#Gretson au | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

webethepeachesfromrockford · 2 years

Note

Hello!! You’re one of my fave gretson writers! I’ve been DYING for a gretson college professors AU if that interests you! (smth about Carson just screams endearing academic in modern times to me…) Thanks for all the incredible gay baseball content you’re putting out in the world :)

I love a good AU, so this immediately spoke to me. Thanks for the idea, nonnie! I went ahead and made Carson the college professor. Check out She Might Just Be Mine to see where our sweet Greta fits in! You can find it on AO3 here.

Leave your prompts/ideas/requests in the inbox!

Carson is very aware that going into academics is not what her family wanted for her. She’s been privy to that information since she pushed away the opportunity to play professional softball in favor of pursuing her doctorate, instead. Her years at Stanford opened Carson’s eyes to all of the possibilities before her both on and off the field. While she still loves softball with every fiber of her being, Carson’s happy to have listened to her gut. Being a professor is a dream come true. She gets to read all of her favorite books a few times a year in the guise of refreshing her memory for the semester ahead. Never mind the fact that her students are upper levels that actually want to be in her class. It's a blast to stand in front of an entire lecture hall of kids looking at her with bright eyes that are filled with genuine interest. She almost gets the feeling of stepping into the batter’s box. Almost. In the three years she’s been at UCLA, Carson’s loved every second of it.

Those sorts of positive thoughts always lead to a drop of the other shoe, however.

Her fall semester starts like any other. She’s so confident in it that she’s thrown off guard by the trouble that starts about four weeks in. As an English professor that is constantly being bothered by her committee chair to include interdisciplinary learning and group efforts, Carson assigns a group paper that’s worked on throughout the entirety of the semester. Up until now, she’s never had an issue with the inner workings of the assignment. Most people she teaches are used to the act of participating in a group – all English professors require some sort of team learning exercises, after all. Carson’s absolutely baffled to receive complaints from an entire group about one particular individual – so much so that she has no idea what to do to remedy the situation.

She starts by talking to the student individually. Carson is hip enough to usually be able to connect to her students on a personal level. This one, however, doesn’t budge. Sure, she makes up excuses that Carson can easily check up on and strike down if she wants to, but that’s as far as the student’s effort goes. When that doesn’t work, Carson calls in the rest of the group to better understand what’s actually going on. It’s easy to see that their bum group member never attends their meetings, nor does she do the work assigned to her. Noting all of that down, Carson feels dread in the pit of her stomach start to build. Since other students are a part of the situation, Carson has no choice but to continue to work and find a solution.

After a quick Google search, Carson finds out that her student is a part of UCLA’s coveted softball program. She’s known the old coach for a while now and it feels like things are finally starting to look up with this new piece of information. Talking with Sarge is usually a relief but it’s not this time around – one of her oldest friends finally decided to put up her glove and retire. Sarge tells her it was a split second decision the team decided to keep under wraps until the fall season starts in a few weeks. She’s quick to reassure Carson that the new coach is great and will gladly help Carson with her problem. It’s with a reluctant goodbye that Carson hangs up the phone and looks down at the number she scribbled on a receipt. For some reason, the name Greta Gill stirs up something that Carson can’t quite place. It’s so weird of a feeling that Carson puts off calling her until the next Monday morning.

Sitting at her desk an hour before her first class, Carson fiddles with her cell phone. She’s been folding and unfolding the slip of paper with Greta’s number on it all weekend. There’s a crease in it from all the manic fiddling. Her gut is swirling, though Carson doesn’t really know why. Shaking her head of that weakness, Carson opens up her phone and dials the number with a surge of confidence that crumbles all over the floor when the most melodic voice sounds on the other side of the phone. “This is Greta Gill.”

Carson sucks in a breath before remembering that phone calls are a two way thing. “Uh, yes. Hi, Ms. Gill – this is Doctor Carson Shaw. I’m Esti Gonzalez’s Modern Fiction and Poetry professor. Sarge gave me your number when I called to talk to her about it. I was wondering if you had any time in the next couple of days to meet so we could chat about her performance in my class.” All of the words are choked out without pausing or stopping. Without that momentum, Carson’s sure she would wilt from the nerves.

There’s a second of silence before that lovely voice sounds down the line again. “Carson Shaw, catcher for Stanford, Carson Shaw?” It’s so unexpected that Carson laughs thoughtlessly. It’s been quite some time since someone remembered her for her performance on the softball field. Most of her students these days scoff at the idea that Dr. Shaw was anything at all before books and college classes became her life. She bites down on her lip to stop more crazy chuckles from escaping.

“Yes, actually. I played from 2008 to 2014.” Her lips quirk up into a smile on their own accord. Despite the way she pulled herself from softball so abruptly, Carson looks back at her time on the field with fondness. She still plays for a local league twice a year to keep her touch. Though, she doesn’t often allow herself to think about those six years where life was easy and nothing else really mattered. Maybe that’s why she didn’t recognize Greta’s name right away. Now, she feels silly to have forgotten the first baseman she always admired from afar. “Holy shit, you’re THE Greta Gill, first baseman from Oklahoma.” The words are out of her mouth long before Carson can process them. Her filter is often broken when she’s not in professor mode. “Sarge is such an ass. She sent me your way without saying a word about who you are.”

The conversation devolves into stories about their mutual friend after that. It’s so nicely weird to be talking to someone that existed in the sport during her day. Carson’s old teammates weren’t her biggest fans after she decided to walk away. The occasion to reminisce doesn’t often come about because of it. Greta is just as lively and upbeat as Carson always pictured her to be. Stanford and Oklahoma played each other so frequently throughout the years that Carson saw Greta all the time. They didn’t know each other off the field or anything like that, but Carson always wondered. Aside from her beauty, Greta’s skill drew Carson in. She meant to approach her throughout their years of playing together but Carson never grew the balls to take that first step. When Carson changed the trajectory of her life, she closed the door to the people who didn’t want to accept her choice. Maybe it’s kismet to meet Greta in a time and place where Carson’s entire existence doesn’t revolve around a game Carson can so easily get lost in. She’s got room and space to not only be herself but do so freely and without judgement.

Amidst all of the shop talk, Carson gets Greta to set up a meeting time with her for the next day. Carson doesn’t teach any classes on Tuesdays to open up her office for student meetings and paperwork catch up. The former is so rare that Carson usually gets all of her grading for the week done before lunchtime. Except, Carson is thoroughly distracted by the thought of seeing Greta again. She’s not ashamed to admit that she spent the entire night before looking through old action photos in hopes of finding the first baseman in a few of them. It’s a joy to catch a peak of her red hair here and there. Those images flit across her mind all morning, making it difficult to read a paragraph, let alone grade the essay that’s been sitting before her. About an hour before Greta’s supposed to be there, Carson gives up and clears her desk. Much like her times in study hall all those years ago, Carson crosses her arms to bracket her head and falls asleep at her desk.

She’s woken up abruptly by a knock on her door. Carson is so out of it that she doesn’t even think before saying “come in.” There’s drool on her chin and a paper stuck to her cheek that Carson isn’t fast enough to tug away before the most beautiful creature she’s ever seen comes strolling into the room. It’s immediately apparent that time has been so very gracious to the glorious Ms. Gill. Her hair is still that dark auburn color Carson saw in the photos the night before. It’s shorter and a bit curlier, but that look suits her. She’s covered head to toe in UCLA softball gear that reminds Carson of the good old days of never ending joggers and soft pullovers. Despite being prepared for this, Carson is completely taken aback by how visceral her reaction to another person is. She’s never been struck like this before, so suddenly and with an unmanageable intensity.

Greta must know where Carson’s head is at because she’s wearing a shit eating grin. It’s so radiant and pure that Carson isn’t even embarrassed by the beam of a smile she sends right back. Her cheeks are warm but Carson can’t decide if it’s from the abundant hormones rippling through her or the unconscious shame she knows she should feel about melting into a puddle in front of another person. A person that, after recalling all the built up feelings Carson’s always had, she wants to impress. The sleep wrinkle on her face and deer in the headlights look she hasn’t been able to wipe away is certainly doing the trick.

Thankfully, Greta breaks the ice that has Carson slipping all over the place. “I didn’t think academia would suit you, Shaw. Color me surprised to find that you fit right in.” She’s smirking now as she looks around Carson’s office. There are so many eclectic things littering it, Carson’s not sure what kind of assumption Greta is going to make about her. The other woman’s eyes stop at her desk where the only evidence of Carson’s life as a ball player exists in her professional space. Greta makes a beeline for the NCAA Championship plague displayed proudly on the corner of Carson’s desk. “Still can’t believe you guys beat us out for this.”

Sighing at the lob of a topic, Carson swings at it to connect in a big way. “Me either, honestly. I was watching a few of my old game clips last night and it’s a miracle we pulled it off.” Carson remembers the way her heart sank the second the ball hit her bat. She almost turned around to head back to the dugout when voices sounded and Carson looked up to see the ball on the ground, not in someone else’s glove. She took off like a shot and the rest is history. Oklahoma still doesn’t live down their one run loss to a Stanford team ranked well below them. “It didn’t seem to faze the program all that much, though. You guys won the next four or five, right?”

Greta is smiling the next time that Carson looks up. It’s a hard to read look but it sends a rush of heat through Carson’s core all the same. “I think it was six, actually,” Greta says in reply, sarcastically ticking off the wins with her fingers. “I ended up staying around to be a GA and then an assistant coach until I realized Dove was never going to leave. Not in my prime, at least. That’s how I ended up here.” Her arms are spread open wide, like she’s gesturing to the entirety of UCLA’s campus, not just Carson’s office. Her story is the main reason Carson decided to break away from the sport to try her hand at something else. The sports world is unforgiving, filled to the brim with old hats that dig their heels in and never let go until they’re forced to. Greta’s one of the lucky few that got a halfway decent head coach’s job – Carson figures Sarge had a lot to do with that, too. She’s happy to know her path went exactly where she always wished it would despite the personal struggle Carson still goes through because of the decision she made.

“Whatever the reason, I’m happy you’re here. The girls could use a fresh pair of eyes.”

That little statement is enough for Greta to finish walking into the room to sit down for their meeting. Carson rambles a bunch and tries to fill all of the empty space with her words – unlike her coworkers, Greta doesn’t sigh or nod off, she listens and pays attention to everything that Carson has to say. Enough, at least, for them to come up with a manageable solution to Esti’s problem. The topic tapers off to other things once the real work is taken care of. Greta tells Carson about some of the worst moments of coaching, while Carson returns the favor by describing some of her most embarrassing classroom moments. Their camaraderie is easy, like they were friends and teammates all along, not practical strangers finding each other again. Carson’s flying so high that she recklessly blurts out – “would you like to get a drink sometime?”

It’s a bone headed move but Greta doesn’t seem to care. In fact, her face lights up. “It’s about time you asked. Yeah, Shaw – I’d love to.” Her voice is rich and sure as the words come flying out of her mouth. That’s not usually how Carson’s invitations are accepted, so she’s a little turned around by Greta’s quickness to say yes. Never mind the fact that Greta hinted at wanting Carson to ask her out in the before times when the entirety of Carson’s flirting arsenal included long lingering looks or complete avoidance. It’s odd to think that someone enjoyed Carson’s weirdness enough to want to be asked out by her. Greta, it seems, is made up of far more layers than Carson first thought.

The entire day is blown after that. Carson sends out an email to her students explaining that office hours are cancelled for the day – her brain isn’t in the building, so her body shouldn’t be, either. Instead, she packs up her bag and heads to the nearest mall. While Greta is a fan of her new professor persona, Carson doesn’t want to show up to a bar looking like the professional student she is. It’s been so long since her last date that she worries over an outfit until the right dress is finally in her clutches. When she tries it on, it fits like a glove Carson hopes Greta may want to take off in the near future. Their date isn’t until the end of the week but Carson feels so much better knowing she won’t be arriving donning librarian chic.

Carson spends the rest of the week trying not to wander down to the softball fields. It’s a lot harder than she imagined after the first thought of doing so played through her mind. She’s not a stranger to the softball games, or anything. In fact, some of her former students acknowledge her when she stays to watch the team win. They aren’t playing any games at the moment, though, so that flimsy excuse is out the window. She’s able to control herself for a couple of days before the near animal need to see Greta finally breaks her will. Carson waits until all of her classes are done for the day on Thursday to head toward the busy field. She may have clung to the schedule Greta let slip while they organized their date. She’s perfectly on time to catch the last half an hour of practice without causing much of a commotion.

Except, Carson doesn’t take into account how sneaky of a human Greta is. The second she sees Carson, an interesting expression crosses her face. It’s not even a minute later that she’s waving over in Carson’s direction, gesturing for her to come to the fence. Carson tries not to give in but the draw is too much. Her legs carry her down the bleachers until she’s mimicking Greta’s posture, digging her fingers into the chain link fence. “Come show us how it’s done,” Greta says without a hint of teasing in her voice. She looks excited to be pulling Carson back on the field, as if her presence might add something to the team’s practice. It’s cute but not at all what Carson came to the field for. She tries to shake her head, even waves no with her hands but Greta isn’t having it. “Hey girls, huddle up!” Greta only has to prompt them once – there’s suddenly a herd of softball players heading their way. “This here is Carson Shaw,” Greta explains, pointing at Carson through the fence. There are a couple of heads that pop up – Carson recognizes them as her former students. They’re probably shocked their coach is acknowledging her.

“Carson Shaw here is one of the best NCAA softball players in the nation. That homerun record no one can break, she’s the owner of it.” Greta’s voice sounds impressed, at least enough for the team to look at Carson with the wide eyed expression of awe. It’s both humbling and embarrassing to have these young kids staring at her in such a way. Carson’s already on her way to saying yes when Greta continues. “Stanford won their only championship with her behind the wheel. You guys are in the presence of excellence.” Greta finishes that statement off with a wink directed towards Carson. The team makes shocked noises and echoes of disbelief. It’s unsurprisingly enough to press on Carson’s competitive button. She’s rounding the fence before Greta can say another word.

It’s invigorating to get her black Van’s she wears to teach dirtier than they’ve ever been. Carson puts on catching equipment and swings a bat for hours with girls who look at her with suspicion that quickly turns to awe as she comes out of her shell and becomes the same player she’s always been. Her and the game are like peanut butter and jelly. For some unknown reason, Carson and softball always clicked. Her moments on the field makes it feel like no time has passed at all. It’s made better by the fact that Greta Gill, her secret college crush, is on the diamond with her. She rotates in at first base whenever Carson steps up to the plate to hit. Carson finds it fun to run towards first base regardless of the quality of her hit – the way Greta casually slaps her ass with her glove the few times Carson is tagged out don’t hurt the situation, either. By the time the sun is setting and practice is more than a couple of hours overdue, Carson feels so happy she doesn’t try to hide her smile when Greta asks “So, did you enjoy yourself?” Carson doesn’t miss the smirk on the other woman’s face, either.

“Yeah, I really did,” Carson decides to say. Her hands hurt from swinging a bat without her batting gloves but it’s the good kind of pain. She’s immediately transported back to her pre-season days where developing a callous and learning to like the sting were the only ways to get through the many hours of hitting practice. There’s a desire to head to the batting cages to do exactly that. Shaking the thought away, Carson looks over at Greta, her eyes soft and warm. “Thanks for manipulating me out onto the field. I’ve missed it. The competitive edge of playing at this level is exhilarating. The academic world is cutthroat, but in a much more petty way.” She laughs then because everything she’s said is true. Being in the world of knowledge is competitive and trying, just in a different way. Nothing will ever touch being on the softball field, though – nothing.

Greta takes Carson’s comments in stride. She even blushes at the obvious call out. “I knew the only way to get you back on the dirt was to play to your ego. We’re old competitors, remember? I know a lot more about you than you think.” While the words are mysterious, they settle so very nicely in the pit of Carson’s stomach. She’s not going to outwardly admit it, but hearing Greta talk about knowing her is a small part of a large dream Carson’s been fantasizing over for literal years. She wonders then what it would take for Greta to want to continue to learn and know more about Carson in the upcoming weeks, months, and years. Maybe forever if the redhead is amicable. It’s easy to see that the answers aren’t available to her yet but Carson likes a challenge and plans to stick around as long as Greta will have her.

Those thoughts come home with her as Carson limps through her apartment door. It’s a few hours later than usual, so Carson skips all of her normal routine and heads straight for the kitchen where she opens a cold beer and takes a long gulp. The bubbles slide pleasantly down her throat, cooling her off from the inside out. Her entire body aches now that the adrenaline has worn off. She’s going to be so sore for the next couple of days. Leaning back against the counter, Carson closes her eyes and lets the thrumming pain wash over her. It’s such a recognizable thing that she feels like her old self again. With that in mind, it’s almost too easy to go through the motions of collecting all the ice in her house to dump into the tub. Carson sighs in relief when she sits down in the freezing water. Like old times, Carson enjoys the way her limbs get numb. It feels like a well-earned reward after a long day that she basks in until the timer on her phone goes off. Getting out, Carson is invigorated and refreshed; almost like she’s a completely new person. Funny how a few hours with a glove on her hand in Greta’s presence already changed so much.

The next morning, Carson’s only class of the day goes off without a hitch. The students are just as impatient as she is to get out the door to start their weekend. Carson is so antsy that she assigns reading and sends them all out of the lecture hall a whole twenty minutes early. Her syllabus is packed to the brim, so Carson needs every minute of class – the action is out of the norm enough for whispers to break out. Though, the students don’t linger to make sure Dr. Shaw is feeling okay. Carson is grateful for the quiet – she spends the next twenty minutes pacing back and forth to calm her nerves. She feels much better as she climbs the stairs to follow in her student’s footsteps. The glory of a weekend with plans is looming before her and Carson can’t wait.

Sitting at the bar a few hours later, Carson is once again glad for Greta’s good planning. The place is far enough away from campus that the likelihood of seeing a student is slim to none. Never mind the fact that it’s a lesbian bar catering to a crowd more their age than the young bucks who sit in her classroom. Carson gets there a few minutes early to snag a beer and let the atmosphere suck her in. She’s socially awkward at the best of times; the last thing Carson wants to do is blow her chance because of an unruly mouth and nerves she can’t kick. The bar is nice, even reminds her of a small place she used to go to during her college days. She’s more at ease there than she expected, so it’s easy to smile widely at Greta when she sits down a few minutes later. Greta returns the look with a small wink that kickstarts Carson’s heart into overdrive.

As Greta sits down and calls the bartender over, Carson takes in the beauty before her. Greta is in a black jumpsuit that enunciates her long legs. She’s got on heels that give her a couple more inches to tower over Carson when they eventually stand up later on. There’s no hat on her head for once, so Carson gets the pleasure of seeing rich red curls cascading over Greta’s bare shoulders. A few loose strands of hair rest distractingly on her collarbone, dragging in Carson’s attention. Everything about her is devastatingly gorgeous – how she’s going to make it through the evening with her dignity intact, Carson still isn’t sure. Greta dumbfounds her, takes away her ability to think clearly. With so much skin on display, the effect is magnified by twenty. Despite now being in her thirties, Carson still feels like a teenager around her first crush. It’s overwhelming and so, so good.

“You look amazing tonight, Shaw. That dress does you all the right favors,” Greta says the second she turns back with a drink in hand. Her tongue is peaking out to trace her lips while she takes Carson in. It’s the ultimate tease that Carson struggles against in those small moments that Greta takes her fill. “I’m delightfully shocked that you clean up so well.” She’s smirking again, so Carson takes the backwards compliment in stride.

“Same here. What’s the program going to do without you sporting the UCLA logo for the next few hours?” Carson jokes back. She takes a sip of her beer, then continues. “For real, though – you look beautiful. I can’t begin to explain what that jumpsuit is doing to me right now.” Carson colors at the reveal but it doesn’t matter, Greta laughs and leans forward.

“Maybe you’ll try for me later.” Her words are like hot licks of fire against Carson’s skin. While she speaks, Greta’s breath plays along the shell of Carson’s ear, starting the madness now overtaking Carson’s body. The feeling travels through her so fast that Carson has to catch her breath. She gasps in air as inconspicuously as she can, though the noise is hard to miss. Greta doesn’t reply despite the smile overtaking her lips as she takes a sip of her martini. Even the drink in her hand plays into the smooth image that Greta puts off. It’s almost too much for Carson to handle.

The easiness between them isn’t, however. It takes another couple of minutes for Carson to get her shit together before conversation flows and time flies by them. Carson learns about Greta’s friend Jo and her new wife. It’s still mindboggling that people like them can get married. She remembers her time in college where sneaking around was still a thing. As the night dwindles on and Carson talks about her academic journey to get to UCLA, they move closer to each other. By the time the bar tender is making his last call, Greta and Carson are pressed up against one another, practically talking in the other’s ear. Carson isn’t sure how the night got away from them but she’s happy to know that the minutes were spent so perfectly that time became unimportant. They stay close as Greta leads them out the door and into the sparse parking lot.

Stopping at her car, Greta leans up against the driver’s side door, not even fiddling with her keys. Her heavy eyes are on Carson’s lips, making it so very easy for Carson to step forward and press them against Greta’s. There’s a second where Carson thinks she misread the situation before Greta’s hands come up to palm her cheeks. Suddenly, the chaste kiss Carson intended to give her is out the window and they’re devouring each other. Carson’s hands stray to Greta’s hips to pull her close. Greta moves mindlessly, caressing Carson’s back, neck, shoulders, even her sides and breasts. It’s hot and intimate and way too much for a first date. More than anything, Carson wants Greta to stick around. There’s too much at stake to follow Greta home, so Carson eventually pulls back with a dreamy yet disgruntled sigh. Her body hates her for breaking the connection. “I had fun tonight,” Carson says. She brushes her nose against Greta’s to soften the blow, then steps away completely. “Can we do it again?”

With a soft laugh and one lingering touch, Greta nods and says “Yeah Shaw”. Her tone is airy and far away, like she’s just as far gone as Carson is. “I’m looking forward to it.”

----

Over the next couple of weeks, Carson spends an inordinate amount of time daydreaming. When she’s not with Greta, Carson thinks about the next time they’re going to be together. It’s like being back in her early days when Carson first realized her sexuality and girls were all she could think about. Except this time, it’s one particular girl that Carson’s been unable to stop thinking about for years. Now that they’re taking time to get to know each other, Carson’s crazy crush has flourished into something with a brain and a heart that may be able to exist on its own if given the freedom to do so. It’s nursed constantly by Greta’s inability to create a boundary between Carson at work and Carson doing anything but. Greta is constantly trying to blend the two so much that Carson thinks it might actually be working. She’s not taking her lunches in her office anymore or hiding from the world in the dredges of the library with the same book she’s read a billion times. Instead, Greta brings her peanut butter sandwiches that they eat while walking across campus or around the small path that circles the athletics’ building. Life is suddenly so different with the spark that Greta creates in Carson just by being near.

Soon, things between her and Greta morph into what Carson can only describe as a full blown relationship. As the season creeps closer, Greta starts to talk about Carson being a presence in the stands that both her and the team want there. It’s crazy to think that their worlds collide so well that Carson gets to invite something she loved for so long back into her life. Not only does Greta create a light in Carson’s existence, she brings back things that Carson all but wrote off when her path swerved to the right and took on an entirely new direction. Never mind the fact that Carson is dating the sexiest woman to ever walk the planet. For once, she’s proud to be seen out and about. There’s a glow to her that magnifies in intensity when Greta is around. Frankly, Carson is the happiest she’s ever been – and they haven’t even had sex yet.

Not for the lack of trying, of course. Between Carson’s desperate need to cling to the early days of their relationship and Greta’s increasingly busy schedule, finding time to simply exist with one another is work. They’ve been making out against each other’s cars, and in the woods during their walks, even one spectacular time in Carson’s office where she found herself seconds away from hitting her knees and eating Greta out until the woman didn’t remember her name. One of Carson’s class alarms saved her from being reckless, but only just barely. At first, Carson wanted to take things slow but now she’s ready to bring Greta into her life in every way possible. It’s a bear of a thing to be a busy adult with an equally busy girlfriend.

Thankfully, the stars align a week before the team’s first game. Greta gives her team the weekend off to go home and have their last hurrahs before the fun really starts. No one but Carson knows the ulterior motive behind the coaching decision. Since Greta is still mostly living out of boxes, Carson welcomes her into her home with wide open arms and lips that immediately press against Greta’s the second she walks through the door. Ever since Greta told her the plan, Carson’s been driving herself crazy with uncontained lust. She’s only a couple of weeks away from the busy part of her own semester, yet she let all of her classes for the day go because of a distinct lack of focus. Carson has a sick feeling in her stomach that seeing Greta naked for the first time is only going to open up a can of worms that won’t ever be closed again. In a lot of ways, Carson’s looking forward to it – she’s never been mindless over someone and it seems like fun. Besides, Greta’s sexiness deserves to be thought about every moment of the day.

Despite the aggressive way Carson throws herself at Greta, they are slow to make it down the hall into Carson’s bedroom. Greta kisses her soundly, then pulls back to look into Carson’s eyes and take her in. It’s intimate in a way that makes Carson feel scared and nervous and cherished all at once. Greta’s fingers are tender and soft when they trace Carson’s nose before she’s kissed again with a primal passion Carson is already addicted to. Moving is done in little spurts until one of them gets too impatient and needs to taste lips and tongue and teeth again. Carson lets out a little sigh of triumph when they finally open her door and step through it.

In her eagerness, Carson failed to absorb Greta the way she usually does. Her eyes roam over legs that are covered in blue UCLA Softball tights. Carson can’t ever decide what’s better – tight jeans and dresses or these spandex creations Greta wears religiously. They both drive Carson absolutely up the wall – Greta really is mind bogglingly beautiful any way that Carson can get her. The quarter zip she’s wearing is one of Carson’s that clashes so endearingly Carson’s heart skips a beat. It’s the first thing that Carson peels away. Her Stanford jacket is on the floor, quickly joined by a black sports bra. Finally, Greta’s bare skin is on full display.

“You’re beautiful, Greta,” Carson says with genuine awe dripping from her voice. Reaching out, Carson grabs Greta’s hips and carefully pushes her back towards the bed. Greta sits down on the mattress with the cutest little ‘oomph’ when her knees hit the edge of it. Carson is quick to follow her until they’re both lying flat. It’s a glorious thing to know that Carson fits here with Greta just as well as their daily lives. One of the reasons Carson thought to go slow was to establish herself as a worthy partner for someone so gorgeous and amazing like Greta. Her confidence needs some work but being here with Greta, pushing her down with weight and kisses and excitement, she feels like the most powerful person in the world.

Soon, there’s nothing separating them. Skin on skin, Carson’s mind is reeling from the pleasure of Greta’s hands tracing down her sides as soft lipped kisses follow. For once, Greta doesn’t have that vivid red lipstick painted across her lips – it’s wild to feel the softness of her skin with each kiss the woman presses against Carson. One day, Carson hopes Greta will forget to take it off so her skin is stained with the red Carson can no longer associate with anything but Greta and her beauty. She’s perfectly content for now to learn and understand the soul changing feeling of Greta touching her everywhere for the first time.

Carson loses track of time as Greta spreads her legs and really starts to explore her. Fingertips trace over Carson’s core, mapping out lips and slit and entrance with a magical touch. Greta is always moving, whether it’s two of her fingers pressing inside of Carson or her mouth kissing up and down Carson’s thighs relentlessly. It’s hard to decide what to focus on – there are so many amazing things happening to her that Carson merely closes her eyes and lets sensation overtake her. She’s loud about her enjoyment, moaning and gasping with every clever flick of Greta’s tongue against her clit. Carson eventually reaches down to grasp onto Greta’s shoulder – anything to hold onto the floaty feeling of being so close to orgasm without tumbling over the edge yet.

Greta doesn’t let her stay in that in between state for long. Soon, she’s fucking Carson with three of her fingers, hooking up the tips of them with every outward drag. Between the spots she’s hitting inside and the overwhelming pressure on her clit, Carson gasps out Greta’s name helplessly as she comes and comes and comes. It’s an out of body experience that’s never happened to Carson before. She’s never been pleasured so well that she forgets who she is. There’s nothing like this feeling of existing in a body that’s wracked with glorious feelings while standing outside of that body, too. She’s watching herself and succumbing to the high of her orgasm all at once. Carson’s never come so hard in her entire life.

It takes a moment for Carson to come back down to Earth – her fingers and toes are still a little numb from the torrential greatness of tipping over the edge. When she gets the feeling back, Carson rolls them over while taking Greta’s mouth in a messy kiss. Carson tastes the remnants of herself mixed with that certain something that’s just Greta – it’s an intoxicating treat that Carson will never be able to get enough of. She smiles widely at the thought as she kisses her way down Greta’s body to return the favor. It’s an absolute pleasure to bring Greta pleasure not once but twice with just her hands and eager mouth. There are already plans for the entire next day in bed tomorrow rushing through Carson’s head. She’s got toys in the drawer that Carson can’t wait to share with Greta.

Those thoughts are stopped by strong arms wrapping around her. While lust and arousal are Carson’s main focuses at the moment, her mind and body slow down a little to rest beside Greta. She looks happy and content and higher than a kite – Carson looks at her for a lot longer than is probably appropriate, even for a significant other. If this is the sight she has to look forward to, Carson wants it every day for the rest of her life. It’s such a pressing thought that Carson speaks it out loud. “I could get use to this,” she says, wrapping her arm around Greta’s middle as they snuggle up close to each other. “You and me like this.” Carson leaves out the word forever, but only just.

Greta hums in agreement, her arm around Carson tightening. The silence lingers for a couple of moments, letting Carson’s words and the immensity of them settle in. When Greta breaks the silence, she does so with a kiss to Carson’s head. “Me too, Carson. Me too.” It’s mumbled so silently that Carson really has to focus to hear. Maybe it’s a good thing that Greta kept her tone so light because the words smack into Carson like a freight train. If they were spoken any louder, she may have never recovered. It’s quite the thing, to be on the same page with the person Carson already knows she wants to spend the rest of her life with. She snuggles into Greta with a happy sigh to stem off anymore post-coital confessions. It looks as if they’ve got lots of time for Carson to blab about her feelings, anyway.

The weekend is spent wrapped up in each other. Like Carson predicts, they don’t leave the bed all that much, just for food and the occasional binge watch of the tv. She learns about Greta’s ticklish spots and how she likes her coffee. Greta finds out that Carson turns into a soprano when she’s fucked just right. It’s the perfect collection of two days experiencing each other in a whole new way. Greta stays over until Monday morning where Carson kisses her goodbye at the door. Though Carson knows it’s too soon, she gets a copy of her key made on the way to work. Someday she’ll brandish it to Greta with a confident smile, without worry of being denied or rejected. Greta makes her feel invincible – giving her a key is only going to make that better.

Riding the roller coaster of being helplessly in love makes the week go by quickly. Carson spends a good portion of her Friday night grading papers to make sure she’s available for the long weekend of games Greta’s girls have. Despite not stepping on the field, Carson has pre-game jitters just like she used to. Her heart races in her chest for the entire evening as she reads essays and downs cups of coffee. By the time she lies down in bed, Carson is exhausted beyond belief – she’s asleep before her head even hits the pillow.

She rides extra early to the field with Greta the next morning. All of the girls are getting breakfast together while Greta makes her lineup and gets the gameday rituals started. It’s an honor to be a part of something Carson knows is sacred. When Greta gets too nervous, she tosses Carson a mitt and they play catch until the team starts to arrive. Without shame, Carson places a kiss on Greta’s cheek. “Kick some ass, Gill,” Carson says with a wink. She doesn’t wait around to see Greta’s reaction of hear the team ‘oohhh’ like little children. It’s enough that Carson feels comfortable in her relationship to actually consider public affection so freely. She can’t help it – Carson is damn proud to be Greta’s person.

That reality shows itself throughout the games. Carson cheers and hollers and sings along to the dugout songs that haven’t changed since she played. She’s vocal about good plays and heckles the umps good naturedly. It takes until midway through the second game on Saturday for Carson to realize this is exactly where she’s supposed to be. Playing wasn’t her calling, not when all is said and done. Instead, she’s perfectly content to cheer for her girlfriend’s team with all the pride of a former player watching amazing softball take place. Never mind the fact that it’s much more fun eating snacks and drinking booze while she watches. Carson gets all the fun without the extra work of squatting behind the plate for games at a time.

The whole weekend is made for Carson after the last game on Sunday. She’s waiting for Greta by the fence when she overhears her girlfriend talking to the other team’s head coach. It’s obvious they’re talking about Carson – as far as she knows, she’s the only former Stanford softball player in attendance. Carson’s a second away from checking out when USC’s coach says “is she your wife?” Suddenly, Carson’s listening with all of her might for Greta’s answer.

There’s only a beat of silence before Greta’s melodic voice says “not yet” with so much confidence and certainty that Carson can’t help but gasp. She’s probably giving herself away but there’s no helping herself – the idea of forever is so much closer to home now. Carson isn’t the only one making plans for them. With a dreamy sigh, Carson leans against the fence and happily zones out until an all too familiar hand settles on her lower back. “Alright there, Shaw?” Greta asks with a soft grin.

Leaning into her touch, Carson nods easily. “I’ve never been better.” She tops off her words with a beaming grin. Greta merely shakes her head fondly at Carson before tangling their fingers together. They walk away from the field like that, wrapped up in each other.

#gretson #a league of their own #greta gill #greta gill x carson shaw #carson shaw #carson shaw x greta gill #a league of their own series #greta x carson #carson x greta #greta/carson #carson/greta #aloto #gretson fic #gretson fanfic #bobbie writes #she just might be mine #modern day au #carson #greta

13 notes · View notes