10 years, several diagnoses and a lot of meds later I’m back!
@havokangel has inspired me and to celebrate our 10 year anniversary with @alexsunmners I’m gonna try writing again! Y’all gonna have to be nice bc i will be SO rusty 😭
I’ll be posting an updated list of characters I’ll write for soon ❤️❤️
10 years, several diagnoses and a lot of meds later I’m back!
@havokangel has inspired me and to celebrate our 10 year anniversary with @alexsunmners I’m gonna try writing again! Y’all gonna have to be nice bc i will be SO rusty 😭
I’ll be posting an updated list of characters I’ll write for soon ❤️❤️
Summary: Joel saves you from a creep at the bar. You repay him with how you see fit.
Word Count: 10.9k
Warnings: 18+. MDNI. P in V sex. Assplay. Age gap. Reader is in her 20s, Joel’s in his late 40s/50s. Reader is a teacher. Size difference. Slight dom/sub undertones. Dirty talk. Squirting. Panty sniffing. Choking. No Outbreak.
Banner: by @cursed-carmine
Authors Note: it has been a million and one years since I’ve written and i have never written for Joel before so be kind ! I would also love to practice writing drabbles bc this initially was supposed to be a drabble but I lost control lol. so send me and gnarly imagines you have about frank castle and joel miller (and fuck it even Arthur Morgan) and we’ll have a ball <3
ao3 link [coming soon]
Tequila has never been your friend.
The ritual of licking the grainy salt, shooting the shitty well tequila, immediately following with a soggy lime wedge usually led to a terrible burn in your belly and immediate regret— because once that tequila worked its magic, it usually led you and your burnt out group of teacher friends to order another round.
And then another, because fuck it you guys, we work with kids for a living! At least three of us here had a chair thrown at us this week!
And by the time the third round of that dark, shitty well tequila gets ordered, your brain is already becoming mush and you really don’t mind that your group is being the loudest in the small dive bar. In fact, you really don’t mind— especially when it catches the attention of the regulars who love to buy a group of pretty young girls their next round. A free drink is a free drink, and typically the men that hit on you and your girls know there ain’t a chance in hell any of you would give in to them. Sure, there are some that give it their all— “c’mon, my wife don’t got it any more”— or “give this ol’ man a chance, baby” — but typically with a bat of your lashes and the excuse of having a nonexistent boyfriend, they let up.
But that isn’t the case tonight.
Mike, you think is his name, can’t be younger than 50. He has a belly rounder than you’d ever seen and a nose as red as Rudolph’s. Surely, a sign of his drinking habits throughout the years. He’s bought the latest rounds of drinks after approaching your table, words already slurred and breath so horrifying you’re afraid that if he lit up a cigarette, his breath would catch fire.
But a free drink is a free drink, and your girls weren’t ready to tell him to kick rocks just yet.
You, however, were ready to tell him to fuck off.
It had been a long week. Between the usual troublemakers in your class and a surprise observation from your admin, your free time was being consumed by conference prep. Hours after school were being spent making copies, scheduling with parents, making sure the kids desks were neat… it was stressful.
And to top it all off, the fucker took it upon himself to plop his ass right next to you.
You know the type. He was probably on his third divorce, and spent a little too much time at the bar during his free time. It disgusts you to even think that this guy is probably thinking about what it would take to get you home.
With an arm slung around the back of your seat in the booth, he’s asking alllll about what it’s like to be a teacher these days. And much to your annoyance, your friends have begun not so secretly taking pictures—no doubt making it into the shared album by the morning.
“Now sweetheart,” Mike (or maybe Matt? You couldn’t keep it straight.) slurs, and your nose crinkles at the smell of the cheap beer on his breath. “M’tellin’ you. If had a teacher like you growin’ up—‘
God, there it was. Guys always think that line works, as if hearing it for the millionth time would finally land them on your roster.
“—Would’ve paid real close attention in class.”
Gag.
Your smile grows tight as you squirm towards the edge of the vinyl booth. “Alright!” You exclaim loudly. “With that note, m’gonna go get a Diet Coke. Somethin’ to wash the tequila down.”
“Baby I can go with ya—” Mike groans as he moves towards you, but you smile as sweetly as you can and cut him off before he can inch any closer.
“Jess, I’m sure Mike would love to hear about how that kid told you to fuck off last week.”
Mike snorts. “Names not Mike. S’Matt.”
“Matt, sorry.” You aren’t sorry. You’re already halfway to the bar as you say that.
Jess, who is the main instigator of the night out, is a social butterfly who isn’t scared of a damn thing. She can handle a few questions from Matt.
The Rusty Spur was usually packed tighter than a can of sardines, but tonight is bad. To your right is one bachelorette group cornered towards the end of the bar, sticking out like a sore thumb in their pink cowboy hats, multiple groups of guys dressed in business casual; shirtsleeves rolled up and collars unbuttoned—and to your left, at least a dozen frat boys hogging the pool tables, the scent of their cheap cologne making your lip curl in distaste.
And to your front, the line looks to be a million people deep. With a groan, you stretch to your tiptoes and attempt to look over the shoulders of the people in front of you. God, you just needed some Diet Coke to get rid of the taste of tequila out of your mouth and to clear your head. And to close out your tab, you suppose—your iPad and shower were singing their siren song to you right about now.
Given that you were currently more than a few drinks deep and growing more and more irritated by the lengthy line of tall frat boys, you rise to your tippy toes once again and tilt yourself to the left, attempting to get a look to see if any progress is being made to get to the bar.
God dammit, everyone is so tall!
Leaning juuuuuust a bit further left, another tall body rams itself into your side; and suddenly your center of gravity is just…gone. Your wedges fail you—you knew wedges were the wrong choice—and your body is falling faster than you can process.
“SHIT!”
Not only is your head pounding, but now your tailbone is pounding—and soaked in god knows what kind of liquid. With reddened cheeks, and tears of embarrassment forming in your eyes, you look up to see what asshole shoved into you; only to meet the eyes of fucking Mike.
Before you can push yourself off of the bar floor and tell him exactly where he can shove it, you feel a pair of hands grab onto your shoulders, gently lifting you up and onto your feet
“Hey, easy,” a voice says in your ear. Low, unbothered, with a slight drawl to his tone. Not slurred at all—unlike Mike who had been breathing down your neck for the last hour.
Slightly disoriented, you blink slowly; craning your neck to get a good look at the stranger, and your eyes lock on someone who is entirely unlike the other guys here. Not even close.
This boy… no… man… is tall. Broad, biceps being hugged perfectly by his t-shirt. Deep set wrinkles frame his eyes, but their deep chocolate shade is enough to momentarily make your tongue forget how to even form legible words. You’re pretty sure if you even tried to talk, nothing would come out. As if his eyes weren’t enough of a distraction, the scent of the bar was quickly replaced with a distinct aroma of wood pine and spearmint. It’s clear by the calluses on his palms and the slightly paint-stained shirt that read MILLER CONSTRUCTION, whoever he is, is a man.
If you hadn’t known any better, you’d think that your damn jaw was slack, drool pooling all around the two of you.
He’s still holding onto your elbow, unsure whether you’ll fall over again if he lets go of you. You’re sure you must look like a mess, but the stranger has an unreadable expression as he finally steps back, releasing his grip on your arm.
“You alright miss?” He reaches beside him to the bar, grabbing a napkin and politely handing it to you.
Texan, you think. Of fucking course.
“Mostly,” You grumble, accepting the napkin to wipe your hands. “This jackass won’t leave me and my friends alone. And now he just…”
You gesture to him, and the stranger rolls his eyes and turns his attention to Mike, who seems blissfully unaware that he just body slammed you to the ground. The stranger, whose expression remains unreadable, glances over at the perpetrator, visibly eyeing him up and down. If you had to guess, the stranger was thinking of a way to get this man kicked out of the bar.
“Matt.”
Mike turns suddenly, beer spilling over the sides of his pint glass—adding to the mess you had just landed on. His face of stupor quickly turns to a toothless grin as he recognizes the stranger who just pulled you up from the mess.
“Joel!” He instantly steps towards Joel, both arms wrapping around Joel's shoulders. From the way Joel tenses up as Mike slaps his back with one hand, it’s clear that Joel does not like him. “S’been a few weeks since ya been out, buddy!”
Joel gently, but with a firm movement pries his arms off his shoulders and takes a step back. “Has been, friend. You knocked this lady over.”
He says it evenly. With authority. He says it in a way that shows you that his moral compass wouldn’t allow this to happen on his watch, whether you were a stranger or not.
“Pssssh,” Matt breathes, waving a hand. “This….” He gestures to you, a look of disgust blooming in his eye, “bitch had it comin. Been buying her and her slutty friends drinks. Won’t even gimme a damn feel.”
As if things hadn’t gotten enough out of hand when you landed in dive bar liquids on a dirty hardwood floor, you’re now frozen in disbelief as this complete degenerate decides to insult you. And to a complete stranger—Joel—now involved.
If you weren’t red as a tomato before, you’re sure that now you’re going as red as a bad sunburn. If the fall hadn’t embarrassed you enough, now this fucker is really going for the gold.
That moral compass of his leads Joel to the most obvious next step. You watch half in horror and half in awe, as he takes two decisive steps forwards and grabs Matt by the collar, yanking him towards the door. Matt nearly topples over his own boots as Joel grabs him, a grunt escaping his lips. The pair brush past you as Joel easily pushes Matt towards the door.
Maybe it’s the tequila—but watching Joel move around a huge dude like Mike like it’s nothing—it’s really fucking hot. You’re moving with them before you even realize you’re walking.
“Time to go home, Matt.” Joel says evenly, giving him no other option but to follow. “We ain’t dealin’ with your shit for the rest of the night.”
Matt clearly isn’t happy as Joel escorts him out. “The FUCK, Miller?!”
Getting closer and closer to the door, the bouncer at the door sighs and stands when he notices the disruption. Clearly it’s not Matt's first rodeo with getting kicked out of a bar.
“Fuckin’ disrespectful is what you are,” Joel says flatly, shoving him towards the bouncer. “Matt’s at it again. Pushed the poor lady.”
“Shit man, one more time and you’re gettin’ 86’d from the Spur,” the bouncer groans, grabbing Matt by the arm. “Swear to god.”
The cool night air hits your face as a second bouncer swings the door open, following the pair outside to ensure that it’s handled. As the door swings back shut, your lungs deflate with a breath you didn’t notice you had been holding.
“Such a damn idiot,” Joel murmurs to himself, finally turning to you. His eyes dart down and up at you quickly; no doubt thinking about what a wreck you probably look like at the moment. “You okay?”
“Better,’” You reply, hiking your bag over your shoulder. “I—I—thank you. You didn’t have to do that. Joel, right?”
He nods, holding his hand out for you to shake. Those calluses on his palms once again meet your skin, sending a momentary spark down your spine.
“Yeah, Joel. And m’happy to. Matt’s been pullin’ shit like this for years. Ain’t funny nor cute.” He pulls his hand away, looking you over once again. The way he does it doesn’t feel like he’s checking you out; more like he’s looking to see if you’re hurt. “M’sorry about your skirt. I wouldn’t wanna know what’s been spilled on these floors.”
Your hands swipe the back pockets of your skirt; face turning to a wince when you feel the damp spot on your ass.
“It’s a good thing I own a washer and dryer, I guess.”
He huffs out a chuckle, the lines in his face deepening as he does so. You weren’t one to typically be enamored with someone older, but Joel is so… effortless. Soft, yet tough.
You introduce yourself, heart stopping for a moment as he repeats your name. Why does it sound so much better coming from him?
“I, uh, can I get you a beer?” You ask, thumb pointing to the bar. “You really didn’t have to—“
“—I’m okay, promise,” Joel interrupts, lip pulling into a small smile. “Like I said, Matt has been doin’ shit like that for a long time. Needs to learn his lesson.”
Just like Joel wouldn’t bend his moral compass, even for strangers, you weren’t going to back down now. Especially when the stranger who jumped in to defend you was hot.
“I don’t think m’gonna take no for an answer tonight.” You’re already taking out your card; feet moving you back towards the bar—the scene of the crime. “You had a Coors banquet, yeah?”
You’re half-expecting him to double down on his refusal and return to his seat at the bar, but to your surprise—he doesn’t.
“I did.” Joel replies, clearly amused by your forwardness. He follows you to the line, hands in his pockets as he does. Respectful. God, that’s such a turn on.
With the line beginning to thin out, you shift on your feet and look up at him. How did Joel know that asshole anyways? Asking him some questions wouldn’t hurt, especially since there’s still a line.
“How do you know Mike anyways?” You ask, tilting your head out of curiosity.
“Re-did his kitchen a while back for him and his wife. Was a pain in the ass then, still a pain in the ass now.”
“Wife, huh?” An amused laugh passes through your lips at the revelation. “Didn’t see a ring, and he definitely didn’t mention a wife.”
Stepping forward in tandem with you as the line moves, you note how he stands just close enough to hear you, but far enough to let you take the lead.
Joel shrugs nonchalantly. “And that doesn’t shock me either. Yourself and your friends are pretty. Sucks that he had to go and be an asshole about it, though.”
Pretty.
Joel thinks you’re pretty.
“Most guys are.” Another step forward to the bar. Not too far, now. Your inner monologue tells you to keep the conversation going, dammit! “So you do… residential construction?”
“Mostly residential, but we’ll take a few commercial gigs if it fits. My brother and I own the company together,” he explains easily. You’re just thankful that this stranger has either not noticed your flushed face, or is too nice to say anything about it. “It’s a good gig. What do you do?
Another step. One more person in front of you.
Keep it going.
Fiddling with your card in your hand, you answer, “I’m a teacher. Elementary.”
“That makes sense.” His brows raise with a smile, and he steps forward with you. “Where at?”
“I don’t tell people at bars,” You reply quickly, but mentally hitting yourself at the delivery. “I mean—I didn’t—“
“—No, I get it,” Joel laughs, raising his hands in mock defense. “You don’t know me, I don’t know you. M’sure you’ve had this conversation enough times to learn what to say, and what not to say. I don’t take any offense.”
You raise a brow as if you don’t believe him, and Joel’s small smile turns to a grin as he leans down a little, doubling down on his statement. Like he knew you needed the reassurance that he wasn’t offended by your evasiveness.
“Promise.”
There’s that wood pine and spearmint smell again, taking over your senses. Is this what pheromones are? If so, they’re working overtime to make sure you feel his presence.
The group in front of you at the bar leaves happily with their drinks, and you’re thankful for the quick respite to regain your bearings as you order Joel his Coors and your own Diet Coke. And to ensure that you don’t drink further and make even more of a fool of yourself, you close out your tab.
Sliding the receipt and pen towards the bartender, you turn to Joel who surprisingly is still here with you in line, nursing the cold beer. Surely that means he’s not done with you just yet—because simply, you were too taken with him to be done yet, either.
With a quick glance over your shoulder, your group has already had their attention shift to the pool table; where Jess was currently getting a lesson from a kid with a backwards hat and no doubt a zyn in his lower lip.
They’d be fine without you for a few minutes,.
“M’gonna get some air—“ You say casually, twirling your straw against the ice in your glass. Keep it cool.
“Maybe I should come with, ‘f you don’t mind,” Joel responds coolly. “Need a cigarette after that.”
Biting back a small smile, you lead the way through the crowd towards the back enterance—taking your phone out as you do, you tap Jess’s contact.
Going outside for some air, brb
It takes her less than a minute to answer.
Atta girl, don’t worry about us. We’re nearby
be safe <3
Tucking your phone into your purse, you hold the door open behind you for Joel; sighing as you feel the night air cool off your body from the bar. Breathing in a breath of air, you turn to see Joel claim a standing table, setting his beer down and digging in his back pocket for what he needs.
”Ah, there we go,” He exclaims softly, lighter emerging from his pocket. “I know these are bad for me but—Matt’s a real ass.”
Leaning against the table he’s chosen, you don’t even notice the small smile you’re giving him as he strikes up the lighter, cigarette between his lips.
”What’re you smiling about?” He asks, but not in a teasing way—it’s playful, making you flustered all the while.
”I just…I haven’t…” You pause and think for a moment. Why were you smiling? You could blame the tequila. You could blame your friends for dragging you out. Or, you could admit to yourself that Joel…this stranger, who is probably older than your dad, is—doing it for you.
After all, he had called you pretty.
Surely that meant he’d want to feel… whatever this was out with you.
”I’m just floored, I guess. That you helped me. Lotta people these days wouldn’t have even said a word.”
Joel lets the smoke spill from his lips smoothly as he listens to you. He’s no stranger to helping others—his parents raised him right—and normally, he would have just let you buy him a drink as a thank you and he would have returned to his seat after the exchange. No harm, no foul.
But Mike really was an ass. Shoving a pretty young thing like you, then to top it all off, mouthing off about being a bitch—he felt bad for you. But he noticed right away the twinkle in your eye when he helped you up. It wasn’t just thankfulness. It was something else.
Joel was 50. Back in his 20s, he knew how to talk to women. It felt like second nature—do a late shift at the auto shop, hit the bars with his buddies after. But as Joel had grown into fatherhood and owning a business, his priorities shifted and he didn’t go out as much.
Didn’t date as much.
And definitely didn’t check out women that could be his daughter.
Your lips closed around the straw and his eyes dart to the movement, watching how the gloss stains the rim of it. Part of him feels…dirty, noticing the plumpness of your lips.
The other part of him wonders what it would feel like elsewhere.
“I guess I’m floored, too.” Joel remarks, watching your reaction to his response. Joel isn’t a creep. He knows what this could look like to you if you weren’t into it—he just wants to test the waters and gauge your interest. Your brow furrows.
”Why?”
Bringing the cigarette back to his lips, his eyes don’t leave yours as he thinks carefully about his answer.
”Guess m’floored that your boyfriend didn’t intervene before I could.”
In that moment, you feel something pass between the two of you. Curiosity mixed with lust, maybe. Joel's eyes are still locked with yours as the smoke clears—so you can really look at him and he can really look at you.
It feels as if he’s staring straight into your soul.
”I don’t have a boyfriend.” It’s the truth, and he knows it too. You aren’t dumb. You know why he’s asking. Your eyes flicker down to his left hand, and a feeling of relief and glee spreads throughout you when you notice he doesn’t have a ring on his finger.
God. What have you come to? Checking for a man’s ring. And getting excited when he doesn’t have one? He’s old.
You reach out wordlessly to him. He chuckles and passes the cigarette to you and watches you intently as you inhale softly, flicking ash to the ground as you exhale.
“I’m shocked,” He answers finally, breaking the silence. “Pretty, young, a great career…” A pause, as you hand back his cigarette. You don’t miss the way his eyes flick to your mouth. “you’re a catch.”
If this wasn’t flirting, you had to be the dumbest girl on the planet.
Before you can think of a response to Joel, both of your attention goes to the door; where Jess and your group come bursting through, the pool table boys en suite. Jess is practically hanging off backwards hat boy, and the rest are no doubt ordering the uber back to their respective apartments.
As if the two of you were in sync, you both turn at the same time to look at each other; as if trying to convey that neither of you were ready for the night to end. And truth be told…you weren’t.
Neither was Joel.
Jess pries herself off of the guy when she finally spots you, mischievous grin on her face as she looks at the scene before her.
“Hey—you good?” She says brightly. You’re thankful for Jess. She has a way of checking in that doesn’t come off as rude. “We’re all gettin’ ready to leave—but m’going home with…” Her voice trails as she looks back at the guy she just walked out with, and Joel stifles a giggle as she attempts to recall his name. You smack her arm playfully and she laughs.
”Well I guess it doesn’t matter. I uh—“ She smiles with a laugh, looking at Joel, and then back at you. “—I don’t mean to interrupt things. But Sammy needs a ride home. And I’m assuming you do too?”
“Yeah,” you answer, shaking your head; attempting to come back from reality. “I can uh-order an uber for Sammy and I—“
Joel watches as you fumble with your words, and he decides that if the night isn’t going to end here…he’ll just come to your rescue.
Again.
He has a feeling you won’t complain.
“If everyone’s okay with it, I can drive 'em home.” Joel offers with a shrug, flicking the cigarette to the ground. Jess eyes him with that fierce, older sister look she loves to give. To that, Joel pulls out his wallet and slips his ID out, handing it to her without hesitation. As if saying to Jess, test me. “Go ahead. Take a picture.”
Jess’s mouth hangs open momentarily, before shutting just as quickly as it came. She yanks her phone out and snaps a photo, handing it back to him.
”Alright Joel. If my girls don’t report right back to me in the morning—“ She starts, and you giggle as you cut in.
”—You’ll kill him yourself. We got it, Jess.” Gesturing to her toy for the evening, you add, “get back to your boy. We got Sammy. Promise.”
Jess hugs you tight, eyeing Joel over your shoulder. He’s desperately trying not to laugh, and even you can tell that, and you’re not even looking at him.
“Okay…” She says as she pulls back, taking one last look at the two of you. “Be safe.”
You all know she’s not talking about the drive home.
Joel is wondering what he’s gotten himself into when Sammy gets in the car.
Sammy, a kindergarten teacher, as she slurred several times—was upset that she saw her ex at the bar with another girl. You, being the kind friend that you are, opt to sit in the back with her for the ten minute drive to her house, holding her hair back and wiping the tears off her cheeks; occasionally looking at the rear view mirror.
What draws you in about him is that he seems almost impossible to read. You can’t tell if he’s amused, unimpressed, or just focusing on the road. Either way, your eyes always seem to find those brown eyes of his whenever you look for them.
Pulling into Sammy’s driveway, Joel steps out of the truck and immediately goes to Sammy’s side of the car; helping you get Sammy on her feet.
“I just—ugh!” She whines, completely unaware that it’s taking two people to get her to the front door. “He’s such a fucking—jerk! I gave him EVERYTHING!”
“I know,” You reply empathetically, grunting under the weight. “But he’s dumb and you’re so much hotter, Sam. Where’re your keys?”
She pulls away from the two of you, swaying unevenly as she digs around in her purse. Looking back at Joel, you smile sympathetically and say “I’ll get here inside—won’t be more than five minutes. I promise.”
He nods, holding back a small smile. Poor girl, he thinks to himself as he walks back to the truck. Reminds me of my friends back in the day.
Sammy is nearly inconsolable when you finally unlock her door and get her in—between gentle words of advice and picking out pajamas, you’re itching to get back to Joel.
“Can you pleeeease call me in the morning?” Sammy sobs, pulling the sheets around her.
“Of course!” You promise, finally catching your breath as your hands go to your hips. All your mind is saying at the moment is JoelJoelJoelJoel. “I put water by your bed and ibuprofen next to it. Get some sleep, ok?”
Blubbering out, Sammy weakly sits up to add, ”But he’s such—“
“—LOVE YOU!”
Locking her front door, you take a moment to breathe. Your back meets the door and your eyes flutter shut. Your skirt currently smells like shitty beer, your makeup is more than likely completely rubbed off, and you have an unbelievably attractive man waiting for you by his truck.
You can do this.
One foot in front of the other.
Wedges clacking against the pavement, you curve around to the truck where Joel’s waiting—back leaning against the passenger side door, hands in his pocket.
“Is she normally that—much of a handful?” He asks, not moving from his spot by the door.
”Sometimes,” you chuckle. “Can’t really blame a girl. He was an asshole, after all.”
“No you can’t.” He lets out a low laugh and shrugs in agreement. “You live around here?”
”Yeah, just down the block. Not too far now.”
”Good,” He answers, slowly pulling himself off the truck. Your eyes don’t leave his as he steps towards you, his hand ever so carefully reaching for yours; thumb swiping against the skin of your knuckles. “Let’s get you home.”
Game on.
You’ve never been more thankful that you live close by to Sammy than you are at this exact moment.
All it takes is exactly five minutes and Joel’s pulling into your driveway—one hand on the wheel, his other in yours; toying with your fingers the entire way, enjoying the low hum of The Strokes.
Normally, you would have attempted to fill the silence with meaningless conversation; talking about anything and everything to calm your nerves about the potential of what was to come—but there is something easy about the silence with Joel. You don’t feel the need to prove yourself, or pull out any…stops.
You’re just… you.
Not a caricature of a fetishized teacher, not a perverted version of a woman a frat guy always dreamed of. It’s refreshing and almost freeing.
Joel kills the engine of the truck as he pulls in, the warmth of his hand leaving yours to do so—and momentarily, you catch yourself wanting to be selfish and reach back for him, chasing that safe and warm feeling he’s been unknowingly feeding you, since he lifted you up from the floor.
He doesn’t say anything as he exits his side, making his way towards you. You feel as if you can’t breathe as he opens up your door for you—frozen with lust or fascination, you’re not really quite sure just yet—a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he offers you his hand. All while not saying anything, yet conveying that he knows what you’re wanting, no, needing from him.
Your hand finds his and he helps you down, fingers lacing together seamlessly as you take the lead to your front door; the heavy steps of his boots following.
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
You finally manage to make yourself break the silence as you climb the stairs to your door. He still hasn’t let go of your hand.
”S’me.” You hold up your keys, the sound of them jangling softly through the silence that’s been building between the two of you.
Joel doesn’t miss the way you haven’t even attempted to unlock the door. Just like at the bar, he isn’t ready to walk away from this. The flickering porch light is practically illuminating your face; lips still partially glossed from earlier, eyes twinkling with something he can’t quite place—desire? Curiosity?
Either way, Joel remains planted on the porch, thumb rubbing gently against your skin. The gears in his head are turning, and he thinks carefully before he finally speaks; those deep, brown eyes not leaving yours for a second.
“I uh, don’t do this—“ He gestures between the two of you, and you feel the heat flush your cheeks. “—Often.”
”I don’t either,” Your words come out more breathless than you intended them too, but you don’t care; not now.
He grimaces slightly, shaking his head.
”I trust that. But you—“ His hand leaves yours, but they move to brush down your bare arms, stopping at your elbows; electricity flowing in your skin as he does so. “—you are…you’re…”
“I’m…what?” You will your voice not to shake, but your feeble attempts don’t translate. Adrenaline seems to be pumping through you, your senses on overdrive as he’s still holding on to your elbows. His eyes still seem to be searching yours for something.
”Young.”
A beat of silence passes as you process his internal warfare—you hadn’t put much consideration to your respective ages; you, by definition, are young in comparison to him.
But that doesn’t mean that what he’s doing is bad.
By now your pulse is thrumming, and you force yourself to step forward—braving to be the one that makes the space between you smaller. You hear the way Joel’s breath hitches as you do so; your hands sliding up and over his forearms to his biceps.
”Joel…”
Now how was he supposed to walk away from this? Saying his name in that gentle voice of yours. How could he, when he felt the constriction of his jeans growing by the second?
“I—I don’t want you to go.”
Fuck.
Your hands keep travelling, the palms of your hands sliding to cup his cheeks in your hand. Even in wedges you could feel yourself leaning up on your tiptoes to try to be on his level; to make him really look at you. The rough scratch of his beard on your palms makes your breath quiver as his eyes don’t move away from yours.
”In fact,” you begin to say, letting your chest ever so gently press against his. “I want you to come inside.”
The audible breath that he lets out at your words tells you that he’s battling with his own self about your age; one half being the responsible part of himself, where he knows you’re better off with someone your own age, someone who could keep up with that libido every young person has.
The other half of him? The other half of him could only focus on how close your mouth was to his and how you could most definitely feel the hardness of his cock against your tummy.
You could tell that that half of him was close to winning—it just needs an extra nudge.
The hands that currently were cupping his cheeks brought them forward, ever so gently pressing his lips to his. It’s as if time stops, and the world around you stills as you register that he actually is kissing you back.
It lasts all but two seconds as you pull back a hair of a centimeter away, nose brushing against his as you gauge his reaction. All that can be heard is the gentle sounds of your breaths, and the hum of the porch light.
Joel’s eyes are still shut. He doesn’t say anything. Maybe you wildly misread his body language.
Just as thoughts of doubt begin to settle in and your body attempts to pull itself away from him—those big hands that pulled you off of the bar floor made its way to your waist and gave your body a gentle shove—your back meeting with the front door of your house. You would be embarrassed by the erotic gasp you made, but it’s really hard to care when a man like Joel is looking at you like he already knows how he’s going to take you.
”M’an old man,” His voice grits out, breath fanning against your face. “I ain’t exactly gentle—not when it comes to a pretty thing like you.”
“I don’t need you to be gentle,” You reply breathlessly, fingers digging into his shoulders. “I just want you.”
A beat passes as Joel searches your face. For what? You’re not entirely too sure— could be a second guess on your end, or searching for hesitation—any excuse he can give himself to walk away.
Another beat passes, and his grip on you tightens. Like the decision is final.
Your hesitation doesn’t come. And that’s enough for Joel.
His mouth is on yours before you can even think, that muscle in his mouth sliding eagerly against yours as his knee slides between your thighs; finding the part of you that causes your body to lurch in pleasure as he presses himself against your panties. A moan attempts to release itself, but it’s quickly swallowed as his hands slide around your hips to grab at your ass below your skirt. His palms are large enough to hold the cheeks of your ass whole, and the thought of that alone is enough to thoroughly dampen the cotton of your panties.
”Fuck,” The words barely come out as a gasp as you feebly attempt to dig your keys out of your jacket, mind becoming numb as Joel kneads the flesh in his palms. “Can’t find my keys—“
Joel moves before you can even finish your sentence.
Wordlessly, he quickly pulls himself from your body, knee falling from its position between your legs as his hands grip your waist and spin your body towards the door. God, were you really out of breath? The man has only groped you and you feel as if you’ve been edged for hours. His movements are quick and rough as he shoves his hand in your purse and quickly finds the keys, unlocking the door and pressing your body through the doorway. The wedges on your feet nearly cause you to become unbalanced as you spin back to look at the old man, and Joel is slamming the door shut, already making his way to you.
As if he was a predator going in for the kill.
“You’re fast,” you say—to him or yourself? You’re not too sure. An almost disbelieving smirk is plastered on your face as you take a step back, heart beating as he strides to breath the distance between the two of you. “I like that—“
Your words are swallowed by his mouth again, the stubble rubbing pleasantly against your skin as he groans into the kiss. Your hands wind themselves in his salt and pepper hair as his knees bend, lifting you with ease and encouraging your legs to wrap around his waist. An mmph escapes your throat as his teeth graze your lower lip, his biceps twitching as your nails dig into them.
“Bedroom?” He asks, his teeth dragging down your bottom lip. The look in his eye tells you that the man needs an answer now or he’ll take you on whatever flat surface is near—and won’t stop until you’ve both gotten your fill.
“Down the hall and to the left.” Your words come out more desperate than you’d have liked, but it’s hard to remain neutral when a man like Joel’s cock is hard against your core.
The heavy clump of his boots echo down the hallway as he strides in the direction you gave him, and luckily for you, you know for a fact you’re stocked on condoms.
With a swift kick of your door, Joel drops you on the bed without missing a beat of hesitation, watching you as you prop yourself up on your elbows; looking up at him through those long lashes of yours, as if saying, come on, ol’ man.
Tongue darting out to lick his lower lip, Joel takes a moment to really look at you.
That little skirt that caught his eye at the bar is now currently hiked up and under your ass, and Joel can catch a faint glimpse at the pink patch of fabric hiding between your thighs. Your breasts are rising up and down at a quick pace, matching your breath—as if you were attempting to predict what his next move might be. God, the fact that he can render you breathless shouldn’t turn him on… but it does. Oh, it does.
“Jesus, girl,” He mutters, taking a quiet step towards the edge of the bed. “You have no fuckin’ clue what you’re doin’ to me.”
Your thighs clench at his words, watching the way he sinks to his knees in front of you. His fingertips graze the skin of your calves and travel up past your knees, causing your stomach to tie itself in knots out of anticipation.
“You should show me,” the words come out as barely an exhale, but you don’t care. His fingertips cause a shiver to travel through your body as they reach your hips; pointer fingers digging into the band of your panties—pulling them downwards, ever so slightly. “Touch me, Joel, please.”
Instead of replying to your plea, Joel opts to press his lips against the crook of your knee, basking in the whimper you give him as he tugs the fabric down slowly. Joel might be an impatient man, but when it comes to giving, he could take hours if he so pleased. Letting his lips travel up and over your knee, your teeth dig into your lower lip as he carefully licks a line up the expanse of your inner thigh—stopping where your panties were stretched around your thighs.
“Lift up for me, baby.”
Really, it’s sick how quick you obey his command. Hips lifting, you nearly burst when he easily catches the fabric between his teeth and pulls.
When he tugs them down your legs and off your body, your eyes widen in awe at how he pulls them to his face, eyes fluttering shut as he brings them to his nose and inhales. Pulling them away from his face, he wads them in a ball and pockets them—as if it were a trophy.
Your hand runs through the soft curls of his hair as he does so, tilting his face up to look at you attempt to find the words capable of describing your arousal—but nothing comes.
You don’t need to say anything.
He knows what you want.
Joel leans forward, his right hand following the trail of his lips as his left slides up and over the arch of your body to grope one of your breasts firmly; allowing his lips to close around the bundle of nerves at your center.
He lets out a hum against your core, soaking up the way you let out a strangled gasp from low in your throat. Joel feels fucking high as he catches your pebbled nipple between his fingers, pinching ever so slightly as the tip of his tongue traces against your clit.
Sweeter than sin, he thinks to himself, finally allowing himself to pull his gaze away from you.
Flattening his tongue on your clit, his name falls from your lips like a prayer as he laps at you—letting the scruff of his facial hair scratch at the most sensitive parts of you.
”Joel,” You gasp sharply, back arching against his touch. His hand on your breast flattens and moves quickly to your lower stomach, pressing down—like he’s telling you to stop your squirming. “Fingers, please, God-“
He gives you a gruff mhmmm before sucking gently on your clit, letting his index and pointer fingers rub over the wet slick of your lips—ever so lightly letting them dip into you.
”Yeah?” He responds lowly to your moan of desire. “You wanna feel me inside of you, don’t you?”
“Please! Joel—please,” your words are a desperate plea. “I want it. Please.”
He sinks his digits in juuust enough to breach you, and it’s just enough to numb your mind. Joel’s lips curl into a pleased smirk as he keeps them there, memorizing the way your head tilts back and your pulse ripples through your neck.
”I want you to ask me real nice n’ pretty, baby,” He asks, the Texan drawl making it all the more erotic. “C’mon, ask.”
You’ve already asked. Joel is well aware of your desperate pleas, but a deep part of his ego is fed when you beg for him.
Tightening your grip on his hair, you give a feeble attempt to even your breath as you reply, “I need to cum, Joel. Please.”
And that’s good enough for him.
His digits sink fully into your sex as he envelops your sensitive clit, causing your already numb mind to completely shatter. The knot in your stomach that has been tied since the moment he kissed you has been pulled entirely too tight, body shaking and arching as his fingers move deftly against your walls. The soft squelch of your cunt around his digits are more than enough to make his dick fucking hurt in his jeans, and he knows that once you cum like this—he’s going to bury himself in you.
He’ll make sure you won’t forget it.
He’ll make sure you don’t forget him.
The tension in your body is too much, with every sensitive part of you being dominated by Joel. Your cunt, your body, your mind feels euphoric as you feel his fingers grow slicker with each thrust—and that knot that’s been forming snaps.
Joel groans in pleasure as he feels your walls tighten and tighten, and a hoarse laugh escapes his throat as your arousal drips off his chin and his fingers— a sign that he’s done his job. A sign that he’s done his job well.
Licking a line up your stomach, his rough hands are quick to yank your top off your body, mattress dipping under his heavy weight as his mouth finds yours. Joel groans into your mouth as you taste yourself on him, your shaking hands working to take his belt off. When the metal buckle hits the ground, Joel pulls back to yank his worn shirt off his body.
You can’t remember the last time you actually felt yourself salivating over a man in your bed—but it’s hard not to when a man like him is over you. You knew at the bar that he wasn’t like your normal type—no. He’s solid muscle, yet soft in the middle with a healthy line of hair trailing down to his jeans.
Brown eyes not leaving yours, Joel yanks his jeans down along with his briefs—watching your eyes trail from his to his cock.
”Holy shit,” you breathe softly, watching him stroke himself. “S’not gonna fit.”
Joel watches as your face cringes, realizing you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But you did, much to his amusement.
”We’ll make it fit,” He assures you, pulling you closer to him by your waist. You let out a breathless laugh as he guides the thick head of his cock between your folds. “You got a condom?”
“Yeah,” you reply, already reaching for your drawer. “Just gimme a sec—“
Your words are cut off by a sharp inhale, feeling his tip press in, ever so slightly. Bracing himself against the headboard, a smug look is plastered all over his face as he watches your movements slow—already overwhelmed by a small part of him.
”C’mon, sweetheart,” He taunts, his hips pulling away from you—god, the man was a tease. “Get that condom.”
“M’workin’ on it,” You reply with a breathless laugh. Grabbing the little tin packet, you rip it open with shaking hands as he mouths at your neck. “S’hard when I got you teasin’ me.”
”I ain’t doin’ such a thing.” He answers, teeth grazing your pulse as you grip him in your hand. Rolling the condom on him, you feel your stomach flutter as you realize that to fully grip him—you needed two fucking hands to fully accommodate his girth.
It’s a good thing he worked you open with his fingers, and it’s even better that you have an unopened bottle of lube for emergencies.
With the condom fully on, Joel cups your cheek, thumb running over your plush lower lip. Eyes trailing over your face, it’s a stark contrast to his earlier, rushed movements. It’s as if he’s memorizing you and this moment—and deep inside of you, you hope that maybe…just maybe, this didn’t have to be a one time thing.
As if he can see the gears in your head turning, Joel leans forward just enough to graze his lips against yours, watching as your eyes flutter shut.
“You tell me if anythin’ hurts, sweetheart. You got that?” His words melt through you, and all you can muster up in a nod. You trust him.
And with those words, he doesn’t let you adjust—he sinks his cock into your needing cunt.
All nine inches of him.
If you thought his mouth was erotic, it’s nothing compared to what he had hiding in his jeans. Echoing his sentiment before he came inside of your house, Joel Miller isn’t gentle, no. Especially not when he’s got you under him; one orgasm deep already.
He wastes no time driving himself into you, every moan and strangled gasp that you let out encouraging him to make you fucking take it. With every thrust there’s a spot deep inside of you being hit, a place that makes you well aware that you’re gonna feel him the next morning.
”Yeah?” He grits out, pulling your legs over his shoulders; effectively folding you in half. “You like that, baby?”
”Yes!” You gasp, the new position making you somehow even more sensitive. “Joel-yes!”
Joel moves his hand to close around your throat, and it’s not enough to fully choke you, but it’s more of a reminder that he’s in charge—and that you’re gonna do what he says.
“Look at you, takin’ it like a fuckin’ champ,” he praises, reveling in your half lidded eyes. “N’here you were, worried it wouldn’t fit.”
The blatant teasing makes your stomach jump with a strangled laugh, and he lets out a hot moan at the feeling of you tightening. Joel knows that he’s got the stamina—but with the way you feel? He might not make it as long as he’d like.
And he’d be damned if he didn’t get to enjoy every angle of you.
“Turn the fuck over.” He grunts, but he’s already doing it for you as his hands find your hips and he manhandles you to your knees. Hands finding the flesh of your ass, you let out a squeal as he gives a sharp smack, leaving a handprint on the curve of the skin there.
What you expect is Joel to push his length into you again. What you don’t expect?
You don’t expect him to spread your asscheeks, leaning down to lick over your slick folds again. With your cheek smushed against the satin of your pillowcase, you bite back a moan as his tongue swirls around your clit; his hands sliding down the expanse of your back.
“Could eat this pussy for hours,” He says, catching his breath. Joel kisses the flesh of you ass as he lets his fingers rub against your folds, listening as you mutter a mess of a response. Leaning back down, he flattens his tongue against your lips one last time, before sitting back on his knees—pulling your hair into a makeshift ponytail.
Neck arching back, it feels brand new as he pushes his dick in you, fucking you like he’s a man starved. The pain of your hair being pulled is welcome, and all it does is make your spend drip down the apex of your thighs as he commands you. Gripping the headboard in front of you with one hand, your other hand has a mind of it’s own as your digits move to rub at your self— which only turns him on even more.
The hair in his hand travels to your throat, tilting your head back so you’re forced to look at him.
”What a nasty fuckin girl,” He pants, his mouth ghosting yours. “You gonna cum like that? Gonna cum on my cock?”
”Mmph, you’re—you’re huge, Joel!” You reply desperately, your movements quickening as you feel another orgasm building. “Can feel you everywhere.”
”Everywhere?” His words echo yours as an idea comes to him—one that he’s sure a pretty thing like you wouldn’t object to.
Your breathless mhm makes him release his grip on your throat, watching as your face drops to the sheets—and he makes his move.
Your whole body shivers as his hands spread your cheeks again, and a glob of his warm spit falls between the crack of your ass. Fisting the sheets in your hands, you know that if you said stop—he would. But something deep within you knows that you don’t want him to stop. Even further—you’re welcoming it.
Sliding his cock back into you, he barely gives you time to adjust to his size once more before the pad of his thumb dips between your cheeks, sliding against the tight muscle as he continues fucking into you.
His thumb coats itself in the warm spit he left moments before, massaging the rim of your ass as he looks for any sign of discomfort. Looking over your shoulder, all he can see is your jaw slack in pleasure, eyelids fluttering shut as your body involuntarily presses backward to him—as if saying I want it.
And oh, you do.
Joel slows his hips, seating his cock inside of you to the fucking hilt— the head of his cock kissing that spot deep in you. You know he’s trying to ease the inevitable stretch, and holy, does it relax your body. All you can think about is how fucking huge he is and how this will live in your spank bank forever—
Your mind goes up in flames when his thumb breaches the rim of your ass, thoughts coming to a complete and utter stall as he doesn’t stop until his thumb is properly hooked in your ass.
Looking at the sight of you below him, Joel knows that he’s only a few fuckin’ pumps away from finishing.
A thin layer of sweat coats the both of you, and he can’t quite peel his gaze from where the two of you are connected—your cunt hugs him just fuckin’ perfectly, and the damn needy thing is practically crying for him.
Your spend has already dampened the sheets below you, and drips down the apex of your thighs as his free hand squeezes the flesh of your ass—and you tighten at the feeling of him everywhere.
”You ok?” His voice is strained now, and you know that he has to be close. His thumb stays firmly inside of you, his cock pulsing in anticipation.
“Yes,” You nod furiously against the sheets, not even caring that your precious satin pillowcases are covered in makeup. It’s hard to care about much of anything when a man like Joel is splitting you open. “S’good-feels amazing.”
”M’almost there, baby,” Joel presses his chest to your back, lips finding your shoulder blade. “Makin’ me feel like a damn teenager.”
“Me too,” you reply, turning your cheek to try and chase his lips. “Keep goin’, please.”
Pulling himself away from your skin, Joel catches his lower lip between his teeth as he settles on his knees—giving your ass one last squeeze of encouragement before pounding back into you.
It’s as if his thumb inside of you lights your skin on fire. The sex was already fucking amazing just due to the size of him, but now? With his thick thumb seated inside of you?
You feel full.
The quick and sharp sounds of your flesh slapping against each other, and short breathy moans is enough cause your cunt to tighten one last time—effectively soaking your sheets as he talks you through it.
”Oh,” He growls, feeling his thighs dampen. That certainly has never happened before—and he feels as if it’s a badge of honor. “Look at you, girl. Fuckin’ comin’ all over me. Dirty little thing likes havin’ her holes filled.”
His words barely register in your brain as you attempt to ground yourself on your sheets. He’s still ruthlessly pounding into you still, but pulls his thumb out of you to fist your hair in fist once more.
“Where do you want it?” Joel's words come out as a hiss, but it’s all he can manage now. The sight of you squirting on him was his one way ticket to finishing. “Tell me you where you fuckin want it, baby.”
”My tits,” The words spill out of your mouth faster than you can process it. “Cum on my tits—please—“
With one last brutal thrust, you feel your body be man handled to your chest as Joel—eyes dark with lust—climbs your body, condom getting tossed to the side. It’s a blur as you bat his hands away from his cock, taking him in your own fist. Bracing himself against your headboard, he lets out a deep groan as he spurts those thick, white ropes across the expanse of your breasts.
His breathing his ragged as his eyes flutter shut; reveling in the orgasm that just rocked his fucking world. He knows that he’s definitely going to wake up with his back thrown out the next morning, but he can’t find it in him to care as he collapses beside you, finally turning his head to look over at you.
What a fucking sight you are.
Makeup messy, hair in knotted curls with his cum painted on you, Joel laughs softly to himself.
“What?” You say with a shy laugh, chest still rising and falling fast.
“M’a lucky guy.” Joel says it as if it’s obvious. The small but powerful compliment turns your cheeks even more red than they already are.
“Ditto.” You reply, hiding your face in your hands as you bite back a smile.
Sitting with a groan, Joel looks back at you over his shoulder as he pulls on his jeans.
“Lemme get you a washcloth. Where’s your bathroom?”
Maybe it’s his age. Maybe it’s the guys you’re used to dating. But in your years of hookups and relationships, it’s few and far between to have aftercare—and it makes those butterflies flop in your stomach as you direct him to where it is.
When Joel returns, you clean yourself up as he locates his discarded clothes from earlier. God—the two of you had made a mess of the room. You’d have to add wash sheets to your to-do list after he’d leave.
Tossing the damp cloth in your hamper, you grab your old robe off the back of your door and tie it loosely around your body as he slides on his worn-in work boots. For you—small talk as a guy leaves your house was always the dreaded part of a hookup. The silence was awkward, and there were always half assed lies about for sure callin’ ya tomorrow.
Spoiler—they never did.
But the silence with Joel doesn’t feel awkward. It feels comfortable, almost. You don’t miss the way he gives you a genuine smile as he stands, leaning down to kiss your temple
”Walk me to the door?” He asks gently, his hand sliding down the satin of your robe. His brown eyes that were filled with lust not even ten minutes ago were now softer, more gentle.
”Of course.” You answer, leaning up on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
You take the lead as you walk him down the hallway and to the front door, tucking your hair behind your ear as you reach your destination. Tugging on his flannel, Joel clears his throat as he looks down at you. He’s not quite sure what you’re thinking, but he feels like you’re a strong woman—and that no matter what he says, or where he leaves this—you won’t object.
He can’t tell if that intrigues him, or if it scares the hell out of him.
“I uh—never was really good at this type of thing,” Joel finally says, gesturing between the two of you.
”What, sex?” You quip, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. “Cause I have a pretty solid statement against that.”
”No,” his words come out as a laugh. “I mean—talkin’ to women. Keeping relationships. All that stuff.”
Joel notices the visible confusion in your expression, and groans at himself—only proving his point to himself. He never was good at words.
”What I’m tryin’ to say is…m’a pretty busy guy. I got a kid. Own my own business.”
Kid. Figures. He’s definitely the age to have one.
”I can’t promise a lot but… I uh, wouldn’t be opposed to seeing you again.”
His hands find his jean pockets as he finishes his explanation, toying with his truck keys in his pockets as he braces himself for whatever you might say—could be a rejection. Could be a laugh. Whatever it will be—Joel braces himself for it.
To his shock, none of his made-up scenarios happens. In fact, your captivating smile never leaves your face.
”I’m not looking for a promise either, Joel,” You say, hugging yourself. “Here—give me your phone. If you ever need company, just give me a text. No hard feelings if not.”
He obliges your request, pulling his phone out of his back pocket and handing it over. It doesn’t take you long to type in the digits and hand it back to him that beautiful smile still on your face.
“Don’t be a stranger, Joel.”
Leaning down to kiss your temple one last time, Joel pulls away and replies,
”I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”
Three Weeks Later
You don’t hear from Joel after that night.
And honestly? You had been too preoccupied to sit and cry about the fact that the best fuck you’ve ever had never texted you.
You were deep into report card season, candy filled holidays, and planning upcoming parent-teacher conferences. You were lucky if you left work two hours after contract time—you knew if you brought home any work it wouldn’t be done.
The great thing about teaching? Getting to celebrate and talk to parents about the growth their children have made so far, and how they can be supported at home. It was a feeling you loved—you loved seeing parents light up at their students work, and you loved hearing about what your student gets up to outside of school.
Especially when they’re students like Sarah Miller.
Sarah is nothing below an outstanding student, and her bubbly personality makes her a great friend to others in the classroom. If you could have a class full of Sarah Millers, your life would be perfect.
And her Mom? She’s amazing.
Always bringing in treats for the class on holidays and volunteering when needed, her mom is a powerhouse. Which is exactly why you’re slightly disappointed when the office puts her call through to your classroom—ten minutes before her time slot with Sarah.
”Hello!” Her chipper voices sings from the other side of the line.
“I am so sorry—but I can’t make it in today with Sarah,” She explains, apologetic as all hell. “My boyfriend just got rear ended in the town over, needs a lift.”
”No worries at all!” You reply, fingers flipping through Sarah’s work portfolio. “Do we need to reschedule?”
”Not at all, actually! Sarah’s with her dad today, and he has no problem taking my place today. I just wanted to give you a heads up!”
Huh, you think to yourself. You always had assumed her boyfriend was Sarah’s biological dad, but maybe you missed the detail. Sarah, while an amazing student, is a chatterbox. She loves to chat your ear off when you have any spare second, so maybe the detail got lost in the myriad of stories she tells.
”That’s perfectly fine,” You answer, jotting on a sticky note to make extra copies for mom. “I will send a copy of her folder with her next week!”
Hanging up the phone, you walk to your meeting space to straighten the stacks of work as you wait patiently for Sarah and her dad to arrive. She’s the last conference of the day, and because of her high grades and outstanding work—there wouldn’t be much to report.
As thoughts of what your Friday evening might look like after Sarah’s conference, the little girl sprints through the door with an excited squeal of your name—enveloping you in a tight hug that she always gives you at the end of the day.
”Hey kiddo!” You squeeze her back with a bright smile, pulling her back to steady her.
“You’re with Dad today?”
”Yes!” She exclaims excitedly. “He’s lookin’ at the art we made last week in the hallway!”
”Oh really?” You answer, putting your hands on your hips. “Well, I’m sure your dad will be even more impressed when he sees some of your latest multiplication quizzes.”
Sarah giggles in excitement as you turn your back to her, grabbing her work portfolio off the table. Just as you’re about to look back at Sarah, a voice you’ve been dreaming about for three weeks shatters your thoughts when he says,
”This is quite a classroom you got, baby girl.”
Your body goes cold as you turn to look at him. Joel, who has his hands shoved in his pockets, and that same MILLER CONSTRUCTION shirt he had on that night you met at the bar—this time, a heavy carhartt jacket on his shoulders, boots replaced with Romeo’s.
The look on his face as your eyes meet is one met with first, shock—then being shaken back to reality as Sarah tugs on his wrist to pull him closer to where her work is.
”Dad—this is my teacher! The one who always does art on fridays!”
You’re a professional, you scold yourself, and Sarah’s smart! Don’t look fuckin’ scared!
”You must be Mr. Miller,” you say coolly, attempting to regain your dignity. Reaching out to offer your hand, you ignore the way his palm lights a fire in your veins as he shakes it firmly. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
Joel lets his hand linger for a moment in yours, letting the shock wear off as his lip curls into a smile.
”It’s nice to meet you as well, Miss,” He answers gently. “Sarah’s told me quite a bit about you throughout the last few months.”
”Well—I can’t wait to share how much growth Sarah has made,” you manage to reply, letting your hands drop from one another. “Shall we get started?”
”Let’s do it,” Joel gestures to the table. “And I uh—have a few questions to ask you at the end, if that’s alright.”
Returning the small smile on Joel’s lips, you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you see him.
In fact, you have a feeling this school year is about to get a whole lot more interesting.
spencer reid x gender neutral reader
new relationship, secret keeping nonsense, 4.5k words, ao3
a/n; turns out i love writing texting fic but tumblr destroys the formatting rip
zero months.
You smile conspiratorially, extending a pinkie towards Spencer and he gives you a skeptical look.
“You know the odds of being found out immediately are-” he starts, but you cut him off.
“Astronomical, I know. I know. But don’t you think it’ll be fun to see how long we can push it?” you wheedle, not caring that your voice sounds more like begging than is strictly dignified because seeing the way Spencer’s nose crinkles in amusement at your heavy handed persuasion is too adorable to pass up. You scoot closer on the couch, tapping the end of his nose with your pinkie finger, letting him catch your hand between his as you continue “I think we’ve got a good shot at hiding it for a little while. It would be like a game.”
Spencer draws your captive hand to his lips, brushing them across your knuckles and watching fondly as you forge ahead in your campaign to persuade him, enjoying the show and the attention too much to tell you he’s already on board. Your eyes are shining with the prospect of the caper, and you’ve made no move to take your hand back from him, and Spencer’s pretty sure he’d be more than happy to sit with you in this moment forever. “I mean-” you go on, gesturing animatedly with your free hand, “you’re like-a really good liar when you want to be. And everyone else always forgets how good you are at it.”
He snorts at that and the sound makes you light up, eyes tracking the arch of his brows, the warmth in his soft brown eyes, memorising the way he looks like this; utterly unbothered, completely at ease. It might be your favourite version of him, but that race has always been a tight one with no clear winner in sight. You have lots of favourite versions of Spencer. Twisting your hand in his, you tangle your fingers together, savouring the way you feel his thumb glide delicately along your skin and the unhidden joy in his face at the simple show of affection.
Time to play your trump card.
“$50 says we can hide it from the whole group for at least six months. If everyone figures it out before then, you win. But if not everyone has worked it out by then, I win.”
The mischievous shine in your eyes is irresistible, and Spencer smiles, disentangling one of his hands from yours to extend his own pinky finger.
“You’re on.”
The words barely make it out of his mouth before you’re colliding with him, pressing your lips to his.
two months.
“So, how long has this whole thing been going on?” Derek’s question catches Spencer off guard, and, based on the way he can see you freeze in his peripheral vision, takes you by surprise as well. Sliding into the driver's seat of the SUV, Derek continues “I hope you didn’t think you were gonna be able to keep me in the dark for long, pretty boy. You should know better than that.”
Following mechanically after him, Spencer takes the passenger seat, trying to frame his next statement as carefully as possible as he hears your door close and the car start. “We were-going to tell you guys-” he begins uncomfortably, glancing back to you for support, but you look just as on edge as he feels. “We were just gonna-keep it to ourselves for a while-before telling Hotch and everything-” he tries again, the mounting tension levering his shoulders higher and higher with every passing moment, but then Derek just laughs, shaking his head.
“Hey, I’m happy for you, kid. For both of you.” He spares a look at you in the back seat through the rear view mirror, and you can feel the tension in your jaw relax, the furrows in your brow straightening out at the note of approval in Derek’s voice. “I’m glad you two finally figured it out,” he says, fondly, and you laugh.
“I bet Spence we could keep it from you guys at least six months,” you explain, reaching forwards through the centre console to link your pinky with Spencer’s, and the touch of your hand releases the last of the tension he had been harbouring as he covers your hand with the other one of his own. He knows Derek clocks the motion, filing it away in his mind somewhere, but he doesn’t care about the scrutiny so much right now. Not when your hand is so warm and comfortable in his.
Derek reaches for the dial on the radio and flicks through the channel, thinking about something, and as you watch, a slow mischievous smirk spreads across his face a moment later before he glances first at Spencer and then at you.
“I’ll tell you what,” he says to you, and Spencer can feel a familiar grin tugging at his own lips as he watches a plan take shape in his friend’s eyes. “I’m happy to sit on this information for a while for a cut of the winnings from whichever one of you comes out on top.” He snorts good naturedly as he continues “I have my own bet to win with Prentiss, so if you two help me win that one, I’ll cut you in too.”
“A quid pro quo of sorts,” Spencer says slowly, and he feels your fingers tighten around his, as you snort softly, and he knows instinctually you’re grinning the same way you always do when you’re winning a game. “I think we can do that.”
Derek grins, turning the music up as he nods, eyes on the road. “Then you two love birds have got yourselves a deal.”
two months and two weeks.
PG: youre not as slick as you think you are ;)
YN: ???
PG: ;)))))))))
you should invest in some concealer for your work bag sweetness
or tell the good doctor to pay more attention to whats visible in your work clothes
YN: oh my fucking god
wait how do you even know thats how that happened
PG: im all knowing and all seeing im like the omnipotent goddess of the fbi
YN: derek blabbed
PG: he sang like a canary
but also im an omnipotent goddess
im also totally clued in on the whole bet situation with em so for the low low price of every single juicy detail about how this adorableness went down you can buy my silence
:)
YN: im getting derek decaf coffee on all coffee runs from now on >:(
traitors dont get caffeine
PG: darling sweet angel
i need deets
all of them
like immediately
YN: >:(
fine
ok so. after that case down in georgia a few months ago? the weird one? with the creepy mother son thing?
PG: omg yuck pls dont remind me im here for the CUTENESS not the MURDER
YN: sorryyyyyyy
anyway so spence was like being super weird about it all on the plane and whatever but he was doing that super annoying thing where he ignores it and says hes fine so everyone leaves him alone
PG: YEAH why does everyone here do that ALL THE TIME its SO annoyingggg
YN: ikr its insufferable and like super not subtle
ANYWAY. spence was being weird and whatever and i just. refused to let him sulk on his own or whatever like i could tell there was something bothering him and so after work i insisted that we were gonna get like shitty diner food or whatever and watch a movie
and he knows better than to say no to me
PG: smart boy
YN: so we got fries and milkshakes and then went back to his place to watch a movie
and he was still like weird and silent and like brooding yknow? but whatever just figured hed talk about it when he was ready so i put on a movie and offered to make popcorn and then he was just staring at me and he looked so SAD and TIRED and i thought id done something wrong like the poor guy looked like he was gonna cry and i was panicking over fucking popcorn and then he says
‘why are you always so nice to me?’
PG: oh my god hes like if a sad victorian orphan was actually a triplicate phd holder
YN: i was SO thrown off i was like spencer.
spencer were best friends. ive been forcing you to hang out with me for years now why do you THINK im being nice to you its bc i care about you asshole
and then.
like after another million years
after letting me sweat it out over whether hes about to cry for like fucking years
the asshole grabs my hand and says.
i shit you not.
‘you know im in love with you, right?’
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
YN: anyway hes my boyfriend now :’)
dont tell anyone tho
gotta win the bet
four months.
Lingering by the elevator, you glance around at the uncharacteristically silent office building, waiting for Spencer to leave the bullpen. The sound of his footfalls drawing nearer makes you smile and you mentally applaud yourself for suggesting the two of you remained behind after disembarking from the plane, taking advantage of the manufactured privacy to take the same car home, back to his apartment.
When he sees you waiting for him, he can’t help the soft fond smile that tugs at his face, as he reaches for your hand, sliding his fingers into yours with a gentle squeeze, the quiet of the building allowing him to indulge in the show of affection. You return the squeeze, leaning your head on his shoulder with a yawn and as he presses a fond kiss to your temple he’s rewarded by a sleepy hum of approval from you that sends a rush of quiet joy shooting through him.
“At least we won’t be sleeping in hotel beds again tonight,” you say, voice weary, and Spencer nods as he shuffles you into the elevator. The doors slide shut and the elevator starts to move and in the moment of absolute privacy, you steal a kiss, tilting your chin up to catch his lips with yours, revelling in the soft huff of surprise he lets out, even as he smiles against your mouth. Even after months, the simple act of kissing Spencer still feels new and thrilling somehow, like you can’t quite believe it’s something you’re allowed to do.
His nose brushes yours and he breathes “unless something big comes up, we get a sleep in tomorrow too,” and the way you beam at him sends his heart racing in his chest, unable to look away from the fondness shining in your eyes.
As the two of you exit the elevator and make your way through the Bureau car park, you tuck yourself against his side, wedging yourself under his arm with a happy sigh, eager to get yourself horizontal and asleep as fast as possible. Spencer brushes his lips against your temple again as the two of you close in on his car, almost free and clear of the office when a voice behind the two of you brings you up short.
“Reid?”
Spencer is reacting before his mind catches up, turning on his heel towards the sound of Hotch’s voice echoing through the parking lot, conscious of the incriminating way you’re still tucked against his side, even as his brain is rifling frantically through any possible excuses for the current circumstances.
“Hotch-” you step away from Spencer, cheeks flaming, not wanting to chance a look at him. “I-we-thought everyone else had gone home,” you trail off lamely, trying your hardest not to balk under Hotch’s ominously impassive scrutiny. A second passes, then another, and the short silence feels like months, or years even as the three of you stand locked in a stalemate.
“I take it the two of you would prefer to keep this under wraps?” He asks, finally, and it registers with Spencer, somewhat belatedly, that Hotch’s tone isn’t admonishing. It isn’t enough to dissipate the tension coiling in Spencer’s muscles just yet, but he spares a glance at you as he nods, and a moment later, Hotch gives the two of you a curt nod of his own. “I’ll tell you what,” he says, a shade of irony colouring his voice. “If you two fill out the paperwork for in-team relationships for me, I’ll keep it to myself. I understand privacy is hard to come by in our office.”
The words take a while to fully sink in, and you’re conscious that you’re standing there blinking and gaping at your boss like a bemused fish for a good few seconds before you’ve composed yourself enough to say “absolutely, sir. Of course. Thank you.”
Hotch nods again, heading towards his own car, and as he passes the two of you, a brief smile flashes across his face.
“Congratulations, you two. Get some sleep.”
four months and three weeks.
Spencer isn’t sure how late it is, but he knows you’re not asleep yet, the faint glow of your phone screen casting faint distorted shadows across his room as your free hand rests lightly on his chest. In the dark blue twilight of his room, the space feels undefined and dream like somehow, the line between his mind and his surroundings blurry or indistinct somehow, and as you huff out a near silent laugh at something on the screen in your hand, a thought rises to the surface of his thoughts like flotsam on an unwanted tide.
The more clinical part of his mind notes the autonomic response in his body, the way his heart lurches unpleasantly in his chest, heart rate rising with an influx of cortisol through his nervous system, automatically rifling through ways to control the anxiety response. Age old instinct surges forwards, starting to push his spiralling anxiety down out of sight so as not to bother you with it, but then your hand shifts infinitesimally on his chest, fingers curling in the soft fabric of his pyjama shirt, and for once his body is miles ahead of his brilliant mind, your name is leaving his lips before he’s really aware of it happening.
Your gaze flashes up from your phone at the sound of his voice, soft and hesitant, and you let the screen go dark as you set it down. You can feel Spencer’s heart hammering against his ribs under your palm, and your brows knit together in concern as you shift closer to his side, tracing gentle circles over his shirt with your fingertips, the repetitive motion intended to soothe, though you’re not sure if it’s for his benefit or yours.
“Yeah, baby?” You ask softly, working hard to keep the rising worry from your voice. After three years of friendship and almost six months of dating, you know him well enough to sense when his propensity for overthinking and catastrophizing is slipping out of his control. You can feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, whatever he’s about to say cut off by second guessing, doing nothing to pacify your concern. “Spence? Is everything okay?” You ask again.
“This-bet-hiding our relationship-it’s-” he trails off, throat tight as he rolls onto his side, facing away from you, and smushing his face into the pillow, already wishing he hadn’t said anything. You’re the kindest person he’s ever met, but offering up this kind of raw insecurity feels like pulling teeth. Even if it’s you. Especially if it’s you. He doesn’t know if he’s ready to find out if you care about him enough to stay when his racing mind gets the better of him. The pillow muffles his voice as he says “never mind.”
You feel your own heart rate tic up in response to that, matching the wild beat of Spencer’s that you could feel under your palm only a second ago. “Baby, talk to me. What’s on your mind?”
He shakes his head, face still hidden in the pillow. “It’s stupid.”
He can feel the rush of your breath on his back as you sigh, and your voice is almost achingly patient as you say softly “it’s not stupid if it matters to you.” There’s a long pause, and you press yourself against his back, settling close and letting your hand slide over his side to rest on his chest, the heat of his skin sinking into yours even through his thin shirt. In spite of his height, he feels so small as you wrap yourself around him, drawing closer, trying to reassure him without yet knowing what he needs to be reassured of. “Spence?”
“Are you ashamed of-being with me? Is that why you want to hide it?” The words are almost whispered, the sound almost lost against his pillow and your heart sinks, plummeting faster and further than if you’d dropped it off the side of a skyscraper. You should’ve known he might worry about that, should have realised it might have felt that way. Remorse rises hot and bitter in your throat and you swallow it down, trying to steady your voice.
“Spencer. Sweetheart. No. Never. I could never be ashamed. I love you. I’m so sorry.” Your arms wrap more tightly around him and you bury your face against the crook of his neck, the tension you can feel in every inch of his body making you feel more cruel and short-sighted than you already do. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise it might feel like that. I could never be ashamed of being with you, Spence. You’re my favourite person.” He takes the kind of shaky, shallow breath that comes with trying not to cry and your heart breaks a little more as one of his hands slowly moves to cover yours where it rests against his chest, just over his heart.
As his hand rests over yours, his thumb strokes lightly along your knuckles, and he knows you know him well enough to notice the way his hand trembles, just a little, because then your hand is shifting against his, turning to clumsily tangle your fingers with his, holding tighter to him as he tries to collect himself, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath as his eyes squeeze shut. He can hear the contrition in your voice as you say softly “I’ve never really liked having people know everything about what’s going on in my life. And I love our friends but-something like this, that’s so-special? So new? I wanted to be able to keep it to just us for a while.”
“I’m sorry.” His voice comes out a little shaky, scarcely more than a whisper, and it’s more than you can take as you pull back and gently force him to roll over to face you. He’s not crying, but his eyes are glassy and you recognise the fight to keep the tears unshed in the tight set of his jaw and the hard line of his lips. Leaning on your elbow, you lift your free hand to gently smooth out the furrows of his brow, letting your fingers linger along the planes of his face.
“Why are you sorry,” you ask gently. “You don’t need to be sorry, baby. Not for talking to me about things that bother you. We can tell everyone else tomorrow, if you want? We can call off the bet. Derek will live. If he’s got a problem with it I’ll turn all his shirts into crop tops.”
He can tell the joke is a last bid attempt to make him smile, to ease his fear, and it works. In spite of the anxious weight in his chest that feels like it’s pressing him into the mattress, Spencer laughs weakly, meeting your eyes, and he watches as a relieved smile breaks across your face, releasing your lower lip from where you’d trapped it worriedly between your teeth. The unmitigated affection that floods into your eyes renders him momentarily breathless as he takes in the moment. You’re still here, still trying to take care of him. Just as kind and steadfast as ever.
“No,” he says eventually, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down on top of him like a living weighted blanket, letting your warmth chase the bulk of the tension from his body and luxuriating in the way you curl into him, one hand sliding into his hair. “We shouldn’t call off the bet. We still have to take Emily’s money, remember?”
Your sleepy laugh is the last thing he hears before his eyes close and the feel of your body wound around his lulls him to sleep.
five months.
SR: Can I talk to you about something?
DM: you dying or something?
that’s a really fuckin ominous text to recieve out of the blue
SR: I’m not dying, why would that be what you assumed? I just have a question.
DM: just a figure of speech
but what’s up?
SR: It’s about your bet with Emily. What’re the terms for it?
DM: wym?
SR: What exactly did you two make the bet about? What needs to happen in order for you to win the bet?
DM: does this count as collusion?
SR: Technically yes, but calling it collusion implies a certain degree of illegality.
DM: whatever
anyway the terms i made with em were that you’d make some kind of move before your birthday but she reckoned you were gonna need some kind of near death experience to do anything about your crush
why?
SR: I’m just making sure I have all the information.
DM: what’s going on pretty boy?
you planning something?
SR: Maybe.
DM: not a helpful answer reid
is everything good?
SR: Everything’s fine. We’re just figuring some stuff out. Nothing to worry about.
DM: is there something you’re not telling me?
SR: Don’t worry about it.
five months, three weeks and six days.
In the chaos that was the scramble from the briefing room to the jet, you haven’t yet had the chance to speak to Spencer about the outcome of his most recent thesis defence panel. By the time you’ve got a moment to breathe, the jet is underway, coasting across the country towards Montana, the whole team settled in for the six hour flight. You corner him in the tiny kitchen area of the jet as he’s making a mug of mediocre coffee, fingers tapping out an absent minded rhythm on the countertop as the coffee machine whirs, clearly not paying attention to anything outside of his head.
“Hey, boy genius.” He jumps, whirling around, eyes wide with surprise, and you smile fondly. “So?” You demand, and Spencer raises an eyebrow in confusion. You snort, rolling your eyes as you elaborate. “Your defence panel. Did it go okay?”
You’re shifting your weight and fidgeting restlessly with the belt loops on your pants and as he studies you for a moment, it occurs to Spencer that you’re nervous for him over this outcome. The thought brings an almost giddy smile to his face.
“You know this isn’t my first thesis defence panel, right?” He says mildly, deliberately burying the lede, enjoying the way you scowl in irritation too much to answer your question right away, too enamoured with this display of concern on his behalf.
“Don’t be difficult, Doctor Reid. It’s still a big deal.” He just shrugs noncommittally, and you huff, swatting his arm lightly. “So did it go well?” You ask again, eyes narrowing as you try to dissect his microexpressions, trying to discern the answer he seems determined to keep from you for yourself. A few seconds later, he relents.
“I can now add degree number six to my wall.” He confirms. Getting degrees doesn’t hold the same rush of pride for him now, the accomplishment feeling somewhat less exceptional as he acquires more of them, but the way your face lights up with pride for him reminds him how special the things he’s capable of can be. You’ve always made him feel like more than the sum of his parts somehow, like something infinitely more precious than he always assumed he is.
“I fucking knew it. That’s amazing, Spence,” you say, chest warm and full with pride and love, and his almost shy smile in return is enough to make a decision for you in a split second. Your hand dips into your back pocket, drawing something out, and you carefully hide it from view in your palm as Spencer tracks the motion curiously with his eyes.
Your eyes are shining with affection and something that looks like mischief and the way you’re smiling at him is more than enough to divert his attention as you step closer, just barely noticing as you slip something into his hand. You’re dangerously, distractingly close now, and he’s conscious, if somewhat distantly, that neither of you is concealed from the rest of the team, scant meters away in the seating area of the jet. But you’re smiling and close enough for him to feel your breath on his face and suddenly your lips are on his, and even after nearly seven months of being able to touch you like this, it’s enough to make him forget everything else as he melts into the contact, savouring the warmth of your skin and the faint smell of your shampoo.
You pull back a second later, the kiss over almost as soon as it started, but it’s enough to attract attention, and you can hear a belated ‘oh SHIT’ from Emily in the main cabin of the jet. In your peripheral vision, you can see money changing hands, your friends scrambling to react, but you don’t look at them, choosing to enjoy the bemused, affectionate look on Spencer’s face as his brain catches up to the events unfolding around the two of you.
“I was tired of keeping it a secret,” you say fondly, loud enough only for him to hear. “You win.”
Blinking in confusion, he finally tears his gaze away from yours, fingers uncurling to reveal the fifty dollar bill you had pressed into his palm right before you kissed him. The penny drops and he snorts with laughter, shaking his head in half hearted indignation as his other arm loops around you, pulling you in, letting you rest your head on his shoulder, hiding your face from the rest of the team as he kisses your temple, revelling in the way you wind yourself around him in response.
“I was gonna do this in like two days. I wanted you to win,” he murmurs against your hairline, and he can feel your faint laughter.
“Too bad, baby. I’m used to getting my way,” you say, pulling back to steal another quick kiss before peeling yourself out of his arms with a wink, turning to face the onslaught of ‘care to fucking explain that’ and ‘I fucking told you so’ from the rest of your friends, tugging him with you by your joined hands.
plEASE OH M YG OD “ hes like if a sad victorian orphan was actually a triplicate phd holder” WHYS THAT LITERALLY THE MOST ACCURATE DESCRIPTION OF SPENCER EVER KJSDHfkJHSKJDFH
g o D,.,,. WHAT I WOULD GIVE TO COMFORT SPENCER REID AND CALL HIM BABY LIKE THAT
“fingers uncurling to reveal the fifty dollar bill you had pressed into his palm right before you kissed him.“ ahHHHHHH THIS ENDING IS SO PERFECT OMG OMG OM GOMG
I LOVED LOVED LOVED IT QUEEN CHEFS KISS IMMACULATE WORK ONCE AGAIN
aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader
established relationship, morning routine fluff, 1k words
a/n; this is s o self indulgent but i love this shit.
Both phones ring within seconds of each other, the ringers making a grating unpleasant harmony as the phones buzz against your respective side tables, yanking you from your sleep as you reach blindly for your phone on the bedside table.
“Hotchner.” Aaron’s voice is sleepy in the extreme as he answers his phone a split second before you, and it makes you smile as you fumble to answer your own call, your free hand stretching behind you across the bed, blindly seeking his.
“Hey Garcia,” you yawn into your own phone. “Okay. Yeah. On my way.” You hang up, and Aaron is already swinging his legs over the side of the bed as you sit up, stretching. “Why can’t the bad guys do the bad things at a reasonable hour,” you gripe as you throw the covers off your side of the bed and stumble towards the closet. You feel Aaron’s hand on your lower back and turn to catch his lips against yours as he flicks the bedroom lights on.
“I’ll have a stern word with the unsub when we catch him,” he says fondly as he reaches for one of his suits and you smile tiredly as you tug a shirt on over your head.
“See that you do.”
As you finish pulling your clothes on, you snag your phone from the bedside table and pocket it before shouldering your go bag. On your way to the bedroom door, you steal another kiss, luxuriating in the way Aaron’s arms loop reflexively around your waist, drawing you closer.
“I’ll call Jess?” He says, voice muffled, and you nod as you pull back.
“I’ll make the coffee,” you confirm.
It’s a routine the two of you have down to a science at this point in the race to leave the house quickly, and as you grab your two respective travel mugs from the drying rack, you hear Aaron’s side of his phone call to Jess as he vacates the bedroom.
“Yeah-great. We went grocery shopping last night so the fridge is full. I’ll call again when we know how long we’ll be away. You’re a lifesaver. Thanks again. Yeah-love you too, Jess.”
The coffee machine whirs and you mentally spare a grateful thought for Jack’s almost supernatural ability to sleep through anything. You hear the sound of Aaron’s go bag hitting the floor next to yours in the hallway by the door and then his hand is on your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you wait for the coffee to brew.
“She’ll be here in twenty,” he says and you nod, leaning into his touch, closing your eyes and entertaining a brief fantasy of being allowed to go back to bed instead of driving into the office. His arms wind around you, lips finding the curve of your jaw and you smile a little, hand going to his hair, fingers scratching gently along his scalp and earning you a hum of approval.
Leaning back against his chest, you sigh. “You think we could arrange for Jess to get a legion of merit award or something? Pull some strings? I feel like she’s earned it,” you say, another yawn threatening to swallow the end of the sentence, and you feel, more than hear Aaron’s chuckle, rumbling low in his chest. The coffee machine finishes brewing and you tilt your head to catch the corner of his mouth with yours before slipping out of his grasp to pour the coffee into the two travel mugs. Adding generous amounts of milk and sugar to yours, you slide the other one across, shaking your head in mock disgust as Aaron adds only a dash of milk and then tops it off with the rest of the espresso from the machine. “Heathen,” you mutter and you’re rewarded with a kiss, his lips curling up in amusement against your own.
“Some of us like the taste of the actual coffee.”
As he pulls away, he grabs for the stack of post-its kept on the kitchen counter for mornings like this and quickly scrawls out a note for Jack.
We have to get on a plane for work, Jess will look after you. We’ll call tonight. Love you xx
Snatching the pen from his hand, you add your own scribbled heart at the end of the small piece of paper before heading towards the door, snagging your car keys from the bowl before shouldering your go bag, surveying the dim space of the apartment in the moment’s before Aaron flips off the few lights you turned on. The whole routine, from phone call to exit time has taken no more than ten minutes, and you snort softly as you sip your coffee. Not bad, all in all. Not your fastest, though.
With your hand on the doorknob, you pause, reaching a hand out to tug Aaron towards you by the tie, stealing a last kiss, savouring the moment before you’ll drive off in your own separate cars and spend the next however many days pretending you won’t be coming home to the same apartment at the end of the case. His hands go to your hips, fingers hooking in your belt loops and he smiles a little against your mouth.
“Is it your turn to be there first, or mine?” He asks, his voice muffled by your lips and you snort, leaning against him as you rest your head on his shoulder.
“I think it’s my turn this time,” you say as Aaron wraps his arms more securely around you, and you can feel him nod.
“Why don’t you head out now, then,” he suggests. “I’ll wait till Jess gets here before locking up. She’s not far off now.” You nod, yawning but not making any move to pull away from him.
“Yeah, I should get going,” you agree, hiding your face against his shoulder and you can feel him laugh softly, lips brushing your temple, and Aaron gently peels you out of his arms, smiling indulgently at your whine of protest.
“Get going, sweetheart. I’ll see you at the office, okay?”
““I’ll have a stern word with the unsub when we catch him,” he says fondly“ biTCH PLE A SE HOW IS ONE LINE MAKING ME M E L T OMG
THE PURE BLISS OF DOMESTICITY BITCH!!!!!! THE Y E AR N IN G!!!!! THE L O V E!!!!! LIKE PLE AS E “his hand is on your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as you wait for the coffee to brew.” I WANT THAT S O BAD KJSDHKFJSHDFKJ
“hand going to his hair, fingers scratching gently along his scalp and earning you a hum of approval.“ G O D!!!! TO GIVE MR SSA AARON HOTCHNER HEAD SCRATCHES!!!!!!
bITCH OMG TIE KISS!!!!!!!! TI E KISS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! TIE KISSES ARE MY FAVE
plEASE THIS WAS SOSOSOSOSOSO CUTE AND FLUFFY I COULDNT STOP SMILING OMG 🥺🥺 IMMACULATE WORK QUEEN TRULY!!!!!!
You can leave as many as you want and it’ll show up. I’ll see your name four times in the kudos list when you clicked it four times. That little note is just there to remind you that you’ve already done it.
here is a super helpful website for this kinda thing!
the first result isn’t always the one you’re looking for but when you press enter it’ll give you a ton of words related to your query that’ll probably have what you’re wanting, or something better
