’d probably be seeing the barrel of your mom’s revolver before he saw her smile at him.

(“It’s not smart to be telling people the code to your house alarm.”

You laugh in that girly way you do sometimes. Sam imagines you twirling the coiled wire of your phone cord and his throat runs dry.

“Come on. It’s just you, Sam. And how else are you going to sneak into my house?”

Your parents change the code to disarm the alarm every two weeks as a precautionary measure, and you never forget to update him everytime it changes. Sam thinks it’s sweet, but the both of you know he’s barely lucky enough to get the time to call you. The stars would have to align for him to come visit.

“I’ll go in through your window,” Sam says.

There’s a small lift in your voice. “I’ll make sure to double check it’s not you when I throw a knife at the freak climbing up the side of my house.”)

Zero-five-zero-two-eight-three, you’d told him last week.

He’d gone silent on the other end when the numbers clicked in his mind — his birthday. The code to your house right now was his birthday.

Your dad had been too busy to set it, so you’d done it yourself, using the first six numbers that came to mind.

His birthday, apparently.

Sam tries not to think about it too hard.

But now he’s here, standing over your bed and trying not to pass out from exhaustion on your carpet.

Your room looks slightly different from the last time he visited. The walls are a new shade of your favorite color, and the old desk that was in the corner has been replaced with a vanity. There’s pictures of your hometown friends pinned all around the glass, but there’s a few photos he does recognize.

One is from your ninth birthday. Dean had smashed your cake in your face, as expected from the then thirteen-year-old, and you’d clocked him with your fist a second after. The photo was taken post-punch, and you’re grinning through the frosting on your eyes while Dean clutches his face.

The other picture is of you and him from when you were both about twelve. He’s sitting between your legs, laying against your stomach with your American Girl doll in his lap. He’s braiding her hair using the instructions in an old book of yours, and you’d shoved the camera in his face before he could stop you. The photo captured him glaring into the lens of the camera, his thick brown hair pulled into two pigtails on top of his head.

It’s nearly cut out of the frame, but you’re smiling so hard behind him it makes your entire face light up. It’s one of Sam’s favorite pictures of you.

Now, you’re a lump on your full sized mattress, a new step up from your trusty twin bed. The blanket thrown over you has little flowers on it that match your bedsheets, which he already knows you’re very proud of. Still asleep, you roll over onto your back, and that exhaustion from earlier comes back with a vengeance.

Sam drops his jacket onto the heap of clothes on your chair and works to unzip his jeans before his legs give out.

If you were awake, you’d slap him on the back for that, a teasing grin on your face. “I would’ve brought some cash if I knew you were going to strip for me!” you would probably say, like a menace.

He can’t wait for you to wake up so you can annoy him even more.

Sam’s left in a pair of boxers and a baseball t-shirt from a supermarket in Pennsylvania, sweating even in your air conditioning. When he lifts the covers off the bed, he freezes.

You’re wearing a shirt he’d given to you as a souvenir a few months ago. A movie theater in Jersey they helped with their ghost problem gave them a free shirt in return. The cartoon penguin smiles at him now, balancing on one foot with his arms out, like he’s surfing. Sam smiles back while he settles in next to you.

Now that your bed is bigger, there’s more than enough room for the both of you, which is good since it’s so hot out. It means there’s no need to sleep piled up like you had to in the past.

…but Sam hasn’t seen you since that time your families had run into each other in New Mexico, and he hasn’t slept with you like this since you’d been home during your finals week a few months ago.

Under the eye of the penguin on your shirt, he slides one arm below your side pinned to the bed and uses it to pull you against him.

You complain up a storm, even asleep, but settle down quickly. He wonders if you’ll kick him in your sleep again, claiming you were dreaming of being a soccer player.

With your face pressed to the spot between Sam’s arm and shoulder, he listens intently to the nonsensical string of words you mumble out against his skin. Your musings only get more muffled as you press even further into him, throwing your arm over his torso and staying there.

Sam’s hand kindly soothes over your hip, where your shorts have little pink clouds printed on them.

“Woah,” you grumble, dragging out the word. Your hand flexes and then clenches into the fabric of his shirt. “Woah.”

His eyes dart to you embarrassingly fast, guilty for disturbing you but more than excited that you’re awake. Your voice always sounds sweeter in person than it does over the phone.

When he finds your face in the darkness, he realizes your eyes are still shut. Sam runs his hand up your side, warm with sleep. “Hey. You okay?”

Your mouth twitches into a frown. “My friend. My friend’ll do it.”

Oh, he realizes. You’re just sleep talking.

“Okay,” he answers quietly. He wants to hear your voice again, but he also wants you to go back to sleep. You only really mumble like this when you’re about to wake up from a dream. “Sorry,” Sam adds, though he’s not sure what for.

Your face screws up, but then you sigh sweetly against his chest. “Dean?”

(Even when Sam dreams of this, he still feels like you’ve beaten him over the head with that single word.)

You’re dreaming, all right. Of his older brother.

“You gotta get rid of it,” you complain, a pout pulling at your lips.

“He will,” Sam agrees, just to appease you. Thankfully, the worry lines on your face flatten out, and you move yourself even closer to him.

You’re quiet for a few seconds, so Sam closes his eyes, squeezing your shoulder in hopes you go back to sleep.

It doesn’t work, though.

You jolt up and practically launch yourself off the bed, nearly slipping on your hardwood floor before you grab onto your bedside table.

Sam calls for you, but you don’t seem to hear him, busy fumbling in the dark for the lightswitch. He leans over and flicks on the lamp, flooding your room with warm, yellow light. “You okay?” he asks.

The way you spin towards him is comically slow, like you’re being spun in a microwave. There’s a crease on your cheek from being pressed to your pillow for so long, and your eyes are barely open. Sam laments the heartbreaking fact that he can’t see you everyday.

Within the next second, he’s being flattened back against your pillows. You’re by his side so quickly, he’s half inclined to ask you if you’ve gained the ability to teleport.

He squeezes your hip. You take the hint and loosen your hug.

“Sam!” you say, at a volume much too loud for four in the morning. You don’t say anything when he tries shushing you, too busy flitting your hands over whatever parts of him they can reach, laughter spilling from your lips. “You’re here!”

“Took you long enough to realize,” he teases. “I could’ve been some kinda killer, and you would’ve gone on sleeping.”

“What kind of killer would have a face as sweet as yours?” You’re kneeling over him now, smiling so wide it makes Sam feel winded. “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too,” he says, matching your smile. “Do you wake up from all your dreams like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve been electrocuted.”

You smile. “I think my brain knew you were here. Made me wake up so I could say hi.”

Sam kisses your forehead. “Hi. Thank you to your brain.”

“Hi. And you’re welcome.”

The two of you sit like that for a little bit, taking in the sight of the other’s face for the first time in months. You seem to enjoy his new haircut, and he studies the new scar going down your bicep while you tell him the story about how you got it.

When the recount of how you were thrown out of a window starts turning into more yawns than words, he pulls you back down to the bed.

“How are you?” he asks, like he hadn’t just asked you that this morning.

Your tongue darts over your chapped lips. “Good. Missed you a lot,” you say, for the second time in the past five minutes.

“Your parents are—they’re good too?” he asks, stuttering over his words.

Whatever he feels for you gets stronger every day, but it’s only when he sees you again that he realizes just how much he likes you. He forces his eyes up from your lips and squeezes your side. Sam really wants to kiss you.

You nod, moving his arms around so you can cram yourself as close to him as the world and physics allows. “Yep. Yep, yep, yep. Your dad and Dean?”

Sam hums. “They’re fine. Didn’t even ask where I was going when I took off.”

“You didn’t tell them?”

“I think they know by now. My dad asked about you on the drive back to the motel.”

You’re curled against his left side, your chin resting against his chest so you can stare up at him. It means that his next few intakes of breath have to be done with a lot of careful thought.

“Can I just come join you guys?” you ask, and Sam’s surprised he can’t hear any hint of a joke in your voice. “I’m sick of missing you all the time.”

He makes a fist, and uses his knuckles to drag circles over your back from the hills of your shoulder blades to the jut of your hip bones.

Sam laughs. “I don’t think you’d want that.” He can tell you’re about to argue until he adds, “Moving in with my dad, that is. You know what he’s like.”

“I’d put up with it for you, though,” you say honestly.

“He treats you like shit,” he stresses. “And he likes you. Maybe it’d be better if I moved in with you instead.”

You push yourself onto your forearm so you can give him a real serious look. There’s a sore spot on his cheek from where he’d gotten shoved into a wall by some spirit, and somehow, you know.

You caress his face, dragging the pads of your fingers over it. Sam makes a weird sound in his throat, something like a hiccup, and you thankfully don’t smile too hard about it.

Sam decides that it’s probably best for his health that you don’t see each other too often. He knows without a doubt that his heart would give out if he felt any stronger about you. He soaks up the warmth of your hand on his face before you let it drop to his collarbones.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

You lean down to press a kiss to his cheek before shifting your face into his shoulder. “Just appreciating your pretty face. If you moved in, I think my parents would have your head on a stake by the end of the week.”

It startles a laugh out of him. He can’t quite look you in the eyes because you’re trying to hide from him, but he tries to anyway. “Are you serious?”

“I’m sorry!” you groan, using one of your free hands to push at his face. “I thought they liked you, I really did. But my mom found out what I changed the alarm code to and made me clean every single gun in that stupid closet.”

Cruel and unusual. “All ‘cause of me?”

You think long and hard about it. “I think it was part of it. She was also mad because I forgot to do the dishes last week, so it could’ve been that, too.”

Your parents have quite the array of weapons. The jacket closet turned armory in your living room has enough rifles to arm half the state of Kansas, and Sam thinks about what a sad sight it would’ve been: you on the floor with a cleaning rod in hand, and about fifty more handguns to wipe down.

“Poor girl,” he says, pulling your palm into his hand. He presses into the calluses you have from where your gun usually sits. “You didn’t suffer too much?”

“Nope,” you say, awfully cheerful. Your next blink is slower than the others, so he resumes his ministrations against your back. You go limp again. “Only cause I… knew you were coming over soon.”

His face warms, but he has to poke fun at you before he lets you fall asleep.

“Sam, my parents love you,” he mocks, letting his voice go quieter. “Come over for dinner, Sam. No, my parents won’t mind, they love having you over.” He smiles at you. “Must be why I gotta show up here before the sun is up, right?”

Your chest stutters before you laugh, which usually means you’re really embarrassed.

The dream ends when he takes pity on you and kisses the spots on your arms you tell him are aching from all your hard work.

—

Dean wakes up that morning to the sight of Sam hunched over the old table in the corner of the room. There’s a pile of newspapers at his feet and one in his hands, which he stares at so intently it looks like he’ll burn a hole through it.

“Y’know, if you keep scowling, your face is gonna get stuck like that.”

Sam doesn’t grace him with a glance. It’s clear he’s been up for a few hours already. “I think I got something.”

—

Rachel Anderson and John Hansen were two college kids from the suburbs of Virginia. Both were from respectable families, both were straight A students, and both were well-loved by the community.

Two nights ago, John left family movie night to shoot himself in his backyard. And last night, Rachel drowned herself in her bathtub during a sleepover with her friends. In the center of their bedroom floors were identical suicide notes. Each in their own handwriting, but not a single difference in wording or sentence structure.

Sam has to park the car down the block when they arrive outside Rachel Anderson’s house. The street leading up to the building is lined with shiny new cars — Mercedes, Lexus, and BMW logos as far as the eye can see — making the Impala stick out like a sore thumb.

Dean cranes his neck to look up at the houses on the same street as the Andersons. Pretty suburban towns like these scare him a little more than he’s willing to admit.

He whistles. “Didn’t know they made BarbieLand a real place.”

Sam cracks a smile at that. “How many of these people do you think have a membership at that country club down the street?”

The two of them snicker all the way up to the front door. Sam knocks, his brother too busy looking around at the rest of the neighborhood.

“If any of your little college friends have houses as nice as these, maybe we should make a quick visit the next time we’re in California,” Dean jokes, eyeing a neighboring pool.

Sam stops rolling his eyes because the door swings open, and he plasters on his most sympathetic smile for whatever grieving family member is on the other side of the door.

It’s a guy about his age, wearing a crisp black sweater. The dark circles under his eyes make it clear he was close with Rachel — a man plagued with grief through and through.

“Hey,” Sam says. “This is Rachel’s house, right?”

The man flicks his eyes from Sam over to Dean, who’s only now looking away from the nice looking houses to join him at the front door.

“Yeah. This is it,” he answers, though he still doesn’t open the door fully. The three of them stare at each other for an awkward second before the guy clears his throat. “If you guys don’t mind me asking, who are you?”

“I’m Sam, and this is my brother Dean,” he explains. “Me and Rachel had psych together. She saved my grade in that class last semester.”

Sam’s not surprised at how easy the lie rolls off his tongue. Lying is almost as important to the job as the guns in their trunk are.

The man, satisfied with the answer, lets the door creak open. “Oh, I see. I’m Will. Thanks for coming, you two. Everyone’s out in the backyard.”

A girl’s voice floats to the front door from somewhere nearby. “Will, is it Deb?”

William Anderson was mentioned in the article about Rachel’s death. He’s the girl’s older brother, who pivots to face the girl speaking from behind him.

“These are friends from Rachel’s psychology class,” he says, stepping out of the doorway.

Olivia Anderson was mentioned in the paper too. The youngest child of the family, just a year younger than her older sister. For a second, Sam thinks he’s hallucinating. She looks just like her and a little like Will too, down to their twin black sweaters.

A different voice responds, and something about it makes the hair on the back of Sam’s neck stand up. “Psych class? Rachel didn’t—”

The closest Sam can get to describing this moment is like the seconds before a spirit manifests. His heart kicks up a little bit quicker. Alarms ring in his head, and the area around the Andersons’ front door turns electrified.

It’s you.

You get pulled into view by Olivia Anderson, a deer caught in headlights wearing your own matching black sweater.

Sam doesn’t want to blink, certain that your face will shift and it’ll be some sick trick of the light. A dream haunting him even while he’s awake.

“Rachel didn’t what?” Will asks, not suspicious, just curious.

Your mouth opens and closes, like you’re fumbling for something to say, and Sam doesn’t blame you.

For one, you’re going to lie for them. Both him and Dean are beginning to realize that Rachel didn’t take a psychology class at all, and you’re trying to figure out how to twist your sentence into an excuse that makes sense.

And two… you’re standing in front of your best friend who you haven’t spoken to in four years. Sam isn’t surprised that you have nothing to say to him.

“Rachel didn’t like anything about that class,” you decide on, your eyes shifting from Sam to Dean then back again.

You swallow hard. It looks like you’ve—

“—seen a ghost?” you ask, grinning.

The duffel bag in Sam’s hands hits the motel floor, but he’s too stunned to even wince at the sound.

“Looking a little scared there, Sammy,” you tease, pushing yourself off of the old bed in the center of the room. “A little old, too, honestly—”

He’s crossed the room before you can finish your sentence.

You squeak at the impact, your arms being crushed to your sides with the way he captures you in a hug. The two of you stumble two big steps back so you don’t tip over.

“You’re here,” Sam says, like he can’t quite believe it. You manage to work your arms away from your body so you can hug him too. “What are… How did you—”

“Dean finally remembered my phone number,” you joke, squeezing him with a big smile on your face. “I know you guys have to drive out early tomorrow — uh, I guess today, actually — but you know I had to come see you on your birthday, Sam. Even if it’s just for a few hours.”

It’s seven minutes past midnight on the second day of May.

Sam Winchester is eighteen.

“You’re here,” he repeats. He doesn’t bother trying to wipe the smile off his face. “I can’t believe it.”

When Dean had clapped him on the back and told him he’d booked him an extra room for his birthday, Sam was shocked. Birthdays weren’t anything special to either of them, so he’d been thankful, but also very confused. Buying another motel room wasn’t cheap, yet he’d done it anyway.

From the adjoining room next door, Sam’s sure his brother has a shit-eating grin on his face. He’s probably going to hold this over his head forever, claiming how much of a great brother he is, and Sam will let him.

He hasn’t seen you in four months. He thinks he might throw up.

“You drove here all by yourself?” Sam asks you, once the two of you have settled on the bed. He takes a seat cross-legged and both of you pretend like you’re not about halfway into his lap.

“Yep,” you say proudly. “Dean had to teach me how to parallel park over the phone so I would have my license in time.”

Sam’s heart swells ten sizes. “Thank you. I can’t believe you came out all this way.”

You hit him on the shoulder. “Of course. You’re my best friend, did you really think I was gonna miss your eighteenth birthday?”

He leans in close enough to the point that it’d be easy to kiss you. So, so, so easy.

He doesn’t, though, and you don’t push it. You reach for one of his hands in his lap and trace over the ridges of his knuckles, a little smile on your face.

His hair has finally recovered from the Nair that Dean had put in his shampoo a while back, so it hangs just over his eyebrows and curls around his ears again. You blow the brown locks out of his eyes and then smile a little wider.

“I have a gift for you.”

You slink out of his lap, and Sam tries not to frown when you get up to grab your backpack. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Stop worrying,” you chastise, dropping your bag onto the bed to look through. “I’m your actual birthday gift. This one’s just extra, so it’s nothing fancy.”

“You being here is worth more than any fancy thing you could've bought me at a store,” he says, and you brush his hair from his face affectionately.

“I’m happy you think so, Sammy.”

Too wrapped up in the sight of your smile, he forgets to say something about the dumb nickname.

“I got this from the grocery store down the street before you got here.” It’s wrapped in the plastic bag you’d bought it in, but Sam takes it from your hands like it’s made of gold. “Consider this one… supplemental.”

You huddle close while he takes the gift out of the bag and reads it.

“Thirteen Ghosts,” he says, flipping the DVD case over in his hands.

“Figured we could watch a movie together.” You poke his side. “See how funny they make their monsters look.”

This isn’t the first time you and Sam have watched a movie together. There was that one time when you’d watched Notting Hill on your couch, but your parents kept giving him warning looks from in the kitchen and he’d made sure to keep the bowl of popcorn and half of the couch between you two.

And Sam will always hold some level of respect for your parents because they’re your parents, but he could not be more glad to be hundreds of miles away from them right now. Because the second that he comes back from popping the DVD into the player, you’re very kindly asking to spoon, and Sam is not well known for being able to say no to you.

You tuck yourself against his front, and he slips his arms around your middle. You trap his hands there by slotting yours together, tracing over the lines on his hands like a palm reader. Sam watches you while you watch the movie, pretending to follow along with the dialogue and your whispered commentary.

The lights of the TV flicker on the side of your face as you poke fun at the actors, and he’s hit with a wave of anticipatory sadness. Sam prays to whoever’s listening that he never falls asleep. Prays this night lasts forever, and that you don’t have to go home and he doesn’t have to leave in the morning. If the rest of his life is bad horror movies and sleeping next to you, he’d die happy.

You laugh at something that jumps on the screen, and Sam can’t help himself anymore.

When he says your name, he practically winces hearing the sound of his own voice. It’s shaky and nervous, and you shift to look at him with concern in your eyes. One of the actresses screams on screen, and you squeeze his hand that you still haven’t let go of.

“You okay? Did you wanna turn the TV off?”

“I love you.”

You turn to face him completely, and Sam Winchester, the luckiest eighteen-year-old in the world, is able to watch the smile light up your eyes.

You let go of him to hold his face, like he’s something to be treasured. “I love you too, S—”

“—am, and I’m Dean,” his brother says, offering his hand for you to shake.

Your grip looks solid when you reach across the threshold of the Anderson house to take his hand in yours, as if you’re meeting him for the first time.

The whole thing feels like a nightmare.

It’s unnatural to watch your tight lipped smile and awkward shuffling while you stare blankly at Dean. You let go of his hand like he hasn’t pulled you off your couch and taught you how to dance in the middle of your living room. Like he hasn’t let you finish the rest of his food at rundown diners just because you ate yours too fast.

You turn to Sam next, and his stomach does a backflip.

Four years was a long time.

Sam knows he’s not the same person who left you on your front porch. He’d held you for longer than usual that day, and left you with a promise to visit that he hadn’t meant.

He doesn’t think you’re the same girl who was left there either. You look different. A little older, a little more mature.

(At eighteen, you would’ve given him a nasty look for that. “Older? You can’t say that to a girl, Sam.”

“I said you looked older, not old!” he would’ve defended frantically. “There’s a difference!”

“Why the hell would I want to be told I look older, you jerk!”)

And he loves you, but it’s true. You look older, but it means you look as lovely as ever. Grown into yourself and radiant in ways you hadn’t been at eighteen. You look like you’re glowing.

Your hair is also done in a way you never liked to do by yourself. He knows it for a fact, because you’d always complain to him over the phone about it, wondering how he was able to do it for you so nicely.

(He’d always said it was because he was patient and you were clearly not, but it was mostly because he’d practiced it on your old dolls a bunch of times before he’d asked to do it on you.)

Your hair now looks nicer than anything Sam could’ve done for you. He wonders if you did it yourself—if you had to learn because he wasn’t around anymore, and was never coming back.

Sam wants to tell you that he’s missed you, and that there hasn’t been a day he hasn’t thought of you.

He wonders what you would say. He wonders if you'd sound the same, and he’d be able to tell, ‘cause of how often he plays your old voicemails over when he misses you. He remembers just how you would sound when you were laughing and remembers precisely how much slower you would speak when you were upset.

You don’t extend your hand for him to shake, and Sam’s left to wonder if your hands would still feel the same in his.

And when he meets your eyes, he reads the hurt written all over your features. Hurt that he put there. Hurt that’s probably healed over in the last four years, leaving a nice long scar he’s sliced open again just now.

You nod at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

He digs his fingers into his palms. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

notes: the party ended four years ago and she JUST GOT HERE!!!! LMAO ive been infected with the sam winchester virus but who can blame me look at his face

[muqingslover]

[ im back pookies and today I bring the LADS boys with alcohol! disclaimer: This is based purely on my opinion so don't get your panties in a twist. Or do. They're not my panties anyway ]

Sylus holds his alcohol the best out of everyone or anyone really. He will purposely challenge others to a contest knowing full well he will easily drink them under the table.

I believe he'd need some type of special liquor to actually get drunk because his body processes alcohol differently than humans and the usual is not enough.

Drunk Sylus is the most heartwarming thing you'll ever witness. He gets drowsy a few glasses in and sloppy enough that some of his dragon features will pop out. When the alcohol rushes to his head he turns into a mushy mess that wants to hold you like a teddy bear, softly purring against you all happy as long as you're in his arms.

Better pray that it's not summer because he gets soooo damn HOT when he's drunk it's like a very large oven.

As a result of the liquor he speaks a lot slower and quieter, but he sounds so gentle when telling you how much you mean to him, how much he's missed you while waiting all those years and confesses he's afraid you don't want him by your side anymore.

"Am I still your dragon?" His words are laced with apprehensiveness and his eyes resemble puppy dog ones when gazing down at you, hoping with all his might for anything besides a rejection.

+ Bonus: His hangover is only a mild headache when he wakes up and a bit of sluggishness during the day. He might not remember everything he said, but he knows he did say something based on how you act around him.

Rafayel is next. I think he used to drink periodically and actually does enjoy the taste of alcohol, specifically old and sweet wines, so he has a good tolerance built up. On the other hand, he holds back on ingesting heavy quantities nowadays because of how he is when drunk.

Walk with me bc in this blog I preach heavy angst for the fishie.

His tongue will get very loose once he is significantly inebriated, but most definitely not in a fun way— All the ugly feelings, frustrations and sorrows Rafayel keeps bottled up in his chest would come pouring out at once.

That might prompt some old grudges his heart still holds on to over the past the two of you share to come to light in a not so kind manner and cause all sorts of misunderstandings.

Rafayel will definitely regret his words in the morning and desperately try to apologize to you. Please sit down and actually talk.

+ Bonus: His hangover is more similar to "seasickness" than an actual hangover. He throws up even on an empty stomach and just lays on the floor of his bathroom because he has no energy to move at all.

Xavier is a similar case to our neighborhood dragon, but he fits more into a healthy middle category. I think he is rather neutral towards alcohol (not being particularly fond of it nor despising it altogether) and prefers when it's used as aromatic/enhancer for food instead.

He will usually have one glass, always on a full stomach, and then focus on stuffing his cheeks with food for the rest of the night since he claims it "dulls his senses".

H o w e v e r, when the booze hits him it hits him hard. Make sure you two are home because Xavier passes out right then and there and there's absolutely no waking that man up for the next three hours.

Another reason as to why I advise you to do this at home is because he WILL wake up exactly three hours later and the first thing he does is find and grab you regardless of where you are, what you're doing or who you are with.

This is Xavier's second phase of drunkenness: The hazy stage. He functions on impulses alone and all he wants to do is touch you, be it sexually if you're willing to indulge or simply holding you hostage for cuddling until his battery runs out again.

He won't really speak besides one syllable words answers if he reaaaally has to and communicates by acting on what he wants then looking at you for a reaction.

+Bonus: He has no hangover. At all. Man's as good as new the next day after a good nap.

Caleb is a weaker than the one before but still stronger than the next. This man is not a fan of alcohol in general, neither does he like if you drink, especially if done frequently. Not surprisingly the one preaching about how bad it is for your body is him.

If he did drink often though I believe he'd actually have a high tolerance so it's really just a matter of his body not being used to it. He's the type that takes longer to get buzzed but by the time he's one and a half glasses in it's game over.

PATHETIC MAN ALERT ‼️

His drunkenness has three stages:

We start off strong with his extroverted side receiving a big boost and suddenly he's the life of the party. He needs a literal leash because you blink and he's just gone ALNST reference!?. You'll find him outside doing the most random activity you can possibly imagine like finding something to show you (he might have stolen someone's dog without meaning to) or singing while laying down on the grass.

When you firmly tell him to stop and come along we hit pathetic dog stage. He is kneeling in front of your seat while holding you tightly by the waist, face buried into your lap as he asks you to not be mad at him because he hates fighting with you. Not even ten minutes later you'll feel your clothes getting damp from his tears because he feels dejected now that you're "all grown up and don't need him anymore" and how you apparently "hate him".

Finally, his unmatched self-control is the last one to go and, given the right opportunity, he will kiss you until both of you are out of breath and then pass out on top of you.

+Bonus: He does get a hangover, but only for the first few hours of the morning while his body is still waking up. For the rest of the day his muscles just feel really stiff and he's more irritable than usual.

Zayne is the biggest lightweight of all history and should have a sign around his neck that says "Do not give me alcohol". I believe he has a critical view on it— He knows it has both upsides and downsides so, unlike his bestie jk, he will tell you to drink with caution and follow the same advice though he leans more towards avoiding it completely for most the time.

While he will usually measure his words and only act after a certain amount of thought is given this man has absolutely zero control over himself when intoxicated.

He won't appear drunk at all, except for the flushed ears, until you talk to him and realize the filter between his brain and mouth is gone with the wind. You also need to keep Zayne far away from stores otherwise he will come back with six to eight different bags of sweets, plushies and some pet items because he's decided tonight is the night he gets a cat.

After chasing him, that was chasing a cat, around the neighborhood for an hour he will give up and looks so defeated while just sitting there it's both hilarious and endearing.

Please put him to bed and reassure him that all animals are not, in fact, plotting against him nor is he a "naturally bred cat repeller".

+Bonus: He has the biggest hangover known to man. The sound of his own voice makes him feel as if his head is being pounded like a church bell and the mortifying memories, oh yes he remembers every. single. thing, do not help him at all.

[gummy-cat-writes]

save it for a rainy day | spencer reid x bau! fem!reader

synopsis: while on a case in Seattle during a particularly rainy week, the team learns that you've never been kissed, a fact Spencer didn't realise would both him so much

content warnings: criminal minds typical themes (discussions/descriptions of violence, injuries, death, trauma and generally not great things) please read at your own risk!! also minor spoilers for s7 ep19 (heathridge manor)

ingredients: mostly fluff, she fell first, he fell harder, I got carried away so it's basically a casefic, inaccurate depictions of the US/how the FBI works (sorry I'm not American), a bunch of random facts since its literally Spencer's main love language (cannot guarantee the legitimacy of said facts they were from singular google searches), limited use of Y/N (I tried) and I'm not entirely convinced the plot exists sorryyy

word count: 6k (like I said I got carried away whoops)

a/n: eek this is my very first attempt at posting my writing on tumblr, and also my very first x reader fic! (finally living up to my username lol) I got a bit carried away with this and it is just a tad self indulgent but I hope you all enjoy and if I missed any content warnings please let me know!!

Spencer Reid couldn’t stand the rain. His hair was hard enough to keep presentable when dry, but being wet it made him look like a soggy cat. Much to his dismay, the current case happened to be in Seattle, Washington, right in the middle of their rainy season – perfect for an unsub who liked to drown their victims in rainwater.

Spencer had only just stepped out of the jet when he felt the light downpour beginning to dampen his head and shoulders, squinting up at the sky with a disgruntled look.

“I hate the rain,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, thankful he’d long since transitioned back to contacts, as wearing glasses in this weather would have made the trip entirely more frustrating.

“Aw, come on,” a voice chirped up beside him. “It’s not that bad,” You were much more prepared than him, already opening a brightly patterned umbrella as you descended the plane steps. “It smells so nice.”

Without being asked, you lifted the umbrella higher so he could duck beneath it. The two of you began the walk across the tarmac, following Hotch and Rossi, with Emily, JJ and Morgan bringing up the rear.

“The term for the smell we usually associate with rain is actually called petrichor,” Spencer said, unable to help himself. “The word was coined in 1964 by Australian scientists, it’s a mixture of water and other compounds like ozone, geosmin and plant oils.” He wrinkled his nose, the aforementioned smell filling the morning air. “It gets particularly strong during a downpour like this.”

You chuckled. “Well, I think it’s romantic. I always imagined my first kiss would be in the rain.”

Spencer ducked as you closed the umbrella, arriving at the terminal entrance. He watched as you held back, letting the rain fall on your face for a moment.

“Was it?” he asked.

“Hm?” You blinked, before shrugging. “Oh, I wouldn’t know,” you said, in a surprisingly casual tone. “I haven’t had my first kiss yet.”

This statement somehow caused Spencer’s stomach to flip, and he found himself unable to form words.

Emily, who’d overheard the tail-end of the conversation, did not have the same issue.

“You’ve never been kissed?” she said incredulously, already grinning at your now somewhat sheepish expression.

“I’ve sort of being saving it,” you admitted, smiling nervously. “I just think that being kissed in the rain is so romantic.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Emily responded fondly. “Wait ‘til Penelope hears about this.”

You groaned, your cheeks reddening. By now, JJ and Morgan had caught up, the former eyeing Spencer with concern.

“Spence, you okay?”

Caught off guard, Spencer’s next words came out a little harsher than intended.

“I don’t care if it’s romantic,” he snapped. “I still hate the rain.”

Spencer had no clue what was going on. It had been ages since your conversation on the tarmac, but your words kept replaying in his head. It was one of the few times he loathed his eidetic memory, as the visual of you standing calmly in the rain, water dripping down your face – more specifically your mouth – swam in his brain whenever he closed his eyes.

“-and Reid can share with her.” The sound of his name broke him from his reverie, and he looked up frowning. The team had dropped by their hotel to freshen up before heading to the precinct, and were discussing who would be sharing a room together. Typically, they got four rooms, with six of them pairing up and one person getting a room to themselves. JJ was looking at Spencer, that concerned look on her face again.

“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked.

Spencer’s brain rebooted awfully slow. “I- what?”

“Room shares,” Emily cut in, looking amused as the others chuckled. “You’re good to share a room with Y/N, right?”

All Spencer could do was glance between his team, his eyes landing on Morgan.

“What about Morgan?” he asked. Something about sharing a room with you made his chest tighten uncomfortably.

Morgan laughed. “Sorry, pretty boy, it’s my turn in the solo room.”

“I don’t mind,” you piped up, glancing at Spencer with a friendly smile. “Spencer?”

“Do you kids need to do rock-paper-scissors to decide?” Rossi’s tone was exasperated. “Me and Hotch, Emily and JJ, Reid and L/N and Morgan on his own. Simple.”

There was little more arguing Spencer could do without being obvious, so he reluctantly followed you down the hall to your room. Why on Earth was such a short, insignificant conversation making him feel like this? He’d shared rooms with you on cases before, what was so different now?

You unlocked the door to the room, completely unaware of his inner turmoil. For a moment, Spencer could forget it too, watching as you examined the room, enthusiastically dropping flat onto one of the twin beds.

“This room’s a lot like the one we shared in Massachusetts,” you mused absentmindedly. “The layout’s the same. I like the old-fashioned look.”

“You know, the oldest hotel in the world is the Nishiyama Onsen Keiunkan,” Spencer said. “It’s a ryokan, which is a traditional Japanese-style inn, and was first opened in 707 AD.”

You smiled. “Oh, yeah?” Sitting up, you looked up at him with a genuine interest that always made him falter his words.

He cleared his throat. “Um, yeah, it was created by the son of an aide to the 38th Emperor of Japan, Emperor Tenji. Actually, quite a few of the world’s oldest businesses are in Japan. There was a report published by the Bank of Korea that found that 56% of the around 5,500 companies older than 200 years are in Japan.”

“Damn,” you said, still smiling. “Well now I want to go to Japan.”

Spencer chuckled, averting his gaze. His rambles were typically met with disinterest, yet you were one of the few who would properly pay attention. You too were prone to rambling, though your tangents tended to be more anecdotal than random facts. But why now was your attention so nerve-wracking?

“Spencer?” Your voice once again pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” you finally asked, frowning at him. “You’ve been really space-y today.”

“I’m fine!” His voice rising in octave definitely didn’t sell it. “I’m just… tired.”

He gave her a tight smile, hoping you’d drop it. He busied himself with setting his go-bag onto his bed.

“Do you think I’m weird?”

That caught his tension.

“What?” Spencer stared at you, concern that you’d ever think that overruling his current dilemma. “What are you talking about, you’re not weird you’re- you’re you-” He cut himself off as you laughed.

“Spencer, I’m in my 20s and I haven’t had my first kiss. That’s pretty weird, isn’t it?”

He blinked. “I didn’t have my first kiss until my 20s.” he pointed out.

“Yeah, because you were, like, twelve in your senior year. It would have been illegal to kiss you,” you said, amused. “I think I’ve only ever held hands with one person all through school.” Your smile faded a little as you fidgeted with your sleeve. “I guess I always expected dating and romance would just happen, like in the movies, and it never really did.”

“Well, in the US, the average age of the first kiss is fifteen, but even that varies between regions.” Upon realising his comment wasn’t helpful in the slightest, he back-tracked. “But everyone has their own timeline. Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

You sighed, standing up. He could tell now that despite your casual tone on the tarmac earlier, it really did seem to bother you. Something about the melancholy look on your face stung something deep in him.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said softly. “I’m going to go shower.”

The Seattle Police Precinct was a buzz of activity – the media had been all over the murders since a sixth body had been discovered, which was why the BAU had been called in. As Penelope had explained in the briefing, so far the unsub had killed six women over the course of two and half months. All six victims were women in their 40s, who all went missing a few days before their bodies were found in empty lots, significant amounts of rainwater in their lungs. With no other injuries on the bodies, it had been difficult to determine a clear motive.

Upon arriving at the precinct, Hotch set about delegating tasks so the team could build a profile. Spencer was strangely relieved when Hotch sent him to the medical examiner with Morgan. It wasn’t that he didn’t like working with you, but your comments had stuck with him more than they should for someone he saw as a friend, and he knew the longer he spent around you, he’d likely make a fool of himself.

The ME went over the autopsies with them, noting some of the interesting findings.

“So, it appears the victims spent a significant amount of time in water before they died,” she said, frowning at her clipboard.

“How can you tell?” Morgan asked.

She walked over to one of the tables, lifting the sheet covering the most recent victim, pointing at her arm. “See how the skin is thickened here, and the sores? She must have been in the water for good while, for the skin to do this. They all were.” The ME crossed the room to pick up a tray, bringing it over to show the two men a cutting of fabric. “The clothes they were wearing were beginning to mould, which can happen with water damage. These women were fully submerged for days before they died.”

“And you can confirm they died from drowning?”

“It’s quite difficult to determine if drowning is the official cause of death,” The ME replied. “But given how much water was in their stomachs and lungs, and the foam present, I’d say so.” She grimaced as she read through her notes. “It certainly wasn’t done quickly either.”

Morgan frowned. “This is similar to the case in Oregon, at that manor.” He paused, glancing at Spencer. “Reid,” he nudged him. “You good?”

“What? Oh- yeah, I’m fine.” Spencer stuttered, very aware he wasn’t convincing his colleague in the slightest. “The case in Oregon?”

“The way the victims were submerged in water, it’s similar. Do you think this unsub is also torturing?”

Spencer forced himself to focus, frowning at the body in front of him. “It seems it serves as both a way to torture, and to kill. The Oregon ones were killed with nicotine poisoning.”

“I also noticed something else,” the ME spoke up. “I found bits of rust stuck to their hands.” She moved the sheet, turning the victim’s hand over. Flakes of deep orange speckled the skin of her palm, which was reddened and raw. “I think they were holding onto something for quite a while, something metal.”

“Didn’t the Oregon unsub submerge the girls in a well?” Morgan said. “Perhaps we’re dealing with a copy-cat.”

Spencer shook his head. “Those details weren’t released to the press, it can’t be. Besides, if they had, they would have the grazes on their bodies from the rocks of the well, wouldn’t they?”

The ME nodded. “Aside from the hands, they’re relatively unharmed. That, and a bruise to the back of the head.”

Morgan nodded, putting the pieces together. “So the unsub hits them over the head to stun them, takes them somewhere and keeps them in a body of rainwater until they’ve drowned and dumps them in lots?”

“He’s gotten better, clearly,” the ME mentioned. “The first two victims had multiple wounds to the head, whereas the more recent ones only had one.”

“So,” Morgan said, seemingly talking to himself. “How long until he attacks again?”

Spencer leaned against the car, trying to read while Morgan phoned Penelope to update her on the unsub’s MO. Emphasis on trying. He’d been re-reading the same page over and over, and when one can read at his speed, it got repetitive rather quickly.

“- great job, baby girl, keep it up,” Morgan was saying as he returned to the car, putting his phone away. “So, Penelope is going to look into places where the unsub might have been able to keep the women, but that could be anywhere-”

“Ow!” Spencer looked up, offended, having just been flicked in the forehead. “What was that for?”

“You’ve been acting weird all day,” Morgan stated, eyeing the younger man. “More than your usual weird. What’s going on?”

Spencer rolled his eyes, looking back down at his book, only for it to be snatched from his hands. “Hey, give that back-”

“Not until you tell me what’s up,” Morgan’s voice was serious, using a similar tone Spencer had heard him use with his sisters. Firm but compassionate. “It’s pretty obvious something is wrong.”

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, and he let out a huff of frustration. “If I knew, I would tell you,” he grumbled, hesitating before he continued. “I- Y/N told me this morning that she’s never been kissed, and I can’t stop thinking about it-”

He was interrupted by Morgan’s hearty laughter. “That’s it?”

Spencer stumbled over his words, his face flushed. “It doesn’t mean anything, I’m not-”

“Pretty boy has a crush~” Morgan teased, the smirk on his face not shifting, even as Spencer smacked his forearm to get him to shut up.

“What? No, that’s ridiculous!” he snapped. “She’s my co-worker, my friend! I just-”

“Realised how much you’d like to be the one to kiss her?” Morgan finished for him, getting into the car. “Did you only just come to this conclusion today?”

Spencer scowled, climbing into the passenger seat. “What are you talking about?”

“Reid, you’ve been ogling her since she first started working here,” Morgan pointed out. “I know we’re not meant to profile each other, but it’s textbook-”

“You have no clue what you’re talking about! We’re just friends!”

Morgan chuckled. “If you say so. But, if you ask me, I don’t think she’d be too opposed if you asked her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Infuriatingly, Morgan chose then to finally fall silent.

You couldn’t understand what you’d done wrong. It had been two days since the team had arrived in Seattle, and Spencer was 100% avoiding you. He averted his eyes every time you spoke, made excuses to leave the room when it was just the two of you together, and barely spoke when you finally returned to the hotel to rest. Surely he wasn’t put off by what you’d told him at the airport?

When you’d said you were saving your first kiss to be in the rain, you were only half lying. A kiss in the rain would be romantic, but you desperately wanted it to be with him. It had been a little over a year since you joined the BAU, and you’d spent practically every day since then head over heels for Dr. Spencer Reid.

Who wouldn’t? He was your type in every way – nerdy, awkward and ridiculously good-looking.

So far, you’d managed to keep it hidden from most of the team, save for Emily, JJ and Penelope. Curse those women for being so good at their jobs. And curse them for teasing you every chance they got.

“What are you looking at?”

Speak of the devil, and doth shall appear, looking exactly like Emily Prentiss. She set a coffee down next to you, choosing to lean against the table rather than sit, giving you a knowing grin.

You quickly looked back down at the files in your hands. “Nothing,” you mumbled, convincing no one.

“Honestly, you are lucky the boy genius is the most oblivious man in the world,” Emily said, frowning at Spencer, who was discussing the case with Rossi and JJ. “I’m surprised he hasn’t caught on yet.”

“Would you keep it down?” you hissed, swatting her with a file. “I don’t want the entire precinct to know.”

She cackled, nudging you with her leg. “I figured you could do with a push in the right direction,” Leaning down, she lowered her voice. “That direction being a certain doctor’s bed-”

“Emily!”

“I’m just putting it out there, you should go talk to him,” She stood up to avoid any more file assaults. “You can’t avoid him forever.”

Fortunately, the lecture was interrupted by Hotch walking into the room, a particularly stormy look on his face. “There’s been another kidnapping,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The team bundled themselves into the cars, heading to east Seattle, where a staggering amount of police cars and media vans were already gathered. Breezing past the officers and into the house, you followed JJ and Emily into the bedroom.

The previous women had all gone missing while at home, all living alone, or when their partners weren’t home. This time, it was clear the victim’s partner had been home. He was laying on the bed, blood splattered everywhere and a pillow covering what was sure to be fatal head wounds.

“Monique Johnson is currently missing, the neighbour found this after hearing their dog barking inside.” Hotch said as he followed in behind you.

“Clearly the unsub didn’t expect the boyfriend to be home,” JJ muttered. “This is overkill, he lost his cool.”

Hotch nodded. “We need to give the profile.”

“We believe the unsub is a white man, likely in his 30s. He’s not very noticeable, blends in with the crowd,” Hotch began, arms crossed as he presents the profile to the Seattle Police. “Given how he manages to break into the victims’ houses with little to no trouble, it’s possible he has experience with burglary, and may have a criminal record.”

“The victims all resemble each other physically, and in personality,” JJ continued. “It’s possible the unsub is viewing these women as surrogates for someone in his life, possible a sister, or a mother, given the lack of sexual components to the crimes.”

“We’ve classified him as a control-oriented killer,” Morgan picked up. “The method in which he drowns his victims over a gruelling multiple days is his way of being in control. Though he is very intelligent, and manages to limit any physical evidence left behind on the victims, he clearly struggles when plans don’t go his way.”

“The most recent victim is Darius Bowers, 47,” you spoke up. “He was killed during the abduction of his girlfriend, Monique Johnson. This is the first time the unsub has killed a man, and it is very clear it wasn’t meant to happen.”

“He knows we are getting close, which means we only have a limited time to find Monique alive.” Hotch concluded.

As the officers dispersed, you breathed a sigh of relief. Delivering profiles was nerve-wracking, but it was good to know you were on the right track.

“What are you- hey!” Spencer’s voice shot up an octave as you grabbed him by the sleeve, all but dragging him into a nearby hallway. He looked as if he were caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

“Have I done something wrong?” you asked, trying and failing not to sound desperate. The reality was the distance hurt, more than you could admit. “You’ve been avoiding me this entire case, and it’s clear I’ve upset you, which is the last thing I wanted, so would you please just spit it out?”

Spencer stood there, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, utterly speechless. Then, slowly, a deep red flush crept up his neck and he cleared his throat.

“I- I don’t know.”

It was rare to hear that phrase from him.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s- You haven’t done anything wrong, I just-” He was stuttering, eyes directed towards some far off thing as he struggled to explain himself. “I think I’ve come to realise how much you care about me, and-”

“Guys, it’s Penelope.” JJ said sharply, peeking around the wall.

You let out a huff of frustration, storming after the blonde woman, leaving Spencer nonplussed and red in the face.

The team huddled around the table, where Morgan’s phone on speaker in the middle, playing the upbeat voice of Penelope Garcia.

“Alright my lovelies, so I have been fighting tooth and nail with these files, trying to find a link between the victims and let me just say, it would be easier to get Hotch to smile, it is difficult-”

“Garcia-” Hotch’s tone was warning.

“Sorry sir,” she quickly added. “I think I’ve found something. Weeks before Janet Burgess, the second victim, went missing, she payed a fee for a lawn service through Green City Lawn Care-”

“Isn’t that where Monique Johnson works?” Spencer piped up, frowning.

“Why indeed, boy genius, and get this, Danna Howell, the fifth victim also had her lawn mowed by the same company!” Before anyone else could interrupt, she continued. “Now, you’re probably thinking that it’s just a coincidence, but the universe is rarely so lazy, so, I dug a bit further and found out that all the victims at some point used the service in the past six months, and three of them left quite scathing reviews of the company.”

“That’s great, baby girl, but we both know you can do better,” Morgan teased.

“I was getting there, chocolate thunder-”

“Garcia-” Hotch warned, a little more impatient.

“Sorry sir, so I went through employee records and just seven months ago they hired a Tristan Murray, who has only just completed 15 years in prison.”

“What for?” Emily asked.

“I’m not-so glad you asked,” Penelope said, her cheery voice becoming more grim. “Burglary that ended with assault of the homeowner.” A rapid sound of typing was heard. “Looks like he had quite a nasty childhood, his biological mother was only 16 when she had him, and put him into the foster system. He got with the wrong crowd, spent time in and out of juvy, and oh god-”

“What?”

“Apparently he was arrested for the burglary charges when police were called to a cafe for a verbal altercation between 19 year old Tristan and his biological mother. Police reports say she came there to meet with him and he wanted to have her in his life but she didn’t, and this made him very angry.”

“Where is his mother now?” Rossi asked.

“Uh, it looks like she is still in Seattle but- oh no- she got a restraining order against him just recently.”

“That’s the trigger,” Hotch said. “Alright, Reid, L/N, Morgan, you take officers to Green City, JJ and Emily head to the mother’s place and Rossi and I’ll go to the unsub’s house.”

Green City Lawn Care was a run-of-the-mill lawn care company, nestled in a mostly suburban part of Seattle. The sky was a deep grey, not yet raining but clearly it would soon, if the rumbling thunder was any indication.

Spencer couldn’t say a word to you, his mind still reeling from your earlier confrontation. As he strapped on his bulletproof vest, he snuck a glance in your direction, and when his heart jumped at the focus in your expression, he felt yet another wave of confusion.

Following his conversation with Morgan, he’d been going over every memory of you in his mind, analysing your behaviour and he’d come to the shocking realisation that maybe his colleague was right.

The shy smiles, a kind tone reserved only for him, flinching when your hands brushed and the occasional flush to your face when you spoke to him. While Spencer knew he was blind to subtle social cues, re-examining all those behaviours were blatant indicators of at least some level of affection beyond a platonic line.

Had he only missed it because he couldn’t imagine you – or anyone, for that matter – seeing him in that light? Or was Morgan also correct about him? Had he been so caught up in watching you he hadn’t actually seen you?

Observing the way you frowned as you buckled the clips of your vest, the variety of your expressions flashed in his mind, your smile, your laugh, your pout, it all burned itself behind his eyes, causing some unknown feeling to bubble in his chest, threatening to burst free.

“Ready to go?” Morgan asked the both of you, adjusting his earpiece.

You nodded, and he turned away to check on the Seattle officers.

Spencer opened his mouth, your name on the tip of his tongue, and as you made to walk towards the building, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist.

The sky above rumbled, and a few drops of rain hit his shoulders, darkening the fabric.

“Listen, I need to-” he began, unsure of exactly how to explain his feelings, but knew he had to tell you, before it consumed him.

You stared up at him, conflict crossing your face as Morgan called the two of you. Giving him a brief smile, you gently pulled your arm from his grip.

“After, alright?” you said.

When did you become able to so easily steal the air from his lungs?

“Reid, come on.” Morgan said, frowning.

The three of you took the lead, crossing the car-park towards Green City Lawn Care as a few officers brought up the rear. Guns ready, Morgan paused outside the front door, directing some officers to go around the back, before nodding at you and then Spencer.

The door chime jingled as Morgan walked in, body tense as he directed the baffled receptionist to head outside, asking him if Murray was in.

“He- He just came by, said he was grabbing supplies-” the man babbled, pale in the face of three armed FBI agents. “What’s this about?”

“Let’s go,” Morgan ordered, ignoring his questions, taking the lead as he jumped over the counter, gun ready as he opened the door to the back supply room.

The three of you filed into a large garage, which held a few lawnmowers, and various other lawn care equipment.

“You two, take that side.”

Spencer followed as you crept around the right side of the garage. There was a clatter of something hitting the floor, before the face of a man poked up between the machinery.

“Tristan Murray?” you called out, pointing your gun at him. “We just need to talk!”

The man didn’t hesitate to bolt, and Spencer’s heartbeat thrummed faster as the two of you chased after him, Morgan a ways behind, radioing for back-up.

Running to the back door of the garage, the man dashed outside, disappearing around a corner. Without a second thought, you ran after him, and Spencer couldn’t stop himself from sprinting after to you. He could see the figure of the man darting down a side street, which lead to what appeared to be an abandoned construction site.

The rain was heavier now, blurring Spencer’s vision as he watched you slide between the gates, running straight into the site. He somewhat clumsily stumbled into the gate, pulling it open, while trying to keep you in his line of vision.

Morgan had caught up by now, the two of them squeezing through the gates into the site. It was clearly meant to be a building, but hadn’t been touched in a while. The pelting rain soaked the dull grey concrete foundation blocks as the two men squinted through the downpour.

“Where’s L/N?” Morgan shouted.

“She went after him, I-” Spencer tried to catch his breath, his lungs burning.

“Murray, this isn’t going to change anything!” Your shout caught their attention, but the following cry of pain chilled Spencer to the core.

Sprinting in the direction of the scuffle, he found Murray on top of you, a metal pipe pressing against your throat.

Before he could really process what he was doing, he grabbed Murray, pulling him off you, managing to take the man by surprise long enough for Morgan to catch up.

“I’ve got him!” he shouted, tackling the man to the ground, silver handcuffs already being clipped around his wrists.

Spencer whipped around to you. You were on your feet, muddy and a bright red streak of blood coating your right arm, running down your hand.

“Spencer, she has to be here!” you said urgently, looking around. “He ran here for a reason, this is where Monique is!”

“Where is she?” Morgan shouted at Murray, hauling him to his feet.

The man bit his tongue, angrily glowering at them all, still attempting to struggle against Morgan.

Your eyes darted from foundation block to sodden wooden pallet. And then you ran off.

“I’ve got this, go after her!” Morgan said.

Spencer was already chasing after you, as you jumped down, following the gutter down some slippery wet grass to where a large storm-water drain sat.

“She’s here!” You shouted, already pulling against the metal bars. Spencer all but stumbled down beside you.

A woman was in the drain, gripping on to the bars with all her strength, the rushing water from the pipes bubbling over her face. “Help me lift this!”

Spencer nodded, grabbing one end of the grate, and the two of you managed to lift it just enough so you could grab Monique’s shirt, dragging her out of the drain.

She was pale and barely conscious, but thankfully coughing up water. You held her shoulder as she heaved, relief clear on your face.

“Your arm-” Spencer said, heart rate slowly ticking down to a normal rhythm.

It was as if you barely noticed the wound. “I cut my arm when he tackled me,” you wheezed. “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

Something about you, covered in mud and blood, your cheeks flushed from the exertion, asking if he was okay, confirmed what he’d been questioning all along.

Despite their victory, the rain didn’t let up by much. Spencer was positive he looked ridiculous, soaked to the bone, but he didn’t care. He walked over to one of the ambulances, where an EMT was stitching up the cut to your arm. It looked pretty nasty, but without the blood dripping everywhere, it was certainly improving.

You glanced up as he approached, giving him a tired smile.

“You okay?” he said, as the EMT finished covering the wound, excusing herself.

“I’ll survive,” you replied, examining the wound. “Might get a cool scar. It’ll make me look more badass.”

Spencer chuckled. The two of you looked around at the scene, blue and red lights reflecting off the rain. Monique was being wheeled away in a stretcher.

“Hotch is going to be so mad at me,” you muttered. “I shouldn’t have gone after him alone.”

Spencer shook his head. “I’ll vouch for you. If you hadn’t, Monique would’ve drowned.”

You nodded, but your expression was bitter. “She’s about to find out her boyfriend is dead,” you mumbled. “I can’t imagine anything worse.”

Standing up, you sighed, tilting your head up as the rain soaked your clothes once more. In contrast to how calm you’d been on the tarmac, your face was melancholy.

“You were right,” you said, dejected despite the success of the case. “The rain isn’t that romantic afterall.”

Spencer looked down at you, then up at the sky. The events of the past few days replayed in his mind, and the revelations that had come with matched the steady rhythm of his heart. He reached out, almost imperceptibly, letting his hand brush against yours.

“It’s beginning to grow on me,” he said softly, glancing back down at you, his lips twitching up into a small smile. “Thanks to you,” he added, and when you linked your hand with his, he tried not to let it show how breathless the action made him.

Your smile was nothing short of beautiful.

As if sensing the troubles were passing, the rain lightened up as the team returned to the precinct to wrap up the case, and then headed to the hotel. Cases like these always seemed to drag on when you’re in the thick of them, but the moment you’re done, you swear no time has passed.

Spencer headed out of the hotel, spotting the brightly coloured umbrella you’d brought before he saw you, standing in the rain. Your go-bag was on the steps of the hotel, sheltered from the light downpour.

He walked up to you, gently tapping the fabric of the umbrella so you’d lift it up for him to duck under. “Is your arm any better?” he asked after a moment.

“It stings a bit,” you replied. “I’m fine, though.” There was something in your voice that told Spencer you weren’t.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but we did good,” he said softly. “You did good.”

“Why do people do things like this, Spencer?” you asked quietly.

“Do you want the statistics?”

You huffed a small laugh, leaning into him a bit. “Yes.”

“Humans are, and have always been a naturally violent species out of all the mammals,” he said. “Studies show that in most mammals, deaths caused by others of the same species accounts for 0.3 percent of deaths, and typically the reasons are practical; food, territory, et cetera. The rate of lethal violence in humans is almost seven times higher,” Spencer couldn’t resist gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “We kill not just for those reasons, but for seemingly insignificant or even perceived transgressions. Anger is particularly potent, and it makes us do terrible things. Combining that with an often hostile and intolerant society, it makes us predisposed to kill.”

“We’re kind of awful, aren’t we?” you said bitterly.

Spencer nodded slowly, glancing at you. “Some more than others. Some less. If its any consolation-” he hesitated for a full 30 seconds of rain before continuing. “You’re one of the least awful, in my opinion.”

He loved the way your smile grew, gradually reaching your eyes and filling his chest with warmth.

“Thanks,” you said genuinely. “For making this case a little less awful.”

“I’d like to make it not awful at all, if you’d let me.”

Your eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Wordlessly, Spencer reached up, taking the umbrella from your hand and closing it. Gently dropping it by your bag, he took your hands, leading the both of you properly out into the rain. You stared at him, and something clicked, your smile faltering in favour of a more surprised expression.

Spencer tentatively touched your cheek with one hand, fingers barely grazing the skin, as if he was scared you might shatter.

“May I?” he asked, his cheeks going pink at how his voice cracked.

Your small nod was all he needed. Spencer leaned down, his other hand drifting up to cup your jaw with more confidence as he pressed his lips to yours. He kissed with intent, he always did. He couldn’t help it, using the kiss as a way to almost press the words he wanted to say into you.

You let out a muffled squeak of surprise, tilting your head back as your hands found the slightly damp fabric of his cardigan. You kissed back, clumsy and inexperienced, but neither of you cared. The rain was chilly, you both knew you’d be uncomfortably damp for the flight home, but those were small prices to pay for a moment that Spencer realised you’d been right about.

Kissing in the rain was indeed, very romantic. It was romantic in how despite knowing that your clothes were getting wet, your hair was ruined and you were shivering slightly from the cold, all you wanted was the moment to drag on forever.

Finally, you were the first to pull back, grinning up at Spencer with bright eyes and a wide smile, cheeks flushed. You were both vaguely aware the others were watching, Emily and Morgan snickering to each other in your peripheral, but it didn’t matter.

Spencer Reid couldn’t stand the rain. His hair was hard enough to keep presentable when dry, and he knew in this moment he probably resembled a soggy cat. However, for you, he’d gladly make an exception.

thank you for reading <33

[archive-doll]

thinking about bear!price and I think gender neutral!reader.

trigger warning for breeding kink, slutty!price, and soft!dark!price who can't help himself because he wants to press his warm tongue into you, forgive him. Blood, and kidnapping. I think that's all?

Minors do not interact. Enjoy.

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

Maybe he retired. Maybe he moved from his old apartment, tired of the big city he lived in for so long, to be close to the base.

Instead, he finds an old house into a little city away from his new neighbours, where all he can see is the wilderness of the forest. It's green in all of its nuance and brown, and he can hear birds singing, and it's immediate the way his instincts ease when he steps out of his car.

He told Kyle about it over a drink, wrote a letter to his L.t. about it, called Mactavish to give him the location. He knows he's not lonely, but he needs to be alone for a while and find some sort of equilibrium between his past and what he always wished for in life.

A place where he can feel isolated. Having his own garden to tend to during the day, a river not too far where he could fish on a sunny afternoon bare chest and feet in the cold water. There is something about bee-keeping, too, because god knows the hairy man can not keep himself far away from honey to save his life.

Cliché, but in his case, true.

And maybe, as he prepares the house, late summer - early autumn, he lets himself feel the ache of being mateless. It came before, but within the military life, John didn't want to risk it. Barely allowed himself to think of it. Now he can. As he shifts over the huge nest, moving around the fur and fluffy pillows for his bad back and hurting joints, taking over the master bedroom, he can't stop thinking about it.

Someone to take care of and fuss over. Someone to love and cherish. Someone to caress and kiss in the deep cold of winter. Someone who would praise him for his numerous efforts to keep the house clean and in order and who cooked him warm and handmade dinners. Someone who would writhe and rut along his groin in the living room. Someone who would bury their face into his hairy chest as they leave wet patches along his overall, nails digging into his square shoulders. Someone who would look up at him, with tear-bright eyes and swollen lips and begging for his cock.

Someone he would love to have cubs with, huge fat babies with chubby cheeks and rolls over its cute body. Babies he would adore more than life.

He can't stop thinking about it as he gains a few pounces while autumn comes around, his hands aching for a warm figure to hold onto, nose twitching as if searching for them when he goes for one of his morning walks.

But they find him, instead. Bright smile and sweaty, with a huge bag on their back with mini jeans shorts, leaving his greedy eyes happy as they ask him for help, a bit lost in the mountains.

John gets chubby in his overalls as he helps them find their way on the map for the rest of their hike, big hand finding their shoulder in a comically modest touch, close to the delicious scent in their throat. Skin free of marks, not for long.

He invites them to eat with a soothing voice, talking them into taking a break and enjoying the view, and they can't say no; the man uses all of his manipulating skills to keep them close, just for a bit longer.

So they eat together, and they share a puff of cigar, and then when it's time for them to go, John memories their route, blood rushing as he watches his precious mate disappear between the thick trees.

His hands shake, his nostrils flare.

It's only a few minutes after that the birds chip loudly, flying away in number as a scream echoes closer to the ground. Hands digging into the mud, first fallen leaves cracking beneath shaky palms, as the grizzly dug his teeth harder into one shoe, dragging them backwards.

The blood falls over the grass, leaving little splashs of red that slide down along the ridge of the mountain, cries, and unnecessary pleading swallow by the forest.

It's just you and him now. And don't worry about a thing, baby. John will kiss it better. And don't worry, he will put you on his own feet for slow dancing. With the shape of his teeth carved into your ankle. Can barely walk on your own at first. Sweet little mate.

tiger!ghost here!

(it's my first time going public with one of my crazy thought and english is not my first language so please, have mercy on me.)

© archive-doll - all rights reserved. reposting or modifying, including translating or use on AI is not permitted. original characters are not my own, but the stories and writing are.

[art-by-jas]

would you ever consider doing a john carter fic where they like share an on-call room? like nap during their shifts together or when they're on call or something <3 if not no worries!

A/N: I'm tired and have not been able to write my brain is melted so I hope you like this <3

Carter trudges through the hospital's dimly lit corridors, fatigue weighing heavily on his shoulders. The relentless tasks and patients of tonight have exhausted him, with each hour stretching out like eternity. His mind, clouded by exhaustion, focused on his destination: the on-call room, a small sanctuary where he could escape the chaos of the emergency department, if only for a short time.

As he walks, the sterile scent of antiseptic permeates the air, mixing with the echo of distant beeping monitors. He can hear faint murmurs from medical staff discussing cases. With only a few minutes before the next wave of patients demands his attention, he decides to take advantage of this rare opportunity for a quick nap.

He approaches the door of the on-call room; he gently pushes it open. The moment he enters, a comforting wave of relief washes over him, enveloping him like a warm blanket as he takes in the darkness that fills the space. Familiar with every corner of the room, Carter expertly navigates the dimness, his body instinctively leading him straight to the bed without the need for any light.

The world outside seems to fade away. Overcome by exhaustion from the relentless demands of the day, he allows himself to simply surrender to gravity, falling onto the bed with a soft thud, as if the very act of lying down is a small victory in itself.

As soon as he flops down, he hears a voice say, "OW," and his eyes shoot open. He quickly sits up, realizing he had just landed on someone.

"Whoa, sorry! I didn't expect someone to be here!" He says, turning to look at the person he landed on. Carter looks at you and immediately recognizes you.

"Oh, it's you! I'm so sorry; I didn't realize you were in here," he apologizes, feeling relieved that he didn't hurt a stranger. "I didn't mean to disturb you; I was just trying to catch some shut-eye," he adds, smiling sheepishly.

You respond sleepily, your voice tired and groggy as you cling to Carter. "Mm, no worries, I was just dozing off too," you mumble, rubbing your face against Carter's shoulder to get comfortable. He couldn't help but smile as you clung to him.

"You're like a koala," he teases, chuckling softly. As you nuzzle into him, Carter can't help but feel a sense of warmth and closeness. He adjusts his position and puts his arm around you, pulling you closer. "Looks like you're not letting go anytime soon," he says softly, amused by your clingy behavior. You mumble into Carter's shoulder, your voice muffled as you speak.

"You're warm...this hospital is always so damn cold," you complain, nuzzling deeper into his side. Carter chuckles softly, feeling your breath tickle his skin.

"Well, I'm glad I can be your personal heater," he replies, pulling you even closer and wrapping both arms around you. He laughs softly before continuing. "Don't know how you are so cold; it's almost summer." You grumble something unintelligible in response, clearly too comfortable to form a coherent sentence. You buried your face further into the crook of his neck, seeking more warmth.

Carter can’t help but smile at your clingy behavior. He rubs your back with one hand in comforting circles, enjoying the cozy moment. As you both settle into a comfortable position, Carter lets out a yawn and speaks up.

"Good night, sweetheart," he says softly, his voice filled with exhaustion. His eyes are already starting to droop shut. You, who was still clinging to him, mumble sleepily.

"It's morning," you correct him, a hint of amusement in your tired voice. But you didn't move an inch, clearly not planning to let go of him any time soon.

MASTERLIST

[theavocadosthree]

Random Headcanons I have for Steve Rogers~

Steve Rogers is a man of habit, he has set times he does things, and like sto keep things in order to the best of his ability. His life can be chaos and *is* chaos.

He doesn’t have to set an alarm in the morning because it’s been engrained in his head since basic training to get up at exactly 05:00. That’s when they would play the horn at Camp Leigh, when he had to be up every single morning for their routine bed check and warmups.

Steve is a sucker for quiet mornings, taking time when he can, since time is all he has ever known. He has his morning ritual of blowing off steam in the morning and clearing his thoughts for the day by going on a run. The cool crisp air in the morning reminds him a little of going in the ice. It’s his way of pushing himself further on his runs, the faster he runs, the harder he pushes, the warmer he will feel and less familiar he will feel.

Sometimes he goes alone. Other times with Sam. When he goes with Sam he’s able to take his time…for the most part till he realizes how fast he’s running. Some times when he does run he forgets how fast he can go at times.

When he first started working out and running after the serum he forgot he didn’t need to carry around that old bulky inhalers they used to have back in the day. He still every once in a while will pat down his pocket before his run to see if his inhaler is there before doing any “strenuous” activity. Only to remember that he doesn’t need it anymore.

As much as Steve loves swing jazz, Marvin Gaye grew on him and had opened his music taste. He likes some soul music and doesn’t like spending tons of money on new records. Going to thrift stores confuses him at times because most of the stuff there is from between his time suspended. He will however search through the vinyl records at some antique stores when it’s most quiet and will grab whatever soul and jazz records they may have there.

Steve likes to cook and will listen to his records while either reading a book on his down time, cooking, or when he is sketching. Cooking brings him back to when his mother would care for him when he was sick, he’s tried many times to re create the chicken soup she would make for him.

going back to Steve pushing himself when he feels cold, that feeling…cold…chilly…getting goosebumps, it all brings back some harsh memories. It reminds him of the ice, how he had tried so desperately to get bucky to take his hand before he had plummeted to his “death” from the frozen abyss below the train, to the feeling of waking up still feeling a bit cold when they were defrosting him. Steve in this case will dress warm and his favorite season is summer, where he can’t feel cold. He can’t feel what still haunts him despite having his best friend back.

He likes wearing sweaters and joggers, and always bundles up during the winter time. Steve, when he first moved into the avengers tower, would piss Tony off with how high he would set the thermostat at night, though he eventually understood and that’s when he would make small quips as usual about how ‘Capsicle is gonna melt with how high the thermostat is.’

Please reblog and like to lemme know if you want more headcanons, or send me asks!

[darknessisafriend]

Hello love! Hope ur doing well. Let me start by saying that I adore ur fanfics! I've been a fan for years now, and seeing commodus trending again is so funny, but I'm here SO here for it!

Anyway, back to my original request: i wanted to ask u if u could do nr 4 on the smut promt list 2! If u could make the reader like an old friend or something, who's just visiting? I hope u get the gist. 😢

Nothing non con, just extremely smutty 😋

Thank u so much!!!

Hello dear! thank you so much for your words, goes straight to my heart <3 I'm so happy to see Commodus trending as well, he deserves it and if the first movie had come it in 2024, he would have an even bigger fanbase ahaha! anyway here's your request, I hope you will enjoy it, there is even a bit of humor in there ;)

Little reminder, request n°4 is :messy drunk sex that is then forgotten the morning after (old friend visiting or someone close to him, full consensual)

The morning after

“Brother, I haven’t seen you that eager since your ascent to the throne.” Gently teased Lucilla with a smile, putting her hand on his shoulder to make him stop pacing around. The young emperor was holding a letter between his hands.

“Lucilla, I haven’t heard from Y/N since that summer in Lanuvium 4 years ago! She is saying in her letter that she traveled and developed a business with her father in the north but now she is on her way back to Latium, to Rome!” he exclaimed joyfully, unconsciously pressing the letter to his chest, closer to his heart, his mind wandering to the moment where he would meet you again.

“When is she going to arrive?” asked Lucilla, smiling, it would distract her brother, he needed to relax and if you could bring him some moments of peace, then so be it.

“I don’t know. She could arrive before sunset, or next week…damnit.” He cursed, now getting anxious. He wanted to welcome you the best way he could, some way to impress you.

Commodus became then insufferable for days, every day on the edge, wanting things to be ready in case of your visit, hoping his welcome would please you, hoping he would still please you. You hadn’t seen each other since he had ascended to the throne, he had changed, grown…what if you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore? What if you were by displeased him now just like he had displeased the others? He lost sleep once again, spending hours looking at the horizon, or standing alert every time he heard a messenger walk through the corridors, expecting the news of your imminent arrival.

It was only days later, during a hot day, when the air was thick and unbreathable as Rome was every summer that the news came. Commodus was sitting at his desk, but he was having a hard time getting any work done, the tiredness added to the heat dampening his clothes despite the many cool baths he took; the fan waved by the slave was like a fan waving heat from a pit. No water could quench enough his thirst.

“Your highness. Someone presented herself at the entrance of the palace. She shows no invitation, but she claims to be Y/N. That you are expecting her.” The messenger spoke, giving a letter to Lucilla who read it first, smiling, before handing it to her brother.

“She is finally here. Allow her in.” Lucilla commented to the messenger. Then, she looked at her brother, his excitement growing yet he remained on his seat, quill in hand “The Empire can wait a day or two. You and I both know there is nothing urgent that needs tending.” She reassured him, gently taking away his quill.

“You are right Lucilla.” He beamed and stood up in haste “Make sure preparations are made for tonight’s party.” He requested as he left through the many corridors and halls of the place, servants struggling to keep up with his fast pace, trotting behind him.

Finally, you came into his view, escorted by your own servants. You were dressed the roman way but wore a few exotic jewels from the various areas you traveled to. Commodus marveled at the sight, he had much to ask you and much to tell as well.

“Y/N! my dearest friend!” he beamed loudly, rushing to you with open arms. Not caring of social norms once again and embracing you tightly, not allowing you to bow to him.

“Commodus! How good it is to see you!” you exclaimed, returning the hug, smiling. How much you had missed him, how much he had changed! “My apologies for not giving you a proper time of arrival…” you apologized, knowing he surely had a busy schedule.

“No need. Traveling is something hard to quantify precisely. I have been waiting for you for days and now that you are here…it was more than worth it.” He smiled, taking your hand and kissing it. “Come with me, we have much to talk about and tonight we shall celebrate our reunion!” he announced, all joyfully, leading you to your quarters and when you were ready, to the gardens.

The both of you sat for hours in the gardens where the plants and fountains brought a bit of freshness, just like seeing each other again. You told him about your travels, your business, everything you hadn’t told Commodus about. As for your friend, he confined about his ascending to the throne, his many difficulties and his hopes; how good it felt to talk so openly without judgement.

“Is cutting your hair a requirement to become emperor?” You gently teased him, your fingers trying to find a few long curls, you loved those.

Commodus blushed, giggling “It isn’t. But I do know that in this damn city, having short hair is a sign of having control over myself. If that can make the senators shut their mouths, I will keep it that way for a little while. Until I give them another reason to fuss about my reign.” He grinned. Here he was, that playful man you knew, loving to provoke, stubborn, sly.

“All I can say is that you are doing wonderfully for business. My affairs are flourishing. People are going to live and cultivate lands in the north of the empire. All thanks to the way you secured the main trade routes and borders.” You praised him with the reality you lived, you have the privilege of being able to be fully honest with him, for good and bad.

He cocked an eyebrow pleased “What is good for you is good for me then…” there was a flirty tone in his voice; something you were used to; it had always been a game between the two of you. “I could involve you even more within the affairs of the empire, you could be my hand in the north for resources…for the army and the palace…” he murmured on the tone of confidence, his eyes slowly detailing your face, he always came up with many brilliant ideas.

“If you secure me better protection for the goods I import in Rome…gladly, your highness…” you breathed, your eyes shining with interest.

“Consider it done, my lady.” He briefly bowed his head before standing, it was past sunset already. “Come, let us not make the court wait for too long. They need plenty to gossip about.” He smirked, offering his hand.

Commodus wasn’t lying when he spoke about imperial parties, full of politicians, courtesans, following your every action, detailing your outfit and judging the words that you use, gossiping behind your back. “How exhausting that must be.” You commented to your friend as you drank some wine and ate olives.

“I try not to pay attention to it. But it proves harder to do than planned.” He chuckled, saluting from afar senator Falco. “These receptions are boring anyway; we are here to celebrate our reunion. Let’s make it memorable.” He grinned, requesting for his cup and yours to be filled. “Do not retain tonight! Wine and food will be served until you can’t stand no more!” he announced, lifting his cup in the air, sign for the musicians to start playing something more inviting to partying. People cheered, instantly relaxing and letting go of social norms, thanks to their emperor’s will. Commodus leaned closer to your ear “See? They were just waiting for my signal to get lost into vice.” He whispered amused, clinking his cup to yours.

The night was filled with laughter and cheers, between the alcohol never ceasing to fill your veins, the exotic dancers making you blush, the divine food that you missed dearly, and the company of your best friend. It was perfect. He enjoyed himself as much as you did; you could tell he hadn’t relaxed in a while and tonight, in your company, he felt like he could finally let go. It was like a breath of fresh air, the wine was intoxicating, allowing Commodus to be himself, singing songs he enjoyed, pranking senators as well.

“My dear, you are sent by the gods. My light to guide my path to Elysium!” recited Commodus as he joined you on a balcony to enjoy the fresh temperatures of the night.

“Please don’t die already, life would be incredibly boring.” You laughed, taking his hand and kissing it affectionately. Commodus approached, making you lean against the edge of the balcony, his hands resting on each side of the stone, trapping you between his arms.

“If you didn’t die with me, death would be incredibly boring.” He re-used your words, giggling “We are invincible, no one can take us down. We are blessed by the gods!” he cheered loudly, spilling his wine on the ground, laughing before leaning closer to you, his forehead resting against yours. Now his warmth against your body was all you could feel.

“How come you are without a husband?” he suddenly asked, his eyes boring into yours.

“I didn’t find one worthy of it. How come you are without a wife?” you retorted, amused. You were telling the truth; you felt much better by yourself.

“I could be your wife.” he answered seriously, making you burst out laughing.

“My wife? I didn’t know you hid the body of a woman under that tunic?” you pulled on his tunic as if to lift it, making him laugh at his turn.

“I-I am not a woman. I am very much a man…I could even show you…” he flirted, he was so close, his nose brushing against yours. He licked his lips, angling his head to kiss you.

“Ah…Commodus...” you giggled, cupping his face and giving him a quick kiss, affectionate, then a few more, then letting the emperor do the same in return, the both of you lightly laughing between kisses.

“We should go elsewhere…” he suggested against your lips, his hand coming to rest on your hips.

“I agree…” you breathed, parting from him and taking his hand. The both of you passed through the crowd, most people were too drunk to notice your closeness or anyway would excuse it to a drunk state.

Commodus led you to his quarters, to his private baths, capturing your lips once again as the doors closed behind you. This time the kisses were slow, yet hungry, sloppy, intoxicating. You pressed Commodus against the wall he undressed you, his hands exploring your body, groping your butt.

“How nice to have baths constantly ready for you…” you breathed, caressing his muscly chest, the heat of the night making his skin damp.

“I love taking baths to be honest.” He giggled “Hey come back…” he protested with a pout as you parted from him, going towards the baths, mesmerized as he watched you take off your undergarments.

“Last one in the bath is a filthy barbarian!” you challenged with a grin, almost loosing your balance as you walked on the wet mosaics and jumping in the bath before Commodus, exhaling at the cool temperature of the water.

“You cheated!” he exclaimed, jumping behind you, water splashing all around as he landed in the water.

“Commodus?” you called after a few seconds, rubbing your wet eyes and looking around, where was he? Until you cried out, when someone grabbed your legs, making you choke on water, Commodus’ head emerging from the water “You idiot!” you exclaimed, splashing his face.

“I was actually drowning! it’s a bit…spinning all around me...until I found your legs.” He laughed, totally reckless. In fact, the both of you were.

“Now...back to business…” you breathed grabbing his face and pulling him for rough kiss; this time he was the one pressing you against the walls of the baths, holding himself somewhat steady. Your breast brushed against his chest as he did a motion of up and downs with his hips, rubbing his hard manhood between the lips of your slit. You parted your legs, moaning as he gave you pleasure; your hand went to bury in his dark hair, massaging his scalp slightly while your mouth went to his neck, kissing it sensually, nibbling his skin, even sucking it, finding yourself wanting to mark him.

His hands traveled from your waist to your thighs, grabbing them and lifting them to have a better hold, the both of you were panting, your breaths mixing together in this intoxicating scent of expensive wine. Commodus kept rubbing against you, his moans and water splashing repeatedly resonating in the room as his pleasure increased. He tried a few times penetrating you, but his balance was terrible and yours too, barely holding onto him. Still, you came a first time from that mutual masturbation, Commodus almost drowning in the water as his legs gave in “Stay with me…we should…go to bed…” you giggled, out of breath, supporting him to get out of the water then he pulled you out as well.

“I agree…it’s spinning too much here.” He replied, catching you as you slipped on the wet floor once again, the both of you holding hands and laughing or groaning as you kept slipping on the ground.

You walked through the corridors of the place, naked, thankfully there wasn’t much distance from his bedroom, so the only unfortunate witnesses to that scene were just a few servants. You hurried to the bedroom, collapsing on the huge bed with the emperor “How comfy…” you purred, rolling on the softest sheets you had ever laid on.

Commodus caught your waist with a chuckle, water dropping from his wet hair onto your chest as he came on top of you “It is yours now, I shall have one made for you!” he cheered, settling between your legs again but you playfully made him lose balance, and came to sit astride him.

“I will take care of you, highness.” You grinned, lifting yourself up a bit as you grabbed his dick, guiding it inside you. You bit your lower in pleasure, giggling as Commodus moaned, rejecting his head back, his hands gripped you hips when you lowered yourself onto him, your hands resting on his pectorals to support your weak balance as you started rolling your hips.

“Oh yes…feels so good!” he grunted, his eyes half closed as he watched your tits bounce. The bed was creaking a bit, your ride was not gentle, it was messy, raw, the only objective was to reach climax before one of you passed out or threw up. “Faster…faster please…I’m almost…!” whimpered your partner; drunk sex was the shortest in terms of stamina, especially that the two of you had been aroused for a while already.

After a short while, you rolled over, a little bit too quick, feeling Commodus’ seed drip between your thighs, you groaned at the sticky sensation, but the room was spinning too much around you to care to clean up. Your lover of the night crawled to your side, hugging you tight as he rests his face on your breast, both of you breathless, your eyes becoming heavy. Yet it was hard to sleep with such dizziness.

“Commodus? Are you asleep yet?” you asked after a while, turning over to face him.

“Hmmmm no…what…?” he asked sleepily, he fact he was struggling not to fall asleep. You caressed his cheek, then took his hand, guiding it to your butt.

“We should totally try from behind.” You whispered, which had the instant effect of waking him up. The more time passed the more the two of you were getting messier, clumsier and uncontrollable.

The morning after…

“ACHOO!” you sneezed loudly, the action waking you up. But the moment you opened your eyes, the light gave you a bloody headache. You groaned, putting a hand over your eyes to shield them and shivering a bit, did it rain last night? You wondered about the humidity of your hair and sheets.

Then, you felt it, an arm tightening around your waist, pulling your naked body closer to a muscular chest. You froze, did you have sex last night!? With whom…oh you praised the gods it wasn’t some old senator. So, you turned around to face your bed companion, blinking a few times to get adjusted to the light.

“Commodus?” you exclaimed in surprise, lifting the sheets, the both of you were indeed naked!

“It’s cold damnit…!” he exclaimed, opening his eyes with difficulty and landing onto your flustered face and…naked body, why were you naked?  “Oh…how did we…?” he asked, the sheets were wet, he noticed your knees were bruised, making you wince as he passed his fingers over it, then noticed dried white flakes on your inner thighs. He turned red, looking around, there were no men here except himself, he had done this to you!

“I guess…we drank more than we thought…argh my butt hurts.” You muttered, not really daring to look him in the eyes either, wondering what had led to this, no, why the room was such in a terrible state and why you didn’t remember a thing.

“From what I see it makes sense that it hurts if we... Now why do I have bruised hips and why does my butt hurt too?” he exclaimed confused, until your eyes met his, realization hitting you both. “Oh.” You pinched your lips, trying to contain the laugh that was building in your chest until you couldn’t retain it anymore, bursting out laughing “Y/N! It is not funny! It’s…” protested Commodus, flustered his cheeks red before softening a little bit at the sound of your laughter, seeing you smile, not angry or disappointed. “I... admit it is perhaps amusing.” He smiled shyly before chuckling, opening his arms to let you snuggle against him. No matter what happened during that night, a one-time thing or perhaps the start of something regular…he didn’t regret any of it and neither did you.

Tag list: @skaravile @lyoongx @weirdflecksbutok @charlie-sisters @stardancerluv @sgtsavoytruffle @ohcarlesmycarles @rajacero @niniitah-ah @morrisonmercurryphoenix @fly-like-a-phoenix @thatdummy-girl​r @galos-writing @pstvchld @chiclunatic @hopelessdisasterr @buttergirlie​ @rosebloodstuffandthangss​ @clowndaddyfleck​ @jaylovesbats @dreamingmaria​ @just-a-fucking-comedy​ @lady-carnivals-stuff​ @sierraclegane​​ @lemondedeniname​​ @hvproductions​​ @syvellsworld​​ @papercut-paranoia​​ @jokerflecker​​ ​ @bring-your-holy-water @five-miles-over​ @beatlebabe1996​ @kfanniart @soulsfrostedheart18 @mayflower-gal @creativestorylove

[cottonlemonade]

hii! may i please order a medium pineapple lemonade with extra ice for suna? your work is always so wonderful 🥹🌸

Accidental Confession

word count: 1317 || avg. reading time: 6 mins.

pairing: rival!Suna x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff with some suggestiveness, enemies to lovers

warnings: mdni

request: fluffy-spicy accidental confession with rival Suna

It all started with a meme. If Suna hadn’t taken that picture of you stretching during class and added a little Simba into your hands, you wouldn’t have photoshopped his face onto a mop.

To be fair, his was harmless. Yours was downright rude and so he fell in love immediately.

He followed you around - not as inconspicuously as he might have hoped - to sneak a photo in the most meme worthy moments, flooding his camera roll with dozens and eventually hundreds of snapshots of you. The whole front of a silly little meme war was a great excuse to mask his steadily growing crush and his friends didn’t think anything of it when Suna set a picture of you mid-sneeze as his lock screen. Granted, he himself was still very much in denial about his feelings as well, so it wasn’t that difficult to pretend that he wasn’t bothered when you talked to an upperclassman and laughed loudly at his, undoubtedly, mediocre joke - although Suna did sweep his pencil case off his desk in an attempt to wave Osamu off when he asked if he was okay.

The class groaned when the teacher announced that for the impending field trip they’d be split into teams of two via random lottery. Half the students got assigned a number while the other half drew a little piece of paper from a box held out to them to match with said number. Quiet cheers and not so quiet disappointment could be heard and the teacher called for silence.

Annoyed that he didn’t even get the minuscule chance to work with him, Suna leaned over to Osamu, “Who do you have?” His friend unfolded his paper and turned it over to read.

“5. That’s…”, he craned his neck to check and count, “Y/n, ya?”

“Switch with me.”, Suna said.

“Why? Who do ya have?”

“Don’t care. Come on.”

Osamu frowned and raised an almost disappointed brow.

“What happened to ya, dude? Ya know, yer bein’ real obvious at this point, right?”

Suna rejected the allegations, waited a moment, then simply exchanged his slip of paper with Osamu’s.

“Ya owe me.”, Osamu noted.

“Yeah yeah.”

Meanwhile, you seemed less thrilled about the match and when the bell rang you threw an annoyed look at Suna who gave you a blank stared wave and went to lunch with your friends. He was a very unfortunate long-term crush you had nursed since the beginning of the year and was as handsome as he was annoying. In spite of this, you had a great time complaining about your matched partners over your bentos while enjoying the mellowing summer sun under the shade of a tree.

When the next morning arrived, Suna made sure to be only two minutes late instead of his usual 15, so he could secure the spot next to you on the long drive to Kobe. The class would be headed to the big art museum in the city and as an assignment got a list of 15 art pieces they had to find, like a scavenger hunt. The first team to get a picture from each of their art works would get to choose where to go for lunch.

With a sigh you dropped in the seat next to him, frowning at his sleepy grin. When you only scoffed and looked away, his heart started pounding and he had no idea why. And this wasn‘t a “oh Suna, you‘re just in love, silly“ kinda pounding. No! This was more similar to that one time when he went out for coffee with his friends and instead of admitting that he wanted his favorite - a sickeningly sweet vanilla latte with extra syrup pumps - he ordered an iced Americano with a triple shot because he thought it sounded cool and for hours it had felt as if a tiny panicked bird was trapped in his chest. In short, he concluded, you were not good for his health.

“Alright.”, you said once you turned to him. You stood in the entrance together with the rest of the class, holding the reference paper in hand listing the artwork, “I’ll take the top 8, you take the bottom 7.”

He bit back a comment about how there was nothing “bottom” about him, but one look from you and he was quiet. That icy stare of disdain made him want to do the cooking and the cleaning and ask how your day had been while he finished up the ironing. “Let’s do this.”, he replied and nearly whimpered when you rolled your eyes at him.

With some quick online searching, the artwork was quickly found and the pictures taken. To keep up appearances he snapped a few pics in between of the NPCs in baroque paintings with increasingly weird facial expressions, fully intending to ask, “This you?” the next time he saw you. He could also airdrop them during class and looked forward to receiving a less than flattering emoji or thumbs down.

But now he had a different objective. Excited at the prospect of finally having an excuse to get your number, he jogged through the museum to your previously agreed upon meeting spot, finding you seated and waiting for him on a bench. You were scribbling on a notepad precariously balanced on your knees. He snuck up behind you, leaned in close to your ear and in a low calm voice went, “Boo.”

The yelp you let out had museum goers turn to you and a man with a lanyard, who was guiding a tour, threw an exasperated sigh in your direction.

“You better sleep with one eye open.”, you pressed out through gritted teeth, a deep red tint on your cheeks.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”, he said simply and in one smooth movement sat down next to you.

“So, how do you wanna do this?”, he then asked casually, waiting for you to say the words.

“Just airdrop them to me.”, you frowned.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Luckily his deflated shoulders were masked by his chronically bad posture and he quickly selected the necessary pictures.

Your phone gave a little buzz and you accepted the stack. “That’s all. You’re excused. Go off and do… whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I can stay and help, you know? I skimmed some of the plackets.”

“What great work ethic.”, you deadpanned but moved your notepad closer to him so he could see.

With your other hand you swiped through the photos, double checking if you had everything.

He was too busy catching a whiff of your shampoo to notice you furrowing your brow.

“Uhm, Suna.”

You turned your phone screen to him and the blood drained from his face.

It was a picture of you - of course, what else could it have been. You were absently staring out the window in the classroom, your hair a little messy from a regular day of fending for your life in high school. Your chin rested on your palm and the sun shone beautifully against your face. He knew the picture well, because just last night when he couldn’t sleep, he edited it. Black and white hearts bordered the snapshot, a slightly blurry filter gave it a dreamlike feel. He gagged when he saw just how mushy he must have felt to add words around your head. Pookie. Baddie. Loml. My Bbg.

“What kind of prank is this?”, you asked, suspicion clinging to every syllable.

Suna thought.

Telling you that this picture was born out of post-nut hormones would only lead to a somewhat compromising confession that he fondled and humped his body pillow thinking of you, having no problem at all imagining your so very tempting love handles spilling between his fingers.

“Would you believe me if I told you my dog took my phone?“

You stared at him for a moment, then broke into giggles.

a/n: thank you so much for continuing to participate in my events! I’m so happy when someone comes back for more 🥺 I hope you enjoyed this one! 🌟

And once again thank you to @haikyu-mp4 for letting me surf her brain through the storm ✨

[semisgroupie]

summer memories

camp counselor!sae itoshi x camp counselor!fem. reader

wc: 1.8k

warnings: unprotected sex, creampie, fingering (f!receiving), anal fingering (f!receiving), oral sex (f!receiving), rimming (f!receiving), sae is an ass man to me (sorrynotsorry), spit, having sex in someone else’s bed, one spank

synopsis: an empty campsite, two horny counselors, what do you think will happen?

a/n: this is my contribution to the help wanted! collab hosted by @interstellar-inn

You didn’t know what to expect when you first got the job this summer. A camp counselor at a sleep away camp, you were nervous about what was going to happen, you were nervous about your skills with children but soon you learned that all your worries were for nothing. The campers that were assigned to you were absolute angels, they loved you endlessly. The other counselors weren’t stuck up like you thought them to be, they welcomed you in and you loved hanging out with them.

Especially one fellow counselor in particular, Sae Itoshi. His bright cerulean eyes always lit up whenever he was with his campers and the way his fiery hair stuck to his forehead whenever he was outside for long periods of time made you an obvious admirer. Luckily for you, he felt the same way and made it just as known.

Sometimes when the campers were fast asleep, you’d meet him near the dock and spend the time talking but as of late it has escalated to kissing and heavy petting. But it would always get interrupted, the camp director always seemed to come out for a smoke in front of her cabin late at night. Luckily, you two never got caught fraternizing but it was definitely a major mood killer.

It was the night before the camp was holding its final big event. During the day everyone would have to load onto buses to go into town to go shopping for treats and little decorations but Sae had other plans for you two. You were seated on his lap, both of your lips swollen from kissing and his hands were firmly placed on your hips. “I have a plan for us to be all alone here for a few hours while everyone is out. I’ll need you to fake being sick.” His thumbs rubbed small circles on the exposed skin under your shirt and your eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“When you’re sick, you can’t join everyone on the trip and you’ll need another counselor to stay behind with you. Just in case there’s some crazed psychopath roaming around the woods,” he joked and leaned in to peck your lips. “But, whenever someone can’t go on the outing someone will have to stay behind. It’s kind of like a buddy system. I already spoke to Hana and Ryusei and they’ll take care of our campers during the outing. So in the morning, you’ll go to the nurse’s cabin, pretend you’re really sick and he’ll have to tell Director Pain-in-my-ass about your illness. Then she’ll come in to see who you want to stay with, you’ll choose me, and then we’ll have the whole camp to ourselves.”

You chewed on your bottom lip as he laid out the plan for you and you nodded slowly. “How many times have you done this?” You joke and he shakes his head, “I’ve seen Oliver do it almost every year, I’ve learned everything from him.” You nod and he captures your lips once more, only pulling away when you hear the obnoxiously loud creak of the camp director’s cabin door opening.

When the next day approaches, you carry on with the plan and it works without fail. Your little campers run to give you a hug and exclaim how they’ll pick out your favorite treats and how they’ll miss you. You and Sae stand at the entrance to the camp and wave as the buses leave the campsite then after a few minutes he grabs your hand and leads you to the director’s cabin. Your eyes widen and you tug on his hand, “Sae! Why there?” He smirks and shrugs as he pulls you again, “well there is a single bed in there that looks really comfortable and there’s more space. Plus, just in case you forgot, we are alone so we can go wherever we want.” He looks into your eyes to gauge your reaction and leans in, pecking your lips. “It’ll be fun but if you don’t want to go there, we can find somewhere else to go.” You think about it for a moment and nod before leaning in to peck his lips again. “Let’s go.”

He pulls you into the cabin and pulls you close to him to capture your lips with his. He kicks the door shut behind you both as you blindly walk to the bed, only stopping when the back of your knees hit the mattress. “I’m gonna treat you so well.” He lightly pushes you back onto the bed and straddles your hips as he leans down to kiss you again, hungrily pressing his lips against yours. His hands move along your body, slipping under your shirt and his fingers ghost along your bra. He breaks the kiss and reaches down to pull your shirt off of you and tosses it aside then leans in to kiss down your chest. He pulls down the cups of your bra to reveal your nipples and takes one into his mouth while his fingers toy with your other one. He trails wet, open mouthed kisses along your chest to go to your other nipple and gives it the same treatment. He keeps his eyes on you and he releases your nipple then moves down your body.

“Sae, please, I need you. I don’t want to wait.” He chuckles against your skin and his lithe fingers move to undo the button for your shorts and lifts his head slightly. “There’s no need to rush. I want you to be ready for me.” He pulls your shorts and panties down and groans as he sees your wet pussy. “Shit, baby, you’re just soaked for me.” He bites his lip as his cock throbs, he wants nothing more than to just plunge into you but he’s not an animal.

“Go on all fours for me.” He groans out as he pulls his shirt off, revealing his toned abs then goes to take off his own shorts and briefs. You nod and get into position, arching your back as you sway your ass for him. He licks his lips and leans down behind you, getting the perfect view of both of your aching holes. “You have the prettiest pussy and asshole. I don’t know which one I want to taste first.” He leans in closer and sticks out his tongue, pressing the wet muscle against your clit then moves up to your entrance and dips his tongue inside then makes his way higher to your puckered asshole. He groans as he presses his thumb to your clit and works his tongue around your hole. You gasp and moan as he works his tongue along both of your holes, going into his own world of pleasure. “Sae, give me more.” You whine as you press your cheek against the sheets to try to look back at him. He pulls back and spits on your pussy then plunges two fingers into you while he brings his tongue back to your asshole. He curls his fingers to press against your g spot as he pushes his tongue into your ass, groaning as his cock leaks precum onto the bed.

Your hands go to grip the sheets as you writhe on the bed, getting closer and closer to your orgasm. “Sae, don’t stop please. I’m so close.” You moan out and he pulls away, panting as he looks at you. “Sorry baby, I only want you cumming on my cock. Once this whole camp season is done, then I’ll make you cum however you want.” He pulls his fingers out of you and spreads you open as he leans down to spit on your pussy, he grips his cock with one hand and strokes it as he moves the tip to your leaking entrance. He bites his bottom lip as he pushes into you, throwing his head back as you squeeze and clench around his cock. “You’ve got the tightest pussy.” He brings a hand down to spank you as he pushes into you more, stretching you out with each inch. His breath hitches as he bottoms out and he starts thrusting.

You grip the sheets tighter and cry out his name as the bed creaks with each movement. He moves his hands to your ass to spread you open, watching how his cock stretches you out then looks at your puckered hole, winking at him each time he bottoms out. He drops his head and lets a glob of spit travel from his lips to your hole, watching as it travels down to his cock pistoning in and out of your pussy. He moves one of his thumbs as presses it against your hole and slowly starts to push it into you. “Fuck, if only we had more time. I’d spend the whole day claiming all of your holes properly.” He groans out and starts thrusting his thumb in and out in time with his cock in your pussy. The feeling of both of your holes being used drives you closer and closer to the edge. The orgasm that you were denied earlier comes back in full force, ripping through you as he starts thrusting faster. “Cumming! Sae! Sae!” You cry out and bite down on one of the pillows to muffle yourself as he continues to thrust his cock and thumb in and out of you.

“Me too baby, I’m cumming too.” He groans out as he pushes his thumb into you and slams his hips against yours, keeping himself pressed against you as his cock twitches inside of you. Thick ropes of his cum coating you completely. He slowly pulls his thumb out of you then pulls his cock out of you before laying down beside you. He pulls you close to his chest and pants as he rubs your back. You rest your chin on his chest as you look up at him and caress his cheek, “that was amazing, definitely worth the wait.” He chuckles and leans in to peck your lips nodding, “oh yeah, all those nights where I had to go jerk off in the showers thinking about you was nothing compared to the real thing.”

You close your eyes for a moment before you hear the sound of tires on gravel, making both of you jump up and quickly dress. You both run out of the cabin and you smooth out your clothes as you wait with Sae, watching as the buses pull in with the campers. Everyone leaves the bus and the camp director approaches you and Sae with a raised brow, “you look better, Miss Y/N, almost like you’re glowing.” You nod and smile, “yes, I just needed a long nap and thanks to Sae’s help, I feel brand new.” She nods and walks past you both then once she’s out of view, you lean to Sae. “Please tell me you fixed the sheets.” His eyes widen as he looks at you, “I thought you did! We’re so fucked.”

Thankfully, it was the last full night of the camp season so you two wouldn’t be kicked out but it was definitely a night filled with glares and mutters from the camp director.

taglist: @litepowee @satmitsuplanet @bluelock4life @suyacho @tojjist @interstellar-inn @pixelcafe-network

[cosmicdahlias]

Picture You

MINORS DNI

You’re snowed in at your research partner’s place! All other rooms are occupied so he offers to let you sleep in his room. You’ve harbored a crush on him for some time so just being alone in his room is enough to excite you, leaving you unable to resist touching yourself.

warnings: HUGE age gap (reader is in their 20’s), masturbation, p in v, mild mdom/fsub, creampie

this is loosely based off of chappell roan’s “picture you”. the second i realized what it was about i was ✨inspired✨

You had been Stanford Pines’ research partner for a year and some change, although the actual amount of time you had spent in his company was only a little less than six months. Not long into working with him, he left to sail the open seas and travel the world with his brother, Stanley.

You stayed back, working in the lab and cataloging their findings on your computer. Your skills with technology complimented his total inept ability for anything made post-1982. He would call you- from the phone you painstakingly convinced him to get- excitedly sharing the news of his and Stan’s latest discoveries.

You weren’t totally by yourself during this period. You were once Stan’s employee before becoming Ford’s assistant, so when you ventured upstairs you had the company of your former coworkers. Wendy, an incredibly laid back teenager with a habit for shirking work, and Soos, previous handyman turned Mystery Shack owner. There was also Soos’s girlfriend, Melody, and his abuelita who would hand you home baked goods practically every morning as you walked in the front door.

Still, you missed Ford’s presence dearly. You secretly looked forward to his phone calls and eagerly awaited his return. Ever since you had met Ford two summers ago you were madly in love with him. Hell, before you even met you were drawn to him. Dipper would lend you journal 3 during your breaks when you were still working at the Mystery Shack. You read every page over and over, wondering who the author could be and what they looked like.

You watched Ford walk through the portal, shocked to discover that the Stanford Pines you thought was your boss had actually been impersonating the true Stanford, his twin and author of the journals. As he removed his goggles and hood you felt your face flush. Of all the ways you’d imagined the author to look, a silver fox was not one of them.

What should’ve been a happy reunion between brothers quickly turned into an altercation, interrupted by Mabel’s demand for answers as to just “what the heck” was going on. Ford, who had been distracted by his contempt for Stan, took notice of the other four in the basement: Dipper, Mabel, Soos, and you.

He looked everyone over, but when he reached you his gaze froze, a slight pink dusting his cheeks. He pulled out his journal, writing something down and every so often looking at you before stuffing it back in his trench coat pocket.

Between a lengthy backstory told by both brothers and an interruption by government agents, there wasn’t much room for introductions. After some quick thinking by both Dipper and Ford to use the memory gun to erase the agents’ memories of raiding the shack, Stan insisted you and Soos head home.

The following day you worked with Soos and Wendy to repair the damage of temporary gravitational insanity, when Ford ascended the stairs. He walked towards you, the same shade of pink returning to his cheeks when you met his gaze.

“I don’t believe I had the chance to properly introduce myself yesterday. I’m sure you remember my name, but just in case, I’m Stanford. Though please, call me Ford.”

“And you can call me y/n. So… you’re the mysterious author?”

He raised his eyebrows in genuine surprise.

“Wait, you’ve read my journals?”

“Only the third one, your nephew would let me read it every now and then.”

He gave a small smile. “I’m so flattered to know you take an interest in my work.”

“Are you kidding? You make this hick town actually interesting, a place worth living in!”

You and Ford had a pleasant conversation, discussing the various creatures of Gravity Falls at length. Eventually he excused himself, insisting his work must be attended to, but that he would be happy to have future discussions of the same nature. You went to return yourself to your own tasks when you heard a gravely laugh behind you. You turned to see Stan leaning against the doorframe. Had he been there the whole time?

“Heh, I don’t think I’ve ever seen sixer so interested in someone before. Hell, I’ve never seen YOU so into a guy and men practically flock to you.”

You gave a small laugh. “I think he was just happy to meet someone interested in his research.”

“Oh please, that’s all it takes. Just stroke his ego and he’s yours.”

“Oh no, I’m not-“

“Look, I know I’m a catch and he shares my good looks, so I get it. It’s hard to resist a face like ours and you’re a total nerd so clearly you were gonna fall for him.”

You went beet red. “No, seriously it’s not like that at all.”

He cackled. “Oh really? Cause your face ain’t hiding a thing, kid.”

Throughout the week, Ford would often come upstairs to continue your talks of creatures and cryptids. The second he left the room, Stan couldn’t resist winking and making an obnoxious sex gesture with his fingers.

Another day had passed and Ford once again approached you. You assumed to discuss the plaidypus or something, but instead he offered you a proposition.

“So, y/n, I’ve been mulling it over and I think I could use an assistant. Would you be interested?”

“I thought you told Dipper you wanted to work alone.”

“Because he’s just a child. You’re an adult and I believe you’re fully capable of handling the dark and dangerous side of Gravity Falls. Besides, I’m getting far too old to do this sort of thing myself.”

Ford seeing you as someone worth working alongside with felt like something to be proud of. From your interactions you sensed he didn’t trust easily. You were eager to accept when you remembered your obligations.

“I’d love to, but… I have to discuss it with Stan first. It’d be shitty to just quit on him without warning.”

He seemed to bristle at the mention of his brother, but was willing to put his feelings aside for you.

“I completely understand.”

Later that evening as your shift ended you turned to Stan.

“Hey, so listen, Ford asked me to work as his assistant. I know you guys have a touchy history, but I-“

He waved a hand. “It’s fine, kid. I figured this was coming. Me and him might not get along anymore, but I still want what’s best for him. Go for it. And hey, if you do hook up, just promise you’ll name the kid after me!” He winked.

Over a year had passed, the holiday season was well under way. Dipper and Mabel were staying over for the winter break, having just arrived the day before. You were busy with research in the lab when a startling EAS alarm blared from your phone. You picked it up, reading the notification.

“EMERGENCY ALERT

Dec. 16, 9:46 PM

Severe Blizzard Warning until Dec 17, 10 AM. Unsafe road conditions expected. Avoid travel.”

“Shit.” You groaned.

“What is it?” Ford asked.

“Looks like we’re in for a snowstorm. I’m gonna head upstairs and see if I can still get out of here.”

You ascended the staircase and poked your head out the front door only to be greeted with a massive blanket of snow and thick flakes falling in droves. The lower half of your car was completely buried, tires no longer visible. Welp, you were stuck.

Normally this would’ve been less than ideal, but as you stared out at the enormous layer of freshly fallen snow you couldn’t help the feeling of your heart pounding excitedly at your chest. Possibilities swarmed in your head of what could happen while spending a night with Ford. You turned to head back downstairs when the telltale high pitched voice of Mabel piped up.

“Did you see all the snow? Hey, how are you gonna get home?”

“They’re probably not Mabel, it’d be suicide heading out in this weather.” Dipper said, nose buried in a book.

“Ooooo, we should have a sleepover! We could stay up doing each other’s makeup, painting our nails, watching holiday movi- WAIT WAIT WAAAAAAIT!!! This could be your chance! You could finally tell Grunkle Ford how you feel!” Mabel beamed up at you, face alight with excitement.

“How did you- I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You lied.

“Pfft, yeah you do! I found your love letter to him in the trash! It was soooo romantic, I don’t get why you threw it out.” Mabel said.

“Hey! That was private!” You scolded.

“Don’t worry, she did that to me too.” Dipper sighed.

“Either way, I know there’s something between you two! Nothing like a little snowstorm as the perfect nudge to make sparks fly.” Mabel said, playfully elbowing you at the word “nudge”.

You shook your head and trudged down the stairs. Ford studied your face, trying to determine the situation by your expression.

“How is it?” He inquired.

“Not good, there’s no way I can drive in this weather.” You huffed, feigning disappointment.

“Ah, I see. Well, the house is rather full at the moment, so there’s not a spare room. The only thing I can think of is the living room recliner, but I wouldn’t exactly recommend it. It’s not really designed for sleeping.”

He paused, looking nervous before offering his suggestion.

“I suppose you could… stay in my room. I finally added a proper bed, so I can take the couch. I- if you don’t mind, I don’t want to impose.”

Your heart did a backflip.

“I’m okay with that.” You said, doing your best to act calm.

After about an hour and a half of work you finally felt yourself getting tired. You yawned, struggling to keep your eyes open. Ford noticed immediately.

“Ready to call it a night?” He asked.

“Nnnmn, yeah I suppose.” You mumbled sleepily.

“Alright, I’ll show you to my room.”

He led you up the stairs and down the hall, opening the door. A long red couch, a queen bed, and a stained glass window were the main points of interest.

“As I previously stated, the bed is yours.” He said, gesturing towards it.

You sat on the bed.

“Thanks for this, Ford.”

He gave a small chuckle. “Well, I’m not about to let you brave a storm like that. You’re my favorite assistant and far too important for me to lose.”

You blushed at the idea of being “important” to him and his “favorite”.

“Aren’t I your only assistant?” You ribbed.

He laughed softly. “Fair enough.”

He looked down at you and his face gave the impression that he wanted to say something important.

“Y/n, I-“ He paused, stopping himself.

“Yeah?”

He shook his head. “Never mind… Okay then, I’ll let you get some slee- oh wait a minute, you don’t have any clothes to sleep in, do you?”

You shook your head.

“I figured as much. I can’t imagine being in jeans all night would be comfortable. Let me see what I can do.”

He rummaged around in his dresser, pulling out an old BMU t-shirt and forest green running shorts.

“I haven’t touched these since college. They’ll be a bit big on you, but hopefully they should suffice.” He said, handing them to you.

“Alright, well, I’m going to finish up things in the lab for another hour or so. Let me know if you need anything.” He said, closing the door behind him.

You took off your clothes and bra, putting on the shirt and shorts and looking at yourself in the mirror. Wearing his clothes was way more arousing than it should be. You laid back on the bed, sighing. Every second you spent with Ford was akin to torture. You wanted him- needed him so bad. He was nearly 40 years your senior, but you always fancied older men. Something about that salt and pepper hair and having more experience than men your age was incredibly appealing to you.

Given Ford’s years in other dimensions you would’ve thought that the latter wasn’t the case for him. However, he had admitted to you after a liberal amount of drinks the night he came home from traveling the world that he hadn’t been entirely alone in those three decades. He ended his statement mumbling in embarrassment that he had still never been with another human.

Your mind was flooded with thoughts of all 12 of Ford’s fingers on you, him eating you out, and fucking you in every position known to man, some only known in other dimensions. You slipped your hand underneath the shorts and your panties. You gathered the wetness from between the lips of your pussy on your finger and dragged it up to stroke your already throbbing clit. It wouldn’t take you long, just touching yourself in his room heavy with the scent of him was turning you on so much. God, how you loved his scent, you would find any excuse to be close to him just to take it in.

You were close, you rubbed yourself furiously as you felt yourself just about to tip over the edge. You pulled the shirt up, squeezing one of your breasts. At that exact moment the door swung open, Ford stood in the doorway.

“Sorry, y/n, I forgot to- oh my.”

You moaned softly, too caught up in your own pleasure to hear his baritone voice.

“Oh god, Ford.” You whimpered.

Ford turned as red as his sweater and gave an incredibly audible clearing of his throat. Your eyes opened, you gasped as you met Ford’s gaze. You quickly snapped your hand up and pulled the shirt down to cover your breasts.

“AH! NO WAIT! IT- IT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE!” You squeaked.

He stared at you in silence for a few seconds before speaking.

“Were you… moaning my name?”

You looked away, your embarrassment making you want to spontaneously combust. There was no way of talking yourself out of this one.

You blurted out an apology. “I’m so sorry! I seriously thought you weren’t coming in here for an hour!“

“No, no, it’s okay. You just surprised me. I wasn’t expecting this, not from someone as young and as gorgeous as you.” He said.

He shut the door behind him and crossed the room to stand next to you. You looked up at him.

“Y- you think I’m-“

He took your face in his hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“Gorgeous? Of course I do, anyone with eyes can see that. When I first saw you that day after finally coming back to our dimension you were such a sight for sore eyes.”

“Ford, I- you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hear you say something like that.”

“And you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to have you in my bed like this.”

“You wouldn’t believe half of the things I’ve done picturing you.”

He chuckled. “I think I have a pretty good idea.”

He leaned in, kissing you deeply. His hand traveled underneath the shorts to your wetness.

“Oh stars, you were close to orgasming when I walked in, weren’t you?”

You nodded sheepishly.

“Well then,” he purred “don’t stop on my account.”

He removed his hand from you, shrugging his trench coat off his shoulders and pulling his sweater over his head. He loosened his belt and unzipped his pants, sliding them off of his legs and letting them fall to the floor. His boxers barely contained his hardened cock, you could see a glimpse of it through the slit. He slid them off and they joined his pants on the floor. You bit your lip, he noticed you staring.

“D- do you like it? I’ve never been with a human, so I have no idea if it’s satisfactory.”

You laughed. “Oh I think you’ll be more than satisfactory.”

He leaned down again to kiss you.

“Let me see you, all of you.” He cooed.

You sat up and lifted the vintage shirt off of you, he eyed you in pure hunger.

“My goodness, your breasts are perfect.”

You laid back and hooked your thumbs in both the waistband of the shorts and your panties, sliding them off. Ford got onto the bed. The sight of your dripping pussy was too much to stop himself, came in close dragged his tongue along your wetness.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist, I had to taste you. God, your scent and taste are incredible, just the pure essence of sex.”

He moved to sit on his knees at the foot of the bed.

“Now, sweet girl, pick up where you left off.” He said.

You didn’t need to be told twice, returning your hand between your thighs.

“Good girl.”

“Fuck, I love being called that.” You whimpered.

He chuckled. “I always suspected you had a thing for praise.”

His hand found his cock and he began to stroke himself to you. If being in Ford’s room was enough to make you cum fast, him touching himself to you was going to do you over in half the time. You worked your fingers quickly, electricity pulsing through you. Ford watched intently.

“Are you close, princess? Already?”

“Mmmnn, I can’t help it with you watching me and stroking your huge cock like that.” You moaned.

He blushed a deep scarlet.

“H- huge?”

“Massive. Like I said, more than satisfactory.” You smirked.

Your breathing quickened, your body shook, your moans became louder.

“Good girl, that’s it. Cum for me.” He coaxed.

Your head sunk into the pillow as you came hard, moaning and swearing like a sailor. Ford watched you intently.

“God I’ve wanted to see you like this for so long, you look so perfect in a post-orgasm glow.”

Ford got on top of you, kissing you passionately.

“Ready?” He said softly.

“Please.” You begged.

He slowly slipped himself inside you, you winced and moaned at the sensation of his thick cock.

“Are you alright? You’re squeezing me so hard.” Ford asked.

“Y- yeah, just give me second to adjust.”

He kissed you and gave you time to ease up around him.

“Dear moses, even when you’re relaxed you’re still so tight. I’m going to start moving, tell me if it feels like too much. Okay?”

You nodded and he began to thrust softly.

“Oh god, human pussy feels incredible, y- you feel incredible.” He moaned.

“Ever since you told me you’d never been with a human I wanted so badly to change that.”

“I longed to have you as my first, but I never imagined it would happen. I thought it would be nothing more than a foolish pipe dream of an equally foolish old man. I’ve always been incredibly attracted to you, not simply for your beauty, but because you compliment me so well. We make a good team. I would trade all of the stars in the known universe and beyond for just a second of being in your presence. Out of all the creatures I have seen, you are by far the most enchanting, the most captivating.”

“Ugh, how am I supposed to top you saying something as beautifully Shakespearean as that?” You huffed.

“It’s alright, just the feeling of being inside you is far more poetic than anything I’ve ever read.”

You laced your fingers in his hair and pulled him into a kiss. He sat on his knees, lifting up your hips and putting a pillow under your ass, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

“What’s the pillow for?”

“It’ll increase pleasure to the Gräfenberg spot.”

“The what?”

He chuckled. “The g-spot, love. Here, this will only make things better.”

He slipped a hand between your thighs, stroking your clit. He began to move again, holy fuck he was right, this felt amazing.

“Ohhhh jesus, Ford.”

“Yes that’s it, your pleasure is all I want.”

His free hand found your waist, gripping it.

“H- harder, please.” You whimpered.

“You have to earn it. Beg for me.”

“P- please fuck me harder, sir. Make me cum all over you. I need it, I need it so badly.”

“Sir? That’s my good girl, how could I not oblige?”

His grip on your waist tightened and he began to move himself at a blinding pace. The bed creaked and shook, the headboard slamming against the wall. You tightened around him.

“God, you’re getting so wet and tight. Are you close?”

“Uh huh.” You panted.

“I’m getting there too. I’m going to let you cum, but you have to promise that you’ll cum with me. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So obedient, such behavior needs to be rewarded.”

His fingers began to move as fast as his thrusts.

“I’m going to cum, sweet girl. Will you let me cum inside you?”

You nodded.

“Use your words, princess.”

“P- please.”

He stopped.

“Please, what?”

“Please, sir.”

“Good girl.”

He resumed his brutal pace. You felt a pressure within you explode and you arched your back, cumming around his cock. The feeling of you undid him. He let go of your clit, both hands gripping your waist to pull you against him and bury his cock fully inside you down to the hilt. He came an ungodly amount inside of you, it spilled out and dripped onto the bed.

“Oh god, I love you!” You moaned.

He looked down at you, his face bright red. You froze, that was an inside thought.

“You- you love me?”

“I- I- ah, uh-“ you took a deep breath. “Yes, since the day I met you.”

He kissed you passionately.

“I love you too. I was so drawn to you from the very beginning. My feelings developed when you told me you read my journals. Hearing you talk so passionately about the weird and unusual, I knew I had met a true kindred soul, my twin flame.”

Ford pulled out and laid beside you, pulling you to him with your back pressed against his chest, his arm around you.

“This was not how I was expecting my night to turn out, but I’m so glad it did.” He mumbled into your neck.

You smiled. “Never thought I’d be so happy to be snowed in.”

You lay in silence, drifting off until you felt something hard and warm press against your ass. Ford moved himself down, his head between your thighs.

“Ready to go again, princess?”